#he deserves his full name mentioned for his suffering

[viennakarma]

Everything I Wanted II.

LESTAPPEN X READER (PART 2)

Summary: Your journey to become a Motorsport legend wasn't easy, especially when your path clashed with your greatest rivals, Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc.

Word count: 8.9k

Tags: Driver reader, mentions of crash, angst, abusive parent, daddy issues, trust issues, character death (not reader), cursing, strong rivalry, misogyny in motorsport, invasive media, aggressive fans, reader suffers with cyberbullying and hate, smut, female reader, +18, unprotected sex, voyeurism, exhibtionism, edging, filthy, porn with plot, queer! everyone, polyamory lestappen, bit of dirty talking, pet names, not beta read

Relationships: Lestappen x Reader

Mentor!Kimi Raikkonen x Reader

Sebastian Vettel, Fernando Alonso, Lewis Hamilton x Platonic!Reader

Notes: this is full of motorsport categories inaccuracies, just go with the vibes please. There are a few inaccuracies regarding other drivers' lives, but they are just to fit the story. This chapter is very angsty and none of it is an attack at the drivers nor their fans and personalities, please.

I know I KNOW, this got out of hand, AGAIN. I promise next part (and hopefully last) is more focused on the romance, and the happy ending reader deserves.

Find me on Twitter!

-

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

-

You spent Christmas with your mom, sharing a lot of presents and watching a bunch of stupid Christmas movies. New Year’s was now a tradition to spend with the Raikkonen Family, joined with the closest friends for a little get together. It was a good opportunity to reconnect with Kimi’s kids who missed you a lot during the season.

Charles never contacted you during winter break, which you were sure was the best after that mistake. You hated each other too much and the only thing that could come out of that was toxicity from the both of you. You refused to even acknowledge what had happened and its implications, that wouldn’t and couldn’t mean anything.

During the pre-season testing in Bahrain, you and Charles were back to whatever your relationship was before that one lapse in judgment months before.

Nobody noticed anything.

One day, Fernando pulled you aside for a little chat. You two sat side by side on big moving boxes, sipping on energy drinks.

“There’s something I have been wanting to talk to you about since last year,” he started, seemingly pensive, distant.

“Is everything ok?”

“Yeah, yeah. Remember after we first met when you asked me if I had advice for you regarding your career?” Fernando said, and you remembered.

Right after you had gotten close, you asked him for advice, you always did, especially about racing. But one day, you were chatting about his career, and you asked if had any lessons you should never forget. He had laughed joking about read all your contracts then asking if you were calling him old, but he said if he ever had any advice, he would tell you.

“Yes, have you got my answer yet?”

“Sí, Nena,” he paused, looking deep into your eyes, “enjoy.”

You frowned and he saw the confusion on your face.

“I see much of my younger self in you, you know? The same passion, this fiery desire to win, your goal for the championship, to conquer the world…” Fernando paused, looking up to the clear sky, the sunset coming around, “And I did. But I wish I had enjoyed it more. I should’ve gone to parties, I should’ve visited the countries we went to and tried the food, I should’ve made more friends, I should’ve had more lovers… I was so focused on winning, on getting my hands on that trophy of champion of the world, that I missed out on a lot.”

You felt your eyes tear up, and you wiped it before the tears came down. Putting your hand on his shoulder, you smiled at him.

“It’s such an honor race with you. And an even greater honor to have you as a friend, Nano” you whispered to him, you two laughed as his eyes watered too, and slapping his shoulder you laughed, “don’t make me cry, you old softie!”

You took his advice to your heart.

You went to the parties, you met new people, and that’s how after two entire seasons, you managed to befriend Lando, your teammate. You two had to open your hearts a little bit and meet in the middle. Which proved to be great, the whole team loved the change in your dynamic. You still weren’t besties, but you were close colleagues, and that was great. Everyone noticed the change and it reflected on how you started racing as a team instead of individually.

The car was even better than the year before, and the first race of the season you got a promising win.

That win, Lando’s pestering, and Fernando’s advice was how you ended up in a party after the Bahrain GP. Wearing a skimpy mini dress and 5 tequila shots deep, swaying your hips to the sound of Rihanna. You were dancing and singing with Lando and a few of his friends, loudly screaming the lyrics.

When it was way too hot for you, you grabbed a water bottle and beelined your way out of the crowded dance floor. You found a corner of the VIP section where the AC seemed to be working better, and as you stumbled inside the small space, you ran chest first into someone.

“Sorry,” you said, taking a step back and pressing your back against the cold wall.

“Enjoying your win?” Your head snapped up as you recognised Max’s voice. You had run into him.

Lando had mentioned inviting Max to the party, he had gotten a P2 in the race but you doubted he would go to a party he knew you would attend. You were obviously wrong.

“You know I am,” the victory was so good that nothing could ruin your mood.

“Well, then enjoy it. I’m coming for the win, again.” He warned you but his voice was devoid of anything, just sounded like he was casually telling you about the weather. But you knew that he was implying his championship the year before, rubbing it in your face.

“Don’t be so confident, Max,” you finished your water, smirking at him, “Enjoy the view of my rear!”

You flipped your hair, feeling his eyes on you the whole walk back to the dance floor.

And yet-

Somehow-

You ended up back at that small corner, dancing with your body pressed between Verstappen’s and the wall, his hand holding your jaw firmly, you rolled your hips against him, feeling the way his body responded to yours.

“We can’t-” he said to you, still, his eyes hadn’t left your lips, like he was so oh so tempted.

You rolled your eyes, annoyed. Sober you would never do that, but then, that was a problem for later. Checking to see if anyone was looking at you, you hooked a finger around his waistband and pulled him towards the bathroom.

As soon as the two of you were inside, you locked the door and Max pressed your back against the door, latching his lips to yours in a very desperate open mouthed kiss. You hugged his shoulders, opening your lips to him, his hands went down your sides and he grabbed your ass, pulling you into him. But that wasn’t enough, so he held your thighs and pulled up, carrying you. You locked your legs around his waist, and he stopped the kiss to walk, sitting you on the marble side of the sink, still between your legs, forcing his bulge against your panties, and eliciting a moan from you.

He took a half step back to hike your dress up, palming your cunt over your panties feeling the dampness of it, he tried to press his hand under your panties, but the lacy fabric didn’t leave much space, so he simply tore the bottom of them, exposing you to him. He just ran a finger over your slit, collecting your wetness for a brief moment before pushing a finger into you. Max watched your face with concentration, studying your body’s responses. Your hips shaking at the movement of his finger, and when the second one joined, you got louder. He curled his fingers up, his thumb pressing your clit, and you had to use both hands to hold onto him, your head lolling back against the mirror.

“Take it and shut the fuck up,” he grunted between clenched teeth.

He was pressing your insides so good, the slick sound of his fingers going in and out, his heavy breathing, the loud music outside and his laser focused fingers had you coming against his fingers in minutes. When he noticed you close, cunt spasming against his fingers, he pressed the other hand against your mouth, covering your moans when your toes curled and you orgasmed on his hand.

Max barely let you recover as he opened his jeans and stroked himself twice before pushing his cock into you in one swift move, making you gasp at the sudden intrusion.

“That’s what you wanted, right? Fucking teasing me all night,” He pushed particularly hard, hitting your g-spot, making you see stars, “you’re a fucking menace, y’know that? Fucking insufferable,” then his words became a mumbling of something dutch you couldn’t quite catch anymore with the way his hips snapped against yours, taking all your focus away and turning you into a mess of moaning.

Max fucked like he raced, focused and relentless, brutal. He hugged you with one arm around your waist to keep you in place and the other held you face, tilting your head so he could kiss you, or whatever that mess of saliva, tongues and teeth was. Your orgasm crashed through you unexpectedly, and you only hugged him tighter, pressing your face against his chest, biting into his skin through the fabric of his T-shirt to silence yourself, your teeth sinking into him was enough to send him also over the edge, coming with moans against your ear.

That night, you went home with shaking legs and an incoming headache, as Max left with the scraps of your panties in his pocket and your lipstick stain on his shirt, above his chest.

It was the seventh race of the year, Monaco, and you absolutely hated that specific track since your years of F2. During your two first years in F1 you had awful experiences, the rookie year you DNF and the year prior you had barely managed a P7. You were trying to keep your head up, be hopeful that you could at least try for top 5.

But since you couldn’t catch a fucking break, an old video of your teenage years resurfaced.

You were walking to your first round of interviews when Amanda, your PR manager, started walking by your side.

“There’s something. An old video of a karting competition resurfaced, where Max and Charles pretty much call you stupid,” Amanda was always direct, you could give it to her.

“Let me see the video” you asked, offering your hand for her phone.

“We don’t have time, but everyone will ask you about it. I need you to be the bigger person and act like it isn’t important, yes? They will try to taunt you and get a bad reaction from you, I need you to dismiss everything they throw at you. Agreed?”

You sighed. You knew the stuff from your teens were pretty bad, you rarely badmouthed Max or Charles, but they always felt threatened by you, so there were lots of instances they attacked you. Honestly, you just didn’t want to come out of this victimized. So as you entered the first round of interviews, you decided you were going to downplay anything they asked you.

“Y/N, have you seen the footage of you, Max and Charles from your teenage years that resurfaced recently?”

“No, uh, I haven’t.”

Someone pushed an iPad in your hands because of course, they wanted a live reaction from you. You pressed play, reading the subtitles someone put on the video. It was an amateur recording like a post race interview made by another teenage guy. First as Max walked out of the track, the guy asked what he thought of your win.

“It was luck, she’s not bright enough to think of a strategy,” Max said, walking away, clearly pissed having lost to you.

There was a cut and the camera was turned on again when Charles walked toward the guy asking the question. He repeated exactly the same question he had asked Max.

“Y/N, I don’t worry about her long term. She’s not going very far in this sport anyway,” Charles shrugged, seemingly unbothered.

As the video cut again, it showed your face, you remembered when that was. You were 14, and your dad had dropped you a few months earlier, so you were working your ass off balancing school, work and karting.

“Hey, Y/N. What do you think of your result today?”

“Uh, I tried a new strategy I learned earlier this week, thankfully it worked in my favor,” teen-You dried your forehead with your coat’s sleeve.

“What are your plans for this competition?”

“Well, I hope to be good enough to get into F4 next year, and work my way up into Formula 1,” you smiled softly and walked away after a quick bye.

The video ended and you still spent a few seconds staring at the black screen of the iPad. This interview didn’t come to your mind in more than a decade, but it was nice seeing how you made your 14-year-old dream come true.

“So, what do you say?” The reporter extended his mic to you.

“I guess I proved them wrong, right?” You giggled a little, “don’t take it to heart, really. We were all hormonal teenagers, I’m sure if someone digs, they will find a video of me saying the same stuff about them,” you shrugged, despite that being a lie, sounded dismissive enough.

“So it doesn’t upset you?” The reporter insisted, and you knew he wanted a scandal you weren’t willing to give.

“Of course not. I’ve always known my worth, and I’m P1 in the driver’s championship as of right now. So I don’t really care.”

The interviewers soon let the video go, when they realized you didn’t care about it. You weren’t sure if anyone would also approach Charles or Max with questions about the same video, but you couldn’t care less, you wanted to avoid drama for the time being so you could focus on the championship instead of this bullshit.

On the morning of qualifying, you were in your room, trying to meditate and clear your mind, when a knock interrupted you.

“Guys, I asked for twenty minutes so I could-” you stop yourself when you realize it isn’t anyone from your team, but it’s Max and Charles, “what are you doing here?”

“We came to apologize about the video,” Max started.

“Did your PR teams send you here?” You looked around, trying to catch a camera or even a phone recording.

“No uh, we realized we were very immature with you, and this video is just proof of how silly that was,” Charles sighed, seemingly embarrassed.

“You don’t need to apologize, I mean- the two of you really had it out for me, you called me dumb a lot,” you pointed to Max, then Charles, “and you called me ugly countless times. I don’t know why it would make any difference now.”

You were just so used to being defensive, to protect yourself from hatred you found it hard to believe them, to give them a chance to apologize because you couldn’t believe it to be genuine.

“Even if you don’t take it, or believe it, I would like to apologize for that behavior. I was just a stupid kid.” Max looked deep into your eyes, which could’ve made you uncomfortable if he didn’t seem so honest.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N. It was too idiotic to be like that to you, growing up. You were just a kid too.” Charles added.

You understood where that apology came from, it was stupid and embarrassing for all three of you this teenage rivalry when you all were barely mid racers back in the day. Sighing, you looked around, dropping your façade for a second, allowing yourself to display the same honesty they showed you.

It was hard and required some sort of deprogramming because you could only see them as rivals, like your dad had whispered in your brain so many times before, like their actions towards you had cemented dad’s words. They had said things that were on your mind for so long, that had made you defensive and deflective.

“Look, don’t worry about it. Whatever happened back then, it’s water under the bridge,” You shifted on your feet. As they started walking away, you added “this doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

They only nodded before leaving. Your routine went back to the same, and as the next scandal went on, people forgot about the silly video, but a very specific part of the fans started shipping you and both your rivals.

The rivalry never died down though.

Then, out of nowhere, Sebastian pulled you and Lewis aside to a conversation. Then he told you that he was going to retire by the end of the season. It was the first time the two of them saw you cry, and Sebastian hugged you tight, shushing your crying softly.

“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered, petting your head.

“No, don’t apologize,” you let him go, drying your face, “I have listened to you talking countless times about how you missed the kids. Don’t apologize for choosing to be a great dad. I know Hanna and the kiddos will be ecstatic.”

“You two are my closest friends here, that’s why I wanted to tell you first, before my announcement.”

“Thank you, Seb,” you said, eyes still watering, “I’m going to miss having you around.”

“Thank you for telling us beforehand,” Lewis said, also visibly emotional.

The season was writing itself to be just as close as the year prior, but now you were slightly better at keeping the lead most.

That is until Zandvoort. This GP was always a nightmare to you, because it was full of Max’s fans, and they absolutely hated you for being his rival. You had been booed when you were on the podium the year before, so now, you and Amanda decided it was best to keep your head down during the whole week. Not out of shame, but more of a matter of safety, you didn’t know how far the crowd could go in antagonizing you. When you were booed the other year, Max had said it was part of the sport and dismissed the conversation.

The morning of free practice, you went into the paddock very low-key and kept to yourself. You arrived with a little cup of coffee and got mentally ready for a hostile environment the whole weekend. That, until you spotted a small group of people dressed with your color and wearing your number, waving wildly to you.

In a spur of the moment decision, you went there, getting close to the barrier to sign a few caps and take a few selfies. In retrospect, you knew you shouldn’t have done that, especially with only two bodyguards accompanying you.

You were finishing chatting with your fans when you felt something heavy hit the side of your head and the impact made you stumble backwards, you were confused as you heard the screams and felt one of the bodyguards pull you back, as the other jumped the barrier and started running. You patted your temple and something wet and sticky was dripping down the side of your face. You stared at the small group of fans who were looking at you horrified. Staring at the hand, you saw the red staining your fingers, and as the bodyguard kept pulling you away to somewhere safer, the thing flowed even more and  got into your left eye.

You wondered if it was blood as you touched your temple but felt nothing, not a gash nor small cut. You covered your left eye as it started to sting from what you supposed smelt like paint.

“Hey, hey, what happened? You’re bleeding!” Max jogged up to you.

“Not blood, just paint” you muttered, trying to use your coat to clean your face.

“Someone threw a paint ball at her,” the bodyguard said.

“Fuck, it’s burning!” You exclaimed, feeling tears in your left eye.

“Come here, the RB hospitality is close,” Max said, holding your wrist, he stopped shortly pointing to your bodyguard, “and you, sort this and find the person who did it.”

You let yourself be taken by Max into the RB territory, the burning so annoying that you rather take whatever solution he was thinking of. He held your waist and placed you sitting on a sink, and then you felt water streaming down your face.

“Stay still,” Max commanded, holding a hose over your head, pouring water down your face, “now blink slowly, let the water wash it,” his voice soft as you did what he told you to. Slowly but surely, it washed the paint away, relieving your left eye from the stinging. Max held the hose up and held your chin, tilting your head up so he could check your eye, still letting the water stream down your face.

You took a few minutes, breathing and regulating your heartbeat from that scare, trying to come back to normal and understand fully what was going on. From what you gathered, you were chatting with fans when someone else came and threw something with paint at you.

“How does it feel?” 

“It’s better, already stopped burning,” you told him, feeling your heart miss a beat at the close proximity you found yourself to him. You were sitting on a sink, Max standing between your legs pretty much like you two had done months before for entirely different reasons.

“Open your eye, let me see,” he asked, and you tried to blink it open, “can you see?”

“It’s a little blurry but I believe it will get better,” you explained, and he didn’t let go of your chin. Suddenly, he covered your right eye with the other hand, leaving you only with your left eye sight.

“How many fingers am I putting up?” He showed it to your left eye. The vision was a bit blurry but you still could make out the shapes very clearly.

“Four, Max. It’s just a little bit blurry, probably will get better in a few minutes” you sounded annoyed, you tried to move but he pressed a hand against your waist, keeping you in place.

“Now, what happened?” He asked finally. You ignored the proximity, and the hand still on your body.

“We’re in Zandvoort, that’s what happened,” you shrugged, really annoyed about it.

“What do you mean?” He was visibly confused. You scoffed because you knew it wasn’t something he didn’t know, since the year before he has dismissed the importance of how hostile people were to you.

“We’re massively surrounded by your fans, Max.”

“I don’t understand.”

“They hate me because you hate me, and they think because you hate me they’re justified in their hostility towards me,” You explained, with a sigh, you pushed away from Max, “this GP has been like this for me ever since Rookie year.”

“I don’t hate you,” he said, brows furrowed.

“You do. And they do too,” you pointed down at the paint that had also stained your shirt as proof.

“I don’t,” he insisted and you rolled your eyes, jumping off the sink, but he didn’t give you space, which made you stand chest to chest with him, “I promise.”

You stared at him, breathless. That wasn’t part of the game you played, being kind, sounding worried and making promises. None of that was part of this whole rivalry. Pushing his chest, you tried getting away but he caged you against the sink, body flush against yours.

“Do you believe me?” He asked and your eyes fell to his lips, and you allowed yourself to remember the desperate and chaotic kisses you had shared in a dimly lit bathroom, “I don’t support any of this behavior.”

You heard voices and steps approaching, which made you finally push him away, walking towards the door. Whatever little magic had been happening between those walls was undone the moment you remembered none of that would’ve happened if he had politely put a stop to it earlier.

“It’s part of the sport and I have to deal with it, right?” You returned the very same words he had said about you when you were booed by the crowd the year prior.

As you opened the door, you were faced with Sebastian. He stopped, taking you in and then pulling you in a hug.

“Are you ok? We just heard what happened!” He murmured, guiding you out of the bathroom. He held your shoulders and looked at your face, checking how your left eye was still a little red, “we should take you to see a doctor, come on.”

Lewis soon arrived at the entrance of the RBR station, he warned about the reporters crowding outside, waiting for a glimpse of you after the attack. The British man gave you a Mercedes coat so you put it over your head and avoid the cameras waiting outside. With the bodyguards and both Lewis and Sebastian leading you away, you ended up at the medical center, and after a quick examination, the doctor gave you eye drops to put throughout the day.

Your Principal suggested you sit the FP1 out, letting the reserve driver take your place while you recovered. By the middle of FP1, your eyesight was 100% and you went to get ready for FP2. The whole day you felt like everyone was being extra careful, tiptoeing around you. You hated feeling like you were being pitied, so when the inevitable round of interviews came, you knew what you had to do.

“We heard about your incident earlier today, how are you feeling about it?” Someone asked.

“I’m pretty upset, to be honest. Formula 1 is a sport loved around the whole world, and the paddock overall is supposed to be a safe place not only for the fans, but also the workers and drivers. What happened today is unacceptable and could’ve been much worse. I’m voicing my dissatisfaction and I intend to, through legal means, take this complaint to the FIA.”

Later that night, as you laid awake on your bed, scrolling through the repercussions of the day, you stopped when you saw a snippet of Max's interview.

“What happened today was dangerous and unacceptable, I don’t support this behavior and I stand with Y/N,” that was all he said, but Max usually was a man of few words, always knowing when it was enough.

You knew he should’ve voiced that much earlier in your career, specifically after the booing the year before, but still- He also could have opted to not say anything at all, and he didn’t.

Amanda also sent you the news that the fan who had attacked you was found and banned for life from Formula 1.

After calling Sebastian, you managed to get ahold of Max’s phone number and texted him a simple message.

Thank you. Twice. - Lioness

The text went to read almost immediately, and the three dots appeared from his side of the screen. You wait, and wait, and wait. And then the dots disappeared, and an answer never came.

After a solid P2 that weekend in Zandvoort, you went home for the summer break. You and your mom had planned to go to Monaco for a little while since you were planning on buying a place there. From there, you and your mom would go all around the French Riviera to enjoy the sea and spend a few days in a spa resort. Then, you would go back home and relax before going to Ibiza for a weekend to meet Lando and his friends to enjoy some partying.

Everything went according to plan, but one day when you came back home after the trip to the French Riviera, you found your mom passed out on the living room floor.

You called an ambulance, quickly taking her into the hospital. Everything was a blur, the tests and scans, your mom still unconscious on a hospital bed, and the results. The results that pulled the floor from under your feet.

Your brain couldn’t fully compute what was said. Cancer Stage 4. Surgery. Palliative care.

The world was muted around you as you sat on a chair in the waiting room, hands shaking when you tried to understand what was happening. You somehow ended up calling the one other person you trust.

“Y/N? What happened?”

“I don’t understand- she just- she just passed out and I thought- but- but they said- palliative care” you try to come up with words.

“Talk to me. Are you sick?” Kimi’s voice is so focused and a little soothing.

“It’s mom”

“Send your location, I’m going there,” that’s all he said.

Waiting for Kimi gave you some sense of purpose, because it’s Kimi. He could fix anything. He fixed your life when you were 14, he can do it again. He would get there and find a way to help. Your mind got so clouded when the word cancer was thrown in the conversation, that you probably missed the part about treatments and- and surgery and stuff.

In your mother’s room there was a comfortable couch where you tried to settle to sleep, but you only spent countless hours awake. You hoped to see the doctor again to try and get him to explain everything for a second time.

You wished you were smart and quick, but no, you just sat there holding onto the hope that Kimi had a way to fix this.

Kimi arrived early the next morning, knocking on the door before entering. You stood up, hugging him tight.

“What happened?”

“It’s pancreatic cancer, they said. We need to see more about surgery and- and treatments.”

You and Kimi found the doctor, who explained again, and in that moment you finally understood what he meant the first time around. She was in a late stage of pancreatic cancer, which was usually a very difficult illness to find before it is too late, due to the placement of the organ in the body and late symptoms. The only options were either to try a very risky surgery and chemo so she could extend her life for around 8 months to a year. Or she could go home to live her last few months the way she wanted.

You begged and cried and bribed and offered every single solution your brain could muster to try and save her. Kimi held you when you fell to the floor, sobbing.

When your mom woke up and you and Kimi told her the diagnosis, she cried too, sobbing in your arms as you tried to hold it together for her sake. It took a couple of days for her to choose to go home. The two of you spent the last days of summer break traveling around the world a bit more, visiting temples and statues, and seeing nature and everything good the world had to offer, going to places motorsport hadn’t taken you to.

Your mom went to every race week from there on, even when she felt especially weak, even when you had to hire a full time medical team for her. 

Your focus on the season was solely on the moment between entering the car and leaving the car. You still managed to race like you’ve done before, calm and controlled, with the help of your engineers and team, you still could put the car where you wanted it, paving your way for a solid world championship that year. It was like your brain was seeing racing as the one thing in your life you had full control over, so sometimes you even felt like you and the car were one.

You didn’t tell anyone about her. Though every driver noticed how distant you were, even Charles and Max and the ones that weren’t very close to you noticed how you were only fulfilling your obligations and leaving, you weren’t even celebrating your wins, leaving the fastest you could after a race.

The Singapore GP was tough for you, having to leave your mom home alone with the medical staff and a couple of friends from her book club, since she wasn’t strong enough to travel anymore. Your attention was failing all throughout media day and free practices. Qualifying was shit compared to your performance the rest of the season.

In Q3 you did a reasonable sector 1 and 2 but you messed up sector 3 completely. It was a complete accident when you got in the way of a Ferrari when he was doing his fast lap, and you ended up messing his qualy too. Jace let you know it was none other than Charles Leclerc, who was setting the pace for a pole position. Out of 19 drivers, you had to ruin his lap. In the end, Max got pole, Charles qualified P3 and you qualified P5.

You went through the motions during the post qualifying press. You were about to leave after debriefing, when Charles Leclerc found you on the way to the parking lot. You pulled your coat tighter around yourself protectively as he walked up to you. You were hoping to escape his fury at least until after the race the next day. Before he could even get a word in, you started.

“Look, I know I messed up your pole. I know you won’t believe me, but it wasn’t intentional. I really thought there was no one doing fast laps on the track, I thought everyone was either still doing out laps or in the pits, so when you-”

“Calm down, breathe,” he interrupted you, “I’m not here to fight.”

“No?” You frowned, confused with the kindness in his eyes.

“We know you’re going through something, and I’m sure I’m the last person you want to hear this from, but you’re not alone. And you should really consider talking with someone on the grid. They’re all- we’re all worried about you.”

The words felt alien coming from his mouth, but the gentleness was so comforting you felt a lump in your throat.

“Why do you think I’m not ok?” You muttered trying to sound confident, but your voice failed, betraying you.

“You’re skinny and you look sleep deprived for a few weeks now,” Charles said directly.

“Damn, thanks.”

“I don’t mean it like that, you know it,” he paused, putting both hands on his pockets, “have you been eating?” Your lack of response made him press further, “have you eaten today?”

You pressed your lips together, not wanting to answer that.

“Let’s go, I’ll drive you to the hotel, we’ll stop on the way to grab some food,” Charles gestured to his car, a few meters away. You stood there, shocked as he started walking away, then he stopped looking over his shoulder, “come on, I don’t have all the time in the world.”

As you sat in his Ferrari, Charles put music on and you didn’t do much talking, but it was tranquil. He called the restaurant to order take out on the way, and 30 minutes later he dropped you off at the hotel with a bag full of food.

“Thank you, Charles.” You whispered before leaving the car.

You ate the food while on a video call with your mom.

You recovered well during the race, finishing P2, behind Max and ahead of Charles.

Your mom passed away a few days after the Japanese Grand Prix, the one you had won and dedicated it to her from the top step of the podium, even if she wasn’t there, just watching from home. You went home and stayed with her, holding her hands and hugging her as much as you could.

Some part of you knew she was somehow fighting, because she had promised you the year before she would be there when you became world champion. You could see she was hoping to make it to the end of the season, but you also knew she wouldn’t, and you rather she didn’t have to endure any more pain just for your sake.

“You don’t need to fight anymore, ma,” you whispered before she went to sleep, “you raised a strong woman, too. I will see you on the other side, ok? You can rest now, I love you.”

“I’m so proud of you, honey. I love you to the moon and back.”

You made it through her small funeral, following what she had written down before passing. An intimate funeral, full of flowers and a toast to her life. You cried the whole time, with Kimi and Minttu taking turns at comforting you as they could. Coming back to an empty home smelling of cleaning products made you almost lose your mind, and the sight of you in such despair was enough for Kimi to convince you to stay with them until you had to travel for the next race, in almost seven days.

The days passed in a crying blur, you let part of your team know about your mom’s passing. Only Amanda, Jace and your Principal. Jace tried to convince you to take a break and not go to the next race in Austin, but you quickly shut it off. Not only because racing was the one thing keeping you sane amidst the chaos, but because you were so close to the championship, and  it was still close competition with Max and Charles, so you couldn’t afford to lose a race and the points that could come with it.

You had to honor your mom in some way.

