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railingsofsorrow · 3 months

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I hate you, until I don't

[spencer reid x reader]

summary: three times you annoyed Spencer and three times Spencer annoyed you, proving the two of you cannot stand each other. . . until the one time that there was less annoyance and more sexual tension.

pairing: s.reid x reader

w.c: 3.6K

warnings/content: inaccurate medical procedures (don't come for me); language; flirting; enemies to lovers; case-related violence; suggestive content (no smut but I'm classifying this as +16).

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[The Coffee]

Smoke should be coming out of his ears by now, from the way his neck is pink and you're sure he's also got his jaw clenched by how his furiously he's writing on the board, connecting the leads.

You've been fifteen minutes out of the room and Spencer has figure out the whole case.

“Why are you so angry?”

“I'm not angry.”

You do not need to be a profiler to know he had that answer on the tip of his tongue, ready to give the excuse to someone who asked the inevitable question. Right, you're not gonna fall for that.

“Um. Okay.”

Spencer clicks the pen twice before you settle beside him, perching your hip against the table. His tongue travels across his lips slowly, he's trying to focus but can't.

You don't know the reason. It could be a thousand things given that the local police you were working with have not been exactly welcoming to the FBI butting in on their case. Some cops acted hostile towards the team, but it was nothing you couldn't handle.

By handling it you meant switching your focus to something better: Reid. You both draw limits to be around each other. It's nothing personal (maybe?) but you just don't get along as you do with the rest of the team. That doesn't mean you don't work well together in the field, no. In 80% of field work, you have Spencer by your side exchanging ideas to come up with good conclusions. The other 20% is the time apart you require to breathe away from each other.

You don't hate him. If anyone hates Spencer Reid, they just might have to do a CT scan, that man doesn't have a single bad bone in his skinny body.

You, however, have a field day while annoying him. Though you're not particularly close, you throw harmless jabs at one another once in a while.

You are bored and Spencer is here, therefore...

“I'm not angry.” His tone is final as he lets his eyes fall on you to look back to the board. The crease between his brows deepens. You tilt your head curiously. You don't really care about what got him mad, though it is an interesting fact to see him actually pissed about something. It's a rare image. “Not angry at all.”

You kick his converse playfully, standing up fully. “I said okay, honey. You don't need to jump on my neck for it.”

Spencer rolls his eyes, clicking the pen three times this time. You watch his fingers clenching and unclenching around the pen.

“Don't call me honey.”

Blinking up at him innocently, you turn around and say, “sure, honey. I'm gonna go and grab some coffee.” You raise your index finger before leaving the room, interrupting him mid-speech. “For me only, of course.”

His mug was empty, you had seen as you walked into the room. He had dawned three of those already so of course you said that because you care about his health. Obviously. His scoff as you leave is the icing on the cake.

By the time he finishes the geographic profile, he finds his mug magically refilled with freshly brewed coffee.

━━━━━━━━━

[The Ambulance]

“If you had listened to me—”

“Don't you even fucking start. I have a gash on my forehead. My arm is numb and my knee is throbbing. You really think is wise to come in here and tell me I told you so? Disappear from my sight, now.”

Those words seem to go on deaf ears because he proceeds to crouch down to survey the damage on your face the paramedic is already assessing. His gaze barely falling on yours until it fixates on your head injury, amber eyes narrowing slightly as they usually did while he is concentrated and is about to sputter out some incredibly intelligent fact.

He does exactly that.

“She should have an X-ray of her neck. She's been flinching every time you're turning her head. And a CT scan, she was also hit in the head with a—”

You groan, not sure if it is because of the stitches or just deep-rooted anger towards your coworker.

“God— can you please...” You give a begging look to the paramedic, who seems to be having too much fun by the lifted corners of her mouth.

“— blunt object. Actually, you should be kept for observation for the entire night. Two days if possible.” He glances up at you, who presses your eyes shut instead of glaring, uncomfortable with the way the paramedic touches the sensitive spot on your neck. When you open them again, he's offering her a look of victory.

“Shut up, Reid.”

“It's a good idea.” The woman says for your distaste. Of course it is. Of course you agree with him.

“No, it isn't. I have a flight to catch to get back home and sleep on my comfortable bed, I do not need hospitals or needles or blood.” You intervene, mentally dreading to spend the night alone at a hospital in a city you have never visited.

“Do you have space for one more?” He questions suddenly, eyeing the inside of the ambulance. Your eyes widen at the implications of his actions. Before you have the chance to smash his head against the floor, he has already climbed into the ambulance, sitting comfortably in a corner.

You stare in disbelief. The paramedic isn't hiding her amusement anymore. she's outright laughing.

“Him? Not coming,” you say with finality, aggressively climbing into the ambulance, limping, to lie down on the stretcher.

However, he does come, rubbing in your face the whole way to the hospital about how right he was about the situation and that you shouldn't throw yourself in danger at any chance you get.

Hypocrite, as if he didn't do the same thing.

━━━━━━━━━

[The Book]

“Did you just skip to the end?” Spencer's voice laces with disbelief as he stares holes into the book between your fingers as if you have committed a heinous crime.

You glance up from him and back to the book briefly. “No?”

“You're an FBI Agent, you should know by now not to answer a question with a question.”

“You're an FBI Agent with three PhDs, you should know by now how rude it is to interrupt one's reading.” You send the jab as quick as he had thrown his, rolling your eyes.

“That doesn't apply if you're skipping to the end of the book—”

You sigh, tired. “I have to see if the process is worth it.”

“What?” Spencer shrieks out, switching his gaze from the book to you repeatedly. You press your lips shut, trying to suppress a smile. “What is that supposed to mean? You're supposed to enjoy and get surprised, not know everything—”

“I'll forget about the end if I start reading it.” Which is true, if you read one part of the story without the context from the previous pages, then your mind just wipes it out as you come back to where you were. You had a bad memory of story plots.

Spencer proceeds to get more offended by each word that comes out of your mouth.

“No.”

You let yourself chuckle this time. “What do you mean—hey!” You hiss as he yanks the book out of your hands, shutting it and hiding it behind him as some kid that's trying to hide his favorite toy so others won't find it. “Give it back, Spencer!”

“You have to promise me to not read the end.”

“I don't have to promise you anything.”

“You want this back?” He waves the book in his hands. Your book. He threatens you with your book.

You gape at him, then huff petulantly, crossing your arms like a toddler. To anyone who was watching, the both of you looked a lot like children bickering in the park. “Fine.” He offers you a skeptical gaze, narrowing his eyes with a slight scrunch of his nose and you can't help your reaction, really. Your lips twitch in a smile and you bite your cheek so hard it draws blood so you stop being stupid.

He gives you your book back and pointedly studies your figure as you read, making sure you do not, in fact, skip to the end of the book.

Spencer Reid is absolutely infuriating. No matter how cute he is.

━━━━━━━━━

[The Drunk Confession]

“I would've gotten a divorce if you were my secret lover.” You tell Emily with a slurred speech caused by the seven shots and two margaritas — maybe three, you stopped counting at the fourth shot. The table erupts in laughter at your claim. “No doubt.”