That’s how you ended up on a plane to Austin with Kimi and Amanda. You knew Kimi had convinced you to let him go because he was sure you’d have a mental breakdown anytime along the weekend, but deep down you appreciated the company. Arriving there, Jace was the first to hug you and whisper his condolences, as well as your TP too.

You survived the entire weekend without breaking down crying in public, but that was your worst race in a few months, the first time out of a podium since Spa. You ended up P5, which luckily wasn’t too bad because Max finished P4 which you were grateful for as he was the one who was P2 in the driver’s championship close behind you.

After that week, you packed your stuff and moved to the new condo in Monaco you had bought during summer break. Despite loving your mom to pieces, you couldn’t manage to live alone in the house you bought for her a couple of years before, it was lonely and it hit you with overwhelming waves of sadness all the time. You distracted yourself a lot with buying furniture and decorations for the new place, and discovering Monte Carlo in a whole new way. The one comfort in all that, was knowing your mom wasn’t suffering anymore.

Then you went straight to Mexico for the next Grand Prix, this time, Kimi left you because he had to come home to Minttu and the kids. Amanda had been such a support for you, that you knew you had to give her something special for the holidays, out of gratitude.

Everything was going as expected until the press conference. You were there with Charles, Max, Sebastian and Lando. You suspected they were putting you always in the same group as Max and Charles because, as the season nearing the end, only three races left, they were your close competition.

While someone asked something of Charles, you were whispering with Sebastian, chatting about Mexican foods you wanted to try after the race. Then, something bizarre happened, and phones started to ping all around the room, between reporters, cameras and everyone else started checking their phones. It seemed like something out of a black mirror nightmare.

You reached for your phone but then remembered you left it to charge in your room.

“This question is for Y/N,” a reporter asked, reading something from his phone, “there’s a new article that just came out saying your mom passed away a couple of weeks ago, is that true?”

Your blood ran cold, and every sound felt like it was muted inside the room. Wide eyed, you searched for Amanda, who was somewhere on the opposite side of the room, and when you found her, she was pale. Then, there was a cacophony of voices and cameras and questions, that made you suddenly overwhelmed.

Swallowing, trying to reassess, you found Sebastian already standing, holding your shoulders. Looking around you noticed how the other three drivers had stood up, making some sort of shield around you, protecting you from the cameras and reporters swarming around. 

“We can go, ok? Come on,” Sebastian was saying when Amanda caught up to you, leaning beside Sebastian.

“We can leave, right now,” she said, holding your hand.

Still a little confused, you nodded and let them both guide you back to your room.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry for your loss,” Sebastian hugged you, running his hands on your back for comfort.

“How- how did they find out?” You ask Amanda.

“An article came out, I’m not sure. Someone was probably digging into your life, but don’t worry, I put the team on it already.”

“How do- how we diffuse this? How do we proceed? We need to address this, right?” You started blabbering, trying to wrap your head around everything.

“That was very disrespectful of them to ask like that!” Sebastian exclaimed, making you two jolt.

“We’ll do whatever you’re comfortable with. Do you want me to release a note asking for privacy?” Amanda suggested.

“Can I write something and then run it by you?” You asked, she only nodded.

After a moment, both Amanda and Seb left you alone as you typed a note on your phone. You rewrote and deleted a few times before settling on something heartfelt and respectful but also, calling out the invasion of privacy.

My mom passed away a few days ago after battling with cancer for the past few months.

She had requested of me to keep it a secret until after the season was over, so I could mourn her without the weight of racing over my shoulders. 

But obviously someone went digging and disrespected not only one of her last wishes but also disrespected my grief and my right to privacy. I love my mom but I’ll not be answering any more questions about her illness or death, please respect me and respect her memory.

All the love, Y/N

Nobody asked anything over the weekend, but again, it felt like everyone was tiptoeing around you. As soon as you first saw Nano the next day, he held you tight for almost a minute whispering his condolences, and it made you almost cry again. Lewis also spared you a hug, saying if you ever needed anything, to contact him.

You survived that weekend, and decided to go straight to Brazil for the next GP instead of going back to Monaco. In São Paulo you mostly slept your worries and fears away. You had promised yourself to try and focus on the season only, to make your dream come true, to fulfill your mom’s promise in some way.

With Ferrari’s bad strategy in Mexico, they had ruined Charles’ chance at the championship. Now your only competition was Max and the Red Bull rocketship.

You rewatched the race a couple of times as you usually did, to try and catch any mistakes you or your team may have made, to fix it for the next one. But also to try and notice any weaknesses of your rivals, if it was something you could use in your own favor.

You noticed right away in the FP1 that your car wasn’t adhering to the track, you were losing balance and needed more force than usual to keep yourself in place. By FP2, you managed to control your car better, but that caused your tyres to wear off way more quickly.

Quali was one of the shittiest you’ve ever done in your career, taking you out in Q2 for the first time that year, placing you for a start at P12.

“Listen, we’ll do better tomorrow, ok?” Jace told you as soon as you entered the garage, seeing Max still out with a shot at pole position.

“Give me a few minutes to unwind, please,” you asked, dropping your helmet, balaclava and gloves at a nearby table.

You went straight to your room, searching for your phone. Immediately calling Kimi, you waited for him to pick up.

“I watched it,” he said first and foremost.

“If I do bad in the race tomorrow, and Max does well, then I’m gonna lose the championship, Kimi,” saying that out loud made you shiver in horror, “FUCK!” You screamed, kicking a chair.

“First of all, even if you did bad tomorrow, you’d still have a chance to fight for the championship in Abu Dhabi. You know that,” Kimi warned you as if he was scolding a little kid, “second of all, I never taught you this loser mindset. You’ll have to find a way to work around the problems in your car tomorrow.”

“Shit, I’m so fucked! How? How could I even-”

“Remember when I first met you? Your kart was with almost this same problem, yeah? Remember you got P2? You went ahead and fixed it. That’s what I need you to do tomorrow, don’t focus on what you can’t do, only focus on what you can do.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“No trying. Do it.”

After spending the entire night crafting plan A, B, C and Z with you strategists and engineers, you barely got any sleep, but you forced yourself to rest. In the morning, you went to the track early to meet with your team again, to run your strategies one more time, when you had an idea. You’d still follow the plans you had carefully crafted with the team, but you decided to make a Plan Star, as you had called. Interlagos didn’t have any safety car in the last two years, so it was dangerous to fully count on one. But your plan star consisted in the case of a safety car in this one specific window of laps, you’d go to the pits for hards, counting on everyone else being on old softs or mediums at that specific point in the race. But for it to work, you had to be the first of the front field to go in.

As the lights went out and you accelerated, you got already three positions up, landing in P9, and luckily, the points zone. Jace was worried in your ears, talking about the car and the tyres management. With controlled calm and Kimi’s voice in your head, you managed a few more positions in the first 14 laps, landing P7. You lost a bit of time there, since Nando was P6 and everyone knew how tough it always is to overtake him. But you eventually managed to get the position. Unfortunately, it was the moment you had to go to your first pitstop. Due to the problems in your car wearing off your tyres, you would have to go for a two-stop, which ended up costing you three positions again. But you were patient and you were rewarded when the other cars had to pit, which gave you back the four places you had lost.

The race you went on and you barely moved up or down from your P5, but you managed to concentrate.

Jace, on the other hand was sounding more and more worried about your second pit stop, about the difficulty in get closer to P4, about the P6 trying to enter DRS zone behind you, with your tyres wearing off, with the-

“Jace, I love you but please shut the fuck up, I know what to do,” you were praying for a miracle when suddenly, there was a yellow flag, and the safety car went out during the perfect window of laps, “fuck, Jace, this is plan star.”

“Copy,” he paused, his voice sounding secure, “Box, box.”

You changed into hards, no one else went to the pits, and the race restarted after three more laps. The safety car had closed the gap between you and the P4, which made you overtake him easily.

Jace was still keeping quiet to help your concentration, he only interrupted to warn you about overheating your tyres, and your velocity per lap compared to the next position. You started overtaking like a madwoman as much as your tyres allowed.

“That’s P1, Lioness,” Jace told you.

“Copy that.” You said with your voice shaken.

As you managed your P1, you went back to be aware of your surroundings, seeing a Red Bull right behind you, trying to overtake but you managed to hold position.

When you took the checkered flag, you sighed with relief, Kimi was right.

“Congratulations, Y/N! That’s a brilliant, brilliant win!” Jace’s voice was sounding shaken too.

“You’re crying, Jace?” You laughed softly.

“It’s an honor to tell you that you, Y/N Y/L/N, are a Formula 1 world champion!” Jace shouts, and behind him you can hear more people screaming.

“What? Jace you’re fucking with me!”

“No, Lioness, you’re the 2022 champion of the world!”

“But- but how? There’s one race left? And Max was right behind me!”

“No, Verstappen DNFed during that one yellow flag. Behind you was Perez.”

You made the calculations quickly in your head. Max was P2 in the championship, but this DNF meant no points, and even if he managed to win the last race in Abu Dhabi, he wouldn’t be able to equal you in points. So-

“OH MY GOD, oh my god!” You screamed your lungs out, feeling the tears streaming down into your balaclava, “Fuck yes! I’m Formula 1 World Champion! Thank you, thank you so much guys! Jace, holy shit, I’m the champion!”

“You’re the champion!” Jace confirmed.

You felt joy in a way you hadn’t felt in a long, long time, as you stopped your car on the number one spot. Still a little dizzy from the thrill, you left the car, going straight to your team, heavily waiting for you. They all hugged you, hitting your helmet, saying congratulations and everything. You took a moment to hug Jace and Amanda, who had been of great support throughout the year.

After getting weighted and being congratulated by the other two on the podium, Perez and Hamilton, the latter hugging you tight as he took you off the floor, you drank water as you waited for the post race interview with Nico Rosberg.

You were giddy, barely holding yourself together with how happy you were feeling, how you wanted to hold the trophy, how grateful you were and more importantly, how you felt a great weight being lifted off your shoulders.

“Y/N, congratulations on becoming a World Champion! I have to say, as a girl dad, it is great to see you become the first woman ever to win this title. How do you feel? What do you want to say?” Nico offered, with a kind smile.

“To be honest, I can barely contain myself. It’s such an honor to be here and be the world champion. I look at the past and see my younger self who never thought would make it to Formula 1. It’s such a dream come true, after this year’s hardships, I’m glad to achieve the greatest dream of them all!” You said, kinda quickly, rambling as you tried to put into words all the emotions mixed with the happiness, “I’m sorry, I know I’m taking up all your time, I just want to dedicated this win, and this championship to three people who saved my life: Kimi, thank you for being the salvation of my career when we first met; And my mom, who’s not here anymore, thank you for being the light in my darkest days. And lastly, I want to thank myself for working my ass off and never giving up.”

You muttered a thank you as Nico only laughed at your rambling. Before you moved to the cooldown, you grabbed the mic back again.

“May I add one last thing?” You asked for Nico, who only nodded, pointing to the camera again, “This is to my father: I made it, you asshole.”

You wanted to send the middle finger too, but you knew you couldn’t because of the FIA’s guidelines, and you were already risking a penalty for cursing on live TV. In the cooldown room, you sat beside Lewis, watching a few highlights of the race on the screen. It showed a couple of your overtakes.

“Damn, you overtook like crazy,” Lewis muttered, seemingly amazed.

“I pulled a Lewis Hamilton in Interlagos last year,” you joked, and he laughed.

That podium felt like the culmination of everything you had worked for your whole life, felt like recovering your love for the sport for what it was, for the fast cars and the adrenaline. Being on that podium in Brazil as a World Champion shifted something inside you forever. During your anthem, you laughed, and when you got the trophy, you cried, pointing the trophy to the sunny sky with a silent prayer to your mom. You barely noticed, but you felt the champagne raining on you, and opened your arms to shower in it. Putting the trophy down, you splashed the other bottle, laughing and wetting everyone that was close to you, Lewis, Checo, Jace, who had gone up representing the team.

When the celebration ended, you stayed behind a little more, watching the crowd from the podium, and they started chanting. It took you a few seconds to realize they were chanting your name.

You raised your trophy at them, and they cheered even louder. Then you pointed it to the sky again.

“Look, ma, I made it” you whispered to yourself, feeling the tears streaming down your face.

TAG LIST: @be-your-coffee-pot @supremebaddietrash @mellowarcadefun @cmleitora @kyuupidwrites @80sloverry @newlifeforus @soulaires @hrrorflm @redwolfxx @icarus-nex @jenniferrvsesi @bborra @leilanixx @hc-dutch @withyoutilltheendodthismess @is-just-a @freetimemachinequeen @saturnchase @butterfly-lover @eddiesbitch83 @elliott-calls @nb26fort @wcnorris @vellicora @mac-daddy-210 @hiraethrhapsody @losore-prone @gills-lounge @enrapturedbythemoon @formula1mount @mightiestheroes @cherry-piee @chezmardybum @whodis-26 @mortallyblueninja @f1mockingjay @dance-the-painting

[orchidyoonkook]

The Devil Wears Valentino | MYG

Title: The Devil Wears Valentino  

Pairing: Devil!Min Yoongi x (F)!Reader

Rating//Genre: (M) | One Shot, Spooky AU, Supernatural Creatures AU, Not Quite Friends to Lovers, Age Gap, Technically Slice of Life, Angst, Smut and Fluff

Summary: Having known him for years—from a small mistake on your behalf, and a favour on his—you’re one of the only people he seems to be able to put up with for company. Certainly the only one he’s half-way decent with. But what’s more surprising to you is that despite his name, reputation, and the fact he’s always joked he’d have killed anyone else by this point, is that he’s never once tried to cause you harm. 

Actually, he’s almost…protective of you. In his own weird way.

And obnoxiously flirty.

Warnings: language, violence, tae is a menance, drinking and alcohol, Min Yoongi as the Devil -> Lucifer Morningstar? we dont know him, mentions of murder, mentions of torture, mentions of rape -> Sal's an ass and he deserved what he got, somewhat graphic gore/horror (yoon tries her best but she's not very good at spooky), slight POV switches, one (1) mention of reader having hair, fluffy in parts,

Explicit warnings under the cut.

Word Count: 10,488

Release Date: October 31, 2023, 12:00PM

A/N 1: Ahhhh! Welcome to my very first halloween special!!! I wanted to do something for my favourite holiday this year, and I've had this title written down without a plot for maybe just over a year? So I'm really excited to finally use it!!

A/N 1.5: Thank you to my absolute darling @katykatmeow for beta'ing this for me so late in the night. I adore you so much

A/N 2: The whiskey glass and whiskey are hand drawn vectors because I'm a glutton for punishment. Why do I keep doing this to myself.

Explicit Warnings: ahaha uhhh, unprotected sex (dont be stupid) kissing, breast play, fingering, oral (f rec), groping, pet names (sickening amount), dirty talk, praise, slight degredation, hair pulling (m rec), spitting, handjob, body worship, cowgirl, from the back, missionary, a lil bit of crying, spanking, size kink, voice kink, hand kink (look, he's a lot okay, don't blame reader), sl*t/wh*re mentions, multiple orgasms, creampie, I think thats it? Yoon went a little bananas with this one.....

Slow jazz floats through the air of the club, wading around the modestly-sized venue. You’d say it was almost cozy, but with the expensive feel of the place, cozy just didn’t seem like the right word. 

Intimate. That would be a better choice. 

From behind the bar where you stand, to the velvet couches in the back covered by decently dressed lesser demons, piano plays alongside gentle drums. Dark navy cushions soak in their conversation of effective torture methods, discussed like stock market trends, they dissect the best way to decapitate someone so you can instill the most pain and suffering. 

The answer is always with a dull knife and from the back, blindly. Never knowing when the next cut will be is half the agony. 

You try not to pay attention to that though, because the only thing you need to know is that they drink Vodka Tonics and lesser demon number four’s glass is looking to be on the emptier side.

He’ll be back for another soon.

While you wait for his arrival, the rhythmic notes continue on, gliding along shiny, black floor tiles. They pass the burgundy leather booths that face the stage, full of vampires trying to relive long lost youth in the old melodies played. They turn to stone just a little bit more with every passing minute they’re forced to live, keeping no company besides the pleasant burn down their throats and ever present melancholy. 

Banshees listen in from the mezzanine, only ever soft spoken when they’re here. Covered by velvet draped ceilings that dampen sounds to the outside world, the women of three distinct ages sit at tall tables. The young in heels and short dresses, proudly showing off their youth, while the elders choose more elegant wares, content as they can be in their skin, considering their blood soaked pasts. 

Banshees tend to discuss privately amongst themselves, ordering walk up service so as to never mingle with the men on the floor. You can’t blame them, especially knowing how they all got here in the first place, but they’re polite when they enter, greeting you kindly despite what you are to them. The trays you bring up for them never waver from their drink of choice, The Irish Sour.

And then there are the Djinn, who come in mostly just to pass the time. Sitting by themselves at the bar, or in no more than groups of two at a far table, they never interact with anyone other than the bartender or themselves. Djinn are increasingly solitary creatures of the night, with the fear of their kind lessening in mortals, you’re starting to see less and less of them as the days pass, and you’re almost sad to see them go. 

Djinn are your favourites. They come in, order, keep to themselves, and then leave. It’s a nice change from the usual light conversation you’re forced to keep with patrons. Plus their orders are always easiest, as they only drink virgin. It’s a bit of a blow to the bar aspect of the establishment, but they come for the atmosphere, grateful to have a place they can exist with like minded folk—even if they don’t interact. There’s a comfort in familiarity, you guess.

Occasionally some other creatures of the night mix into the masses; fae, chimera, leprechauns, goblins, et cetera. All dressed in their nicest clothes to accommodate your work's dress code, all here for peace from their day jobs, to drown their sorrows, or somewhere in between. 

Some come for an hour, others come for the night, but it’s mostly just your regulars who tend to remain, as do their drink orders. It’s a relatively easy job, and you don’t mind the company. 

Most of the time.

You’ve just finished serving the lesser demon from earlier when your coworker bugs you for the hundredth time tonight. 

“I don’t get why you're so hellbent on this, Y/N. If you’re closing, he’s coming. Because he always comes when you're closing. It’s simple math.”

“No he doesn't,” you dismiss Taehyung, a cocky but rather beautiful incubi, annoyedly. Taehyung is the type that knows he’s pretty and uses it to his every advantage, including being able to say whatever he wants and get away with it. And it would piss you off except it works on you too.

Fucking incubi demons…

You were one of only two mortal bartenders, the other being Lia, a cute blond who only works here for the tips. The boss likes to keep a couple humans on staff in case any wanderers stupid enough to come inside a den of nocturnal, evil creatures didn’t catch the vibe and immediately fuck off. 

You’d be surprised at how shitty some people's self preservation instincts are.

You asked your boss once—a very large, very well built, very well connected vampire—why he bothered having a layer of protection for them. His only response was: “Business is business.”

Plus he knows he can’t have a trail of bodies that lead directly to his club's front steps, so he keeps a couple of mortals around just in case. This way, with you two here, there was always someone who knew all the drinks the humans could have, and someone to keep all the greedy eyes around the venue in check, as you have banning and kicking out privileges. 

Because where you saw Kin, your regulars saw food, a hunt, or a job. They saw something to be taken advantage of or killed. They saw poor, weak, pathetic little mortals that should’ve been eradicated centuries ago had their ancestors been smarter. 

They are the superior beings in their eyes, your race is just a bug to be squashed under their proverbial boot. 

It makes you worry what they think of you. Is the only thing that stops them from devouring you whole the fact that you make their drinks just the way they like it, that you have a use in serving them? Or do they respect you enough now that you understand how to act around them and know what they’re like? What they are. 

You worry, but you’ll never know the truth because you aren’t stupid enough to ask and show weakness. They can smell that shit from a mile away, and all it does is paint a 30 foot wide target on your back. 

“Yes he does. I bet you tonight's tips he’ll be here in the next two hours,” Taehyung presses. 

And ooohh, a night’s worth of tips, bragging rights, and winning a bet against Tae all sound way too good damn to pass up. 

“You’re delusional,” you say, holding out a hand. Tae grabs and shakes, as you agree to his terms. “And you’re on, don’t come crying when you lose.” 

There’s no way he’ll show up. It’s Friday night, the night of sin, he’s going to be up to his eyeballs with work…stuff.

“Easiest money I’ve ever made,” Taehyung grins, and with the confidence in which he does, you begin to second guess your own.

It’s not that you did or didn’t want him to show up, it’s just that your relationship with him is…complicated at best. You never really knew how to navigate a conversation with him outside of surface level banter and jokes, but it’s always been like that with you two.

Having known him for years—from a small mistake on your behalf, and a favour on his—you’re one of the only people he seems to be able to put up with for company. Certainly the only one he’s half-way decent with. But what’s more surprising to you is that despite his name, reputation, and the fact he’s always joked he’d have killed anyone else by this point, is that he’s never once tried to cause you harm. 

Actually, he’s almost…protective of you. In his own weird way.

And obnoxiously flirty. 

But you could never. Not with who and what you are, and who and what he is. 

Regardless of how you fight the heat down in your cheeks every time you see him, and how your heart flutters against your will in multiple places in your body at even the thought of being near him.

Regardless of the fact that you shut him down every time he suggests anything more than an over the bar conversation, and the way your panties seem to always dampen in his presenc–fuck. 

It’s happening again. Stop thinking about it, stop, stop st–wait. You turn, seeing the violet ichor in Tae’s eyes and you know the bitch is using his power on you. You flip the asshole off and he chuckles.

He’s been trying to get you to change your mind ever since the first time he saw you deny yourself. 

“You know I can tell when you’re hot and bothered right? Incubus, remember? It’s literally part of who I am.” 

To which you think again, fucking incubi…

Your most infamous regular is, to quote your favourite tv show, ‘the bane of your existence and the object of all your desires,’ and you will never, ever entertain his annoying, disgustingly hot ass more than you already do. Not after everything you went through the first—and last—time with a creature of the night. 

You learned your lesson.

So instead, you try to think of him more like an old friend. The kind that’s actually really old already, but looks amazing for his age. The kind that makes shivers run up your spine when he talks to you in the deepest, most gravel turning voice you’ve ever heard, that you also ignore out of pure self preservation. He’s the kind that you shove out of your thoughts at night when your alone and in desperate need of relie—Fucking Taehyung! 

You whip your head around to search for the violet eyed incubus, only to see him across the bar helping some stocky vampire. And you’re about a hair's breadth away from ripping him a new one in front of said vampire when the idle hum of chatter in the bar ceases and the band’s calming music falters into missed notes and a cymbal crash that's too hard; awkward, painful silence remaining.

From behind you, you can hear the front door close, followed by light footsteps that grow louder and louder. Only once the seat directly behind you creaks with the sound of being occupied, does the chatter and music resume.

Which can only mean one fucking thing. 

You just lost all your tips for the night. 

Tae’s shit eating grin as he looks over your shoulder confirms it. 

Fuck. 

“Excuse me,” the bottom of the ocean floor speaks and you make a conscious effort not to react.

“Ardbeg Single Malt, neat?” You throw over your shoulder, not bothering to look just yet. 

You know precisely where he sits. And he knows you know. 

“Sounds perfect,” he responds, and you focus on ‘looking for the bottle.’ 

You know exactly where it is.

No one else will touch it. 

Taehyung busies himself with bringing an order of Bloody Mary’s down to a booth on the floor, knowing he’ll be burned alive if he so much as looks at a whiskey glass. 

No one serves him but you. 

But more importantly, nobody disrespects you in front of him. A lesson your ex–see: dead–coworker, Sal, learned the hard way. His burn mark is still seared onto the floor behind you. 

You’d almost felt bad that day, but he was a lust demon who touched you without your permission, hit on you every five minutes, and when you said no, treated you like shit.

You’d been close to dousing him with vodka and lighting him up yourself, but the man tapping his fingers on the bar behind you beat you to it 15 seconds after sitting down one night last year. 

After shoving Sal off you for the fourth time that night, he was pissed. Whispering obscenities to himself loud enough so you would hear,

“Fucking stupid mortal bitch, maybe next time I’ll just drag you into an alley do whatever the fuck I want. Nobody here’s going to stop me. And maybe then you’ll learn to shut up with this dick in your cunt and my fingers down your throat, huh? Leave you to rot with the garbage where you belong after you’re all used up.”

He didn’t take another breath. 

A single burst of blistering flame had Sal reduced to ashes in seconds. You’d felt the heat from it, but your skin remained burn free, safe from its dangerous blaze. The lust demon from then on only existed as a smudge on the ground to be walked over.  

“Thanks,” You’d said.

“It’s where he belongs,”  he responded. 

Grateful for his kindness, you entertained him more than usual that night. Engaged in an actual conversation, about your birthday of all things. You had no idea why he wanted to know, but you considered the information his reward for helping you, and he seemed pleased with it.

But he was more than pleased. 

After years, you’d revealed something to him. Something personal.

He took it as a sign that he might be able to get you to change your mind one day, if he did everything just right. Having played the long game before, this was no different. The only thing different this time, was you. 

Maybe it was the way you walked with such confidence, or the way you never cowered in fear around him. Not the day you met nor any day after. Or maybe you were sent by his father just to mess with his head. He didn’t care. All he knew was what he wanted, and that he was more than willing to wait as long as was needed to get it. 

A nursery rhyme from your childhood plays in your head every time you see him. It never wavers, just like the eyes you can feel on the back of your neck, watching your experienced hands make his drink. 

Quietly, you recite it to yourself while you grab the bottle;

‘One for sorrow,

Two for joy,

Three for a girl,

Four for a boy,

Five for silver,

Six for gold,

Seven for a secret never to be told.’

You pour, steady hand making it last as long as you possibly can to gain a few more seconds to compose yourself. 

‘Eight for a wish,

Nine for a kiss,

Ten a surprise you should be careful not to miss,

Eleven for health,

Twelve for wealth,’

You put the bottle down and cork it before returning it to its place on the shelf. Taking a deep breath, you turn to finally face him, and change the wording of the last line to fit your situation better.

“One Ardbeg Single Malt neat, for the Devil himself.” 

He snickers, “I always liked that nursery rhyme. It’s cute. Like you, Angel.” 

You roll your eyes. To anyone else that would sound like a compliment. But coming from the Devil it’s more of an insult. One you know is meant in a playful way after all these years, crass in his humour, just like you. And you know he can take a little heat back.

“Wow, that’s a classic,” you grab a glass to polish, keeping your hands busy so they don’t do something stupid while you’re distracted. “Got one of those for you too, ‘Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?’” 

He chokes on a laugh before straightening on the barstool and putting on a face. “I don’t think that joke’s appropriate.” 

“Oh come on Yoongi, you come at me with ‘It’s cute, like you, Angel’ and I can’t poke back?” You ask, knowing full well his uncomfortable look is all an act. “I thought you didn’t have any feelings besides rage, lust and currently; insufferable flirting.”

You know the entire club listens in to your conversation. 

No one calls the Devil by his first name. 

Nobody speaks to the Devil unless spoken to. 

And no one makes jokes at the Devil’s expense and lives. 

No one except you. 

What a funny little exception you are.

Yoongi drops the act, a sly smirk that sends bubbles to your brain, replacing it. “So you admit my flirting isn’t always bad. Must be doing something right then.”

You force yourself not to slam a palm into your forehead. Of course that’s what he got out of your sentence.

You aren’t going to make his ego any bigger than it already is. 

“It isn’t working,”—fuck, yes it is—“if that’s what you’re asking. Can’t say I’m surprised though, I hear you’ve been out of the game for a couple millenia,” he quirks a brow at that. 

Ooo, that means you’re nearing thin ice, haven't been there in a while…Let’s see if you can slide around a bit more without falling in. 

“I mean, I’m sure you’ll get there eventually. If you stay consistent at your current rate of progress you could hit me up in,” you suck air in through your teeth and look at the ceiling, before checking a watch you don’t wear, pretending to think, “a thousand years?” You tease, a lilt in your tone. Because if Yoongi was going to make your shift this fucking difficult just by breathing near you, then you sure as Hell can do the same for his night. 

He chuckles like the coals of a fire and you cross your legs behind the bar. Motherfucker… 

“Someones got a mouth on them tonight,” he says, looking directly into your eyes as he takes his first sip, savouring the taste before swallowing. His tongue dips to his bottom lip for any remnants and you gulp, vision dropping for a millisecond—oh for the love of—and you finally notice what he’s wearing.

Much to your dismay and dwindling willpower, he looks fucking good. With only a white scarf to accent, the all black Valentino suit fits in perfectly with the bar’s dress code, as well as the long slicked back hair he’s only recently started to grow out. Just seeing it like this makes you want to run your hands through and mess it up. 

You’ve always had a thing for men with long hair, ever since you were young.

Jack Sparrow, Madmartigan, even The Winter Soldier. And come to think of it, none of them were exactly the good guys in their respective universes either…

Nope! No. You can’t. You can’t.

You can’t for so many reasons, so many good and bad and everything in between reasons. You’re nothing more than a flimsy human while he’s the Great Immortal Evil. The person people whisper the name of for fear of incurring his wrath. 

The King of Hell. 

He’s the person that walks into a room and everyone balks under his gaze, terrified of what he may do. He’s killed millions with no mercy. Doesn’t so much as think twice to horrifically burn someone where they stand to ash in hellfire for breathing the wrong way near him. He lavishes in the screams of sinners, punished in their own blood and bones, beaten into a shell of who they were in the nine circles of Hell. Left gaping, broken and sobbing in agony for their suffering to end. 

Yoongi is walking nightmares and visceral terror. He is merciless violence and brutality abandon. 

Yoongi is living, breathing, unyielding death wrapped up in deceivingly beautiful packaging. 

He is the epitome of someone you should not like, should not go near, and definitely should not want in the way the thrumming in your bones is telling you, you want him.

You have to stay away from him. 

But that doesn’t mean you can’t flirt back a little.

As salaciously as you can muster, you whisper low, “But it’s nothing you can’t handle,” and you swear you see a hint of surprise in Yoongi’s eyes, followed by something so much deeper that you have to look away under the guise of checking for any newcomers. 

It’s a dangerous game you’re playing. One you need to move the pieces of very, very carefully. 

There’s a handful of people waiting to be served, but none disturb Yoongi’s service. So you’re forced and relieved to cut the interaction short. For both the waiting patrons, and your sanity. 

“Enjoy the whiskey, Yoongi.”

Yoongi doesn’t bother you for the rest of the night, instead he watches you help the other patrons and make drinks. No one dares sit within three seats of him on either side, so the booths and tables fill more than the bar does, forcing you to do more tray work than you like. And you think you can feel those eyes on the back of your neck travel elsewhere.

Soon after he takes his last sip, Yoongi leaves far too much cash on the table to cover a single drink, and you know Tae won’t include it in tonight's bet. He rather enjoys being alive. 

The first time he did this you tried to give it back, insisting it was too much. But one threat to Tae’s life had you accepting the outrageous amount he left you every time. Despite how much he gets on your nerves, you rather enjoy Taehyung's company on your shifts. And you didn’t want to risk having a new coworker like Sal again. 

Thank you, Yoongi. You silently think to yourself every time he does. His tips are one of the only reasons you’re able to take care of yourself so well. 

You live in an apartment you should not be able to afford on a bartender's wage. Eat well, buy all the brand name products for the skin care routine you could only dream of having as a teenager, and you’re able to get yourself a little treat every once in a while. 

All thanks to the one man the world claimed was the purest entity of evil there was. 

And maybe he is. 

But not to you. 

The rest of your night, and closing go smoothly. The journey home passes by in a flash and soon you’re flopping into your bed, asleep before you hit the pillow. 

You dream of Yoongi and Hellfire and things only your subconscious will let you. The thoughts that you force away every time you see him. 

The burn of his hands on your skin and his lips on your neck. The warmth that spreads over your entire body at the mere mention of your name from his lips. His tongue in places you wouldn’t dare allow him to even think about in the waking world. 

And you wake from an orgasm he wasn't in the waking world to give you. 

It’s the last Saturday in October, which means it’s also your birthday.

You found it rather funny that the one person the Devil could stand to conversate with was born on his night. Maybe that’s coincidence or maybe that’s fate, either way you didn’t care, because you had it booked off work and you were going to a bar and dancing with your friends, dressed up in the sluttiest costumes you could find. 

Your recent visit with your birthday's namesake inspired your costume this year. Wearing the shortest, blood red leather dress you could find, the slits up the sides ran almost to your hips, and a corseted waist that made you feel sexy and fierce. You’d paired it with some velvet horns, a tail, pitchfork, crimson lace stockings and your most recent edition; red bottomed strappy stilettos. 

They’d been your birthday present to yourself, courtesy of Yoongi’s most recent tip. And needless to say, you felt hot as shit. No one could tear you down tonight.

All your friends met at your house before ridesharing down to a club. It’s loud, hazy, and filled with other Devil’s Night party goers as you arrive, smoke lingering in the air and you can feel the wave of dancing coming from further inside. 

Someone buys you your first round within a minute of being let in, lemon drop filling your taste buds as you knock back the shot. Another is ordered immediately after the first, it runs smoother and tastes like chocolate as you make your way to the dance floor. 

Aside from you, your friends are dressed up as a wild mix of characters. Rey is dressed as Daphne from Scooby Doo, Yaejin is Nezuko from Demon Slayer, Bryce is a gender bent Legolas from Lord of the Rings, Declan is Donatello from the Ninja Turtles, Cam is a ghost, and Trin is a character from a book you’ve never read. Something about dragons and magic and vermin—or was it venin? Whatever. But they were in all black and had used silver hair spray on the tips of their hair.

You let the alcohol make its way through your veins as you dance, loosening up. The DJ mixes songs together in a way that never has the crowd thinning out and you laugh as you move with your friends, swaying and rocking and grinding. 

You needed this.

A night out just to let go, have fun, forget everything and hopefully get lucky by the end of it. It’s been a while since you’ve taken anyone to bed, and birthday sex sounds amazing the more the lemon drop, and what you finally learned was a tootsie roll shot, settle into your system. 

You aren’t drunk by any means, but you are buzzed and having a blast. An orgasm sounds like the only thing that could possibly make this night any better. So you make your way around the dance floor, keeping one eye open for any potentials, but mostly just dancing with Rey and Cam. The others either grabbing another drink back at the bar or resting their legs in a booth. 

“Babe,” Rey says, hands around your neck with Cam behind you, hands on your hips. You all sway to the beat of the admittedly sensual song playing. 

“Yeah?” You ask, opening your eyes to meet hers and she leans in closer. 

You can hear the smile on her lips, “Major tall, dark and handsome at 9 o'clock has been eyeing you for at least a half hour. I say you ditch me and Cam and go enthrall the man with your company for a little while. We’ll be fine on our own.” 

Heating at her words you’re excited to see who’s gone and done half your job for you tonight when your eyes stop dead on target. 

In a private booth in the VIP section, blending in far too well with the mortals around him, he wears a button down black satin top and dress pants. Thick silver links adorn his neck, complimenting the hoops in his lobes as well as the mouth watering rings on his fingers and you’re quite sure the bottoms of his black leather shoes match the red of your own. 

Yoongi. 

God he looks good. Unfairly so. And he carries that knowledge with him in his movement. His confidence never wavering like a mortal’s would.

Aside from two twisting black horns you’ve never seen before protruding from his deliciously tousled hair—hair you still want to pull on until he’s making sounds no ones ever heard come out of his mouth before, now moreso than ever—Yoongi is a darker version of yourself. 

Except for him, it isn’t a costume, it’s real, real, real. 

And he looks like sin incarnate. 

Fitting. 

Fuck, you’re so screwed. What were all those reasons it could never work again? The ones that explain why you shouldn’t take the Devil home and let him fuck you into next Sunday?

Suddenly, you can’t remember any of them. Not when Yoongi’s eyes never leave your red-clad form as he sips on what you know to be subpar whiskey. Your core melts into lava at the way he looks up and down, taking all of you in like you’re the one thing on this planet he needs to survive, and he’ll stop at nothing and spare absolutely no one until he gets you. 

Rey gives Cam a look and their hands drop, allowing you to almost float over to where Yoongi lounges, maneuvering between bodies undulating to music that’s being deafened by the heartbeat in your ears.

When you reach him, you leave a somewhat respectable distance between you two, a step down from the dias the booth sits on. 

Seeing him so much clearer now, you almost whine. How does he look even better up close? You want to sit on his lap, his face, have him bend you over the table then flip you over and feast like a man starved. 

Fuck! No, you can’t. And you also can’t blame Tae for those thoughts either, he isn’t here.

They were all you. 

Maybe his plan was working after all…

“What are you doing here?” You manage, grateful that you hadn’t had more to drink, but even more grateful for the ones you did. You needed a little liquid courage right now, even if it turned your thoughts into gutter sewage.

What he doesn’t know can’t hurt you…right? You just have to keep a lid on it. The one that’s loosening the more you look at him.

“It’s your birthday,” he says, producing a small black box wrapped with a bow. “I have a gift.”

He…he got you a present? He’s never done that before. But then again, before last year, he never knew when it was.

“You remem—I—you didn’t have to get me anything,” you stutter ungracefully, mouth trying to keep up with your racing thoughts. “I already got these shoes with the tip you left me last time,” you say, extending your leg to show off your newest purchase. The action reveals more leg than you meant it too and he catches the garter you have pulled around your thigh.

A fire ignites in his eyes at the sight, and you can feel their sparks everywhere he looks. Starting at your toes and moving all the way up back to your pretty irises. 

“I’m flattered by the way,” he says. “In your costume choice.”

Huh? You look down and heat rises to your cheeks in a way it never has before. Oh fuck, oh fuck. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!

Here you stand, before the actual Devil—horns out in all their glory—dressed as him on his namesake night. 

Of course this would happen to you, of course it would. This is what you get for fucking around. You found out. And you don’t know whether to be mortified, beg for forgiveness, or laugh yourself hoarse. 

Going with none of the above, you choose to play it off instead, the way you always do when he manages to fluster you. “Consider me inspired by how recently I last saw you,” you say, taking the single step up the dias and twirling for him. 

You show every angle of your costume you can, letting the booze in your system do its job of making you more confident than you currently are.

“What do you think?”  

Yoongi stands, taking the two strides needed to be face to face with you, his voice is quiet and even, so only you can hear.

“May I touch?”

You don’t hesitate. 

“Yes.” 

Yoongi reaches behind you and pulls the fake tail from the back of your dress, then the pitchfork from your grasp and throws them into the booth, not caring where they land.

“Mmm,” he hums, placing his hands on your hips and spinning you once more. Lightning strikes every single nerve ending where his fingertips meet your body. 

This time when he speaks, his voice is touched with the bit of demon that’s inside of him, dragging its claws along the floor of the 9th circle of Hell as he growls, “You’re perfect.” 

Your heart does backflips and cartwheels and nose dives all at once. You’ve never heard him sound like that before, and if your panties weren’t wet before, they definitely are now. 

Tugging gently, he guides you to the booth, sitting first before dragging you over his lap, knees meeting his hips. One of his hands rests on your thigh while the other reaches for something you can’t be bothered to figure out because oh my god, oh my god, you’re straddling him. Your straddling the Devil, dressed as the devil and probably already looking semi-fucked out while you do. This is probably a bad idea—no. This is definitely a bad idea. But you also have absolutely zero plans to stop literally anything that’s happening. 

The gift box makes a reappearance, and he hands it over to you. 

“Thank you,” you say automatically, trying and failing to ignore the fact that both of his hands now rest on your thighs. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…..

Undoing the little black bow, you open it, revealing a delicately simple necklace. Its light weight chain holding a small pink stone pendant. 

Beautiful. 

“Pink Tourmaline,” Yoongi says. 

“My birthstone,” you reply.

“Your birthstone.”

You stare at the little crystal, cut and polished to perfection. Not a single flaw.

“Yoongi I—I don’t know what to say. It’s incredible…Thank you,” you take it out of the box, profoundly grateful you decided not to wear a necklace tonight. “Could you help me put it on?”

“Of course, Angel,” he agrees. But this time when he says your nickname, it’s different. Like an unholy vow made only to you. 

Makes you wonder what he promised.

Regretfully removing yourself from his lap, you turn around, only to be dragged back down by strong fingers. 

Your ass is now flush against his dick, and it’s taking everything in you not to tease. Whether you’d be teasing him or yourself, you don't know, nor do you care. All you know is that friction can be a good thing if you want it to be. And you're starting to want it to be.

Lifting your hair for him, Yoongi fastens the necklace around your column, and to your complete and utter doom, places a gentle kiss at your nape. The simple contact makes you quietly moan, and you feel a twitch under you. 

Ohhh, this is bad, this is so bad. But you can’t bring yourself to stop him. Not when his hands roam up and down your back, your sides, your hips. Exploring, feeling, learning. You dissolve into the touch, welcoming every whisper of pleasure they bring. 

What is he doing to you?

“Angel,” Yoongi purrs in your ear. 

“Mmm?”

“Would you like to dance?”

Fuck would you ever, but wait— 

“Are you asking me if I’d like to Dance with the Devil?” you muse. 

Yoongi chuckles lowly, understanding the meaning behind your ask.

“Is that something you’d be interested in?” 

“Yes.”

You feel more than hear the dark rumble coming from his chest before he gently taps on your thigh. And you get up quickly. 

“That’s a good girl,” he says, and fuck could you ever get used to him saying that to you.

Fingers laced in his, he lets you guide him to the dance floor.

Both of you ignore what the DJ plays, instead moving to the rhythm you feel like. Slow, sensual, a hand on his neck while you grind into him. Fast and heated, bodies touching any and every place you can get contact. You’re putting on quite the show for anyone brave enough to watch. And you know at least a handful of the eyes you feel on you are your friends’. 

They don’t know about Yoongi.

They don’t know about the nature of the clientele at your job either, like every other human. They don’t know you're dancing with the most dangerous and volatile man in the room. And it’s better that way, because if they did, your ass would’ve been hauled out of the club and in a rideshare the second anyone saw him. 

You’ve never been more thankful for the figurative wall between worlds. And the fact that you stand on both sides. 

You brush up against his hardening dick and fuck, that’s it. 

You’ve decided. 

To hell with your reasons. To hell with the constant flirting and overuse of will power. 

To hell with letting your anxieties and your moral compass and your conscience get in the way of the one thing you’ve been denying yourself for years. 

You spin in Yoongi’s hold, looking straight into the darkened eyes of the most forbidden man you could ever want for yourself, only to see pure desire staring right back. It’s all you need before you’re crashing your lips to his, taking anything and everything you can get before one of you comes to your senses and pulls back. 

But his grip on you tightens like a vice, pulling you closer, bodies flush amidst the dancing crowd. He’s magnetic in his want, lifting a hand to the back of your neck and tracing the seam of your lips with his tongue.

You let him in without hesitation and he nearly swallows you whole with how he invades your mouth, claiming it for himself. It makes you moan and he lets up, if only to let you breathe for a moment, and you take this reprieve to whisper in his ear, finally giving in to what you crave more than anything.

“Let’s go to yours.”

“We should go to yours, Angel, mine’s a bit harder to get to.”

Because his is on another plane of existence. Not exactly a taxi ride away. At least not one you can get at the curb of the club. 

“Riiight.” A small dose of water washes over the fire in your core, and it’s like he can sense it because immediately, he’s pulling you back in. Nothing but teeth and lips and tongue, animalistic in the passion you’re displaying for everyone to see, the flames increasing tenfold.

Fuck, you don’t want to wait. 

And apparently neither does Yoongi. 

“Do you trust me?” He asks.

“Yes, but what does tha–”

“Close your eyes for me, Love.”

Any and all arguments fade on your tongue at the new pet name. So much warmer than Angel, so much more affectionate. 

So you close your eyes for him, no questions asked. Because you trust him. You trust the Devil. 

You trust Yoongi. 

“That's a good girl.” 

One hand goes to the back of your neck, the other your lower back as he kisses you gently. So gently you think it means something more, but the sounds of the club are fading away, and he’s leaning you down like he’s going to dip you before your back meets something soft. 

Are you closer to a booth than you thought? Is he really going to take you here in front of all those people? 

But when you open your eyes and your bedroom at your apartment fills your vision, you stiffen immediately.

What?

“I—but we were just—and now we’re he—and you—,” you stutter, amazed and unable to get the thoughts out fast enough before another takes its place. You manage a, “How?” and he catches on. 

Not halting his actions, “Consider it a job perk,” he explains, nipping at your neck. You let out a groan as he continues his way down your column towards your chest and you relax into his touch.

“Teleportation, in simple terms, but it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

Despite his mouth on your skin, you somehow find the clearness of mind to ask, “Did anyone see?” Thinking about your friends and the potential hundreds of onlookers.

Yoongi’s hands rest at top of the zipper that goes the entire length of your dress, allowing for both easy putting on and quick removal. Fingers tug gently on the slider, eyes meeting yours for consent. You nod, and he answers your question as he drags it down your body torturously slow, savouring every moment he’s worked so hard to get. 

He’s going to earn this privilege you’ve given him, if it's the last thing he does.

“No. And your friends won’t worry either.”

You don’t care how he knows that, not when he’s pulling off hot leather and devouring your curves with coal burning pupils. The cool air of your room causes goosebumps to rise everywhere, and your arms fly to your head, covering your eyes as you’re reminded you’d forgone a bra tonight. 

There was no room for one without it squishing your tits too much and ruining the look. So with your dress gone, Yoongi has a front row seat to your nearly nude form, a blood red lace thong the only thing keeping you semi-decent. 

Years of pining and denial have led up to this moment and Yoongi almost doesn’t know where to start now that he finally has you exactly where he wants you. That feeling doesn’t last long though.

Wasting no more time, he takes a breast into his palm, squeezing and massaging while he lowers himself to the other, lapping the nipple of the one neglected. His tongue swirls over the pert bud, sucking it into his mouth fully and you arch into his touch, reveling in the warmth he spreads across your chest. Hands reaching for the sheets above your head for something to ground you.

“Shit,” you can already feel your pulse in your ears, thundering behind your sternum, and booming lower. He’s barely touched you and you’re already so gone.

He switches his hand and mouth, soothing the other breast with the sinful muscle he’s teased you with after all these years drinking whiskey. And by god if you don’t immediately think what it could do in other places. He’s had thousands of years to practice and the gush you feel in your panties lets you know exactly how you feel about the idea. 

Using his free hand, Yoongi traces down your back, rounding your ass and squeezing hard enough to make you hiss in pleasure before settling on the back of your thigh. 

You can barely stand having his hands so close to your molten heat without having any contact, and it leaves you begging, “Please…Please…”

You feel the curve of his lip quirk as teeth gently scrape the sensitive bud, gasping when he pulls off. 

“Please what, Love?”

“More,” you pant. “Please. Anything. Everything. Please just touch me.”

“Mmm,” he’s back at your neck, inhaling your scent, one hand still on your thigh while the other holds him up by your ear. “Pretty Girl has manners after all, huh?” 

“Oh fuck you.” you bristle, but it seems to be the reaction he’s looking for. A deeper, sluttier part of you awakening at the words you want to prove both wrong and right.

“There she is.”

Diving back into your neck, Yoongi trails wet, open mouthed kisses down, down, down. And even though you’ve never been so wet, so in the moment, and so unbelievably turned on before, the human part of you wins for a second, as you try to close your legs. 

They’re pulled back open in an instant, his eyes never wavering from yours as he says, “Don’t you dare get shy on me now,” a kiss to your inner thigh. And then the other as he kneels before you. 

Yoongi places each foot on either of his shoulders and you’re surprised he’s kept on your garter, stockings and red bottoms, their heels digging into his flesh. You wonder if that hurts at all, but by the way his eyes flutter and almost roll into the back of his head at the pressure they place on his frame, you think he actually likes their sting.

“You’re the most exquisite creature I have ever seen. Absolutely no part of you could ever be undesirable to me.” 

His earnest tone makes you believe him, convinces you, and you’re once again pliant in his hold, opening up for him.

“Look at me,” he says, and you do. You stare directly at the Devil between your thighs. The King knelt before your lowly mortal form. “You are the most powerful person in this room, understand?”

You nod, but that’s not good enough for him. 

“I need to hear it.”

“I understand.”

“Understand what?” He pushes.

“I’m the most powerful person in this room,” and it feels bold to say in front of him. But watching the way Yoongi’s expression fills with pride makes it also feel good. He wants you to feel like you’re the one in charge. 

“Remember that,” he says, before ripping your underwear off and throwing them on the floor, feasting his now wholly black eyes on the sight of your dripping pussy.

The more he loses himself in you, the more of his true form reveals itself.

“Fuuuckk,” he whispers more to himself than anything. “So wet…”

Your core is tormented and throbbing at the back and forth between the cold night air and Yoongi’s hot breath and you whine, “I just bought those!”

He spares you one completely unsympathetic look. 

“Don’t care. I’ll buy you more,” a deliciously ringed finger slides along your drenched folds and you’re gasping. “I’ll buy you the entire fucking store if it means I get to see you like this.”

Your voice is airy as you give in, any and all outrage gone. “Oka—ohhh!”

His mouth is on your cunt before you can breathe in the oxygen you so desperately need. He’s not holding back and your movements are not your own as you squirm. An arm rounds your pelvis holds you down, keeping you there as he devours you whole and shows you no mercy.

“Fuck, fuck, oh my god Yoongi,” you cry out, having never felt anything like this before. His tongue circles your clit as he sucks, then glides down, penetrating your opening with thrusts that make you lightheaded. 

Your hands fly to his locks, pulling and pushing him down further until you're pretty sure you’re drowning him in you. Your fingertips graze his horns and it’s just a reminder that this man is definitely not human. Definitely not someone you should be letting suck your soul out through your pussy. And that makes this whole situation that much hotter. 

If he minds where you touch, he doesn’t say anything about it, only groaning as he repeats his motions to get you near your peak, again and again and again until you're quaking against your will and your body is vibrating with every throb from your core.

Every single nerve ending you have is awake and being put to good use, he’s making sure of it. The dam that holds your release is starting to crumble and you don’t know how much longer you can last like this before you’re screaming bloody murder under his grip. 

“Yoon…Yoongi—fuck,” you stutter, staggered breaths from your trembling chest loose as you try to verbalize, “C-close. S-so close.”

He hums, and teases a finger around your entrance, circling a few times before pressing in and up to your g-spot. The simple action undoes you and you're coming with a force you can’t even begin to describe. The waves crash down, over and over and you're moaning and cursing his name at the same time, knowing it’s going to be the only one you’ll think of in this situation from now until forever.

He guides you through the last shockwaves as you come down, and when you’re too sensitive for him to continue, you drag him up to your lips, tasting his efforts on your tongue. 

“Need you now,” you rush out between kisses.

“Not yet, Love,” he says, pulling back just enough to reach a hand between the two of you.

He slips two fingers inside and swallows the resulting moan from your lips as he goes so deep enough you can feel his rings proding your opening.

“Gotta stretch you out for me first.” 

Your hands are back in his hair, nails scratching the nape of his neck as he begins to scissor you open expertly. He growls into your neck at the sensation and that confirms your suspicions of him liking a little pain with his pleasure. So you scratch further down his neck, onto his shoulders and back and you dig a heel into his thigh.

“Fuck, Angel,” fingers stuttering for a second. “Don’t do that unless you want me to come right now.”

“And if I do?” 

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because the first time I come, it’ll be with you around my cock, soaking the sheets with your own.”

Head rolling back, his words going straight to your clit. “Fuck, okay.”

“Now give me another one, Pretty Girl,” he says, picking up speed with his digits. “I know you can, pretty little slut takes my fingers so well.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck…

You can feel it coming this time, building and building. He uses his thumb to rub over your sensitive nub and it has you unraveling under him, screaming out and almost sobbing at the convulsions your body makes. He takes your mouth with his again, consuming your pleasure in every form he can get. 

And once you come down, you’ve had it. If you don’t have him inside you within the next 2 minutes you’re going to lose it. 

Ripping at his shirt, you're fumbling with the buttons. “Fuck, take this off, and those,” you say, abandoning his shirt for his belt. 

Yoongi chuckles, low and sinful, “Bossy,” but gets up, and begins removing the outfit that got you into this situation in the first place. You take off the remnants of your costume as he spares you no peace of mind, the way you did him, taking off his pants and boxers in one go, freeing his mouth watering bulge from its earthy confines. 

“Oh fuck me,” you say at his size. He’s big, girthy and you’ve never wanted someone inside you so badly before. 

Yoongi smirks as he crawls over you, but you stop him with a hand. “Wait,” you throw a leg over his hip, and flip the two of you so you’re on top. “Let me do this.”

“Whatever you want, Angel.”

Picking up his cock, it sits heavy in your hand as you give him a couple strokes. He hisses at the contact and it only spurs you on, gathering as much saliva as you can, you open your mouth to spit, rubbing it all over his shaft and head, mixing it with the precum dribbling out of the tip. 

“Fuck—”

Your 2 minutes are up. Lifting your ass, you guide yourself onto him. 

“Oh my fuck, oh fuck,” you say as you slide down slowly, the stretch still very much there as he bottoms out. “Big—ohh, shit—so big.”

Yoongi’s not faring much better, eyebrows pressed together, but eyes devouring the spot where your bodies meet. His breathing is so laboured you’d think he just ran a marathon.

“So tight, Love...Fuck, look at you.”

The delicious sting subsides and you start to move, slow but purposeful thrusts that have him kissing your cervix every time. Fuck he’s so deep, deeper than anyone else has ever been. And once you get a rhythm going there’s no stopping you. You become a force of nature as you bounce on his cock without abandon, taking this for yourself. You don’t know why, but you feel like you have a point to prove and by god you’re going to make it. 

Because if the Devil chose you, you’re going to make damn sure he doesn’t regret it. 

“Fuck, fuck you’re doing so good,” he rasps, throwing his head back into the pillows, eyes shut in pure bliss, murmuring. “Feels so good.” 

His praise pushes you farther, riding harder, grinding your clit against his pelvis, owning both your pleasures. 

You’re the most powerful person here. 

You are the one in control despite being on top of arguably the most powerful man on the planet. It makes you feel safe and strong and invincible. 

And you want to continue, you really do, but your legs are starting to give, so you let him know. 

“Ass up for me then,” he says, and you listen, climbing off of him and wincing at the feeling of him slipping out. He gets behind you, lining himself up again and this time it’s much easier as he sinks in, both of you groaning at the contact. 

Yoongi hands go to your hips, gripping and squeezing and molding the globes of your ass as you anchor your cheek to the bedsheets. 

“That’s it, Pretty Girl, all the way down for me.”

His first thrust has you seeing stars. You're nothing and everything as he continues, but you need more. You need to not be able to speak. To walk. You need to have every thought fucked out of your head. You need him so deep you’ll feel it for a week afterwards.

“Faster,” you beg. “Harder, please.”

“There are those manners I was looking for,” he says and picks up his pace. 

You’re incoherent, saying things you’ve never dared to utter out loud before, making admissions you swore to take to your grave and Yoongi is eating up every single last one of them. 

Because this is about you. This is about proving years of your denial’s fruitless. This is about him and how you make him lose every ounce of self control he has when he’s around you and how badly he’s wanted you since the day you met. This is about ruining every other man for you, making sure you know what true pleasure feels like, know how you deserve to be treated, and hearing his name on your lips when you come. When your cunt clenches so hard he has to fight tooth and nail to milk every ounce of bliss from it.

This is about him wanting to hear him make you feel good. Needing to hear him make you feel good.

This is about you. 

And he can feel you starting to clamp up again, can feel you getting close. So he wraps an arm around your waist, fingers going straight for your pussy.

You shriek, body consumed by the even strokes he delivers as well as the smooth circles around your most sensitive spot, and he revels in it. This is what he’s been dreaming of, what he’s desired over everything else. 