Emily smirks at you, leaning as close as she can across from you, Luke is watching the exchange as if on a tennis match. Garcia slaps his shoulder.

“Every. Time.” JJ mumbles with a roll of her eyes, turning to Spencer who looks bored out of his mind. “Don't you get tired of seeing them flirting every time they get drunk? It's getting old.”

Spencer shrugs, a scowl setting on his face as he glances at you and Emily. He looks away.

“Just ask her out, for god's sake.”

JJ almost spits her drink. “What?”

Spencer rolls his eyes, “you. Emily. Date. Do it.” He doesn't really feel like repeating himself again. Spencer doesn't know why he's so annoyed all of a sudden.

“Well, why don't you do it?” JJ snaps, narrowing her eyes at him, who blinks at her. “Yeah, ask her out instead of judging me like that.”

“No offense, but I don't see Emily that way.”

“Of course you don't and I'm not talking about Emily, Spencer,” JJ says pointedly. “You know I'm not.”

It doesn't take long for all of you to call it a night. The sober ones, at least, because the rest could stay until the morning without complaining, driving themselves to an alcoholic coma. That would have been your case. Fortunately, it isn't.

And now, Spencer is in charge of driving you home against his will because you live close by.

Great.

“I can put on my own seatbelt, thanks.” You frown as he lifts his hand to help you put the seatbelt on. He retracts it with a roll of eyes.

“Be my guest.”

“Yeah,” you mumble quietly, leaning your head back and closing your eyes as you feel the car being turned on. “Don't worry, m' not gonna puke in your car or whatever.”

Spencer freezes on his way to changing gears. “Are you feeling sick?”

“I just told you—”

He rolls his eyes, “I just meant that driving may make it worse, so if you want, we can wait and then I'll take you home.”

You open one eye to narrow him down suspiciously. It wasn't that bad. You just had drink a lot, and your body is having a completely normal reaction, though it was a bit annoying. But you don't think you're about to throw up.

“Careful, you almost sound like you care about my well-being.”

Spencer drove off the parking lot with a huff, “sure. If you do puke in my car I'll leave you alone in the middle of the avenue.”

A hiccup came out at the same time as your laugh and it ended up turning into a snort, which was not that graceful and you quickly covered your mouth.

He gave you a sideways glance and you told him to keep driving, ignoring the twitch on his lips you thought you saw. No, that was definitely not there.

“You would never do that to me.”

“Try me.”

“I can't believe I had a thing for you.”

“What?”

He almost had the urge to hit on the brakes but controlled himself. You hummed, watching the trees move as the car drove past them in the avenue. You rolled your window down, leaning your face outside a little, scrunching your nose when droplets of rain poked your nose.

"Oh, it's gonna rain."

"It's already raining- what do you mean you had a thing for me? What does that mean?"

"Are you nervous?"

"What- No!" He shifted his attention between the road and you quickly.

You nodded, pretending you believed him and folding your arms across your chest as you leaned back on the seat, closing the car window so you wouldn't get wet.

“You're kinda my type, Spencer.”

“I'm- I'm your type— what does that mean?” He insisted and you rolled your eyes with a groan, you wished you were drunker than this.

“... pretty boy with pretty brown eyes ... smart as hell and has a questionable sense of style. C'mon. It's like you're begging me to fall in love with you." You cleared your throat. "I had a crush on you, as in the past sense."

Spencer squinted. "You just spoke in the present tense-"

"Yeah, I knew you were going to focus on that, leave me alone, I'm drunk."

He pressed his lips together to avoid laughing at your expense.

"Right."

How come he never noticed it? He couldn't stop thinking about it.

“Are you still thinking about it?”

Spencer turned on your street, biting his cheek. “No.”

“Why not?”

He spun his neck to look at you and almost drove into the sidewalk, which made you huff out a laugh.

“Careful, genius. You might crash us because you figure out somebody has a crush on you.”

Spencer scoffed, turning the engine off to glance at you in disbelief. “Are you serious? You just spoke in the present tense again.”

Shrugging, you leaned back on the seat, sideways to stare at him, a little smile playing on your lips because you were enjoying the banter too much.

“Did I?”

“Yes.” he frowned and his nose scrunched in the cutest way possible you just felt like biting it.

“It started when I saw you in glasses.” You admitted, nails scratching against your jeans distractedly. “You were like a knock-off Peter Parker, just cuter and way more attractive.”

He scowled at you but you were able to see the clear pink cheeks he had acquired upon being called attractive. You weren't lying. The biggest lie and cruelty of this world was that Spencer Reid wasn't looked at twice by girls or boys. You would've been fanning over him at high school.

“You're mocking me,” he concluded.

You denied with a hum from deep within your throat. “Nu-huh. I'm not.”

His eyes analyse every micro expression of your face and you stare as he does so. His lips twitch before he speaks and your eyes fall on them.

“We're here.”

He chose to say instead, his brain on slow thinking mode as you stared at him like you were contemplating something in your head.

“You want me to go?”

Spencer blinks up at you, big brown eyes wide as a deer caught in headlights, the corner of your mouth lifts upwards slightly.

“What do you mean? I gave you a ride.” He replied, confusedly. “Do you need help to go up to your apartment? Are you dizzy?”

“Not dizzy.” You shifted, pulling your knees up to hold them. Shoes off ever since you entered his car. “It was just a question.”

“Are you testing me?”

You tilted your head, causing a few strands of your hair to be released from behind your ear as you rummaged through his glove box. A book — of course there was a book in there —, a lens cleaner spray — you wondered if he still used his glasses, just not on the field —, two hair ties — you lift a brow at that — and lastly, his license and vehicle registration — you smile at the picture. He snatched it out of your hand to pull it back on the glove box and close it.

“Why would I be testing you?”

“To make fun of me.”

Your eyes narrowed in slits.

“I don't like making fun of people, less alone you.”

Spencer held your stare for a hot second before he leaned back on his seat with a sigh.

You poked his hip, laughing when he jumped in surprise.

“You're so cute.”

“Stop that.”

“Calling you cute or tickling you?”

“Both!” He shrieked out, holding your hand as you attempted to tickle him again. You adjusted yourself on the seat, studying the way he seemed intrigued by your hand. Or the fact he hadn't let go of it. “I can help you up to your apartment, ” he said after a moment of silence, something stirring in his stomach at the way you were looking at him.

"You want to help me up to my apartment?" Now you are just riling him up for the sake of it. You hold his hand before he can let go of yours, a smirk dancing around your lips. "Sorry, I'll stop."

"You're so annoying,"

"You think so?" Your voice is low, careful. You lean forward slightly.

"Yes," he says with uncertainty. He lifts his other hand slowly, brushing your hair behind your ear because it kept falling on your cheek.

Your throat feels dry all of a sudden, and you swallow hard, shivering as his fingers trail down your cheek. "Spencer."