You, underneath him in so much pleasure you’re almost non-verbal. 

Perfect in every single way. 

“Taking me so well, dirty girl. Love the feeling of my cock splitting you open?” he hears a muffled cry and you nod your head. “Knew you would, knew you could take me.”

He delivers a smack to your ass and he feels you clench, so he soothes the battered area before handing out another, soothing that one out too. 

“You’re so good for me, pretty little whore so greedy, sucking me in. Why’d you make me think you didn’t want me all these years, hmm? Was I not good enough for you?”

You bury your face in your sheets. Well that certainly won’t do. So he slows his fingers as he reiterates. “Was I not good enough for you then, Angel? Am I good enough for you now?”

“Yes,” you mutter, barely loud enough to hear.

“What was that?” he slows again to a near burningly slow pace, soaking in the feel of you around his fingers and dick. It feels like a place he once called home.

“Yes!” you bellow. “So good…so good to me…more than enough.”

The praise fuels him, and he picks up the speed of everything, cock pounding you into the mattress, fingers rubbing an achingly mind-blowing pattern on your clit. It pushes you over the edge for the third time tonight, your fluttering cunt around his dick almost has him losing it. Almost has him coming undone with you, but he manages to hold it back. 

Not yet. 

You're silent in your screams this time, overwhelmed with the feelings, fingers nearly ripping your sheets in half at how hard it hit you. How hard you contract around him.

Oh he’s never going to get sick of this feeling. 

Ever.  

And instead of guiding you down this time, he removes himself quickly, flips you over on your back and inserts himself once more. 

He needs that feeling again. Needs you again. You claimed him for yourself whether you knew it or not all those years ago, he was simply following orders. He was yours the second your eyes met for the first time and he’s never looked back since. No one was ever good enough from that moment on, not a single creature on any plane of existence. 

There was only you. 

Yoongi’s never felt anything so pure and so sinful and so right as you pulsing around him does. He exists only for this feeling. Only for you. It took a couple thousand years, but at least now he knows. 

And so he doesn’t slow down, pushing you through your oversensitivity.

It’s time for him to finally claim you back.

“I can’t,” you beg, “it hurts.”

“Not for long, Pretty Girl” he says in his lowest registar. “You can take it, I know you can. Give me one more, I know you have it in you.”

Yoongi’s noticed his words have almost the same effect on you as his motions, so he uses them to their full potential. And as he can sense your fourth orgasm about to land, you surprise him by whispering directly into his ear and raking your nails down his back as hard as you can.

“Only for you, Yoongi.”

His thrusts stutter.

“Fuck!”

He’s coming. 

He’s coming hard. With you, with your name on his lips. It's violent and visceral and vicious and vibrant. It’s beautiful. You’re combined divine deliverance. 

It’s the first time he’s said your name.

And it’s something he’s going to keep locked away in his memory for millenia to come as he covers your inner walls in the most sickeningly sweet shade of white. 

You’re relentless, milking him over and over and over for all he’s worth, not letting up until your body is ready too, ruthless in your quest for ultimate euphoria and he takes it.

Whatever you want. Whatever you need. 

It’s yours. 

He’ll make it so.

At whatever cost to him, you'll get it. There isn't a doubt in his mind as you finally come down, body lighter, eyes glazed over, devastating smile on your lips.

He’s the first to move, going to the bathroom and grabbing a warm, wet cloth to clean you up. You’re blissfully spent, unable to get up even if you wanted to, limbs like jelly, still in a brain fogged haze. 

You got exactly what you wanted.

He cleans his release from your form, naked save for the pink stone he gave you around your neck. Then tosses the cloth in your hamper and lies back down, covering you both with sheets. You cuddle up to him, tossing a leg around his torso, and lying your head on his chest. Contented. 

And he’s silent until he can’t stand it any longer. He has to know.

“What changed?” 

“Hmm?”

“What about tonight made you change your mind?”

You take a deep breath through your nose. “I…stopped fighting it. The feeling like we would never work, the feeling that I would never be good enough, that we were too different,” he listens intently as your fingers trace patterns on his chest, explaining. “And I was sick of denying myself. It’s my birthday. Shouldn't I get whatever I want on my birthday?” 

That seductive smirk makes an appearance.

“Yes.”

“Plus you looked to damn fine in that outfit. A girl only has so much willpower, you know? It’s easier at work when there’s a bar and my job between us, but there was none of that tonight. Just the shots in my system and my unwavering desire to ride your face.”

Yoongi laughs, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen something as beautiful as his smile before. 

“Next time,” he says. A promise.

You fall back into a comfortable silence that has you thinking. 

“What about you?” you ask.

“What about me?”

“Why am I the only one you like? The only one you put up with.”

He ponders for a moment, thinking about how to phrase what he wants to say. 

“I think about the time we met often. There was something about you that was different that day, and I’ve never been able to pinpoint exactly what, but when I saw you I knew I would never think of you the same way I do everyone else. There was something special about your gaze in mine, your company, your soul.” 

“My soul?”

“Mhm.”

“You’ve never asked for mine before.”

“Never needed it.”

At that, you joke, “Is there something you’d sell your soul for?”

“You.” 

Before you can say all the nothing in your head at his answer, he takes a deep breath that has you rising and falling with it. Something about what he’s going to say next is going to have heavy importance to him. 

You just know it. 

“You… made me—make me…want to be better. Do better.”

You’re speechless. Not the kind you were moments before. No, you’re truly and genuinely speechless. 

You never expected anything like that. 

You knew your presence in his life carried a different weight than others, a different air. It’s why you could speak so casually, insult him, and exist near him without fearing for your life. It was something no one had seen from him in thousands of years. 

Kindness. Patience.

The man who’s job it is to run the universes torture capital, punishing those who deserve it without an ounce of mercy for eternity and killing those who looked at him the wrong way. The physical entity of the word evil, wanted to be better. 

Because of you.  

“I don't know what to say.”

“You don't need to say anything,” he kisses the top of your head, tender. “Having you with me is more than enough.”

You can do that. 

“Okay,” you say, craning your neck to kiss him. It’s long, languid, and full of emotions you don't want to acknowledge right now, there’s too many of them to sort through in your post four orgasms brain to be able to process properly. 

Tomorrow you can start. Right now you just want to bask in the afterglow of the most amazing birthday you've ever had.

“So this wasn’t a one time thing?” Yoongi clarifies.

“It definitely wasn't a one time thing,” not a chance in Hell. 

He was yours now. 

The Devil was yours.

King of the Underworld, god among men, catastrophe breathing evil was yours. And it brings the biggest smile to your face.  

“Oh thank fuck.”

“Not thank God?” you tease.

Yoongi groans. “Do not bring my father into this.”

A/N 3: As always, thanks for reading, loves. Xoxo, - Yoon <3

[rynwritesreid]

Kiss it away| Spencer Reid

A/N:This is my first time writing a sub Spencer, so it may not be as good as my other smut pieces. But I still hope you enjoy. This is also partially requested as someone wanted a sub!Spencer. Please tell me if you want more sub! Spencer. I’ve also started writing the first chapter of Mind Games, and honestly I’m really looking forward to posting it on here.

Summary: Spencer is suffering with a migraine, you find a natural way to help relieve his pain, with some natural analgesics.

Content: Smut and fluff. Fem!reader. Dom!reader. Sub!Spencer. established relationship/dynamic Praise kink. Handjob (M!receiving). Oral(M!receiving). Vaginal penetration (P in V). Cream-pie. No mentions of contraception. Pet names (Good boy. Sweet boy). Migraines/pain. A tiny mention of Spencers addiction(literally in passing/referencing why he wouldn’t want medication). Vulnerability. Caring reader. Use of Y/N. Suggestive ending. 18*

Masterlist| requests are open| Navigation

Spencer, the man known for talking people’s heads off and giving everyone unwanted statistics, was being unusually quiet. In fact he didn’t really seem to be all there. He kept rubbing his head and couldn’t seem to be in bright rooms for prolonged periods of time.

 

Even when you two were at home together, he wouldn’t talk much to you. Instead, he would shut himself in the spare room with the lights turned off and the curtains drawn. You didn’t know what to do, or how to help. You knew he wouldn’t want any medication, so all you could do was try and offer a helping hand.

 

Before going to work one morning, you decided to ask him if he was okay to go to work. You were sure that everyone would understand him wanting to stay home if was feeling this ill.

 

“Hey, Spencer. Are you okay? You’ve being acting off lately. Are you sure you want to go into work today? We’ve not been called out into the field or anything.”

 

Spencer looked up from his coffee, his eyes bloodshot and distant. He gave a weak smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.

 

"I appreciate your concern," he murmured, his voice barely rising above a whisper. "But I can't stay home. I need to keep my mind occupied, even if it feels like it's tearing me apart."

 

You watched him closely, the worry etching deeper lines upon your face. Spencer had always been a man of routine, finding solace in the structure and predictability of his work. But now, there was something far more sinister lurking beneath the surface.

 

"Spencer, please," you pleaded softly, taking a step closer to him. "You don't have to suffer alone. We can figure this out together. Maybe it's time to seek some help."

 

“I’ve already being to the doctors; they couldn’t see anything wrong. So, please let me go into work.” Though his voice barely crept above a whisper, you could sense the anger.

 

You sighed, feeling the weight of his frustration and desperation. You knew how much he valued his work, how it gave him purpose and stability. But seeing him like this, so lost and distant, it tore at your heart.

 

“I’m going to call in sick, handsome. Please join me in staying home today, let me take care of you.”

 

Spencer's eyes flickered with uncertainty, a mixture of gratitude and resistance fighting within him. He seemed torn between his desire to protect you from the darkness that plagued him and his fear of burdening you with his own struggles.

 

"I don't want to hold you back," he whispered, his voice trembling with vulnerability. "You deserve someone who can give you the happiness you deserve."

 

Your heart ached at his selfless words, for they only made you love him more. You reached out and gently cupped his face, your touch tender and full of reassurance.

 

"Spencer," you murmured, your voice laced with determination. "Happiness is not something I seek outside of us. It is in being with you, in trying to help shoulder your burden. Let me be here for you."

 

His eyes searched yours, tears shimmering in their depths. Slowly, he nodded, relinquishing the weight he had been carrying alone for far too long.

 

“Okay.” He whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of relief and vulnerability. "Okay, maybe staying home with you today wouldn't be such a bad idea."

You called Hotch, who was very understanding, and told him that you were both taking the day off work.

 

You closed all the curtains and kept only a little lamp on and told him to make himself as comfortable as possible. His sat down on the sofa, with his cup of coffee in hand. You decided to do some research, to see what possible ways you could help ease his pain.

 

Through your research, you saw that orgasms can help, as they act as a natural analgesic. You didn’t know if that was something Spencer would be willing to try, but you knew it was worth a shot.

 

You took a deep breath, feeling a mix of nervousness and determination as you approached Spencer. Sitting down beside him on the sofa, you gently placed a hand on his thigh.

 

"Spencer," you began softly, trying to find the right words amidst the heaviness in the room. "I've been doing some research, and I came across something that might help... It's a bit unconventional, but... orgasms can actually act as a natural analgesic. They release endorphins that can alleviate pain and promote relaxation."

 

Spencer blinked, surprise flickering in his eyes as he processed your words. You could see the wariness and scepticism etched across his face, but there was also a glimmer of hope.

 

“Would you like to try it; you don’t need to do anything. I’m going to do all the work.” Spencer's gaze met yours, his apprehension slowly fading as a small spark of curiosity ignited within him. He knew the pain that haunted him was not physical, but if there was a chance that this unconventional method could provide even a momentary respite from the torment in his mind, he was willing to give it a try.

 

"I trust you," he whispered, his voice laced with vulnerability and gratitude. "If there's a chance it might help, then let's give it a shot."

 

“Now that’s my good boy. I’m going to make you feel better, okay?” Your voice was light, soft and caring.

 

You led him into the bedroom, making sure that he would be comfortable. You slowly took of his clothes, making sure to be delicate.  You could feel the tension and anticipation building between you as each article of clothing was removed. Spencer stood before you, his naked body exposed and vulnerable. You took a moment to appreciate the sight before you, the way his gaze met yours with a mix of trust and longing.

 

With gentle hands, you guided him to lie down on the bed, his body sinking into the soft sheets. The dim light cast a warm glow across the room, creating an intimate atmosphere that felt like a sanctuary from the outside world.

 

You positioned yourself beside him, your fingers trailing delicately along his skin. Every touch was deliberate, filled with tenderness and a desire to ease his pain. Slowly, you let your hand travel lower, caressing the sensitive skin just below his belly button.

 

Spencer's breath hitched, his chest rising and falling with measured anticipation. His eyes never left yours, as if seeking reassurance that this act of intimacy was meant to heal rather than exploit.

 

“I love you, my sweet boy. I would do anything to help you. Do you understand?”

 

Spencer nodded, his voice barely a whisper. "I love you too," he replied, his words filled with gratitude and vulnerability. He trusted you implicitly, knowing that your intentions were pure and genuine.

 

As you continued your gentle caresses, your fingers slowly descended further, tracing the outline of his growing arousal. The weight of his pain seemed to lift slightly as pleasure began to replace it, inch by inch. Your touch was delicate and purposeful, seeking to provide comfort and relief rather than raw desire.

 

Spencer's breath hitched again, a soft gasp escaping his lips as your fingertips brushed over the sensitive head of his penis. His eyes fluttered closed momentarily, his body relaxing into your touch as you continued to stroke him with soothing care.

 

With each stroke, the tension in his body seemed to dissipate further. His muscles softened beneath your touch, the knots of anguish gradually unravelling as pleasure washed over him in waves. In this moment of intimacy and vulnerability, he allowed himself to let go of the weight he had been carrying. The pain that had consumed him for so long began to fade into the background, replaced by a newfound sense of relief and release.

 

You watched the transformation unfold, your heart swelling with both love and pride. This was more than just physical pleasure; it was a catharsis, a moment of respite amidst the storm that raged within Spencer's mind.

 

As you continued to stroke him, your movements became more purposeful, more focused on unlocking the pleasure hidden beneath the layers of his pain. You could feel his body responding to your touch, his breath quickening and his muscles tensing with anticipation.

 

"Let go, Spencer," you whispered, your voice laced with both tenderness and command. "Surrender to the pleasure, let it wash over you and carry away the darkness."

 

His eyes snapped open, meeting yours with a mix of vulnerability and trust. He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly as he allowed himself to fully surrender to the pleasure that enveloped him. The heaviness in his mind melted away, replaced by a blissful ecstasy that radiated through his body.

 

You continued to stroke him, your movements steady and sure, attuned to his every response. The room was filled with the sounds of his gasps and moans, mingling with the soft rhythm of your touch. With each stroke, the tension in his body unravelled further, making room for a profound sense of release and relief.

 

Spencer's muscles twitched beneath your fingertips, his body trembling on the precipice of something powerful. His breath hitched as he teetered on the edge of climax, teetered on the edge of being released from the chains of his pain. And then, with a shuddering groan, he let go.

 

His whole body convulsed as an intense wave of pleasure coursed through him, washing away the thoughts that tormented him.

 

“Oh, my sweet handsome boy, look at the mess you’ve made. I guess I better clean it up, huh? Would you like that?”

 

Spencer didn’t answer for a while, he was still coming down. As he caught his breath, he let out a “yes”. You lowered your head, making sure to give him a trail of kisses.

 

You lowered your head, pressing soft kisses along his abdomen as you made your way down to his spent cock. The taste of him was familiar and comforting, a reminder of the intimate connection you shared. With each gentle lick and suck, you cleaned him up, taking care to savour every drop.

 

Spencer's body relaxed further against the bed, his muscles loosening as a blissful satisfaction settled over him. His chest rose and fell with deep breaths, the weight of his pain replaced by a gentle calmness that washed over him.

 

“You don’t we’ve finished yet though. Do you?”

 

Spencer's eyes fluttered open, his gaze meeting yours as a flicker of anticipation danced in his eyes. The words hung heavy in the air, a promise of continued pleasure and release. He shook his head slightly, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

 

"No, I don't think we're finished," he replied, his voice filled with a newfound sense of confidence and desire. "I want to keep going."

 

You smiled back at him, a mix of adoration and mischief dancing in your eyes. Your hand gently cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing over his bottom lip.

 

"Good boy," you murmured, your voice dripping with satisfaction. "Let's see just how far we can take this."

With a mischievous glimmer in your eyes, you leaned down and captured Spencer's lips in a searing kiss. Your hands roamed over his bare skin, tracing every dip and curve, as desire coursed through your veins.

 

Spencer's body responded eagerly to your touch, his hands gripping the sheets as he arched into your caress. His kisses grew hungrier, more desperate, as if he sought solace not only from his pain but from the world itself. There was an unspoken understanding between you, an unquenchable hunger that demanded to be sated.

 

You slowly lowered yourself back to his cock. As you worked your mouth up and down his length, your hand stroked his thigh, adding to the sensations coursing through him. Spencer's moans grew louder and more desperate with each passing moment, his body arching off the bed as he surrendered to the ecstasy that washed over him.

 

You could feel the tension building in him once again, his breath quickening, his muscles tightening. With a final stroke of your tongue, you brought him to the edge once more, guiding him over it with expert precision.

 

His release was explosive, his body convulsing in waves of pleasure. You swallowed every drop, savouring the taste as if it were a decadent treat.

 

“Do you think you can give me another?” He slowly nodded your head, as he found himself unable to speak.

 

You moved off the bed so you could undress yourself. Spencer’s eyes scanning your body, he couldn’t believe how lucky he was. With each piece of clothing that fell to the floor, Spencer's anticipation grew. He watched you undress, soaking in the sight of your bare skin, the contours of your body that held a promise of pleasure. The desire in his eyes mirrored your own, a hunger that demanded to be satisfied.

 

As you climbed back onto the bed, naked and eager, Spencer's hands reached out instinctively to touch you. Each caress was filled with longing and need, his fingertips tracing the lines of your body as if memorizing every curve.

 

Your skin tingled under his touch, and you couldn't help but gasp at the electricity that coursed through your veins. It was as if every nerve ending in your body had awakened, craving the pleasure that only Spencer could provide.

 

With a gentle push, you urged Spencer to lie back on the bed, his body surrendering to your desires. Your lips sought out his with an urgency born from months of pent-up longing and anticipation. The taste of him was intoxicating, a heady mixture of desire and need.

 

“You haven’t been able to cum yet. Please let me help you out?” His voice was cracking, his eyes pleading for you to let him do anything.

 

“My sweet boy, I told you I was going to be doing all the work. Just relax.”

 

Spencer nodded, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and desire. He allowed himself to sink into the mattress, surrendering control over his pleasure to you completely. You straddled him, positioning yourself just above his aching need, teasing him with the anticipation of what was to come.

 

You began to slowly grind against him, the friction between your bodies sending waves of pleasure coursing through both of you. Each movement was deliberate, calculated to build the tension and desire that simmered just beneath the surface. Spencer's hands grasped at your hips, pulling you closer, desperate for more contact.

 

But you kept your pace torturously slow, denying him the release he yearned for. Each time he tried to thrust upwards, seeking more contact, you gently but firmly held him down, reminding him who was in control.

 

"You're doing so well," you whispered as you leaned down to capture his lips in a searing kiss. "Just a little longer. I promise it'll be worth the wait."

 

Spencer's body trembled beneath you, his fingers digging into your skin as he fought against the overwhelming need for release. His eyes were glazed with desire, his lips parted in a silent plea for more. The intensity of his desire mirrored your own, and you reveled in the power you held over him.

 

With each tantalizing movement of your hips, you could feel yourself growing wet and swollen, your own need begging to be satisfied. But this moment was about Spencer, about giving him the pleasure, he so desperately craved. You would have your turn soon enough.

 

His moans grew louder, more desperate, filling the room with their raw intensity. With each passing second, Spencer edged closer to the brink of ecstasy. But you were not ready to let him go just yet. Your movements quickened, but only slightly, teasing him with the promise of release while denying him its full realization.

 

"Please," he begged, his voice thick with desperation. "I need to cum, please."

 

You smiled down at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of affection and dominance. You knew he was on the edge, his body trembling with need. But you wanted to push him even further, to take him to a place of ecstasy he had never experienced before.

 

"Patience, my love," you whispered, your voice silkily smooth. "I want to make you feel so good."

 

With those words, you increased the tempo of your movements, grinding against him with a relentless rhythm. The pleasure intensified, threatening to break through the dam of control that Spencer had managed to maintain. His breaths came in ragged gasps, his body writhing beneath yours as he fought against the mounting pleasure.

 

You leaned forward, capturing his lips in a searing kiss that swallowed his moans and pleas for release. Your tongue danced with his, an erotic ballet that mirrored the movements of your bodies. The taste of him mingled with your own desire, intoxicating and addictive.

 

With a final thrust, you felt Spencer's body tense beneath you, his release imminent. The grip of his fingers on your hips grew tighter as he surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure that washed over him. His moans filled the room, a symphony of ecstasy that reverberated in your ears.

 

As he climaxed, you continued to move against him, prolonging his pleasure until he couldn't take any more. Wave after wave of intense sensation coursed through his body, leaving him gasping for breath, his limbs limp and sated.

 

You slowly eased yourself off him, a satisfied smile playing at the corners of your lips. The sight of Spencer lying there, spent, and thoroughly pleasured, made your heart swell with pride and delight. You had taken him to new heights of pleasure, pushed boundaries and explored desires you had only dared to whisper about.

 

“When you’re feeling better, I think you should reward me for taking such good care of you. Don’t you?”

~Join my taglist~

~Taglist~

@iluvreid @nomajdetective @drspencieee @katieeeee314 @evvy96 @oliviah-25 @starkid024 @emalynvtgtgfhvgg @krokietino @xohoneybun @spencerreidwifeee @purplepistachi0 @pleasantwitchgarden @bitchassbecky691 @piperb400 @queermaxwooo @gemofthenight @topguncultleader @luvpiercethekaty @anna-belle-xd

[pin-k-ink]

COVET ⋆✦⋆ grimmjow jaegerjaquez ft. nnoitra gilga

synopsis ➸ grimmjow’s been secretly in love with you for ages. when you show up upset after a rough night with your new boyfriend, he’s ready to prove that not all affection has to hurt

tags ➸ friends to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, dub-con (from nnoitra… kinda), degradation (also from nnoitra), he is mean, dirty talk, asphyxiation, cheating(?), choking, mentions of bruises, body worship, pet names, nipple play, teasing, unprotected sex, praise kink, begging

wc ➸ 6.4k

Grimmjow tried his best to keep his expression neutral as you twisted this way and that in front of the vanity mirror, fussing with your hair. But it was getting harder by the second to mask the muscle twitching in his jaw or the way his fingers dug restlessly into the mattress beneath him.

You looked goddamn incredible as always - face flushed with excitement, those big eyes shining, glossy lips parted slightly as you scrutinized your reflection. The sight of you so dolled up and radiating pure joy over some asshole coming to sweep you off your feet again made Grimmjow's chest constrict painfully.

He hated it. Hated watching you put so much effort into chasing after these douchebags who couldn't possibly appreciate you properly. Not like he—

No. Grimmjow cut that dangerous line of thought off before it could fester into something uglier. You were his best friend, his whole world, and he refused to become that cliché "nice guy" who secretly resented you over unrequited feelings. Better to suffer in silence than risk poisoning what you had with bitter jealousy.

Still...the thought of Nnoitra's wandering hands all over you, his smug grin as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear, made Grimmjow's stomach churn acidically. That prick didn't deserve to even look at someone as radiant and full of life as you, let alone take you out and try to charm his way past your clothes later.

"You about ready yet?" he found himself rumbling, partly to distract from his darkening thoughts. "Or did you wanna powerbomb your hair with a few more hours of fussing before your date rolls around?"

You shot him an exasperated look over one shoulder, rolling those big expressive eyes in his direction. "I want to look nice, okay? Is that a crime now in the kingdom of Grimm?"

He snorted at that, trying for an indifferent shrug and missing by a mile as you continued fidgeting with your appearance. Goddammit, you were so fucking beautiful when you got like this - all adorably insecure and earnest in your desires without realizing how breathtaking you looked already.

How many times had Grimmjow stood frozen on that same damn mattress over the years, watching as you attempted painstaking ritual after ritual in pursuit of some unattainable standard of perfection? Each time you'd twist and fuss, utterly oblivious to how every tiny adjustment made his mouth go dry and insides twist with the effort of staying silent.

Of course, you had no idea just how devastating your presence and effortless allure was to him these days. No clue that your best friend had been fighting an increasingly losing battle to keep things platonic despite the fact that you made his heart race and palms sweat like some lovestruck idiot.

"Hope this douche at least remembers to open doors and pull out chairs for you tonight," Grimmjow heard himself muttering, unable to help firing off another sardonic aside in hopes of grounding himself. "God forbid you have to waste breath reminding him how to be a basic respectful dipshit after so many dates."

You paused in the middle of smoothing an errant strand of silky hair, brow creasing in that adorable little wrinkle he loved so much. For a brief, dizzying moment Grimmjow wondered if you'd somehow developed telepathy and sussed out the bitter envy churning through his gut.

Then your bemused voice cut through the stifling tension knotting his shoulders as you replied:

"Someone sounds awfully salty for a guy who swore up and down he wasn't gonna give me any grief over Nnoitra."

Grimmjow winced inwardly at the piercing insight, tamping down the instinctive urge to look properly chastened. Sure, he'd promised to stay out of your dating choices this time around - go so far as supporting you even - but how the hell could he when you kept bringing home these undeserving pricks one after another?!

A bitter chuckle nearly escaped his chest at the thought. Like he had any room to judge your romantic entanglements when he was the biggest philandering asshole of all. Always leaving a trail of broken hearts and bruised egos in his wake wherever he went because none of those casual flings could ever truly satisfy the deep, gnawing ache in his core.

At the end of every sweaty, tangled night spent chasing fleeting pleasures, Grimmjow inevitably found his lust-hazed vision seeking out some glimmer of your essence reflected in whichever warm body writhed and gasped beneath his ravenous attentions. Maybe it was the way their hair splayed across the pillows in thick waves, so reminiscent of when you lounged about lazily on weekends snuggled up watching dumb movies. Or perhaps the smattering of freckles dotting their shoulder blades reminded him of the sun-kissed constellations spanning your back and shoulders from summers spent outside together.

No matter how petty or delusional it felt each time he found himself pathetically projecting pieces of you onto another nameless conquest, Grimmjow couldn't seem to stop himself from instinctively searching for those fleeting echoes. Because in those hoarded fragments, as superficial and masochistic as they may have been, he could almost pretend his restless, traitorous heart was finally sated for once.

Almost convince himself that the plush curves and silken skin bared so wantonly beneath him belonged to the one woman who simultaneously gave his life meaning while robbing him of all peace entirely.

Once or twice he'd even slipped so deeply into those maddening delusions that your name had spilled from his lips in a shuddering groan against heated flesh. Only to be jolted brutally back to harsh reality by the stricken revulsion twisting their expressions - punctuated by the harsh sting of an open palm leaving his cheek smarting in shameful reprisal.

So yeah...maybe Grimmjow had zero ground for casting aspersions on your romantic choices when he'd sunken to such utterly pathetic lows in his own debased pursuit of any scrap or temporary solace available. All because doing the right thing and simply letting you go to find happiness felt more agonizing than sacrificing what little soul and dignity he had left clutching at pale imitations.

Before he could wrangle the impulse into some sardonic retort designed to deflect, your thoughtful gaze shifted back to drinking in his sprawled form with that same unconscious appreciation. Grimmjow instinctively straightened under the intensity of your stare, electricity prickling down his nape and shoulders at the weight behind those warm, guileless eyes...

Then you beamed at him - just a soft, radiant smile that lit up your whole face - and Grimmjow felt his heart stutter in his chest all over again like it did every damn time you looked at him like that. Like he was the only person in the world who mattered in that suspended breath.

"You know you'll always be my best friend, right Grimm?" you said simply, voice brimming with sincere affection that robbed him of air entirely.

He blinked dumbly, mesmerized by the ethereal glow of pure sunshine radiating from your expression as you regarded him with that same open, vulnerable adoration he'd never quite grown accustomed to after all these years. Grimmjow felt himself leaning towards your orbit helplessly despite his best intentions, like a man dying of thirst finally stumbling upon an oasis after ages adrift.

"No matter who comes and goes, you're the one constant I can count on," you continued softly, ducking your chin a little with a tiny self-conscious tuck of hair behind your ear. "My truest partner in everything, y'know?"

Grimmjow's throat bobbed convulsively as he fought to swallow past the lump swelling there. God, how did you always manage to disarm him so completely with just a few hushed syllables and those big, earnest eyes of yours? He opened his mouth, desperate to return the sentiment somehow though any actual words failed him utterly in the wake of your sincerity bowling him over once more.

Then your smile widened into that brilliant, achingly familiar grin he'd somehow fallen deeper in love with every year you two spent practically glued at the hip. You rose from the vanity in one graceful, effortless movement and drifted over to plop down on the mattress beside him - movements radiating that wholesome, utterly pure aura of joy he cherished like a sacred flame amidst the world's cruelties.

Before Grimmjow could properly recalibrate his restraints, you leaned over to loop one slender arm around his shoulders and press the gentlest kiss against his cheek in a sweet, platonic embrace. His entire body went rigid, every muscle taut as his jaw clenched to stifle the growl threatening to rumble free as the ghost of your warm breath and plush lips seared themselves into his senses.

"Love you to the moon and back, you big grump," you whispered against the heated line of his jaw, completely oblivious to the smoldering inferno blazing behind his hooded stare now. "Even when you're being a stubborn jerk about me dating again."

The urge to turn and capture those honeyed words straight from your glistening mouth in a soulfire of a kiss nearly overpowered Grimmjow's faculties entirely. He could already envision the rapturous slide of claiming your velvet lips and sipping down those blissful sighs escaping around each searing caress.

Only the sudden, jarring chime of your phone vibrating across the nightstand jolted him back from that delirious precipice at last. You pulled away with a start, glancing towards the caller ID in clear dismay at the intrusion.

Then your expression shifted, lips curving into a bright, anticipatory grin as you registered who the incoming call was from. "Oh! That must be Nnoitra letting me know he's here!"

You bounced up from the mattress with a renewed burst of youthful energy, all but vibrating with poorly contained excitement. Grimmjow watched through his lashes as you hurried back over to the vanity, straightening your outfit and running deft fingers through your hair one final time.

"Don't wait up, okay?" you tossed over your shoulder with a wink that twisted the blade in his heart effortlessly. "Could be a late one depending how charming Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome is feeling tonight!"

A hollow chuckle punched past Grimmjow's defenses before he could bite it back. "When isn't that jackass on his A-game trying to sweep you off your feet?" he rasped out with far more bitterness than he'd intended.

You simply giggled at his sarcasm, utterly missing the jagged undercurrent fueling it as you whirled back towards him with that megawatt smile of yours.

"You know me, sucker for a pretty face and silver tongue, Grimm," you sighed dramatically, hands fluttering up to cradle your radiant features. "Just pray one day I learn some taste to go with this weak willpower!"

With that final teasing remark, you strode over and pressed another sweet, painfully chaste peck against his cheek that nearly unmade Grimmjow entirely.

"Love you, grump!" you murmured, breath fanning over his already flushed skin in deliciously intimate waves. "Don't wait up, but do lock up behind me if I'm not back before morning? You're the best, bye!"

Before he could unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth, you bounded from the bedroom and out through the front hall in a whirlwind of perfumed vibrancy. Grimmjow remained upright on your bed, back rigid and fists clenched against his thighs so hard the knuckles strained white as bleached bone. The thunderous cadence of blood roared in his ears until finally...the front door clicked shut behind your whirlwind exit.

Then, and only then, did Grimmjow allow his forehead to sag forward into his upturned palms with a groan torn from the deepest hollows of his soul.

"Fuck..." he rasped out around the bitter ashes of loss coating his tongue once more. "Love you too...so goddamn much it hurts just to keep breathing without you here..."

He stayed that way for several suspended eternities until the furious pounding of his pulse ebbed enough for higher cognitive functions to trickle back hazily. But even as Grimmjow finally slumped backwards onto the rumpled bedding you'd occupied so recently, consuming your lingering warmth and scent like a dying man's oxygen, he knew the desolate ache hollowing out his core would persist until your inevitable return once more.

Just like it always did whenever you drifted from his side to chase empty dreams with these superficial pricks unworthy of so much as basking in your radiant light. But Grimmjow would stay, would continue craving and pining after you in aching silence rather than risk shattering your bond entirely.

Better to watch you pursue wholehearted fulfillment despite the endless, gnawing torment scoring fresh wounds into his battered soul with each breathless farewell. At least this way...he could still bask in your light and cherish the scraps of intimacy you allowed him rather than lose you completely to the howling void.

So he waited...and endured...and loved you with every faltering fragment of his shattered being until the next rapturous reunion finally granted him fleeting solace in your orbit once more.

The ride back to Nnoitra's place passed in a heated blur of wandering hands and heated make-out sessions whenever they hit a red light. You thrilled at the shiver of delicious anticipation lacing through your veins as his calloused palms roamed over your exposed thighs and up under your skirt teasingly.

A giddy thrill raced through your veins as Nnoitra's car pulled up to his place - a sleek, luxurious apartment building that practically oozed opulence. You'd had such an incredible night together filled with romantic candlelight, sumptuous food, and that dark undercurrent of heated tension you lived for.

Things were still relatively new between you both, having only progressed to intense bouts of heavy petting and dry-humping in the backseat of Nnoitra's car after dates so far. But tonight, after weeks of building tension, you sensed a shift in his usual aggressive yet restrained approach to pursuing you physically.

All the subtle hints radiated off him in smoldering waves from the moment he opened your door and pulled you flush against his powerful frame. The ravenous way his mouth never left your skin for longer than a few scorching inhales. How those large, rough fingers dug into the supple flesh of your hips and ass with undisguised possessiveness.

"Fuck you look so goddamn gorgeous tonight, babydoll," Nnoitra growled against the fevered hollow of your throat between molten kisses. "Been drivin' me crazy thinkin' about strippin' you outta that little number all evening..."

You shivered at his words, the blatant masculine lust saturating them sending heat zinging through your core deliciously. As he guided you backwards into his apartment with that same single-minded focus, you couldn't quite stifle the giddy thrill of anticipation mounting higher still.

This was it - the moment you'd been breathlessly awaiting ever since your first flirtatious exchange with Nnoitra and the undeniable spark of chemistry igniting between you. The night everything finally reached its crescendo and you both surrendered to the ravenous passion simmering for weeks on end. You were practically vibrating with pent-up need and arousal by the time the backs of your thighs hit the mattress and sent you toppling backwards into the rumpled bedding.

Nnoitra loomed above you like a conquering force of nature given human form - eyes glittering with unveiled hunger and those full lips curled in a predatory smirk you couldn't tear your stare away from despite your thundering pulse.

"Ready for the main event, princess?" he rumbled out in a tone dripping with dark promise that made your thighs clench involuntarily.

"God yes..." you breathed out in a throaty rasp, hands already tugging at the collar of his fitted shirt impatiently. "You have no idea how bad I've wanted—"

But the rest of your breathy declaration trailed off in a choked gasp as Nnoitra abruptly seized both your wrists in a bruising grip and pinned them over your head in one forceful sweeping motion. You struggled on instinct for one heart-pounding second before registering the white-hot heat of pure, undisguised possession blazing in his heavy-lidded stare.

"Not tonight you don't," he hissed out in a tone laced with something that set off warning bells in your hind-brain instantly. "Tonight that greedy fucking mouth and the rest of your hot little body are mine to do with as I please..."

You frowned, opening your mouth to protest the hostile phrasing dancing along your instinctive aversion, only for Nnoitra to silence you roughly with a bruising crush of his demanding lips. His free hand wasted no time delving between your trembling forms, shoving past your flimsy panties and underwear to grip your sex in a vicious squeeze that punched the breath from your lungs in a strangled keen.

"That's right, slut," he growled against your parted, gasping mouth as rough fingertips parted your folds with uncompromising insistence. "Make all the sweet little noises you want while I get that worthless pussy nice and sloppy for what's coming..."

The cruel, dehumanizing words landed like a physical blow, igniting a fresh blaze of panicked adrenaline that made you thrash against his restraining bulk in a desperate bid for space. But Nnoitra only chuckled darkly in evident relish, baring down with his full, unyielding weight in wordless reprimand while his calloused knuckles continued their ruthless ministrations between your thighs...

You barely registered the salt tracks of tears streaming down your face as you slowly extricated your quivering form out from beneath Nnoitra's dead weight on the mattress. You slid free of the tangled sheets and quickly pried open the drawer beside the bed to yank on the first clothes you could find despite your raw, aching skin howling in protest.

Hot tears stung your eyes as you allowed Nnoitra's parting sneers and contemptuous dismissal to rattle around your numb psyche. Stupid slut...pathetic cocktease with no follow-through...wasted his goddamn time like every other desperate whore...

Your entire body thrummed with secondhand humiliation and regret. How could you have been so blind, so utterly naive to think this vulgar, domineering man might harbor even the slightest consideration or care for your boundaries?

No...you knew better, deep down. Perhaps not the full, ugly extent of Nnoitra's penchant for degradation and savagery, but enough to sense the ugliness lurking beneath his veneers all the same. All this time you'd simply chosen willful blindness in hopes some idealized version of him might take root if only you persisted hard enough.

Only once you were fully redressed and upright again - legs trembling violently yet somehow still holding your weight - did you chance a furtive look back over your shoulder at the sprawled silhouette of your boyfriend.

He was utterly unconscious in the aftermath of his merciless savagery, the slow rise and fall of his chest barely perceptible in the dim light creeping through the blinds. You couldn't discern if the wet trails bisecting his sculpted features had been your tears or his own sweat dripping down, nor did you particularly care at this point. All that remained was the hollow ache throbbing through every inch of your ravaged body and psyche pulsing in a dull cadence.

"Shouldn't have pushed me so hard, you cheap-ass cumslut," Nnoitra's mumbled slur reached you from the darkness, chilling you anew. "Now look...totally fucking blew my load and wasted it because your needy ass couldn't relax and take your medicine like a good girl..."

Any further cruel taunts dissolved into thick, whistling snores as he succumbed to the heavy pull of slumber anew. You simply stood there amid the settling ashes of your last remaining illusions and shattered boundaries, struggling to cling to the final fraying threads holding you together at all.

Then Grimmjow's face swam into focus behind your eyelids - that rakish grin and those penetratingly sincere azure irises that shimmered with so much fierce loyalty and adoration whenever he beheld you. It was like a lighthouse piercing through the fog of your unraveling despair and guiding you back towards salvation at last.

Without further hesitation, you turned on your heel and fled from the blood-tinged battlefield of Nnoitra's apartment with the few remaining dignity-preserving scraps you had energy to salvage. Away from the desolate, mocking silence now suffocating the eerie stillness in your wake.

Grimmjow barely registered the muted drone of the TV flickering before him, gaze glazed and thoughts adrift as he idly channel surfed. Some old movie rerun flickered across the screen but he couldn't muster enough focus to follow the plot if his life depended on it. His mind was too preoccupied wondering just what fresh hell you might be enduring at that very moment with Nnoitra...

The sudden jarring trill of the doorbell made him jolt upright, frown creasing his features as he glanced towards the entryway in confusion. Grimmjow definitely wasn't expecting company this late. Unless...

His pulse kicked up a traitor's cadence as he rose and padded towards the front door, something like grim anticipation weighing in his gut. Sure enough, one sweeping glance through the peephole revealed your familiar silhouette hunched on the front steps in the dim glow of the porch light.

Steeling himself for whatever emotional turbulence awaited, Grimmjow undid the locks and tugged the door open carefully. The sight that greeted him stole what little breath remained, bitter resignation curdling through his veins like acid.

"Hey Grimm..." you rasped out in a voice utterly devoid of your usual sunshine and warmth.

Then you lifted your bowed head just enough to reveal the fresh bruising purpling along your throat, the swollen split in your lower lip, and more incriminating evidence scattered across your ravaged features...and something inside Grimmjow simply cracked irreparably.

"[Y/N]..." he croaked out numbly, body moving on horrified instinct to surge forward and gather your trembling form against his chest in a crushing embrace. "What did that son of a bitch do to you..."

At his impassioned whisper, the dam finally broke and you dissolved into wretched, hiccuping sobs against his heaving chest. Grimmjow could only clutch you tighter, teeth grinding in sheer impotent fury as the warm trails of your anguish streaked over his skin in scorching brands far worse than any physical wound.

That worthless pile of shit Nnoitra had HURT you - harmed you in ways that made Grimmjow's most merciless nightmares seem trite by comparison. His eyes squeezed shut as you continued keening into the hollow of his throat wordlessly, entire frame practically vibrating with the force of your raw devastation laid finally bare.

Grimmjow had witnessed you mourn other breakups over the years, yes. But never in such undiluted, soul-searing fashion as this. It was as if the very essence of your brilliant spark - that endless fount of effortless joy and resilience he'd cherished for so long - had finally been scoured out through unimaginable torment until only the bitter, haunted ashes remained in its wake.

A snarl began building in his chest, low and guttural until it threatened to burst free in an incandescent blaze. Every simmering thread of restraint Grimmjow had worn like shackles holding back the urges to simply seize and ravage you as he so desperately craved came apart like smoke dissolving on the wind. The need to find Nnoitra and utterly annihilate him down to his very core suddenly blazed with the intensity of a dying star finally going supernova in one apocalyptic conflagration.

But just as Grimmjow began turning towards hunting his prey down no matter the consequences, your quavering rasp reached his ears and paralyzed him in his tracks.

"Don't..." you whispered in a broken cadence against his thundering pulse, hands feebly clutching his shirt with the last vapors of strength. "Please Grimm...I just want to be done...to stop hurting for a while and just...rest here with you..."

And just like that, all the smoldering bloodlust and wrath simply evaporated, leaving Grimmjow feeling utterly deflated as he turned back to gather you closer. You wound enfeebled arms around his midsection, clinging to his hulking frame with unconcealed desperation as he simply swayed in place, murmuring wordless reassurance against your disheveled hair.

How many times had he wished to declare his love in that heated silence, to reveal the aching depths of devotion roiling in his chest for years? Too many to ever recount as the seconds stretched into eternities under the leaden weight of your private anguish exsanguinating against him...

But somehow, in that suspended purgatory, Grimmjow also felt the stirrings of hope threatening to bloom impossibly through the bitter soil of his longstanding resignation. As if your hollowed vulnerability offered an oasis out of the howling void you'd both been trapped in since the beginning...

He pulled back just enough for your bleary, bloodshot eyes to find his, one hand tenderly cupping the curve of your jaw where the first telltale bruise blossomed. Grimmjow studied your ravaged features with something approaching reverence despite the wounds etched there.

To think your radiance had finally broken and started to cool towards ashen despondence...the reality sliced deeper than any physical torment. Yet also revealed an untold strength residing in those battered depths that threatened to rob Grimmjow of his composure entirely in a different way. He thumbed over your split lower lip with trembling care, utterly transfixed by every hitched breath shuddering through your lungs.

Unable to resist the swirling undertow any longer, Grimmjow surged forward and captured your parted lips in a searing, infinitely tender glide. The contact was barely there at first - a mere whisper of reverence and restrained longing scorching his senses. But then you whimpered softly against his mouth, and like a drowning man gulping life-giving air, Grimmjow deepened the kiss with a rumbling groan.

You both seemed frozen for one suspended eternity, bodies locked in a molten clinch as his tongue traced the plush seam of your lips in unspoken entreaty. When you finally parted them with a shuddering sigh, Grimmjow felt something primal and ravenous unfurl in his gut with blinding intensity.

He cradled the nape of your neck with infinite care, angling your faces impossibly closer as his tongue delved past your lips to explore every slick, velvet crevice with aching leisure. Each sweep of his velvet muscle elicited the most blissful, broken little sounds punching free from your core that stoked the banked embers in Grimmjow's own into an insatiable blaze.

"Sweet girl..." he murmured against your swollen mouth between heated, indulgent kisses. "Let me take care of you properly this time..."

You keened softly in response, hands scrabbling up the firm musculature of his back and shoulders as if seeking purchase against the tidal wave of sensation threatening to bowl you both under entirely. Grimmjow could only growl in dark approval, trailing open-mouthed worship down the slender column of your throat while gathering you against his powerful frame.

With a leonine heave, he surged to his feet and carried you through the living room without breaking his sensual cadence. Your thighs parted instinctively to bracket his hips like a lifeline, shaky gasps ghosting over his fevered skin with each lush undulation of your tangled forms.

"That's it..." Grimmjow husked out in a rumbling purr laced with sinful promise. "Stay right here with me, let me show you how good it feels to be handled right..."

By the time he lowered you reverently onto the rumpled sheets and covered your pliant body with his own, the weight of unrequited yearning and hunger etched in every etched ridge and hollow had reached a fever pitch. Yet despite the unmistakable claiming energy thrumming through each vein and sinew, Grimmjow retained an unhurried, almost meditative pace as he worked to rid you of your clothes.

Hands roamed and mapped every lush curve and quivering hollow, thumbs skating over feverish skin with aching tenderness even as he blazed a path of devouring kisses along the slopes of your breasts. You arched into him helplessly, lost to the sublime rapture of touch and being so thoroughly adored by someone who saw your radiant essence unveiled before anything else.

Your legs fell open wider as Grimmjow settled firmly between your splayed thighs, the firm swell of his cock straining his boxers against your molten core. Your hips canted upwards to grind against the welcome friction, hands scrabbling up and down the flexing contours of his muscled torso with unrestrained wantonness.

"God, so fucking perfect for me, babygirl," Grimmjow groaned against the valley between your breasts, one hand delving lower to cup your soaked sex and thumb your swollen clit. "Never gonna let anyone mistreat you or take this precious pussy for granted again, sweetheart..."

Then his face dipped lower still, and all coherent thought fled your mind as his full, pouty lips closed over one aching nipple and began suckling in earnest. You whimpered and squirmed beneath him, the wet heat of his mouth and teasing scrape of his teeth driving you wild.

Grimmjow merely growled around the pert, glistening bud and switched to its neglected twin, alternating between long, slow laps and gentle nips. His calloused fingers continued their torturous dance around your dripping slit, sliding over your folds and circling your swollen clit in unhurried, dizzying spirals.

The air grew thick with your combined panting breaths and the sinful, slick sounds of his relentless ministrations. All the while, the insistent throb of his rigid shaft grinding against you in steady rhythm built the pressure of unbridled need higher and higher still until you were sure you'd be swallowed by the rising tide entirely.

"Please...Grimmjow, please I can't take it anymore!" you sobbed, hands fisting in his tousled cerulean locks and yanking. "I need you inside me, want you to fuck me and make it better, please..."

At your breathless, broken entreaty, Grimmjow's head reared up from your flushed chest with an almost feral snarl. The blistering heat radiating from his piercing cerulean gaze was enough to scald you to the bone, igniting the molten embers simmering through your veins anew.

"Fuck, I want to, baby…so goddamn much," he bit out, teeth gritted as he loomed over you with one forearm braced on the headboard. "But you've had enough rough treatment for a lifetime. Gonna be real sweet and thorough when I make you mine at last, gorgeous."

He dipped his head low and sealed his mouth over yours in another soul-searing kiss, tongues tangling and breath mingling. You felt the blunt, silky head of his cock nudging your drenched folds aside and gliding through your folds to graze your sensitive bundle of nerves. Then the fat, velvety tip began prodding at your entrance, and you were certain the delicious pressure might very well undo you before you'd even felt him sink fully inside you.

"Gonna take it real slow, babygirl, so just breathe for me, yeah?" he husked against your parted lips.

Grimmjow punctuated his gravelly command with a shallow roll of his hips, the thick, bulbous crown stretching your tender walls with agonizing tenderness. Your inner muscles clenched instinctively, the initial burn of intrusion giving way to the delicious fullness that promised so much more to come.

"Yes, fuck yes Grimmjow, keep going, don't stop..."

The raw, pleading notes of your voice only served to spur him on, and he buried his face in the crook of your shoulder with a hoarse curse. The powerful flex and coil of his sinewy form above you as he sank deeper inside you inch by aching inch was an utter thing of beauty.

Every twitch and clench of your walls drew out a different sound from his lips - a ragged gasp or breathy groan, or something more akin to a guttural snarl. The overwhelming intensity was unlike anything you'd ever experienced, and yet felt like the culmination of all the shared yearning and desire built up for so long.

When the rigid girth finally bottomed out, your legs hooked instinctively around his waist and you let out a keening cry, overwhelmed by the delicious pressure throbbing within. Grimmjow merely let out a shudder exhale, lips brushing your sweat-slicked brow and jaw.

"Fuck, you feel like pure heaven around my cock, princess," he groaned, teeth grazing the shell of your ear as his hips began a slow, deep thrust. "So goddamn good, never wanna leave this sweet pussy now that I've had a taste..."

His words sent a fresh thrill zipping down your spine, and your back arched up to meet the sinuous roll of his body in a languid counterpoint. Your fingers carded through the coarse azure strands tumbling around his handsome features, the sheer intensity of his adoring gaze searing into your soul and sending shivers through your writhing frame.

Grimmjow pressed impassioned kisses along the line of your jaw and collarbone, all the while murmuring soft words of praise and endearment. His tempo was a measured, unhurried glide that kept building the pressure within you to an excruciating fever pitch.

The heady friction of his velvet length massaging your inner walls in the most sinful way soon had you babbling incoherently. His name fell from your lips in broken, reverent litany as if invoking a sacred prayer - the only truth that mattered in that moment.

"H-Harder, Grimm...please..." you gasped, the coil in your belly drawing tighter and tighter with each exquisite slide.

"Uh-uh, babygirl, not this time," he rumbled back, one hand skimming over the smooth plane of your torso to cradle the crest of your hip with unflinching tenderness. "Wanna show you how good it feels when someone loves you like they're meant to..."

With those gravelly words, Grimmjow's pace slowed further still until each thrust was a languid, almost agonizing pull out followed by a torturous press in. His lips closed over yours in a drugging kiss, tongues gliding in unhurried, sinful caresses that only stoked the inferno of your mutual desire into an inextinguishable conflagration.

You keened helplessly, utterly at his mercy in the best possible way. With his strong, broad body braced above you and his unyielding cock filling you completely, the rest of the world fell away to insignificance. It was as if you'd finally found the home and shelter you'd sought so desperately in that shared, silent space - in the warmth of his arms and the searing heat of his touch.

Grimmjow broke the kiss suddenly, a deep shudder coursing through his powerful frame as he buried his face in the hollow of your throat with a ragged, drawn-out groan. You could feel the telltale flutter of his swollen member against your tender inner walls and knew his own release was near.

"Fuck, I-I'm close, sweet girl..."

His strained voice seemed to drag you out of the haze of ecstasy you'd been swept away on, and the sight of him above you nearly undid you completely.

His cerulean locks tumbled around his fevered expression in disheveled tendrils, eyes blazing with pure adoration and devotion and the strain of unyielding restraint holding back his climax. His arms quivered on either side of you, muscles rippling and bunching as he fought to maintain his torturous pace and draw out the bliss for just a little longer.

You wound your legs tighter around his lean waist, angling your hips up and letting out a high, breathless gasp as he sank impossibly deeper inside you. Grimmjow cursed darkly, teeth grazing the column of your throat and hands fisting the sheets until his knuckles blanched.

"I-I love you, [Y/N]...fuck, I love you so much," he groaned, voice cracking at the end and betraying the depth of his emotion. "Please say it back, let me hear it at least once, please..."

Your heart stuttered at his impassioned, whispered plea. The raw, naked longing etched on his features threatened to overwhelm you entirely. But in the end, there was no doubt left in your mind about what you needed to do, and no fear at the idea of exposing the tender, fragile parts of yourself in turn.

"I love you too, Grimmjow," you whispered back, hands reaching up to tenderly cup his cheeks and bring his feverish, desperate gaze back to yours. "You're the only one I've ever loved like this, and the only one I want, I promise."

And just like that, the leonine man above you seemed to collapse with a shuddering exhale, burying his face in the valley between your breasts as his powerful body went taut as a bowstring. A few more deep, hard thrusts and the pressure within you snapped, sending you both hurtling over the edge into blissful oblivion.

Your back arched off the mattress, eyes squeezing shut and mouth falling open on a choked sob as the first waves of pleasure crashed through your frame. Grimmjow's answering snarl and ragged exhale signaled his own release, the molten heat of his essence flooding your core and filling every inch of your quivering channel with his seed.

He continued rocking into you as you both rode out the last echoes of release, hips twitching and muscles shuddering with the aftershocks. Your legs fell bonelessly to the bed, thighs quivering and chest heaving as he rolled off you at last, his spent cock slipping free from your quivering sex with a lewd squelch.

He gathered you against him, one powerful arm looping around your waist to pull you flush against his firm, sinewy torso. The other stroked and smoothed over the sweat-slicked strands of hair clinging to your temples and forehead, fingers trailing tenderly over your features and pressing a reverent kiss to your parted lips.

"[Y/N]...my precious girl, don't know how I'll ever let you go," Grimmjow mumbled against your temple, nuzzling his cheek against the crown of your head. "You deserve so much better than what I have to offer, but I'm still not letting you leave. Never."

A fresh swell of emotion threatened to break loose, but this time, it was not borne of heartache or despair. You turned your face up to his, pressing a chaste kiss to his sculpted jaw and reveling in the possessive squeeze of his arms around you.

"Then I'm not going anywhere, Grimmjow."

He let out a satisfied rumble and nosed along the slope of your throat and jaw, pressing lazy kisses wherever he could reach. The soothing motion lulled you into a pleasant, boneless haze, the rhythmic rise and fall of his broad chest lulling you deeper into the depths of slumber.

The last thing you heard before slipping away was the soft, reverent whisper breathed against the crown of your head.

"Love you, [Y/N]...more than I ever thought was possible."

[scoops-aboy86]

By The Heart (Secret Admirer pt 2)

Steddie Week 2024, July 2: Hands / touch starved / Invisible Touch by Genesis

wc: 2136 / rated: T / set between seasons 2 and 3 / also on ao3

After the world fell apart a second time in November of ‘84, Steve had finished out the rest of his senior year in a daze. Partly because Billy Hargrove had broken a fucking plate over his head, giving him a small scar by his hairline that the doctor said would fade and recurring headaches that the doctor said might stick around anywhere from a few months to forever. 

It’s been more than a few months and the headaches are only slightly less frequent and a tiny bit less severe. 

He graduated, barely. His dad keeps dropping pointed comments about how his parents let him stay in their house rent-free after high school, how he’d saved up while attending a nearby college by not having to worry about the cost of a dorm or basic meals, and that it is his gratitude towards them that has moved him to offer the same to Steve. Usually said comments come after Steve tries to sidestep some sort of menial task, and it always feels like a threat.Steve just grits his teeth and takes it—refills his dad’s drink when the bottle is already literally right by the man’s hand, washes the family car after dinner when both his parents know that Steve has a shift at Scoops first thing in the morning, whatever. He can’t afford to get kicked out right now. 

His job at Scoops Ahoy is shit, all bright fluorescent lights and kids screaming and everything getting sticky for a measly minimum wage, but that probably reflects the quality of the job application he’d submitted. 

He has no friends, no prospects, no one in his corner except a bunch of incoming freshmen and the only one who really seems to want him around is off at some sort of smart people camp that he’d never even heard of… Go figure. 

But he has Secret Admirer. 