"Mhm?" He's not paying attention to what you're saying, too busy entranced by your lips to do anything else. You just wish he'd pull both of you out of your misery. Since he doesn't move, you take matters into your own hands and break the gap between the two of you. His breath halts and he takes one or two seconds to reciprocate the kiss, lips parting in surprise. You bask in the effect that you have on him before he pulls you in by the back of your neck and it's your turn to react surprised by his actions. Your back arches and a sound of contentment escapes your throat when his fingers press against your thigh.

You're straddling his lap in no time, his hands all over your body. You lower your lips to his neck, nibbling at his skin, satisfied with the moan he lets out in response to your touch.

Spencer says your name once. Twice. It's the third time that you actually hear him.

"What?"

"You're drunk," he breathes out, chest going up and down unsteadily. "We should- we should stop."

"I'm not drunk." You tilt your head, tracing his swollen lower lip with your thumb.

He chuckles nervously, grabbing your hands to pull it away from his neck and his neck so he could think straight for five minutes. "You are. You taste like tequila."

"Mhm, is that so?"

He groans, eyes dropping shut. "Don't do that."

Your smile widens into a menacing grin.

"Do what, genius?"

"This. You. You know what you're doing." Spencer insists half-heartedly, eyes fluttering open to stare at you. He can't help but stare down at your lips again, letting out a sigh.

Finally, your shoulders slump in dissatisfaction as you realize he wouldn't want to go forward as long as you have an ounce of alcohol in your blood.

"Who's annoying now?" You mumble, burying your head on his shoulders. His fingers trail up and down your bare arms, his hands then settle on your hip, drawing invisible circles there. You feel his lips press against the crown of your head. "You're gonna be the death of me," you whine, wrapping both arms around his middle. Spencer shakes with a chuckle and you smile into his skin.

There is no going back from this. You either screwed up your professional relationship or just initiated something really good.

You don't know which one is worse.

He goes up to your floor with you and you expect him to say goodbye as you step out of the elevator. He follows you to your door and finds the key in your purse that you had spent more than a minute trying to find it.

"You want to stay over?" You eye him, trying to sound nonchalant but in reality, you are expecting a yes.

It's not what you get.

"No." You conclude you screwed up your whole dynamic. He holds your wrist before you walk in and leave him in the hallway, pulling you back and cupping your cheek to press his lips to yours in a rather gentle and less frantic kiss than the ones you had just shared in the car. "Ask me when you're not drunk," he mumbles into your lips and you frown when he withdraws himself from you.

You understand his reasoning, but that doesn't mean you enjoy the thought of spending the night without him, finishing what you started.

"Will you want to stay over then?"

Spencer knows what you mean. You're asking if he will want to stay over after tonight, after the moment has passed and it's another day, or if he wants to forget and pretend it never happened.

"Yes." He doesn't hesitate, kissing your forehead before he takes a step back, ready to leave but not wanting to with the image of you leaning against your doorway, face slightly flushed after your make-out session. "Goodnight."

You munch on your lower lip, opening the door to go inside. He waits for you to close it but you walk out again, his eyes widening as you pull him into another kiss. Just as he's about to place his hands on your waist, you pull back, patting his chest.

"You're still annoying." You say, stepping back to enter your apartment, leaving him completely unresponsive in the middle of your hallway for a few minutes.

God, he hates you.

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taglist: @lilyviolets ; @whore-for-spencer-reid ; @yeonalie @ninkieminjaj ; @hoeshissworld ; @r-3dlips ; @pleasantwitchgarden

#criminal minds fanfiction #reader insert #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #self insert

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usedpidemo · 1 year

Text

Voguish (Itzy Ryujin)

(Thank you for the commission! I hope its to your liking.)

—————

If you had any other choice, you’d rather be stuck at where you were previously: earning a modest income, just enough to get by from job to job, performing straightforward work, and most importantly, friendly clientele to attend to. It wasn’t surprising; you knew this industry was built on the backs of some of the most snobbish, arrogant people you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting, but—

“You’re late. Again.”

Shin Ryujin was probably among the absolute worst.

If you’re going to make an honest assessment, Ryujin isn’t that bad. Serving as her head stylist for the better part of a year, she’s by far the client you’ve spent the most time with. She doesn’t talk a big deal about the money she’s making or prattle into a conversation intricately designed to inflate her ego to the moon, unlike some of the other A-listers you’ve had the ‘privilege’ of working under.

However, her attitude is definitely up there.

It’s not even a little over a minute. In fact, you’ve been standing at her entrance door two minutes before the clock hits ten. Doesn’t matter if you’re in the right; her style, her rules. She doesn’t care that you're sweating buckets rushing her newly minted outfit from across the street up to the 27th floor. Any moment where she doesn’t look like a million dollars is a moment wasted.

“My apologies, Ryu—”

Ryujin’s glare puts the fear of God into your soul. “What did I say about using my name?”

You pause. Gulp your throat. “My sincerest apologies, Miss Shin.”

“Hmph.” Grimacing with disgust, she hastily snatches the dress from your possession, proceeds to slam the door on you, tone bordering on shouting, “Come inside. You’re late.”

Entering the door shortly after, you’re welcomed by a film crew in the process of recording her as she struts around the living room suite holding your dress in her hands. If there’s anything you’ve learned from attending to her, she’s as effortless of an actress as she is as a model. The moment her eyes face the camera, she instantly transforms into the picture perfect icon that has all of social media buzzing.

Moving out of the way has become muscle memory at this point. When she’s in front of the cameras, you’re merely an onlooker.

“So this is my outfit for tonight,” she says enthusiastically into the camera, proudly flaunting the outfit—a convincing facade to the untrained eye. For the press, she’s this likable, larger than life figure living her best life, attending all these invitation-only parties and wearing the most stylish dresses.

“It was a risque design, and I wanted to try something bold for once. It was love at first sight when I saw it,” she comments, and you know very well this wasn’t her first choice. They won’t know that this was the 12th option, handpicked just last night after weeks of trial and error, only to be thrown away right after. At her request, you had it ordered on incredibly short notice, and the plan almost fell through. It was hard to deny Ryujin’s wants, no matter how impractical or unfeasible they were.

In a way, this was to be expected. Ryujin emanates this young, it girl energy. Like any aspiring icon, she usually wants to stand out from a usually safe crowd. Not that it hasn’t stopped you from interfering a handful of times, much to her annoyance. After all, you’d assume she was going to a casual party or some red carpet event, not a prestigious gala with some of the biggest people in the world in attendance. You name it: politicians, CEOs of tech giants, industry titans who make the cover of Forbes and Time every other month. There are high standards that must be kept, and she’s doing anything but uphold those standards.

The camera pans away from her, and she immediately tosses the clothing aside with zero regard whatsoever. You manage to save it before it becomes near valueless. No matter how bothersome she acts, you can’t bring yourself to call her out on her antics; not just because there are several careers at stake, including yours, but you know what she’s capable of doing when her patience exceeds breaking point. It’s a firsthand experience to catch Ryujin in a state that isn’t picture perfect.