Okay, what Steve has is a pen pal who has a PO box and prefers to remain anonymous, possibly because Steve is an embarrassing person to have a crush on these days. And it’s really stupid that he thinks of them as first name Secret, last name Admirer, but it’s not like he hasn’t tried to come up with better names! Unfortunately, there are so many things Secret Admirer has called him (sweetheart, darling, dearest, honey, baby) that he can’t really think of anything original with those constantly rotating in his head… He can’t use them, though. It’d be weird. 

The first letter had been shoved into his locker in the last few weeks of school, looking like someone either wrote it with their non-dominant hand or had also suffered a blow to the head recently, and he hadn’t known what to make of it at first. In fact, he’d considered the possibility that Tommy or Billy were playing some sort of prank on him… but he didn’t think either of them could write “To Steve, the heart of my heart” without bursting into homophobic flames, and if it was Carol she would’ve done her girliest handwriting with hearts dotting the eyes. And his Secret Admirer had mentioned things no one else in his life seemed to care about. 

Like, 

I hope you’re feeling better. Sometimes I notice you squinting or grimacing in the classes we have in common… Are you still getting headaches? Do you get enough rest? You probably already know this, but mental and physical rest are super important for getting your handsome self all recovered, big boy. 

And,

I had a concussion once, not a bad one but it really left an impression. Felt like I was trying to think through a head full of soup for weeks. It sucks that teachers didn’t seem to cut you much slack because, just saying, I noticed they used to do that a lot more when you were still on the basketball and swim teams. Jock privilege placed above consideration of an actual, serious injury? I’m sorry, but that’s the rankest compound of villainous smell that ever offended nostril, sweetheart, and you deserve better. 

So, yeah. Clearly his Secret Admirer is a nerd who doesn’t necessarily have the best opinion of jocks… but still took the time to notice all those things and write kindly about them. It felt nice, knowing that at least one person out there noticed, maybe even cared. 

And when that letter turned out not to be a one-off, a few more letters in his locker and then one in his mailbox, postmarked and everything, after graduation? Steve was hooked, enough to start writing self-consciously back. 

Which has brought him to the point of wanting so badly to meet this person that he’s stooped to begging, and it’s not even getting him anywhere. 

It’s occurred to him that it could be a guy, of course it has. Steve might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he knows it happens. He’d had a friend in middle school, Todd Fischer, nice guy, totally normal kid—got caught kissing some boy in the next grade up behind the gym and turned out to be the worst sprinter of the two. The Fischers had moved out of Hawkins a few weeks later and Steve hadn’t heard anything from or about Todd since. They’d been halfway through reading Romeo & Juliet in English at the time, and Steve remembers thinking when they got to the end of the play that at least things hadn’t gone that badly for Todd and whoever the other kid was. He’s old enough now to know that it could have; between Todd being such a nice kid, Barb dying in his own backyard, and the threat of government agents coming out of the woodwork if he ever breathes a word about certain secrets, the thought leaves a bad taste in Steve’s mouth. 

Anyway, if it is a guy, that would explain why Secret Admirer keeps dancing around his pleas to meet. And the initially disguised handwriting—which had been dropped by the second mailed letter, along with a brief, sheepish apology. 

But it could also be a girl who’s really shy or something. Steve doesn’t want to assume and then look like a total idiot further down the road. Whoever it is, all Steve knows is that he doesn’t want to lose them. He has to play this smart, play it cool… because he knows himself, and already knows that they have him by the heart based on words alone. 

The latest letter is in his hands, crinkled a little at the edges, and Steve can’t help himself from rereading the fifth paragraph yet again. 

… those indecently tiny shorts. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about running my fingers up the inside of those thighs. Or my mouth. Whichever you think you’d like best, baby, I’m not picky. And while I do like ice cream, particularly strawberry with rainbow sprinkles in a cone, I can think of something else I’d love to wrap my hand around and run my tongue over before any drips can escape. You just think about that, hmm? Maybe share some of those thoughts in your reply, if I haven’t scared you off…

He’s not scared off. Doesn’t need to know exactly who put pen to paper to imagine hands and lips running up his legs, either, an invisible touch that sends shivers along his spine. 

Okay, maybe it’s been a while. Between striking out from behind the Scoops counter and not really trying all that hard anyway, the only action Steve’s seen is from his own hand… and this letter. He has thoughts, alright, but has a much better idea of how to translate them into action than words. And this is his problem with the whole pen pal only thing, his natural charm (if he has any left) is absolutely useless in this medium. 

The other problem is that he really, really wants to jerk off about this, except he’s got almost no details to fuel the fantasy. He knows that Secret Admirer had a concussion once, but not what color or length or texture or style their hair is; knows they’re on the fringes of popularity and not really into sports, but nothing about their height or build or how they might move against him. Hell, he doesn’t even know if they’re a girl or a guy, isn’t sure if he should try to imagine boobies and painted nails or stubbled cheeks and big hands. 

Secret Admirer has mentioned being a smoker though, of both tobacco and grass, and Steve is not exactly proud of how strongly this makes him want a cigarette just because it’s all he has to go on. He has work in under an hour and Robin hates the smell of cigarettes, will be extra vicious for their entire shift if he comes in reeking of smoke. 

He’ll have to figure out something else…

Dear Secret Admirer, Thanks for writing again, I was really glad to get your letter. I don’t sleep with them under my pillow because sometimes my pillow ends up on the floor and I don’t want to drool all over them. I keep them in a box in the back of my closet, because sometimes my parents have the cleaning lady do my bedroom without telling me and I don’t want her going through my stuff or putting it in weird places that I can never find again.  Sorry for laughing at you You must not have seen me last week when I threw a banana peel at my coworker for It’s not being humble if I don’t deserve Yeah, fuck high school.  Sorry for not rewriting this, I’m running out of paper and my dad’ll kill me if I break into his office to get more I definitely thought about what you said in your last letter. I thought about it a lot. It’s hard to figure out how to explain what though, because I wanted to picture you like you were probably picturing me when you were writing it. You obviously know what I look like, but I don’t know who you are so I had to get creative. (Which isn’t my strong suit. So if this is stupid maybe we could just never mention it again?) Since I don’t know what you look like and it’d be weird to try and picture you anyway, and then what if I’m not even close and that makes it seem like I don’t like you for who you are? I’m not sure if that makes sense. But anyway, since I don’t know what you look like I pictured you dressed like a ninja.  Hear me out, okay? You’re such a mystery. Ninjas are mysterious, and dressed all black to blend in with the shadows. You can’t see their hair or face and they wear gloves because you can tell a lot about a person by their hands. I guess what I’m saying is I imagined you sneaking into my room at night when the lights are off. Totally silent but with this powerful presence, you know? I think if I were in the same room as you it’d feel like that moment right before the whistle goes off at a swim meet, because that’s just like, holy shit it’s about to happen and your muscles are all tense but ready but you’re waiting, coiled like a snake. So I’m coiled like a snake and you’re still a ninja and I’m not very good at this. I’ve done it over the phone a few times but that’s different. I don’t know where I’m going with this just sitting writing this alone in my room with Genesis playing in the background so I’m going to stop. Just trust me, it was hot. If you ever want to exchange numbers I’d be happy to tell you all about it sometime.  It feels weird to end like that, so I’ll also tell you that I tried reading that Hobbit book you suggested and you were right, it’s a lot easier than the Rings book that the kids I babysit tried to bully me into reading. Bibo is freaking out about all these dwarves in his house and I can relate, it sounds like when those kids all show up and try to rope me into driving them around town. At least they haven’t tried to make me steal anything or try to take on a damn dragon yet. Hopefully this book won’t give them any ideas.  — Steve PS If that was so dumb you changed your mind about still writing to me, please let me down easy. Seriously it would be no hard feelings. At least I still have a great ass and great hair, so I’ve got that going for me.

Tag list (open): @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @tangerinesteve @steviewashere

@cryingglightningg @theresebelivett @sleepy-steve @rozzieroos @lunaraindrop

@just-my-latest-hyperfixation @wheneverfeasible @swimmingbirdrunningrock @yesdangerpls @matchingbatbites

@ihavekidneys @p0lybl4nkk @grtwdsmwhr @cheesedoctor @thetinymm

@practicallybegging @fuzzyduxk @greatwerewolfbeliever

[cressidagrey]

Unafraid - The Unexpected Series

Summary:

“If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it, but stay away from her.”

What if… Azriel actually takes Rhys at his word? And does exactly what his High Lord ordered? With unexpected consequences.

This is Azriel following his High Lord's order to the fucking letter (well, kinda.)

Warnings:

Mention of Sex Work, Mention of Faerie Genocide, Sex Work, Bathing

Note:

This was a thought experiment that kinda started to grow a life on its own.

(super pretty divider by @saradika-graphics)

Azriel was having a bad day. 

In a string of bad days. A string of horrible days. 

He knew that he wasn’t in the right headspace for this. He knew that he had no business to be here. 

And still, he was. 

It was the only place where even a monster like him could get something that resembled love, after all. 

It wasn’t like anybody else wanted him. Wasn’t like anybody else was interested in him in any other way than…It wasn’t like he deserved better than this. 

This was all he deserved and he should just accept it. Accept it and move on and figure out that whenever he had any sort of physical wants…this was where he should go. 

“If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it, but stay away from her.”

So there he was. Walking down the street to this pleasure hall and…every step was trudging. He wasn’t even sure why he was doing it. Why… Why he didn’t just go home…go to the House of Wind and try to sleep once more…why he didn’t just…

Because he didn’t want to lay down in his empty bed, alone, and close his eyes, and be alone and…

He wished for somebody to touch him like…like he mattered. Like his feelings mattered. Like his feelings were something other than simply an inconvenience for the Court. 

He was just supposed to flip the switch and turn them off, right? Elain had chosen Lucien so Azriel should just get over her. He should just move on. And be done. 

And he couldn’t. He couldn’t. 

He wished he could, but he couldn’t. 

And so there he was. 

He poured a handful of gold coins on the desk in the front…enough for a whole night. Even if he just stayed an hour, he thought that one of the long-suffering females deserved it for putting up with him. 

For letting him put his ruined hands anywhere near her and pretend that she wanted this. 

Why was he even doing this again? 

Azriel didn’t even know himself anymore. 

Still, he followed behind the voluptuous proprietress, a red-headed High Fae named Marge, into the courtyard, filled with all the females that worked there. “Are you searching for anything in particular or…?” she trailed off, asking Azriel as she mustered him. 

Searching for his will to live. Though that was probably not the answer she was looking for. 

And no, there was no particular sexual act that he wanted, that he was in the mood for. Absolutely nothing that…immediately struck his fancy. 

Nothing that…He didn’t even really want sex. 

He wanted…

“Any female that’s not afraid of me,” he forced out, his voice like gravel. Companionship. Understanding. Something as close to willing as he could get. 

Marge’s dark eyes widened as she took in that particular request. He half expected her to laugh him out of her establishment. If she did, he couldn’t even fault her for that. The coin was worth a try. 

And then, to the wordless shock of him…“I’ll take him,” came a quiet voice. His head swivelled around, just as a soft, small hand claimed his. 

Blonde, blue-eyed. Beautiful. Gorgeous in fact. Full lips pulled into a bright smile. 

“Would you like to come with me, Sweetheart?” she cooed and he managed a shaky nod. 

She didn’t even seem to notice the scars that covered his hands. She didn’t seem to care. Everybody noticed. Everybody cared. 

But she just…didn’t. 

And her smell…it was clear of fear. Utterly unafraid. 

Roses. Nothing else. 

“You aren’t afraid,” he choked out as he followed behind her, up the stairs, to a room, that was clearly hers. Soft and cream coloured with heavy drapes and she closed the door behind them with a soft snick. 

“Should I be?” she asked him lightly. “You have given me no reason to be afraid of you.”

No. He just existed. Existed with scarred hands and ferocious wings and the shadows that he had sent away for the night and still lurked around…he scared everybody.

“You have done nothing to me that would make me fear you,” she told him calmly, walking over to a commode, filling a glass with the amber liquid from a bottle on top of it and then bringing it to him. 

“You may call me Blossom,” she told him. Smart. Not that it was her name…but that he may call her that. “What is your name?”

“Azriel,” he answered. For some cauldron-forsaken reason, he gave her his real name, just as she pushed the glass in his hand and him down onto the edge of her bed so that she could straddle him. 

He let her do with him as she wished. 

Something about Blossom…something about her made her putty in her hands. Whatever she wanted from him he would probably do it…let himself sink into the pleasure of just this…just the smell of roses and her eyes gently watching him…just this. 

“Now, there is a secret you should know about me,” Blossom told him, her voice sweet and soft. He just stared at her, as she shrugged out of the silky dressing gown she wore, leaving her utterly bare to his gaze. 

There was no piece of her that wasn’t beautiful. From the upturned tip of her nose to the full swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the lush fullness of her hips…

And then suddenly between one blink and the next…she changed.

Not her body. That stayed the same. 

An iridescent pair of pink wings sprouted from her back and stretched wide…her hair stopped being ordinarily blonde and turned blush pink…and her ocean blue eyes turned into a colour that he could spend hours describing and still fail horribly. 

She had been beautiful before. With that glamour. 

But without it…without it…she was breathtaking. So beautiful that she put him on his knees. He could just stare at her, drink her in, his mouth slightly open. 

“I have wings just like you,” she told him, a smile on her face and he swallowed. 

There was only one type of faerie that had wings like that…A very rare type. 

“You’re…a Floresco Faerie?” he asked her, his voice hoarse. 

Hunted to near extinction by the Spring Court centuries ago. 

And one had seemingly escaped to Velaris. 

Her full lips pulled into a smile. 

“Guilty as charged,” Blossom answered, lifting his hand that still kept a loose hold of that amber liquid to her lips and took a drink before she lifted it to his own lips. 

He took a sip, his eyes still fixed on these beautiful, fluttering wings. So rare. So beautiful. 

“Now, Azriel. Why don’t you tell me what you would like tonight and I’ll…” she trailed off as she saw his expression, mustering him for a moment. He would spend the rest of his life wondering what exactly she saw in his eyes that made her take the glass from him, put it on her bedside table and then suggest: “How about a bath?”

Somehow that was the best suggestion he had heard in decades. 

Her bathtub was right there, connected to her bedroom, a massive thing that was pure indulgence. Of course, it was. They were in a pleasure hall after all…

She stripped him out of his clothing slowly and then led him into that massive bathtub…the water blood hot and smelled like roses, with plenty of bubbles to go around.

He had never bothered with bubble baths before.

Clearly an oversight. 

Just as it was an oversight to have her small, soft hands all over him as she spread soap over his skin. 

She didn’t ask, didn’t give him an opportunity to turn her down. Blossom touched him gently with no hesitation. Not even thinking twice about it.

He could have wept with gratitude. Her scent never turned into fear. It stayed the soft scent of roses clinging to every inch of her. Not once did she hesitate to touch his skin, or his scars, or the dark illyrian markings over his arms and chest. 

Every muscle of his body grew lax in response, until he was a puddle underneath her touch, just watching her. 

Watching this beautiful female and her soft smile. 

Blossom washed his hair, fingernails gently scrubbing her scalp and he could have started purring.

Something inside him relaxed. He wasn’t even sure what. But just the feeling of another warm body next to him…of her touch to his body, without hesitation, without fear, without anything…simple touch…

He couldn’t even remember the last time he had that. 

Maybe Azriel should have expected it, but still, the moment her hand snaked down his stomach, lower, it took him by surprise. 

He caught her hand in his, hand shooting out to wrap around one fragile wrist like a snake. 

At least now, her scent should sour into fear. She just held still. 

“You don’t want me to touch you?” she asked him, one eyebrow raised. 

He really didn’t. Not like this. Not…

“Not like this,” he admitted weakly and her eyes widened. 

“Would you like to touch me?” she asked him, cocking her head to the side and he let go of her wrist. When she arched her back just like that, she made the best of every single one of her assets. 

And she was beautiful. But Azriel didn’t want that. Not truly. 

“No,” he said quietly. “Not like this.”  

He just wanted…

Something inside Blossom’s expression seemed to shift to understanding. She didn’t ask, she didn’t push…didn’t try to touch him like that anymore. Instead, her hands shifted to slow languid strokes…gently and…nearly reverently along his chest and arms. 

“Would you like a kiss instead?” She asked him softly, soft lips dusting over the shell of his ear. 

He hesitated. 

That was seemingly all the agreement she needed. Little butterfly kisses were pressed all over his face, against his temple and forehead and the tip of his nose and Azriel trembled underneath her at this. 

Kiss after Kiss, her sweet breath and the plush softness of her lips…they pressed to his skin without hesitation, without fear. Like he wasn’t a monster to fear. Like he was just a male in need of comfort. 

 It was more than he had ever thought he would be able to get that night. Or ever. 

Comfort that he didn’t think he deserved and still clung to like a drowning male, because this was all he could have…This was all he was allowed to have. 

He lost track of how long she did that…until the water turned cold and both their skin had shrivelled up…until she got him out of that water. 

The spell she had seemingly cast over him broke. 

This was all he was willing to take from her. All Azriel deserved. 

So he got redressed and Blossom watched him, infinite softness in her gaze. 

“You know…not a lot of males would pay the amount you do, just for this,” she told him carefully, as he had the doorknob in his hands. 

“Not a lot of females are willing to take me on,” he countered quietly, before he opened the door and disappeared through it. Forever. It would be nothing but a stolen interlude. 

Or would it? 

[urdepressedslut]

Lovesick

♡ Pairing: tfatws!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader, Platonic!Sam Wilson x Fem!Reader

♡ Summary: Bucky is so in love with you it hurts, and he doesn’t know if he can keep his feelings locked away from you anymore.

♡ Warnings: light angst, hints to past suicide attempt, mentions of imprisonment, fluff, bucky being oblivious and adorable

“You’re staring again… Kinda creepy.” Sam mutters to Bucky, snapping him from his thoughts. Which were all of you of course.

Bucky glanced to Sam, smiling with red cheeks at being caught gazing upon you. But he couldn’t help himself. He was so in love with you, it hurt. He was lovesick, his thoughts consumed longing for you. The lack of emotionally and physically connecting with you eating away at him.

Sam smirked at Bucky getting lost in his thoughts again, glancing from him to you with a knowing look. Bucky wasn’t one to express how he felt, but he’d confessed, and Sam knew he was falling apart.

You had come from a rough past, growing and adapting slower than most. You were kept trapped away from any human interaction for five years, which resulted in you becoming a whole different person.

Fact was you didn’t remember who you were before, you had remembered the basics, your name, parents. But that was about it. You felt like you had started over in life, but along with a fresh start you had issues that lingered.

You had been given a second chance at life some would say, but it was a life that would be tainted, haunted with ghosts from your previous one. So was it really a fresh start?

You didn’t know.

You met Sam and Bucky soon after you’d been freed of isolation. They were shocked to find out you had used to be a well respected agent, before everything happened. Feeling terrible that all your training, hard work was thrown away, now having to start all over again. Some was muscle memory, an instinct that never left you. But you found yourself re-training with the two. You found yourself healing slowly in the company of them. Of course you’d grown attached, and so did they. The three of you stuck together, a deep bond having formed.

While you and Sam had more of a sibling bond, there was something extensive about you and Bucky. He was able to empathize with you, knowing full well how badly you’d suffered, and that was something you’d grown to appreciate. Having someone able to relate, was reliving in a weird way, made you feel less alone.

Bucky had immediately liked you, admiring your strength, finding your kindness infectious. You were a rare pure soul, that didn’t deserve the suffering you’d endured. At first glance he was protective, his mother-like instinct kicking in at the sight of your skittish form.

Months had gone by, and you were doing much better. You were still a little slow, and you became overwhelmed quicker. You were to be treated with a little more care than most. Nevertheless, Sam and Bucky were proud of how far you’ve come.

“You should tell her.” Sam startled Bucky from his thoughts once again, looking over at him with a hesitant expression.

“I don’t know man… I don’t wanna pressure her. She’s been doing so well, I don’t wanna jump the gun and freak her out.” Bucky rambled on, anxiety clouding his mind.

“You aren’t going to freak her out, she loves you Buck. I can tell.” Sam assured him, no teasing tone lingering.

“You can’t know that. Have you talked to her?” Bucky wondered.

“No, but it’s hard not to think otherwise with the way she looks at you.” Sam pointed out.

“How— how does she look at me?” Bucky pushed, not believing he could be that oblivious.

Sam on the other hand, thought he was completely oblivious.

“Seriously Buck? Are you missing your eyes too?” Sam asked incredulously, “She looks at you like you’re her whole world.”

Bucky thought back to the days he’d caught you glancing at him and Sam.

“She looks at you like that too.” Bucky argued.

“It’s different… I’m like a big brother she’s never had,” Sam stated, “Then you… It’s different.”

Bucky took in Sam’s words, and he couldn’t deny that yes, you and Bucky had an amazing friendship. But he was afraid that’s all it was. His chest ached at the thought that you wouldn’t want to be something more with him.

Bucky was about to respond, when Sam interrupted him, grabbing him by his shoulder.

“Your girl is looking this way.” Sam told him, motioning his head to you.

Bucky glanced to you, his eyes meeting with yours. You were holding his gaze, your eyes warm and glowing. It’s like he had never seen it before, but now that he was gazing into your orbs, he felt like your eyes were saying a million words. It was giving him hope, that you might feel the same way.

Bucky excused himself from Sam, heading towards you. Getting closer he was careful not to interrupt the little girl talking with you, the sight making Bucky watch with fondness.

“My friend is being mean to me!” The little girl whined, crossing her arms with a huff.

“Oh, well that’s not okay. Where’s your friend?” You asked, ready to scold a kid for being rude to this sweet girl.

“She’s standing right next to you.” The little girl said as if it was obvious.

Your eyes widened slightly in horror, and glanced to either side of you, furrowing your brows in confusion when you saw no one.

“She is?” You asked her, receiving a nod, “Uh… I don’t see her.”

The little girl started laughing and you faked a smile, scratching the back of your neck.

“No one can see her, she’s invisible.” She told you with a wide grin.

You understood immediately what she was saying, and felt embarrassed that you hadn’t caught on. You weren’t used to hanging around kids, and you weren’t really good at talking to them.

“Of course, how could I forget?” You asked the girl playfully, trying to will your cheeks back to normal color.

Luckily for you, the little girl’s attention span had her running away to a group of kids, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Why did that interaction stress you out so much?

Bucky’s face hurt from how much he was smiling, but he couldn’t help it watching you talk with the little girl. Something about seeing you with kids had his stomach full of butterflies. You made him feel like a nervous school boy with a crush.

“Hey doll, making some friends?” Bucky teased you, and you met his gaze, smiling warmly at him.

“I think so, the kids are adorable.” You told him, the kids even though they were difficult sometimes, they were precious.

“You seem good with kids.” Bucky acknowledged.

“Oh not at all, I was actually very nervous. I feel like I talk to kids like they’re dumb sometimes… And I don’t mean it— Of course not, I just don’t have like any experience with kids.” You rambled on, while Bucky thought you were adorable.

“Well, don’t beat yourself up about it. You’re better with kids then I am.” He admitted, though the kids he’d seen today had taking a liking to him, which warmed his heart.

It was quiet for a moment, the two of you taking in each other’s company. Then you thought of a random question.

“Have you ever wanted kids of your own?” You asked him, your question taking him by surprise.

Bucky hadn’t always thought of the idea, but he found his mind wandering towards the idea more, ever since he’d gotten close with you. Though he assumed it was impossible, maybe back in the 40’s. But after everything that had happened with HYDRA, he wasn’t sure if his body was physically able to.

“Never really thought about it.” He lied, “You?”

“I’ve never really gave it much thought either, but it would be cool to have a mini-me running around.” You admitted, though the overall idea of kids terrified you.

Bucky smiled at the idea of a miniature you, the idea warming his heart.

“Uh, so actually… I wanted to talk to you doll.” Bucky started, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

“We are talking Buck.” You said with a giggle, the sound giving Bucky butterflies.

“No no,” He chuckled, “I mean about something kinda serious. Something that I need to get off my chest.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at the word serious, watching his playful expression slowly fade.

“Oh? Is everything okay?” You asked him, growing concerned.

“Don’t worry, everything’s fine. I just wanna talk.” He assured you, calming you with his genuine expression. "Come on, let's go on Sam's boat."

Bucky grabbed your hand, helping you stand. The two of you walked onto the boat.

You immediately started fiddling around with the helm of the boat, pretending to be at sea. Bucky watched with heart eyes, leaning against the doorway.

“You know…” He started, getting your attention, “I’m super proud of you. For how far you’ve come.”

You smiled at his praise.

“Wouldn’t be here without you.” You told him truthfully, he was your rock. Sam too of course. But Bucky was special.

“I’m always gonna be here to help ya, but you gotta give yourself some credit.” He stated.

“I do…” You started to argue.

“(Y/n)…”

“No I do,” You trailed off, getting serious all of a sudden, “But sometimes I think back when things were pretty bad and… Well you were there. I really do mean it— I wouldn’t be here without you.”

Bucky immediately knew what you were talking about, and he cursed his mind for remembering the haunting image so vividly. You had been at a very low point in your recovery, and you tried taking yourself out of this world. His world. His hands clinging onto your crimson covered wrists was an eye opener, that he didn’t want to live in a world where you didn’t exist. The very thought horrifying him to his core, his body frozen with dread.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to bring it up I just—”

“No no, don’t apologize doll,” His voice wavered, “Just hate that you ever felt that way is all.”

Despite rehashing over rough memories, you couldn’t help your chest from feeling warm, seeing Bucky care so much about you, had you feeling fuzzy. He had been so protective over you since that day, and some would call it overbearing, but you found yourself feeling safe. You knew Bucky would stop anyone from even blowing a breath of air your way if that meant you’d be in danger.

Bucky recognized that warm glow in your eyes again, as you gazed into his. He took a deep breath, seeing as this was his best chance.

“(Y/n), I like you… A lot.“ He rushed out, and you were still smiling, no shock shown on your face.

“I like you a lot too Buck.” You shot back, stepping away from the helm and closer to him.

“You— Really?” He wondered if this was all his imagination.

Sam was right? Psh, no way.

“Really Buck. I’m not good at expressing emotions— feelings, or any of that stuff. But I do know that I always want to be with you, I always want you around, even if we aren’t talking to each other. Just knowing you’re near is enough.” You confessed, hoping that what you said made sense.

By the look on Bucky’s face, you assumed you said just the right thing.

“Doll, I’m crazy about you. You’ve got me wrapped around your tiny little finger, I’m yours.” He told you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you to his chest.

“Buck?” You whispered, cupping his face with your small hands, feeling him lean into your touch.

“Yes doll?” He whispered back, looking at you like you were his entire world.

Well, because you were.

“I think I love you.” You told him shyly, your cheeks reddening.

Bucky’s heart nearly gave out at your words, but he couldn’t help the overwhelming rush of joy that your confession had given him.

“I think I love you too doll.”

A/N: my ideas come to me at the most random times, this one came to me a couple days ago while I was eating cereal 🥴🤷🏻‍♀️

[phoenixcatch7]

Honestly I'd really like to see a mxtx3 story where wwx and xl work with Sqq to reveal sqq's true backstory and the system to lbh.

I mean, think about it!! One of the biggest problems with scum villain is how even though they get together, unlike the other couples bingqiu is still left with all these huge secrets that massively affect them both. Lbh is left believing he married his mercurial abuser, that his suffering passed some sort of indefinable test that proved him worthy of basic rights. That Sqq threw him in the abyss of his own volition. That Sqq was really sacrificing his life and not faking his death with intent to survive.

Sqq is left knowing all these things but unable to act on them, unable to tell his husband about his own past, unable to explain his actions, never able to fully let his guard down because he's supposed to be shen qingqiu. He can't even tell his own husband his original name!! If he could have, he would have, even if only in the extras!

But can you imagine???

A meeting of bingqiu, wangxian, Hualian, for whatever reason, and as the three (actual) protagonists chat and gossip and get to know each other, as they talk, Sqq is at ease enough to slip up and finds out he can talk about the system to anyone from outside pidw! Not just sqh!! Maybe not completely, but he can mention some, and the other two, concerned for their new friend, are clever enough to tease the rest out. They're horrified. Sqq is resigned but freshly hopeful.