“Where are you?” Ryujin shouts from the other room, irate. “Slow as ever, my goodness.”

When you approach her, she’s on her phone, seated in front of the mirror with her legs crossed, having commanded the camera crew to vacate the room, leaving you alone with her. It’s only when you are together that she’s her true self, and it’s not far from what you usually experience even with other people around. They understand it’s in their best interest not to interfere.

Turning her eyes, she catches you idling with her sharp stare. “Well? Are you just gonna stand there and look at me all day? You already do that on the regular.”

Her behavior’s something neither cameras nor testimonies will ever publicly reveal: that Ryujin’s practically a spoiled brat behind closed doors. Any attempts to expose her have been silenced by huge settlements, NDAs, and every legal bind in the book. And when those don’t work out, there’s the strangely coincidental disappearance of potential witnesses that read like every tin-foil hat post written by some gullible conspiracy theorist on the internet.

In retrospect, perhaps there’s some merit to the rumor that her father is supposedly the head of some mafia organization, but you digress. She has never brought her personal history up in interviews, other than she’s been adopted by the founder of a relatively unknown investment firm. An elaborate lie.

She’s engrossed on her phone, unable to keep herself still while you struggle to apply makeup on her face. Time’s of the essence, she usually says, but she’s purposeful with how much time is wasted, with the primary objective of finding an excuse to lay on you. It was never going to be fair from the start. All the moments where you were late, in her eyes, were intentionally done to put you in the wrong.

To be fair, the numerous stylists who’ve taken care of her warned you in advance. You couldn’t deny the opportunity for a huge paycheck.

“Miss Shin, please stay still,” you say, carefully stringing your words together, delivered in the least offensive tone possible.

To your surprise, she complies. It’s a miracle. She never obliges with your requests, let alone direct commands.

Applying the rest of her makeup takes only minutes. Usually, you’d be going back and forth, and you’d be in front of the mirror for hours. See how easier everyone’s job is when all parties cooperate and collaborate effectively? You’re doing your part like it’s second nature; you only wish Ryujin was this accommodating more often, and not whether her brain flips a coin to determine her attitude for the day.

“You look amazing, Miss Shin,” you comment, staring at the mirror, her face radiating with the glow of a million bucks.

Taking her attention off the phone, even if it’s only for a second, proves to be a chore, as proven by her particularly grumpy expression. She scans herself, peers through every little detail in the mirror—showing more interest in herself during this brief moment than her dozens of photoshoots over the last month—and gives the smallest of nods. You even see the tiniest of grins escaping her lips, too.

Her steely attitude unwavering, she commands you, sternly, “Bring me the dress. Now.”

A clap of hands and the door opens like magic. Your co-stylist briskly walks toward you, outfit in hand, promptly handing it over before immediately leaving the room. No words are necessary; she makes it clear who’s allowed to touch her, let alone dress her, and it’s only you. Handling Ryujin was as meticulous and methodical as preserving a historical treasure.

She finally gets off her chair, hands prepared to loosen her robe before something catches her attention. “Door.”

It’s common sense. You hurry over to the opened door, slam it shut. Then the magic happens.

Ryujin nonchalantly slips her bathrobe off her shoulders, letting it freely fall to the floor. She’s draped in nothing but the thinnest of underwear, her asscheeks openly poking through the fabric. It’s amazing how she’s allowing you to see her like this, her barest, when most of her shoots and red carpet dresses have been nothing but conservative. Sometimes seductive, but mostly safe. There’s nothing left for your imagination. On the other hand, you’re so used to this vivid sight, it’s almost part of your daily routine. You shouldn’t be fazed, but her perfect figure has you staring, shamelessly, like it’s your very first time seeing nudity.

At times, it leaves you vulnerable. Like now.

“You were doing quite well too,” she comments, snarkily, gazing at your blank expression through the reflection, snapping you from your daze.

Gulping your throat, you find yourself embarrassed, ears flushed red. Even while you go through the methodical process of measuring and dressing her, the shame lingers. You find yourself unable to glance at the mirror. The very few flashes and glints that meet you when you turn you face your reflection, you find her suppressing a tiny giggle.

As you put on the finishing touches on her outfit, she brings the point home, “We’re already late by an hour.”

A quick look at your watch tells you it’s almost eleven. Ten minutes before the next hour. At first glance, it’s still early, but it can be deceiving. Parisian traffic is notoriously unforgiving, event or no event, showing no partiality. Getting from one place to another is a whole day’s work.

Then you remember the fans and paparazzi congregated at the hotel’s entrance. This crowd that you had to brute force through just to get her dress on time. The hotel security can barely hold them back, and you can hear several sirens screaming miles away, most likely police presence. Many persons of interest will be gathered in one setting, after all.

“How do you feel, Miss Shin?” you ask, taking a step back to let her soak in her meticulously curated appearance.

She blinks rapidly. Then she takes a deep breath.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

—————

Everywhere you look lies nothing but chaos. Chaos and cameras.

Barricade is filled with an indistinguishable mix of both paparazzi and media from all over the world. Lights, whether from above or from cameras, flash in every direction that it’s almost blinding. Deafening shouts pierce through your ears that whispering is impossible. You’ve been to as many red carpet events as these journalists and photographers, but you’ve never attended an event of this magnitude until now.

Left and right, there’s a random celebrity being interviewed by a news junket. The women you spot are dressed to the nines, adorned in colorful and graceful garb, while the men are decked as if they're attending Sunday service. You can see it now: another round of fashion bloggers berating and cursing the men for their simplicity and lack of creativity, but that’s to be expected.

Your phone vibrates from within your shirt pocket. It’s Ryujin, having disappeared somewhere in the crowd.

> Where u at? 😤

You immediately reply back. Your conversations have been practice for your future relationship:

> Can’t find you in this crowd

> Taylor Swift is just across me XD

> Scarlett Johannson too

> And I think I saw Zendaya and Yuna talking with each other, can’t confirm though, they’re far away

To which she answers:

> Stop playing around.

> Get over here NOW

> Do you style any of them?

> You don’t.

> Come here. NOW.

It’s a simple but strong warning. Aside from the fact that you’re there to attend to Ryujin’s needs and not larp as a celebrity, there's a change in her attitude during these events. She becomes strangely more attached. It’s become a byword for you to mention other women around her, yet she interacts with them in a friendly light for the cameras to see.

Ryujin’s preoccupied with what’s presumably the umpteenth interview of many when you finally reunite with her. She takes another moment to pose for the next wave of cameras, picture perfect as always, then after, she finally turns her gaze, meeting yours. It has been ten minutes since her last text, and you have many reasons to say why you’ve vanished.

None of which truly matters.

“There you are.” She says, glaring angrily at you, tone laced with contempt, sounding like you were gone for days.