And so begins Mission: Save Sqq's Marriage!

(Sqq would very much like to contend the title but he is out voted.)

I'd just love to see the three of them (with unquestioning aid from their husbands) get up to hijinks and face existential horrors on a quest to help bingqiu get the closure they need. And moshang too, I guess XD.

It'd also be very, very funny to have them all in the middle of the latest traumatic and/or mortifying scene look around at the other two like 'hey, aren't you supposed to be freaking out now? This is normally the part people start screaming' and the other two are like 'I mean I guess?? We've got things to do though' like kings of unflappable repression right there.

(and lbh and lwj having vinegar-offs while hc is sighing dreamily watching his husband make semi decent friends for once)

Like there's a bunch of crossovers but none really scratch that itch, you know? The main characters of all 3 mxtx?? There's so much potential for Truly Unhinged Shenanigans!! Wangxian visiting pidws wife plot filled world and disappearing into the wilderness for a full week, coming back with every single piece of clothing they brought ruined. Hualian go visit mdzs and and no one believes xl is a diety and hc chomping at the bit to kill them for the injustice. Bingqiu going to tgcf and lbh getting mistaken for a calamity, or Sqq falling into the one wife plot kidnapping or something intended for a diety.

But seriously imagine Sqq complaining about something and wwx and xl immediately going 'that's not right! You deserve better!!' and Sqq is like 'no it's fine I'm used to it' and the other two slam their fists on the table like 'no!!! If [husband] was forced to keep that kind of secret I'd hate it!! You two deserve to be properly happy!! Let us help! We can fix this!' and start working with zeal and vigor while Sqq trails along embarrassed half heartedly muttering 'it's not that bad >:/'.

And when it works (presumably some clever loophole they stumbled on) and bingqiu are tearfully kissing they share a low five without looking. Or that one meme where the person getting kissed holds their hand back and their wingman enthusiastically high fives it but there's two wingmen XD!

I don't knowww but it'd be such a good premise! Ripe for character interactions!! Fluff! Crack! Angst! Daytrips and pouring their hearts out to people who'd really understand! Xl wwx and Sqq bestie team up! Meeting moshang! Wwx info dumping about his monster index categorisation to an enthralled Sqq! Xl and Sqq bemoaning etiquette while wwx laughs at them! Xl and wwx having intense discussions about morality and righteousness! All three of them laughing at how oblivious they were about their husbands, each trying to one the other two for Dumb Moments They Should Have Realised (Sqq wins by horrifying the other two)!

Forget cross country kidnappings and being locked in a room! Where is my protagonist trio getting into trouble on a self imposed mission to help their friend! Let their magnetism for insanity shine!!

[sweetkpopmusings]

changbin coworker headcanons <3

a/n: i hate that it took me SO. LONG. to upload another coworker headcanons post :-((( i'm currently suffering in the office so thinking about giggly coworker!changbin is my saving grace <3 pics not mine~

content: fluff, nonidol!au | wc: 0.9k | warnings: none really! some mentions of food | pairing: coworker!changbin x gn!reader | requests: open

it’s honestly hard to remember a time at work when you and changbin weren’t friends

changbin was always known for being good-natured, friendly, and an absolute joy to be around, which you were informed of on your first day

needless to say, people were quite jealous when you became the favorite of the most well-liked person in the office

changbin would argue that you’re the most liked though because he likes you so much, with all his heart, forever and ever 

he tells you this like every day :,-( just the cutest

speaking of changbin being cute

he is determined to turn any bad day around asap

like the second he sees the hint of a frown on your face, he is going full y/n-deserves-the-best-day-ever mode

he’ll do anything from impromptu girl group dance performances every time he walks by your desk to reading dozens of dad jokes off a random website to absolutely CHEESIN’ at you until you smile back

also totally is on his rich kid behavior when it comes to buying you snacks, drinks, trinkets, or anything else he thinks you need to get through the workday

any time you offer to pay him back he looks like he’s going to cry because “i just want to treat you!! you are my friend!! i can only survive the hours of the workday because you’re here!! the least i could do is buy you this thing!!”

“this thing” is like a five course meal on a wednesday but whatever you say changbin <33

even though he feels it’s his daily responsibility to make sure you’re working in a stress-free environment, good luck doing anything in peace

his voice is on max volume 97% of the time

and the other 3% his voice is on bass boosted whisper

if you sit next to him in a meeting, he WILL get you in trouble for disrupting the presentation

if you’re not talking to him, he’d whisper “y/n!!! why are you ignoring me???” and then your boss would call you both out for being disruptive and you’re sitting there like ???? i’ve been completely silent 

before you can say anything to defend yourself, changbin is apologizing and saying “we’ll never do it again” which is a total lie lmao

he doesn't care though. he sits next to you every time and will throw a fit if you run away

you’re his buddy so it's mandatory in his mind to sit with each other at all times

changbin also gets jealous of other coworkers hanging out with you

like someone asks you how your weekend went and he is in a tiff because "i can't believe you're replacing me with them!!!!!!” and you  barely remember their name but you spend 30 minutes cheering changbin up so he stops pouting and does his work

somehow you’ve become a changbin babysitter because really he’s just a goofy little kid

sometimes coworkers will ask you for tips on working with changbin

whenever he’s collaborating with others, he ends up (unintentionally) derailing brainstorms or group meetings by telling a story or making jokes that are the slightest bit related to the conversation at hand

and people love his charm but they also need to do their work

which is why, after you pass one one successful trick, people come to you ALL the time for advice

you’re now known as the changbin expert

changbin finds this out at a company party and while he confronts you for “exposing seo changbin trade secrets” he actually is SO endeared by the fact you’re known for knowing him so well

he shares this with all of his friends because he wants to brag yet again about how you’re the coolest person ever and therefore he is the luckiest person ever

while a lot of the time with changbin is all fun and games, he knows when to take a step back and bring you calm energy or serious moral support

it may not be his default state to refrain from giggling and dancing, changbin cares deeply about your wellbeing and will switch up his vibe according to your mood/needs

absolutely the BEST listener whenever you need to rant

like he books out a (soundproof) conference room so you can talk trash about a project or a person

and the whole time he is agreeing with you wholeheartedly 

if you ask, he’ll offer you solutions, but he’s also willing to simply be a shoulder to cry on or someone to listen to whatever’s weighing on your mind

obviously, you thank him for it every time, and he reassures you that it’s just him doing his job

when you remind him of what his actual job is, he says he got promoted to “y/n’s emotional support coworker”

you laugh so hard at this that it becomes an inside joke between the two of you

for his birthday, you get him a nameplate for his desk with that job title, and he loves it so much he nearly cries :-( he shows it off to everyone for weeks and places it prominently on his desk to remind everyone who your #1 fan is :’-)

no one tells you this, but the truth is that, before you started working there, changbin never had the zoomies as often as he does now

for as much as he is known to be your support system, meeting you reinvigorated his presence in the workplace, and seeing you in the morning is enough to turn his mood completely around

that’s why, even on his worst days, changbin wants nothing more than to make you smile even if it means he has to scramble at the end of the day to finish the report that was due the next morning lol because you, without having to try, are changbin’s sunshine <3

[kingofbodyrolls]

to mend what’s broken (m) | pjm

struggling with childhood trauma, you believe you’re worthless and undeserving of love, but your fiancé showers you in love and lets you know otherwise.

→ Pairing: Jimin x reader (gender neutral) → Genres/AUs: slice of life, romance, fluff with a hint of small angst. → Tropes: established relationship → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 1.3k → Warnings + triggers: mention of past childhood trauma (not in detail), low self esteem, technically reader suffers from depression but it’s not mentioned, self hatred and doubt, hurtful thoughts, reassurance, love, kisses, gentle touches and loving words— it’s full of love okay 😭 It’s just FLUFFY. → Author’s note(1): this is just something really short and sweet (and more poetic than I normally write), because I’m struggling with writing and I feel sad. I hope this can cheer someone up… please know you’re worth so much and you’re so loved 🥰 → Read on AO3? [link]

You feel fragile, like a solitary flower in a vast field, bravely battling for survival. 

This fragility is not new; it has been a constant companion, leaving you feeling shattered and alone. You have weathered life’s storms and trials in solitude, and it has been a struggle to allow your fiancé to support you. Your fierce independence has always been your shield, a testament to your resilience, but beneath that strength lies a yearning. A yearning for the support, love, and gentle embraces you were denied as a child. You long for the reassurance that, despite your actions, everything will be alright.

The bed is warm, as is the honeyed skin of your fiancé, Jimin, peacefully sleeping beside you. You listen to his breathing—the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest grounding you. It reminds you that your mind, a tempestuous sea, is just a canvas for passing thoughts and feelings. You sniffle, for the night has not been kind; your mind whispering that you aren’t good enough, that you never will be, and that you don’t deserve what you have. Tears well up, but you don’t want to wake Jimin, so you bottle your emotions, a habit too familiar. Jimin knows this, yet he always strives to help you, to keep you from shutting down like a clam, encouraging you to open up and blossom like a rosebud.

You try, you really do. But it’s hard. 

Though time has offered its healing touch, the process is long and winding. Even after all these years together, with Jimin knowing you since your tumultuous teenage days, bearing witness to your painful childhood, the crushing expectations of your parents, and the mental and emotional toll it took—he knows it all, and he’s still here. Sometimes you feel burdened by your scars, thinking them too deep to ever deserve love, but Jimin loves you; always has and always will.

You love him too, so profoundly that words falter. Yet, you know he understands.

You feel him turn beside you, letting out soft sighs in his sleep, and you smile, your heart swelling with love for him, for his unwavering support, his tireless efforts to help you heal.

He groans your name, his voice heavy with sleep, and you hide your teary eyes behind your hands, not wanting him to see you’ve been crying. He stirs again, his warm fingers finding yours, gently calling out to you.

“Are you crying?” he asks, gently trying to part the shield you’ve made with your hands. You long to be mended, to be healed, yet doubt lingers, whispering that you are unworthy. You crave him—his love, his soul, everything he offers and more—but fear holds you back, telling you that you don’t deserve him. At least, that’s what your mind insists.

“Yes… but I didn’t want to wake you,” you whisper, your voice trembling. You didn’t want to disturb him. You’ve always managed your emotions alone, even though he has assured you, time and time again, that you are not alone, that you can always lean on him. He will always be there for you.

“Oh, babe,” his voice, still rough and thick with sleep, sends shivers down your spine. His fingers caress yours, his love palpable. “You can always wake me up. Why are you crying?” His soft fingers trail along your skin, your cheeks, chasing the tears away. His touch grounds you, heals you. The depth of his love makes you soar.

“I’m not good enough for you. I’m damaged and broken. I don’t deserve you,” you murmur, your throat tight with emotion. Saying the words out loud makes them feel more real than when they stay trapped in your mind, and the pain they bring is sharper, but you know that voicing them is a step towards healing, towards making them matter less. You sniffle again as more tears cascade down your cheeks, but Jimin is quick to brush them away with his warm, soft fingers. 

He’s always there for you, always.

“Babe,” he groans. You know what he means, what he wants to say; he has told you countless times, and he’ll tell you again and again because he knows you need to hear it, need the reassurance. “You are good enough. You’ve endured childhood trauma, but that doesn’t define you, it doesn’t make you damaged or broken,” his voice is soft, tinged with a gentle scolding meant only in love.

“Of course you deserve me,” he moves closer, pressing his body against yours, tilting his head to whisper in your ear. The soothing warmth of his breath sends calming tingles through your body, quieting the hurtful thoughts. Your self-esteem, battered and bruised since childhood, still carries the weight of emotional scars that feel fresh. But his breath fans your ear, steadying your mind and heart. It’s healing. He’s always been that. Your rock. Your anchor. He’s always been there for you, and you for him.

You don’t think you deserve it. You don’t deserve his love, all he has done for you. Sometimes your mind sinks into this abyss—believing you’re not good enough, unworthy of love, even of life. Yet, Jimin excels at reminding you; always ensuring you know just how deeply he loves you, how profoundly he adores you, and how much he treasures you. And you feel it, undeniably, his love washing over you like a gentle tide, and you allow yourself to bask in his adoration. You know you should love yourself first, and you do, but sometimes, it’s easier to borrow his love, let it fill you up, and let your soul believe and feel his words. With his help, you heal faster. You remain strong, still independent. You are not less because you let him help you.

“You are the best person I know,” he murmurs, his plush, soft Bratz doll lips brushing your forehead, infusing you with his love. He breathes in the scent of your shampoo and moans, deep and longing. His nose nuzzles your forehead, “You’re worth so much, and I love you so much.”

You hum softly, closing your eyes, letting his words wash over you and fill you, for you need them desperately. You need reassurance because, far too often, you’ve heard the opposite—not from Jimin, but from others. Parents, partners, all too eager to remind you of your supposed worthlessness. Throughout life, you’ve been dragged down, repeatedly told you were nothing, undeserving of anything, until their words seeped into your soul, and you retreated into your shell, shutting down like a clam. Jimin has always strived to show you otherwise, to lift you up, to tell you how much you matter, how much you deserve. The day your friendship blossomed into something more, he vowed to shower you with love and praise, to remind you of your worth. And he has kept that vow, and you adore him even more for his unwavering commitment.

And you believe him—every word he whispers in your ear. Words of love, worth, acceptance, and care. You let his words heal you, give you wings to soar, to become a better person, because you need it. Goosebumps prickle your skin as he whispers words of love in your ear, his warm fingers tracing the line of your jaw, and you shiver, basking in his love, enveloped by it.

As his fingers trace delicate patterns on the shell of your ear, you realize the tears have stopped. It’s soothing, lying here, feeling his touch on your skin. His lips travel from your forehead, planting a kiss on the tip of your nose, making you chuckle and smile. He’s just too adorable. He moves lower, his lips grazing the curve of your mouth, and when they finally meet yours, you release an airy moan.

You feel his love envelop you, just as his arms do now, reminding you of your worth. Your mind and feelings are fleeting, but you are so much more. Your hands travel to the firm expanse of his chest, resting against his warm flesh, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. You love him, and he loves you.

You cherish how he always lifts you up, reminding you that you are more than your past traumas. That you are deserving and capable of love, of greatness, ready to bloom like never before, and he wants to share it all with you.

→ Author’s note(2): what do you think? This is just something short, hopefully to help me out of my writer’s block, because I really need it 🥹 I’m still working on the spin-off for ‘End of the World’ and the sequel for it is done, just waiting to post until the spin-off is done too. To be honest, I’ve had trouble writing— mainly with feeling motivated for it. Like the desire is there, but I don’t want to sit down and right. I think maybe it’s because I’m struggling with writing smut. I feel like it’s all the same, like I write the same shit again and again (smut wise), and I’m just tired of it. So now, I want to focus on something else than smut— the fluff. I actually wanted this to be even fluffier, but at least it’s something, right? And I really need to write this for me, because this is something that I actually struggle with. I like to heal myself with my writing, lol. I do hope you enjoyed it, even though there wasn’t any smut, and that it was so short 🫶

[sh1-n0bu]

Hello! Hope you are having a good day/evening.

I saw that your requests are open so i wanted to see if i could request, a headcanon(or one shot what ever you think would be better for the idea) + angst for scara, childe and diluc [add any character you have ideas pls :) ].

I was thinking of how would they react if reader just disapeard for a period of time, and they maybe though reader was dead. Until they came back (or they saw them somewhere like in other city after long time). [idk why reader decapered-] . I wanted to know if they would let reader in or ignore them for the rest of times.

(im sorry for making this so long- if you dont understand the idea or dont want to make it i complitly understand.)

✿ 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 ✿

characters: scaramouche, childe and diluc x nb!reader

warnings: angst (me likey), reverse comfort, verbal fighting, takes place after scaramouche’s defeat, mentions of blood and injury (not too graphic), reader disappears for some time but dw nothing bad happens

notes: it’s alright hun, i understand dw too much abt anything! also you can def tell who’s my favorite lmao

since his loss as the false god of sumeru, the irmunsul incident, his mentality was slowly getting better

slowly starting to heal from all his trauma, loss, betrayals and suffering in the hands of the second fatui harbinger

but that doesn’t mean some bad habits just won’t immediately disappear

you and wanderer’s relationship has been going well. silly little dates here and there, holding hands and he was even slowly starting to open up to you about his past as well!

however lately you’ve been going out meeting someone named “kaveh” a lot lately. not really having time to explain to your lover that kaveh was your work partner and that you two had a deadline coming soon of an expensive and famous museum

and that was all it took for wanderer to start doubting the relationship between you two

did you truly love him like all the time you said you do? was it a lie? who was this kaveh anyways? perhaps this was a bad idea. maybe he never should’ve took nahida’s suggestion and confessed to you. maybe it was all better if he were to just push you away like he always have with people before

after 2 weeks of hard work with barely no sleep, full meal or even being able to see your loving boyfriend again, the architecture of the museum was finally finished and you and your best friend can finally catch some well deserved break

stepping into your shared little cottage at 2 in the morning, you yawned walking into your shared bedroom with your lover, not entirely surprised to see him still wide awake, sitting on your bed seemingly mulling over something

hugging his smaller body and nuzzling into his neck, you sighed in content. finally happy to be able to spend some time with your darling

that was until he stood up suddenly harshly tearing of your hands that was wrapped around his middle

“darling? what’s wrong?”

“don’t you dare ask me what’s wrong when you KNOW what the answer is. what finally got tired of that kaveh guy you’ve been seeing? finally got tired of him so now you come crawling back to me?!”

“… honey i don’t understand what you mean. i think you got it all wrong”

“don’t you dare call me those names! i knew you were a liar and a manipulator. always going around wearing that sickeningly sweet smile as if nothing’s wrong! you’re no better than him. no in fact, you’re worse!”

the fight escalated from there. at first you tried to calm him down and explain to him about everything but you were just too tired, too exhausted, too lonely

soon enough wanderer and you were just shouting at each other. calling each other names, jabbing at traumas, stabbing old wounds

the breaking point for you was when he shouted one thing you wish you would never hear coming from someone so dear to you

“I WISH YOU NEVER EXISTED AT ALL!”

deafening silence

no one moved, no one spoke, just silently staring into each other’s faces until you grimaced

he immediately regretted it. but he won’t show it because his pride is always too much. always too high. always above everyone. always destroying any human contact he sought after

quietly shaking your head, you picked up your coat again before stepping out of the once shared home with your lover, shutting the door gently. you were never one to slam doors after all

he wanted to get out and chase after you. hold your hand, cling to you, begging for forgiveness

but his pride won’t allow it

a few days have passed and he has yet to run into you. you’ve been gone without a single trace of where you went to or who you’re with

it’s as if his words came true…

it has been a week already. no signs of you and wanderer is going to lose his mind

he went to nahida to ask for her help, he asked about you from the traveler and paimon, he even went around asking about the person named kaveh

another day, another failure in finding you

sobbing in his bed, clinging tightly to your pillow he only wished for one thing. he just wanted you back

snapping out of his misery when the front door knob jingled, he nearly tripped over his own legs when jumping out of bed

and there you were, standing on the front door of your shared home, wearing the exact same clothes, facial expressions as the day you left

the short male didn’t care about how he looked, how messy his home was or even much of his pride. throwing himself into your chest, clinging to you like a lifeline, sobbing out apologies after apologies

forgiveness is a hard thing. especially to prideful people like wanderer but he will soon learn to apologize if he keeps practicing make sure to disappear more to teach him a lesson reader-chin👍

it has been some time since the ginger menace has seen his lover. that’s because you have been away on a long time commission on dragonspine. something about multiple frostarm lawachurl going haywire. of course him being himself, immediately offered to go as well if it weren’t for you bonking him on the head with all his piled up harbinger paper work

he knows you’re strong - even though you lack a vision - and he has great faith and earnest trust in you! he truly does! however the gnawing of dark thoughts, worry filled mindless pacing and the creeping presence of nightmares just won’t let him go no matter how much the harbinger throws himself into his piles upon piles of work

it took one utterance of your name to slip past ekaterina’s mouth that snaps him back to life, away from the insecurities and terror looming over him

were you finally back? it took a whole 2 weeks! he can’t wait to see you, hold you in his arms, trail kisses on your scars, to just be in your presence again!

just the simple thought of your face is enough to have him kicking his feet, giggling with sheer and utter joy

but that giggles stopped abruptly when ekaterina showed him a piece of ripped cloth. your cloth. a ripped part of the coat you wear whenever you’re called to dragonspine…

with a bated breath and shaking hands, childe asked “… they’re not here, are they?”

when the fatui gave a hesitant nod, tartaglia bolted out of the northland bank, running straight towards the icy peak - which always stirred warmth within his heart, reminding him of his homeland - now filled with a painful, nerve wracking cold

when he had arrived at the place you mentioned before seeing off, there were blood stains everywhere on the snow

the sight always used to make his eyes widen with excitement but now, with an unshakable fear

“[name]? [name] are you here! honey-bun please answer me!”

digging through all the wreckage, running around all over the place, searching for you, yelling your name. he just needed one little sign. just one little sign, please

and his pleas were answered with a grunt. a pained groan

quickly dashing over to where the sound had come from, he found you under a small wreckage pile of carts and tattered cloths with a hastily wrapped bandage around your bleeding torso

“haha… is it a bad time to say hi, big boy?” shakily laughing and cocking your eyebrow, you shot him a teasing grin

if you weren’t injured he probably would’ve bonked you over the head nicely but for now a nice 24 hours of lecture and scolding sounded better to ajax

it all started when your beloved significant other kept coming back home way past midnight, bruised and bleeding and leaving the next morning before the sun could even crack through the darkness of the night

at first you were worried, then you soon got used to it but patience can only run for so long until it breaks

“WHY CAN’T YOU SEE THINGS FROM MY PERSPECTIVE FOR ONCE DILUC?! YOU ALWAYS COME BACK INJURED, SOMETIMES EVEN ON THE VERGE OF DEATH AND YET YOU STILL LEAVE IN THE MORNING WITHOUT EVEN LETTING YOUR OPEN WOUNDS CLOSE!”

“i’ve been doing this for years [name]. so stop being clingy and let it be! i’m strong enough to handle myself.”

meanwhile elzer and adelinde looked at each other in worry. furrowing rheir brows, biting their lips and anxiously messing with their hands

the manor has never been this loud, ever since the fight between their young master and his brother kaeya of course

the fight started with a simple curt sentences being thrown but now it was slowly losing it’s meanings, turning into a shouting contest. a fight to see who has more pride than the other

“STOP BEING SO DAMN OVERPROTECTIVE! I’M STRONG ENOUGH TO HANDLE MYSELF AND YOUR WORRYING IS NOT NEEDED!”

that was the final straw for you to leave the manor with a loud slam of the front door

diluc tried to chase after you, realizing his mistake, wanting to apologize sadly the whole shouting re-opened his wounds, causing the young master’s sleeping tunic to get dirtied with blood

since that nasty fight with your dear boyfriend, you’ve been staying at his brother’s place for the time being. kaeya was more than understanding. after all, he too was once cast out by his loved one from his home

it had already been 4 days since the uncrowned king of mondstadt had seen his beloved and things were not going smoothly. he keeps messing up the order’s at the bar, letting fatui or some enemies get out of sight only to be reminded of that with a new wound, spending sleepless hours just tightly clutching at your pillow in your once-shared bed

on the fifth night of your sudden disappearance, diluc has had enough. mentally broken and physically exhausted, he sobbed silently, holding onto your pillow tightly

the red head was too caught up in his mental breakdown, he didn’t even hear your voice calling out his name

jolting violently and swiftly turning back - ready to summon his claymore - only to fall silent once he realizes it’s your hand holding his shoulder, your voice calling him sweet, cheesy nicknames, you standing before him in the flesh

“… darling? is that you…?”

you hated how broken he sounded. how devastated yet relieved he looked. how his voice shook with so mich hesitation and fear

gently cradling his head to rest upon your heart, you shushed his cries and begs of forgiveness

cuddles? …that sounds nice

[rose-tea-and-strawberries]

#JusticeForYuu

Warning: long rant coming up. Mentions of PTSD and Trauma.

So I recently read this manhwa called ‘Ashtarte’ and let me tell you, compared to other manhwas that I’ve read, I’ve never felt more vindicated or satisfied by the way it handles trauma and forgiveness.

Basically, the main character is a young princess, about ten or eleven or twelve I can’t remember, who has spent her entire life being treated like nothing by her entire family for no pretty much no reason at all. Trust me when I say that the neglect and emotional abuse she undergoes is awful and after a while, she realises that she doesn’t deserve to be treated that way. She mentally and emotionally emancipates herself from them and makes a family with her small handful of servants that live with her in her broken down house (let me tell you, they all love and protect her so much. Her mother figure/ best friend/ maid is the absolute GOAT), telling them that she won’t waste any tears on her bio family anymore. And when her bio family beg for forgiveness after she makes a very obvious effort to ignore and stay as far away from them as possible, she tells them that if they want her to even consider forgiving them for all the pain they put her through, they need to wait 10 years just like how she spent ten years all alone, trapped in that house, waiting for someone to love her. Even after the 5 year timeskip, she still doesn’t give them the time of day whilst they send her letters and mountains of gifts (that she never opens) and when she meets them again because of some obligatory family thing, she tells them point blank that there’s a chance that she’ll never forgive them and there’s nothing that she wants from them so just leave her alone and just walks out as they all suffer in their guilt.

And, let me tell you, as someone who has read a lot of female lead manhwas, I’ve never seen a FL not forgive a neglectful family - either they end up forgiven after an apology that lasts for like one chapter, or the MC gets her revenge and completely ruins them, or it’s an isekai story so now that a new person is possessing the main character, they finally decide to show interest and since the new character is either scared of them, is trying to gain their favour or has never undergone their horrible treatment of the host body, they just get off scot-free (A Match Made In Mana is a good example of this. Like the romance. Hate the fact that the older brother only started treating her right when another person isekaied into the main character - same thing with There Is No Place For Fakes)

Now what has this got to do with anime Disney boys you ask. Let me get to that.

Now I’m the kind of person that can hold a grudge - not that much in real life but very much so when it comes to fictional characters. If I was Jo March, I wouldn’t even be in the same room as Amy March after she burned the manuscript for at least a year. There are some characters that I just can’t stand because they never get the full consequences for what they put others through and I hate that so much (I’m not going to name names because a lot of them are fandom favourites and I don’t want to start a war). 

What I’m trying to say is that why can’t there be a Yuu that doesn’t forgive the overblot gang/dorms for what they put them through? Because you have to admit that they way that they treated this homeless, magicless human with absolutely nothing to their name and that is, in every instance, at the bottom of the food chain was awful. And I’m not talking about the overblots - they were clearly in the midst of a mental breakdown and weren’t in the right state of mind. But how would you explain everything that they did pre-overblot? When they are fully conscious of everything they did. Riddle even admitted after his overblot that he knew that he was being harsh but he still did that stuff anyway.

I know that we have to forgive everyone for the sake of the plot since we need Riddle in Book 2, Leona in Book 3, Azul in Book 4 and so on and so forth but when I remember the torment that Yuu faces, I just want to tell them all to take a hike. 

I know that these boys had horrible lives. I know that these are deeply traumatised individuals and that them overblotting was the only way for them to heal. But guess what? Going through trauma doesn’t excuse giving trauma to someone else? As Jake Peralta once said:

Confession Time - I was the anon that sent this: https://www.tumblr.com/shiny-jr/716948600309137408/hi-i-just-want-to-say-that-ive-read-all-of-your?source=share

And I still stand by what I said.