“I can explain, Miss Shin,” you try to say, but it has no effect as she approaches you, careful as ever to keep a picturesque facade in front of the media. You can see her holding herself back from popping a vein. “Apparently President Biden and his wife are in attendance and we were told to make way for his entire security team—”

The way Ryujin pulls you by the ear while you both retreat from the chaotic crowd is comical. In a sea of cameras and eyewitnesses, some tabloid’s bound to catch you, take the unfolding scene out of context, and write a rushed article that spreads like wildfire, but no, it doesn’t draw an ounce of attention. She's a small fry in a pond of bigger fish, after all. Over your corner, you see a dozen Secret Service slowly guide the president along the carpet, parting everyone around old Joe. In a way, watching him brings you to a strange realization: that you can empathize with the poor geezer. You’re both in the same predicament, being strung along to places you have no zero interest in.

It’s an effective distraction. An air of tense, awkward silence falls upon you both as you stare at each other, your personal conflict hidden away from the public eye. You open your mouth, about to say a word, and—

Whack!

Ryujin hits you with the hardest of palms, all her pent-up frustration released with a single, powerful smack of your cheek. The force echoes throughout the enclosed space like thunder. Your lips draw a little blood. A quick rub of your face reinforces the consequence for your actions. Rough. Still, to say she looks unhappy after enforcing her will upon you is an understatement.

And just when you try to open your mouth (without the intention to complain; you’ve given up at this point), she follows it up with a second slap, with about half the impact of the first. This time, the other cheek. Her gaze is scathing, lethal, hypnotic—as if challenging you to try her already short patience. Say something, motherfucker, is subtly etched on her expressive lips without the need to verbalize them.

Another tense moment of silence. She makes sure your eyes never leave her contact. When it finally breaks, her judgment echoes in your head like the toll of a death bell—a lingering reminder that you’ve truly fucked up.

“You’ll be seeing me after tonight,” she says, each word delivered like an arrow straight to your heart. Before facing the world again, she adds another devastating blow, “My hotel room. Midnight. Sharp.”

—————

For the most part, in the eyes of the public, you seem to have done a fantastic job styling Ryujin for tonight’s gala. Within hours of the event, numerous articles published of the event list her among the best dressed stars, praising the bold nature of her outfit, as she intended in that vlog-style video from earlier. It’s all smiles as you watch her from afar, casually mingling with every celebrity in attendance. In case she needs to remain fresh, have new makeup applied, or change into a new dress for afterparty purposes—sometimes all of the above—you’re closely on standby. Ultimately, she doesn’t; not a single time she has called or texted for assistance. In a way, it’s alarming.

Her reminder sticks firmly on the back of your mind. Every word she says, she means it—no matter how small or big they are. It lingers even as her personal driver and bodyguard messages you with the instruction to return to the car, where she’s mysteriously absent, having been commanded by Ryujin herself to send you and the rest of her personnel home. It’s uncharacteristically strange; either she’s changed her mind and is having a good time at the event, or she’s probably drunk out of her mind, and the latter is typically the norm.

When you retreat to your room, you nervously watch as the clock slowly ticks towards the inevitable. It’s like witnessing your death. You know you can’t stop it, and you can’t look away, either. With the understanding that you’ll likely see the sun rise when it’s all said and done, you don’t even bother to slip into your sleepwear.

The clock turns midnight. Seconds later, you receive a text on your phone. The message. It immediately disproves any theory or hope of meeting her good graces:

> Meet me in my room. Don’t even think about hiding or running, cause I will know

Of course you comply; you really have no other choice.

Five minutes later, you’re at her door again, with nothing but your suit, ready to face her judgment. It swings open of its own accord. Without any formalities, you step inside the familiar living room, now tidied up and cloaked in near darkness—a stark contrast to the mess it looked earlier in the day. Not a sign of her presence can be seen or felt. If you’ve been feeling uneasy before, now you’re straight up anxious, and the terror leaves you pale.

The door slams shut. Now you’re completely in the dark, with nothing to latch or cling to but your own resolve, which is slowly fading too. You want to speak her name, but you know you’ll be trying fate again, and fate has dealt you a cruel hand already. You didn’t want to fall even further.

Your slow breaths are the only sign of life.

And the faint voice in your ear.

Wait—

Before you know it, you feel your throat tense up and your body tremble frantically. Faint shadows coil around your waist and neck, and in that moment, your fate has been sealed.

“At least you’re not late this time.” Ryujin whispers into your ear. Then your eyes snap wide open.

“Agh!”

A powerful surge of pain overwhelms your entire body, renders you weak in the knees. You fall to the ground, barely keeping yourself from completely melting onto the carpet with your hands. Still, the pangs remain too much. You can barely hold up on all fours, let alone move your arms and legs.

It’s not enough. A soft hand hovers across your arched back, brushes through your hair, before it’s immediately followed by a direct blow to your nape. Your shout of agony reverberates throughout the dark room while you’re forced further down on your knees. Nearly forced into a prostrate position, you’re barely holding on. Another hit of this force could knock you unconscious, maybe worse.

“You’re going to learn your lesson today,” says Ryujin, strutting from behind you, cloaked in what appears to be a white gown. She’s holding something that you can’t identify, but you can tell she’s not in the mood to play games. Sparks of electricity flash and fade close to her hand. It was a taser all along. You probably would have guessed that from the intense shocking pain you’re currently feeling.

“Bedroom, slowpoke,” she sternly commands you as she saunters toward the room first, leaving you alone to pick yourself up. You’re still reeling from the two shocks of electricity applied to your waist and neck; it stings. Your body struggles, aches, cries out in despair, but you ultimately muster up enough power to follow her minutes later.

What greets you in the bedroom is a dimly lit bed, with Ryujin as its centerpiece, and both ends of her figure bathed in a faint wave of orange lamp light. She’s draped in nothing but the same hotel-issued bathrobe from earlier, her legs crossed, gazing at you from behind designer shades, smirking with malicious intent. It’s regal, seductive, inviting, intimidating. You honestly could stare at this sight all day long.

Before you entertain the thought, she cuts it off. “Strip.”

Her gaze lingers as you quickly bare yourself in front of her. She grins, giggles, adjusts her glasses with each piece of clothing removed. It flashes at her widest when you’ve divested your shirt and your pants, revealing your chest and your evident bulge, unknowingly growing hard behind the elastic fabric. It seems to spark a new idea within her, even though she’s the type of woman who follows through with her plans after they’ve been organized and premeditated.

She hops off the bed, slowly saunters toward you with trained, modellike fashion, using you as a makeshift catwalk. Turning the corner, she retreats behind your back, gripping a hand on your neck, craning the other down your bare chest. Her tongue tickles the back of your ear, which morphs into the smallest of smooches while she drags you to the bed like a hostage. As she hauls you over the mattress, she continues to feel your skin and body, your ears titillated by the gentle moans and whimpers from her sultry lips.

Your bump knees with the bed before she sends you flying over the edge. Temptation comes knocking at the door of your suppressed lips; you’re itching to cry out in pain, pleading for a bit more consideration. You know it’s a futile effort. When it comes to sex, Ryujin was anything but gentle.

“Don’t look. Stay still.”

Following her command is second nature to you; even when your positions were interchanged, it was merely an illusion—you were never in control. Ryujin plants a palm around your throat, forcing your stare against the bedrest. The clanging sound of something resembling a belt or a buckle keeps you curious. Tense, breaths keep you calm. Deep down, you know what’s about to happen; there’s no stopping it, you can only brace for impact.

In the gap between the point of no return, she tells you her mindstate, how her frustration and apparent jealousy never receded. “I hated every minute I spent there. You have no idea how difficult it was to keep a face in front of everyone, especially after seeing Yuna. Fucking. Yuna.”

Your reaction comes out, not through coherent words, but through a labored groan. You feel her finger circle rings around your ass, sticky and wet. Of course she was there, social media couldn’t stop buzzing about her appearance—and she rarely shows up to these galas. Now it’s all making sense. After all, you were Yuna’s stylist before Ryujin snatched you away.

Ryujin continues to apply lube around your sensitive hole, occasionally fingering you. Holding in the groans from the discomfort proves to be impossible, but she prefers to hear you whine, especially when her name is spoken. It’s the perfect reprieve from the evening’s frustrations, keeping her from raising her voice to the ceiling. “She pisses me off so fucking much. First stealing my thunder at every fashion week, now this? I thought she hated art galas?”

It’s evident that she doesn’t like Yuna in any shape whatsoever. If not for the cameras and all the famous people in the building, she’d already be trading blows with her. If there was any one person she wanted dead, it would have to be Shin Yuna. Of course, knowing this, you never included your time with her on your job application, let alone mention the fact you briefly spoke at the event behind her back. She was in an already spiraling mood, and you didn’t need to make it even worse.

“I was thinking of using dildos for tonight, maybe just my fingers even, but I don’t think it’ll be enough. I really hope you understand.” That last sentence—she sounds apologetic, remorseful, but the warning is ultimately shallow; she’ll rough you up, wreck you, ruin you, and enjoy every moment of it. You’re merely a blank canvas to her twisted fantasies.

“Oh, oh–fuck!” She cries out, joining your deep scream in harmony as she plunges the dildo into your warm, wet hole. This isn’t your first experience on the receiving end of Ryujin’s strap, yet every plunge feels as destructive and spine breaking as the first. No pleasantries or formalities, just apply the lube then hit. The idea of teasing you goes against her very blunt, assertive nature.

“Shit—oh fucking shit, you’re so goddamn tight,” she says, snaking a hand around your waist as her plastic dick slowly penetrates your hole, little by little. She has you grasping at pillows, staring at the ceiling then down to the sheets, until you find the twisted image of her hips slowly pounding against your ass, letting the pleasure of pegging overwhelm her. It should be excruciatingly painful, an agonizing reminder to never get on her wrong side, but no, there’s something hot about getting dicked by a tough woman like her that arouses you.

Eventually, she comes to her senses, finds her footing, and remembers that she’s meant to punish you, not reward you. She knows how good you make her feel, even if your cock is meant to be inside hers, not the other way around. You can’t help speaking your mind, and it boosts Ryujin’s ego to the moon. “Please. Fucking use me, Miss Shin. Fucking ruin my hole like how I ruin yours, miss.”

Even upside down, you can see how visibly delighted she is to hear those words every single time. Can’t hide that wide smirk plastered on her lips, no matter how upset she is. It’s intoxicating. No matter how hard you’re huffing, the pleasure she derives from using you keeps you going.

Slamming your eyes shut, Ryujin does what you both want. Fucks you with her dildo hard, clenches and quelches with each careful, intricate stroke. Sometimes you’re in that position, taking her ass and ravaging her body as your own. Now it’s her turn, and she’s been taking after you. Between thrusts, she slaps your cheek, pulls on your neck and hair. You’ve built this alarmingly toxic work relationship, but the sex has never felt this invigorating, so cathartic. The perfect use of frustration to be channeled into something pleasurable and rapturous.

You’ve never seen Ryujin this focused, this committed to wrecking you. She’s using your hole with such ferocity you think she’ll make you bleed out. Behind those glazed, pleasure-filled eyes, she sees nothing but red. Difficult as it is, you follow a string of moans from her lips hidden beneath a continuous echo of groans from your end. It doesn’t help that these walls are thin and everyone on this floor can hear your escapades.

Neither of you care. There’s a good reason as to why she booked the whole floor to begin with.

The bed quakes, and quakes, and quakes—until it doesn’t.

A puzzlingly calm fills the room after countless minutes pass. Ryujin’s frantic breaths close the silent gap, having pulled the dildo from your hole. It’s slick. You realize the change of pace.

“Miss Shin, why did you stop?”

She doesn’t reply immediately. When she does, she’s still catching her breath between spoken words. “I told you—it wasn’t going to be enough. Lay down for me, will you?”

Without a second thought, you comply. This gives you an opportunity to truly see her in the flesh for the first time tonight. She’s wearing a combination of corset and lingerie, her juicy thighs layered with lace garter. Hopping off the bed, she unbuckles the strap around her waist, tossing it aside to the floor. You then focus on her plump ass, accentuated by her slim thong.

Damn, she looks better now than she does naked. You feel proud that she’s wearing your tailor-made lingerie.

Before you entertain the thought of undressing the very underclothes you’ve prepared for her, she slips the boxers off your ankles. She climbs onto the bed, stands atop you. Even with her short stature, in this position, she’s larger than life, a dominating presence that only desires complete control.

“Hmm, I don’t know what I should do. I could let you fuck me, but that doesn’t sound right for a punishment,” she comments, playfully placing a finger on her chin, jokingly thinking. For a brief moment, it does appear that she’s stumped.

When the idea hits her, her eyes widen, and she has this self-conceited look, as if she’s got it all planned out.

She reaches a hand down to her knee, slowly peels one of the stockings down to her ankles. Then she does the same for the other half. The way she positions both legwear on your cock is intentional; it’s to stir the idea of pounding into her cunt a real possibility. Your gaze remains fixated on Ryujin’s face, ever flawless in her scantily-clad figure, being her model self atop you.

As she tugs on the lace of her panties, you start reacquainting your mind with the image of her tight cunt. She lowers it, barely down her thighs, enough space to tease, enough to make your heart race. Her attention is nowhere close to you; she has other priorities, and fingering herself is one of them. She rubs a digit around her heat, moans out in ecstasy with the same energy as getting fucked. The trembles of her body send aftershocks that reverberate all over the bed.

It’s already hot enough to get fucked by Ryujin’s strap, but this—the sight of Ryujin pleasuring herself, mouth gaped wide open—is a hundred times better. This is the same reaction she has shown throughout the numerous times you’ve railed her, even though you’ve seen that face during sex. Against the mirror, against the water’s reflection, against the tinted windows of her cars—her face serves as motivation that keeps you hard whenever she demands it. Your hands begin to move on their own, reach down to the groin unknowingly, unsure of whether she’d want you to masturbate or not.