I just find it really annoying that when I search for angst fics it’s always the boys’ trauma or unrequited love or death or break ups - or maybe even something mentioning an overblot but I’ve never once found anything about the boys asking for forgiveness for what they did to Yuu prior to the overblots because once, just once, I want to read someone asking Yuu to forgive them and for Yuu to be selfish just once and say ‘no’

I know that I portray my fem!Yuu as this person that’s so sweet and forgiving and kind and soft and gentle but that’s because I’m obsessed with the dynamic of this sweet sunshine bubbly girl being a breath of fresh air to these villainous boys (and also because I kind of took some inspiration from my favourite princess, Snow White, and I based her a bit on Wendy Darling because I wanted her to be that ‘mature young girl’ who is very motherly but is still very much a fun-loving, imaginative child) but I just want a Yuu that is given the respect that they deserve.

I want a Yuu that actually experiences PTSD because of the treatment that they’ve undergone. I want them to hate the fact that their experience in NRC has changed them. I want them to hate that they’ve developed claustrophobia and a fear of the dark after they were forcefully imprisoned in Scarabia, I want them to hate how anything can trigger a PTSD-induced flashback, I want them to hate how Riddle’s jabs at their character and parentage still ring in their head after all this time, I want them to hate how whenever they’re submerged in water, all they can remember is what Azul, Jade and Floyd put them through in their attempts to get their home and family back. I want them to hate how often they get nightmares, how any second could be the day they finally get killed by any of these magic users who are far more powerful than them. I want them to look in the mirror and despise every single scar that litters their once unblemished body. I want them to hate how they had to ask the people who stripped them of their home and the only family they had in NRC for help in Book 4 because now they are indebted to them and they have no idea when Azul would want to cash that.

I’ve seen fics that have Yuu go through heatstroke during the marches in Scarabia and, as someone that not only has had heatstroke before but also had a really scary fainting experience I headcanon that as well so how about a Yuu that turns down Kalim’s invitations because the sight of Scarabia reminds them of the hostility that they faced when they were the most vulnerable. How about a Yuu that tries not to hate Kalim because he’s a genuinely nice person and was the only one to welcome them with kindness but can’t help but feel bitter whenever they hear the housewarden excuse Jamil’s behaviour when they still remember how they were locked up against their will.

This fic by linawritestwst and this fic by the-hearteater portray what I’m talking about really well. (taxonomize our differences by Jemimimi does a really good job of illustrating how being in Twised Wonderland affects Yuu’s mental health - there’s an incredible scene where Yuu has a panic attack and teaches Grim how to help them out of it. I nearly cried because their sense of self worth is so low and suicidal tendencies are so unstable that in multiple points of the story they try to get other students to kill them and Yuu my baby 😭)

When I go through the Rollo x reader fics, the majority of them are either yandere or the usual fluff. But Rollo can actually be a good friend for Yuu to have. Whilst their mentalities are different, they both agree that magic is dangerous - with Yuu being a victim of said magic. I honestly think that, if he wasn’t written as the big bad of the event, he could’ve been a really good ally that would understand Yuu’s pain of not only facing overblot after overblot but their helplessness of being surrounded by magical individuals and not knowing whether they’ll be able to survive another day.

Everyone’s always like #Crowley Slander (which he rightfully deserves, I am thisclose to punting him) but don’t forget everything the boys did. I see fics where they stand up to Crowley for Yuu but the most they do is reference the overblots but never that they did horrible things as well. Crowley may have told Yuu to stay behind during the winter holidays but Jamil was the one who imprisoned us and prevented us from contacting our friends for help. Crowley may have made Yuu stay at Ramshackle (although to be fair Ramshackle is kind of the safest option - who knows what would happen to Yuu if their magical self was in an actual dorm, especially all of the female Yuus. I think living in isolation is kind of the best option for them when the universe is out to get them. Plus, the ghosts are amazing company.) but Azul was the one who made us homeless and had a shady business (that he still has even after the overblot). Crowley may have been blackmailing Yuu with food, shelter and money but Leona was the one that was sabotaging the students and Vil was the one that tried to point blank kill an innocent child in cold blood after making his childhood trauma and personal one-sided rivalry everyone’s problem for the weeks leading up to the VDC.

Everyone only treated them with respect after the overblot incidents - so they literally had to put themselves in danger and nearly die for them to be treated as not a nobody. When Riddle made those completely uncalled for jabs at Yuu, an innocent bystander, nobody said or did anything. Not Trey, who enabled Riddle’s reign of terror and quietly observed the suffering all of the Heartslabyul students (and then had the gall to tell adeuceyuu not to get angry at Riddle because of course tragic backstory = forgiveness), not Cater, who canonically has a hidden side so Yuu has more of a reason not to trust him, not any of the other card soldiers - no Ace, the one everyone writes off as a stupid tactless jerk that does badly in school and only causes trouble, was the only one that had the emotional intelligence to realise that Yuu’s feelings were hurt and was the only one who cared to do something about it via sucker punching the tantrum-throwing tyrant.

(I can’t remember if Deuce did anything but he already stood up for us during the egg debacle so it’s okay he’s still my number one love)

(Also: Riddle is known to be incredibly strict with his dorm. It’s been said that Heartslabyul has the best academic record because of Riddle’s incredibly high standards. He also doesn’t take excuses from anyone even if they aren’t even in the wrong - which is seen when he exiles adeuceyuu from the dorm during the Mont Blanc Tart Incident where Trey tells Riddle that he was the one who told them to make the tart for the party and Riddle says that it was still their fault for not knowing the rules beforehand because of course a first year would have memorised all 810 rules by their like third day and it would be perfectly normal of them to ask a senior for advice on what to do. My question is: how many dyslexic students or anyone else with learning disabilities do you think Riddle has sent crying? How many students with less than stellar family backgrounds joined NRC only to find that they were sorted into a dorm that had a leader who not only holds their abusive mother’s teaching methods on a pedestal but is more than ready to hurl insults at anyone that disagrees with him? How many times had Trey seen an innocent student receive unfair treatment and kept quiet about it despite it being his job as a vice dorm leader and upperclassman to look after them?)

I know that so many people want Yuu to overblot or go through their villain arc so that the boys can be put in that place but why do we even have to go that far? If Yuu did have magic they would have overblotted ages ago but even so why do they need to have a mental breakdown so that others could see where they went wrong? Remember an overblot can kill its host and Yuu doesn’t need another near death experience. 

I want Yuu to be like Ashtarte and just have a small circle of friends and family in Ace, Deuce, Grim and the Ramshackle ghosts and tell everyone else to bog off. I want Ace, Deuce and Grim to be like the maid, Leona/Loena - different translations have different spellings (she is such a protective mama bear I love her so much. She literally calls out royalty to their faces, is ready to throw hands with the entire world and is willing to risk her own life for Ashtarte’s happiness) and act as Yuu’s guard dogs to prevent anyone from coming near them. Ace, Deuce and Grim have been there since the beginning, they’re Yuu’s ride or die besties that know what they’re going through, they’re platonic soulmates who can clearly see the emotional turmoil on weighing down on them. I want them to witness how Yuu is affected by their PTSD with their panic attacks and nightmares and bouts of depression and dissociation and then doing their best to learn how to help them. I want Yuu to refuse to step foot in another dorm and just go to NRC for classes and then disappear into Ramshackle. I want Ace and Deuce to run interference in case anyone approaches their friend because can’t you see that they don’t want to talk to you, who’s not afraid to stand up to anyone be it teachers or upperclassmen because haven’t they done enough damage. 

Yes, Ace is a jerk but he’s not a mean bully of a jerk. He’s just a stupid tactless teenage boy who just needs to be humbled once or twice - he’s completely harmless unlike Sebek and his humanphobic bigoted butt who should definitely keep his comments to himself because Yuu already has enough troubles without someone reminding them of how inferior their species is.

I want these boys to feel guilt - not because of their overblots but because they were actually horrible people before they tried to kill a defenseless, magicless human. I want Yuu to not only lose trust in the main characters but also with everyone else because they never know who would hurt or betray them next - who would be like Trey or Rook and enable bad behaviour, or who would be like Azul and take advantage of their weaknesses, or who would be like Jamil and pretend to be their friend and then stab them in the back. I want a Yuu that’s tired of being manipulated and used by everyone and is just done with everything.

As much as I love parental!Staff, you have to admit that canonically, they’ve done a pretty bad job of looking after Yuu so how about a Yuu that doesn’t trust adults because they’ve shown no interest in actually being someone that Yuu can open up to. Also, Azul was able to get away with everything he did was because he had Crowley in his pocket - who’s to say that he doesn’t have other adults under his thumb as well? (We know he doesn’t but how can Yuu be sure)

I want Yuu to be friends with Neige because he seems like such a sweetheart and I really don’t like how I see fics putting him down just to make Vil look good. As I mentioned above, Snow White is my favourite Disney Princess and sharing a spot with Pooh Bear as my favourite Disney character so a darling boy that is inspired by her would be an awesome friend to have - and he has never caused Yuu physical, verbal, emotional or mental harm.

Don’t get me wrong. I know that this is making me come off as a hater but I just want some justice for Yuu. They deserve absolutely nothing that they go through and I want happiness for them.

Also, on a completely unrelated note, I may have been listening to Numb Little Bug a tad bit too much.

[salty-croissants]

hi yes have you considered the reader finding a very wet, tired Ramon during a rainstorm on the streets and taking them to their place as our lord and saviour yet?

Thank you for the request ! 

Honestly this is such a good prompt , I can’t tell you how much I loved writing it ! 

Ramon has suffered so much , this man really does deserve to be taken care of :,I ❤️

Hope this turned out okay ! 

Details : use of gender neutral reader ; 

strangers to lovers ; 

presence of mild swearing

< Man … today of all days I had to leave my umbrella home … > 

You sighed , looking up at the raindrops falling from the sky while huddling in your jacket’s hoodie to find some warmth in the cold .

It had been a fairly average day , and you were ready to finally return home without anything unusual happening …

… until your eyes wandered off in a nearby alleyway .

< What the … ? > 

Maybe it was just the fact that you were a bit tired after work , or maybe it was just your imagination … but you were pretty sure that you spotted the silhouette of someone laying down on the ground , hidden in the darkness .

You looked around , unsure of what to do … 

The people passing by didn’t seem to be caring much about it , clearly all too involved in their own business , so eventually your curiosity got the best of you and you ended up walking in the alleyway , knowing full well that it wasn’t the most safe thing to do … 

But then again , you had a history of wanting to be there for someone when they where in trouble , no matter who they were .

It only took a few steps in to realize that there was indeed someone there …

And your expression immediately turned into worry when you realized in what poor conditions he was : 

he was shaking , his coat unable to give him enough shelter from the rain , and by the looks of it he was at least trying to get some sleep despite the less than welcoming surroundings . 

… wait , on second thought didn’t that face seem familiar ? 

Yeah , that was Rayman , the guy who hosted the majority of Eden’s shows !

He surely looked a lot … different than usual … and why would he be in such a place right now ? 

You kneeled before him , wondering if anyone would’ve come looking for him … he was well known by the whole city after all , it would’ve made sense . 

But at the same time you couldn’t leave him there like that …

< *sigh* … okay , carefully now … > 

After wrapping him with your jacket , you slowly picked him up from the ground , hearing him groan slightly as you walked away , following a not very crowded road to your house . 

It was definitely not quite an average day anymore at least . 

*some time later* 

< Hnn … wh … what … where … ? > 

As Ramon opened his eyes , he noticed that he was in some unknown apartment … with two or three warm blankets covering him up . 

Who would be so kind to him now that he was a criminal … ? This had to be some sort of trick … what if one of Eden’s buddies had caught him ? 

Paranoia started to overwhelm him , but before he could do anything a door to his left opened , and he wearily watched you walk in the room with two cups of tea in your hand .

Your expression became relieved when you noticed that your guest was up .

< Ah , you’re awake - that’s great ! 

Sorry , I don’t really have much tea left , I only had the lemon flavored one , I hope that’s okay … > 

Ramon looked at the warm cup you had placed in front of him , then back at you , completely baffled by your hospitality … 

It was definitely not what he was expecting , and you really didn’t seem like the type of person that would turn around and try to kill him out of the blue … but still , he remained suspicious . 

< Now … may I ask what you were doing out here , Mister Rayman ? > 

He growled at the mention of his old name , giving you an irritated glare …

< … that’s not my name . Not anymore . 

I’m Ramon now . > 

, he simply replied , one of his floating hands carefully grabbing the cup of tea , almost like he was afraid of it . 

< And what I was doing isn’t really your problem now , is it ? > 

You tilted your head , not understanding what he was talking about or the reason behind his hostility … 

A long silence followed his words , before Ramon eventually let out a sigh , the feeling of your eyes staring at him in confusion starting to make him feel … pretty bad for lashing out like that . 

< … I just … why would you even bother to bring me here ?

I don’t know who you are or what your deal is … for all I know , you could be working with Eden’s assholes to capture me or something … > 

His gaze met yours , but he couldn’t find a single trace of malice in it … 

< Well … you can trust me when I say that I’m probably the least dangerous person you could run into , so if you’re afraid that I might hurt you I can assure you that’s not gonna happen . > 

, you quietly replied , pausing to drink some tea before continuing the conversation . 

< I just couldn’t bare the thought to leave you there alone in the rain , so I thought I’d at least bring you to a place that could give you some shelter . 

That’s … heh , all there is to it , really . 

I understand why you’d be weary of me , like you said , you don’t really know me … but it just felt right , y’know ? 

I’m sorry if this is a bit too uncomfortable though … I didn’t mean to make it that way , Ray - sorry … Ramon . > 

Maybe it was just because he had gone through so much lately , but the relaxing atmosphere of your home mixed with your soothing voice managed to ease some of Ramon’s tension , and after a moment of hesitation he took a deep breath and took a sip out of the cup of tea he had been holding that whole time .

< You’re good … 

To answer what you asked me before , about why I was around here , let’s just say that I’m … currently not on good terms with Eden . > 

Anger flashed in his black eyes , as his mind traveled back to the past few hours …

< Turns out those bastards have been using me my whole goddamn life , and I was having none of that shit , so … >

You could see his hands visibly shaking while trying to regain composure .

< … I … the Board of Directors … they’re dead . All of ‘em . They won’t ever put any other innocent Hybrid’s life at stake . >

Your eyes widened , slowly processing that big load of information that he had given you .

 < You … killed them ? >

Ramon nodded , without a single word .

< Huh … well , that explains why Eden is looking for you . 

Are … you okay ? > 

He couldn’t help but look up at you , shocked by how concerned you were about him despite him being a total stranger …

< Wh … I just … > 

He chuckled , one of his floating hands covering his eyes as his chuckle turned into laughter .

Ramon had almost forgotten what that felt like … to be cared about .

 < Haha … I can’t believe this … how the hell can you just be so - so nice to me , even after I told you I murdered someone ??

God , I don’t get it … I don’t get it … > 

Seeing him somewhat happy for the first time since you begun talking brought a strange , warm feeling to your heart that you couldn’t quite explain …

It was … nice .

< Heh , that’s just how I am . > 

You slowly got up from your seat , walking towards Ramon to give him a little pat on his shoulder .

< Look , I understand that you’ve been through a lot … 

If by any chance you need a place to stay , I … well , I know my apartment is pretty small , but you can stay here for as long as you need . > 

Normally Ramon would’ve flinched in front of such a sudden move from anyone else , but with you it was different … he didn’t feel like he needed to fear you , he didn’t know why … 

He just stared back into your eyes , nodding in response with a little smile on his face …

< Hm … that sounds like a good plan . 

Thank you , uh … > 

< You’re welcome … 

And you can call me y/n . > 

[salllzy]

Sal's ramblings #2

Here is another idea, plot bunnies are giving no rest. Alastor cooks and for those that he cares about, he cooks for. Vix had once been one of the lucky few who had tasted Alastor's cooking. Rosie has enjoyed Alastor's cooking for a number of years and she knows that is Alastor's way of showing that he cares about her. Rosie is also aware that it is because of Alastor's cooking that Vox is so obsessed with Alastor. Zestial has also been privileged to eat Alastor's cooking, not that he would mention it. Alastor is the son of his heart and he will kill anyone who dares to harm him. Zestial is very well aware of the damage that Vox did. While Alastor may not speak about what Vox had done, it wasn't that hard to read in between the lines. Vox had pushed for more than what Alastor was willing and ready to give.

Vox for his part is still obsessed with Alastor and his cooking. Vox knows that Alastor's cooking is special. That Alastor only cooks for those that he cares for, and Vox had once been one of that number. The inhabitants of the hotel hadn't eaten Alastor's cooking, not because they didn't want to. But because Alastor hadn't cooked for them. Alastor had taken to eating raw meat in front of them, to get them to stop asking him to cook. He had learned his lesson last time and had no desire to repeat it. So he simply refused to cook for them, if he doesn't cook for them, then they wouldn't end up like Vox. It is a simple plan and one that has proven effective. But then he slips up. He made a cake, granted he had a great dislike for sweet things. But cake had been his mother's favourite and it had been her birthday, so he had baked a cake for her birthday and while he hadn't consumed it he had put it to one side so that he could get rid of it later. But instead, he had suffered from a headache and had retired early. Lucifer had found himself unable to sleep, so he had wandered around the hotel. Eventually, he wandered into the kitchen and found a cake resting on the counter. Having a sweet tooth, Lucifer had checked to see if it had a name on it. When he couldn't find one, he cut himself a slice and began to eat it. Lucifer hadn't expected anything to happen. But the explosion of flavours dancing on his tongue hadn't been something that he had been prepared for. So he had cut himself another slice of cake to see if it would happen again. It did. Before he knew it he had eaten the full cake.

But despite having a stomach full of cake he craved more, he needed to find out who had made the cake. After weeks of careful and methodical snooping, he eventually, found out that it was Alastor that had made the cake that he had ate. Which had shocked him, he like the rest of the hotel occupants were aware of Alastor's rather disturbing eating habits. So Lucifer began to watch. As he watched he noticed a pattern. Alastor only ever cooked when there was no one else in the hotel, Lucifer had taken to sending a clone out to run errands so that he could spy on Alastor. What he had never expected was for Alastor to be so domestic, the sight of Alastor with his hair tied back and an apron around his waist did things to Lucifer. Things that he didn't want to think about, at least not straight away. So he retreated to his room to think about what he had seen and decided that he needed more information. So he continued to watch Alastor. Alastor he found was a contradiction. He was a killer and had killed a fair few people and demons. There was no denying that Alastor deserved to be in Hell. But the more Lucifer watched the more he found himself wanting, there was a hidden side to Alastor one that was protected by sharp thorns and barbed remarks. Alastor didn't let many in. But it didn't change anything, Lucifer had seen something in Alastor that he hadn't expected to see or thought he would see, he had assumed that Alastor was a heartless bastard who didn't deserve an ounce of kindness. Yet, Lucifer had learned better. He had seen Alastor carry an asleep Niffty to bed and tuck her in, he had watched as Alastor draped a blanket over a sleeping Vaggie when he knew that Alastor didn't get on with Vaggie. He had seen Alastor make time for Charlie even though he had been busy not moments before. Lucifer watched and watched and he wanted. Hell needed a Queen and Lilith had fucked off years ago and no one had heard anything from her, so as far as Lucifer was concerned their marriage was over. Which meant that he was free to pursue Alastor. Alastor challenged him and Alastor made Lucifer want to be better. To do better. Alastor had helped him to reconnect with Charlie after years of separation. Alastor was everything that Lilith wasn't. So it was only natural that Alastor should take his rightful place next to Lucifer.

[callmejod]

I have a headcanon request: James Norrington x Pirate!Reader.

How would he feel about them being a pirate? How would the relationship pan out? In an alternative world where he lives, would he still be part of the navy or would he completely side with the pirates? What would the reader think of him being a part of the Navy? Would they consider giving up their pirate life to be with him?

Thank you :)

Buckle up - this can of brainworms just exploded.

I think living with pirates and experiencing their life and lifestyle shed a new light for James. He'd be more mindful of what causes people to turn to piracy and if given oppurtunity - tries to help.

After all, in both DMC and AWE he did commit piracy in order to become an Admiral at the hands of Beckett.

If the only thing in the AU that changed was his death, I think James wouldn't even entertain the idea of coming back to the Royal Navy - not after all of Becketts dirty tricks would've been exposed.

If it comes to Pirate!reader and James' relationship.....

I want them to meet between The Curse and DMC.

You would probably meet on Tortuga or something life that.

Maybe even when Jack gets him onto the Pearl and then maybe just dumps him with you when you meet at some rundown port in the middle of nowhere.

That would be delicious.

Taking you are the captain, an extra pair of hands is always welcome. Jack probably conveniently did not mention, that the blackout drunk sailor he was bestowing upon you was in fact The James Norrington. No no. You have to find out yourself.

'What's you name son?'

When he finally wakes gets woken up with a cold seawater bucket to the face courtsy of first officer you do what any sane captain would do -

'Dont fuckin- - call me son.'

'Oof he has bite to his bark gentlemen......'

After a good chow and a hissy fit you get to actually talk to him.

What kinda ticks him off is your kindness towards him - taking things slow with the hangover that you ensured wouldn't get worse, not coldly demanding him to do everything he should be doing.

You get a minute to talk to each other in private and he just presents himself as James, scared you'll do something terrible, torture him for what he's done, even kill him.

He knows thinks he deserves it.

'Just James huh? Alright "Just James", what drove you to the sea?'

Gets surprised when you don’t press further on his identity. He works on your ship quite well actually - he's well versed in many things. A week later you try prying more information from him.

'A stupid expectation and even stupider decisions.'

'Damn, you sailors always come up with the same story huh.

He can feel the cold sweat at your words.

Even if he was ex- Navy - you started to harbour a crush on the guy. He's really charming when he wants to be and can spot a British ship from miles away. His knowledge of the sea is impressive. Many-a-time had he pulled you out of hot shit you were about to get yourelf in.

You knew. Of course you knew. You recognised him the moment he got on your ship. Stood with his back too straight for being so drunk. Almost saluted when first officer "woke him up". Carried himself with an aura of an old, tired soldier.

In a drunken moment at port he tells you his full name and makes peace that he's staying back. He then wakes up on the ship and almost cries.

And he has those eyes..... that seafoam you would willingly drown yourself in. And a great ass? The package is a perfect fit for you.

He then realises that your kindness for him may have awakened a feeling he long forsaken - love.

*two dense motherfuckers in a room*

*the crew collectively suffers when looking at you two lovesick fools who believe the other is too good to be with them.*

As time goes on, you continue to floor James with both your wit and bravery. You do not charge into battle unprepared or without good reason.

Over the months spent together your realtionship with James improves to the point he reveals a little of his life in Port Royal and how he sometimes wishes he could go back there. It breaks your heart but you bite your tounge. After all - he smiled so sweetly when he told you he found a new home on your ship, with the crew, with you.

And then DMC happens.

James deals with Beckett that with your help he will get Jacks compass. The plan is set to save you and your crew. God, he would throw himself off a cliff if he didn't donanything in his power to save your life - he would sacrifice himself in a heartbeat if it meant you were free from the East Indian Company.

'You. MY CREW GAVE YOU A HOME ON OUR SHIP ! THEY GAVE YOU A CHANCE TO BE FREE ! THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY THEM ?!'

Oh the anguish I feel when your ship gets captured by Beckett.

You are brought to the Lords' office and he offers you a deal. Your heart breaks when you see James there. You fall to your knees. He fucking feels the floor shake from the force of your fall. You pull on the chains, making two guards holding you almost stumble to keep you in place.

Hot tears are spilling from your eyes. Every one that falls twists a knife in his heart.

'Get them to agree or neither you, or them are leaving this port alive.'

You of course deny the deal but Beckett is no dumb. He saw how hard James tried to act neutral. When the guards drag you away somewhere Beckett gives James a pointed look.

On the way out he recieves a key. James knew exactly where to use it. He has never run as fast as he did to your cell.

Seeing you in those chains - nay - in such histeric tears makes him want to carve his heart out. The damp, smelly dungeon doesn't really help with making you look less miserable.

James grips the metal bars so hard his knuckles turn white.

'Please. Please let me explain.'

'There's nothing to explain. Admiral.'

The distant look you give him makes his blood run cold.

He forces the doors open fuck the key right? , bursts in and gathers you in his arms, despite your protests. You cry, wail, curse him. And he lets you.

Now he really desereved it.

All he can do is soothe you.

You give up on trying to pry him away from you. He just won't let go. He holds you like your're going to fall apart at any moment and frankly, your'e close to doing so. The feelings you so meticulously hid away surge to the surface and you can't help but relax into the warmth of his arms.

'I'm so, so sorry that it's come to this.'

'You're not sorry. You got your life back. I knew what I was getting myself into. I knew my happily ever after wouldn't come. Especially not with you.'

You feel James freeze.

'Me?'

'Yeah, I never even intended to tell you but now that I'll probably hang by tommorow-'

'Your happy ever after - what does that mean?'

He moves so fast you barely register when he looked into your eyes for the truth and when he buried his face in your neck. You sit and listen to his heathing breaths, the thumping of his heart and wonder - is it stress or- Owwwww fucking hell out with it already - you think.

After a little you whisper :

'It means i love you James. And I hoped life wouldn't be so cruel to those who long for freedom.'

You feel something wetting your shirt. A full body sob jostles you.

It's James' turn to weep.

'You big baby, don't cry. We'll be alright.'

Leaving on a cliffhanger >>>>>>

I hope it's readable - I've last written fiction like 5 yrs ago.

9.4.24 I wrote it fast so there's probably some spelling issues, I'll look later k mbyeeeeeee

10.4.24 K, I've looked this through, added a few thingies

[silv3rswirls]

bts - heavy content

includes heavier topics that don't fit in my main, fluffier masterlist and aren't full-out dark fics.

Frenzy: He’d have to force himself to stop feeding; he wasn’t an animal after all. (Taehyung, vampire au)

Cicada: Something was changing around you, you could feel it. You weren’t sure what was happening, but something had changed. (Namjoon, mental health, breakups)

bts - dark content

includes darker topics like yandere aus, heavier mental health talk, stalking, violence, religious themes, etc.

Jin - none

Worship me: Didn’t you deserve it? (Yoongi, yandere, obsession, online stalking/harassment, 18+)

Fawn: Hadn't your mother already warned you about men like him? ( Yoongi, 18+, age gap(reader is 18), corruption, praise, humiliation, dirty talk, alcoholism, some religious themes/talk, very vague mentions of familial abuse

Sweet Thing: Sweet thing; mourning lamb. Believe him good or evil, or somewhere in between. He doesn’t care, what’s done is done. (Yoongi, cults, religious themes, abuse of power, sex, corruption kink, manipulation, coercion, dead animals)

Scrap: “You’ll always be trash to be thrown away; but not to me.” (Hoseok, pseudo-incest, obsession, manipulation, degradation, light smut, light mentions of neglect and depression)

Worm: Even a worm will turn. (Hoseok, yandere, slight violence, implied kidnapping)

Garden: “I’ll plant thousands just for you.” (Jimin, yandere, stepbrother Jimin, murder, very minor descriptions of violence, fluff)

Grin and Bear it: (Taehyung) part one(Mentioned stalking and violence, fear, reader is yandere, Tae is some kind of otherworldly being or something.part two(Fear, tears, blood, minor descriptions of sex, Yandere otherworldly Tae, degradation(?)

Stalker: He wanted you alone, but now that he's got you where he wants, Jungkook can't help but act. (JK, andere, stalking)

Angel: He caught an angel, kept her locked in his basement. (JK, yandere, angst, murder, kidnapping)

I’m Not Human At All: Something seems rotten in him, gross and morbid, and it’s starting to spread. (Stepbrother Jungkook, yandere, descriptions of violence, angsty, disturbing thoughts)

Lamb: Saw you love you, want you, love you (Jungkook, werewolves, yandere, blood/injury, kidnapping)

Untitled smut (18 +, yandere JK, jealousy, possessiveness, minor talk of violence/fighting (not towards reader), implied fighting, hair pulling, name-calling, degradation, spit, finger sucking, some blood)

Hound: What did a suffering lamb even accomplish? Who did it save, when would it end? (serial killer/yandere JK, kidnapping, religious themes, death)