You feel your hard cock, already partially soaked with precum, dripping on her garter. As much as you want to keep them on, you can’t go against the deep seated urge to masturbate with her. Her foot begins to lean against your waist, right as you begin to stroke your shaft with your fingers. Moaning alongside her, you thrust your hips upward, passionately murmuring her name, with nothing but a singular thought: her pussy.

It’s etched on your needy lips. “You’re so sexy, Miss Shin. Please let me fuck you, God—”

She whines as though your hot breath is against her neck, growling a tone higher than normal. Her left foot is slowly clenching around your balls, the other at the bridge between your thigh and your crotch, gently nudging your free hand to move aside. She’s beginning to apply pressure on you, perhaps a subtle gesture to make you stop and give way for her feet to take over, but you’re engrossed in the moment to fully realize. Then again, subtlety isn’t her speciality.

It’s only when her foot presses down on your active hand that you slow to a complete halt. You gently rest her soles on your shaft, slowly wrap her soft toes around your tip. For the most part, their grip is shaky, but when they stick, they feel so slick, so warm, and significantly better than whatever effort your fingers can muster. She can’t wear heels without a few kisses placed on them, you recall; something about being Cinderella growing up, how she prefers to be treated, to receive nothing but showers of praise and attention, and you’re doing just that.

Her digits seemingly acknowledge what they’re stepping on, and soon enough it becomes the perfect makeshift ring to stimulate your cock. Her toes just feel the best, most direct spots around your sensitive shaft, gradually building momentum for when you eventually paint her pretty feet. At least, that’s the goal. You’re both drowning in pleasure, chasing separate highs, but using each other’s bodies as conduit for your own personal gain.

And it’s not that she doesn’t know; she knows. You’ve caught a glimpse of her half-lidded eye peeking down. She sees it, merely chuckles at the notion, and continues to finger herself atop your helpless body. Mutual trust brings you together; she won’t stop you as long as you won’t do the same to her.

“Yes, fuck, I’m gonna cum so hard,” you say, breaths hurried, and it isn’t a matter of if, but when. “Every part of you feels so good, Ryu.”

You’re past formalities at this point. She’s too far gone to care that you've called her by her casual name. Her fingers, both slick and warm at once, are catching fire from the frenzied pace she’s rubbing her clit, certain her dripping juices will find solace on your splayed figure. Racing with her orgasm, her underwear is halfway down her meaty legs, her very foundations shaking. Inadvertently pressing her foot tightly on your cock, she’s holding on for dear life, and it threatens to steal your soul before you reach that immaculate high.

With friction at an all-time high, one rough, slippery slip between her toes, all while your loins burn , moving as if you’re burying yourself deep in her cunt, eager to fill her with seed. The thin thread snaps. Sends you careening over the edge.

Your fall is accompanied by the endless scream of her name. To have your cock be graciously drained by her feet, it would be disrespectful not to. She’s still going, chasing that high even as your cum geysers all over her feet, spills over your knees, your belly, on the sheets, as if her own slick didn’t already make an utter mess of this five-star bed. You’re mentally cheering her on, distracting yourself from the endless cascade of seed gushing beneath you.

This disastrous mess finds you again, this time in the form of Ryujin’s orgasm. She orgasms, cries her loudest cry, her features at their most corrupted. Her pussy gushes like a rushing waterfall, completely soiling her legs and panties with her slick juices. Your groin manages to salvage whatever her thighs haven’t absorbed, and it’s a sticky pool that latches onto her dainty feet. When she steps off your cock, the squelch of wet seed splatters on the sheets until she touches the ground.

You both take some time apart, let the aftermath of your orgasms fizzle out. Ryujin assesses the damage to her body; she’s still a model, after all. She hastily rids of the soiled underwear, treating it like some kind of contaminated object that can only be cleansed by fire. From the looks of it, she’s committed something dangerous, and you’ve done something scandalous.

“Shit. We got carried away,” you say, lifting your head from the bed, panicked.

“No. You got carried away,” she replies, facing you with that familiar icy gaze. The honeymoon period is over. “Did I allow you to plant my feet on your cock? Huh?”

Swallowing your throat, you understand that she’s technically right, but also, she most certainly enjoyed the feeling of stepping on you—something you can use against her. Still, Ryujin’s word overrides all reasoning, no matter how logical they are.

You see her facade fall apart when she approaches you again. She climbs onto the bed like a cat, arches her back, and sends you back down to the mattress when she pounces on you. On her lips is the widest smirk you’ve ever seen on her.

She wants more.

Rising to her feet, she plants her toes directly on your chin, oozing with the remains of your cum mixed with hers. “You did this, now you’ll clean it up.”

As your tongue laps it up, she occasionally disrupts your rhythm by kicking you several times. Not that you’re hurting her (you couldn’t even if you tried) but for the delight of bringing you misfortune. It’s completely in line with the typical abuse and inhumane treatment you face from her during work hours. You won’t complain, but that was never in the cards, anyway.

“I can’t believe my stylist is a complete freak. Fucking hell,” she comments, glaring you down as you give her toe the occasional kiss. She’s visibly disgusted by the realization sinking in, but deep down, she knows you’re the exact stylist she’s been looking for.

—————

And as if that’s not enough, she’s found a punishment perfectly suited for you.

“Just so you know, you’re not getting paid after the stunt you pulled on me today,” says Ryujin, in reference to your accidental disappearance during the red carpet. You’re laid out on the floor, prone, your groans stifled by the living room carpet. Meanwhile, her feet tread all over your bare back at a steady tempo, leaving what could have easily been hickeys red marks and footprints on your skin.

“How long do I have left, Miss Shin?” you ask, voice almost indiscernible.

“About ten minutes,” she replies, looking out the hotel room window, watching dawn slowly break over the Parisian sky. “Don’t ever disappoint me again, do you understand? Freak.”

——————

(A/N: First commissioned work complete! Definitely exploring elements out of my specialty, did you expect her to peg OC? Fun dynamic to write, thank you for reading!)

(P.S. If you want to have your own story/idol written, you can send me a commission :D)

#smut #kpop smut #itzy #ryujin

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evilminji · 9 months

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Back at it again with the BNHA crossover Ponderings!

Nedzu is LITERALLY one of THE smartest beings on the planet, right? Like... he's probably on some internationally recognized list of Top Planetary IQs? Which is why Japan let's him get away with so much?

Cause they REALLY fucked him over, he has the power to leave, and that would be really, REALLY bad Brain Drain wise/politically for the Japanese Government? (Also pls don't become a Supervillian we literally can not afford that, Mr. Nedzu Sir? Etc etc)

You think he has... like? Chats? With the OTHER top intellects? Some kid in Siberia with the New Super Intelligence Quirk his parents can't begin to even handle, gets put in history's WEIRDEST group chat? I like to think so.

But the REASON I ask this?

What hero do you call? For Weird Shit in international waters?

Suspicious, floating, weirdly two dimensional and HIGHLY radioactive... corrosive... green goop? Rings? Orbs? CAN it be an orb if it's two dimensional? It certainly LOOKS like there is depth to it... somehow...

A THING. In the sky.

Shouldn't be there, man. This is a shipping lane. It's scaring the people on passing ships. No one knows what Quirk could have made this. Might be a trafficking victim's call for help. Might be a first Quirk Use mishap. They need to know what it IS and how to get rid of it.

They go the normal routes first. Doesn't work. Okay, call in some professionals. Kinda pricey, but no big. Right? Doesn't work. Okaaaay, call in a SPECIALIST. REAL pricey, but this thing is holding up international trade, making people in fancy ass suit all Nervous(TM).

Doesn't Work.

Specialist tells um to not to bother with calling anyone else on their normal list. Is looking at the green goo like it spat on his mother and called his dog a whore. They would prefer he NOT make that facial expression. That is a facial expression that will get them yelled at by their bosses. Fuck(TM).

Now Politics(TM) are involved. People want to STUDY the green goo. Harness it for dubious and unknown green goo experiments. Poke it with their Quirk to see what'll happen. There's fuckin REPORTER with no concept of self-preservation, trying to get CLOSER to the RADIOACTIVE POISON GOO.

Fuckin Heros have shown up.

Why are you bastards even HERE. What? Are you peacocks gonna PUNCH it? Get off their rig! Stop posing in front of the GOO!

Then? Oh thank GOD. The SMART people show up. Certified, highest grade, triple refined, PREMIUM Nerds(TM). The WAY above our pay grade folks. We're SAVED! Can we PLEASE go home now? We are just ocean cleaners! Our job is debris! Not weird GOO!

Enter, stage Super Cool Helicopters? The Elite Nerds of Earth. Of which Nedzu is one. Since Japan is closest. And it's a school weekend! He had some time.

And?

Ha ha... Thanks, he hates it! Nedzu's stoat brain is SCREAMING and he wants NOTHING to do with...? What he is somehow CERTAIN is a floating pit of Death! Interesting effect. Anyone getting that or just him?

Then? Some hot head on loan to Korea from the states? Spots something. SomeONE. And does he TELL the newly arrived professionals? So they may do a risk assessment? Figure out a way to rescue this individual SAFELY? Of course not!

Said hot head has supposedly indescribable chains! So he just flings them rights on in! Grabbing the boy from the center of the portal, pulling him free, and in the process? Immediately destabilizing it. Causing it to collapse down towards everyone bellow.

He also then proceeds to DROP the young lad, in his alarm at this entirely predictable outcome.

Right. Into. The Ocean.

A boy, who is dressed in filthy medical scrubs, haunting familiar in a way nothing should EVER be again, and entirely unconscious. Plunge down into the briny deeps and bitter cold. Alone. Abandoned. Death, thick and viscous, losing form and raining down like bile.

Everyone saving themselves.

Ah, he rather liked this suit.

The salt water ruins it. The droplets of Green, burn like molten glass each time they touch him. He will likely have at least a few new scars, after today. Assuming this is not the end of him. But he swims fast. The boy sinking slower then his size would suggest he should. He grabs hold and arcs, dragging them both from beneath the fallout of yet another humans hubris.

He does not stop swimming. Not until he knows he is near the helicopter. He is thankful, that he dragged Aizawa along. The man takes one look at his serious expression, the state of his rescued young friend, and merely hauls them both out of the water and into the machine.

Time to go.

They saw nothing, it seems. And there is nothing to be found.

The boy does not wake. Not for quite a while. Long enough, that Nedzu, perhaps unwisely, has grown attached. Is considering adoption. If only too terrorize a few goverment bodies. And... well... the boy will need some who UNDERSTANDS. And the scars paint a very specific sort of tale. But first, the most important question, when beginning these things...

"Tea? Or would you prefer coffee?"

@the-witchhunter @mutable-manifestation @hypewinter @hdgnj

#minji's ponderings #bnhaxdp #dp x bnha #principal nedzu

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korpuskat · 1 year

Text

Spectrum

[Ao3 Mirror] Pairing: Ramattra/Reader Rating: Mature (sexual content referenced, but not explicit) WC: 2,918 Warnings: None Sequel to In A Different Light -----

The lackey behind the counter hardly looks up, barely says anything as they pass you the repair request forms. It's fine, you get it. Menial labor, repetitive office bullshit, dealing with the guys who walk their mechs into walls when training while trying to avoid the higher-ups gaze. Normal Talon stuff. This is perfectly true until he asks you what floor of the barracks you're on, what wing.

And suddenly the lady behind him perks up. She doesn't even try to hide how she looks you over, making some unspoken assessment, then grins and returns to her tablet.

The barely suppressed smile infects his voice with excitement. "Don't suppose you're in 1813, are you?"

Oh. Fuck. "Yeah, I am."

"Kinda wondering when you'd make it down here." He says, typing in your information. "If you would."

You shouldn't say anything. You really, really shouldn't.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Oh, you know." He grins at you, fucking winks like you're in on the joke. "There was a pool if you'd be here or the infirmary first."

The infirmary? Why would you- actually, he did break your bed and leave a hole in your wall and you have had this peculiar ache behind your belly button and you definitely have huge purple splotches over your hips where he'd grabbed you, so, okay, that's fair.

"I guess you won then." Is the light-lipped answer you come up with, unsure how to explain that you really don't want to be part of this conversation anymore. Please, just fix your bed and wall. Gossip when you're not around.

The guy opens his mouth- and you feel it before his expression changes. A cool wind brushes against the back of your neck, down your spine, over the backs of your arms. Sickly, somehow, like the air itself clings to you, crawls on you. Everyone behind the counter looks away. His joy is gone, but the fear is carefully masked. "Reason for repairs?"

Behind you, boots stomp by. He doesn't leave, from the sound, from the way nobody exhales. You don't look, keep your eyes trained on the counter, on a little fleck where the linoleum is peeling away. He's somewhere in a corner, waiting for something. "Accident."

The lackey visibly cringes. Suddenly he, too, doesn't want to be in this conversation. "Gotta be more specific."

Fucker. Your voice is barely restrained as you bite out, "Sparring accident."

Behind you, the Reaper snorts.

When Ramattra returns to your base, perhaps only two weeks later, you really expect him to just proceed as business as usual. Like nothing had happened; he'd sated his curiosity, you're off his radar. Figuratively. You do not, under any circumstances, expect to be pulled off regular duties to be part of his temporary squadron.

It's a formality. He doesn't need one. He's here to inspect an airship, to discuss modifications to be made before it goes into mass production.

With an irritated sigh and wave of his hand, he summarily dismisses the entire squadron as soon as he sees them waiting in the hangar. The rest leave. You should join them. It's so... presumptuous, to think he thinks about you, that he even remembers you. He's leading a revolution for his people and you're a grunt he fucked once. But your boots may as well have been glued to the floor, no matter how much you want to scream at yourself to move, to turn away, you can't.

And his gaze settles on you.

And he nods towards the airship's ramp.

You follow behind him.

It's the first time you watch him leave. Every time before- three, now, not that you're counting- he's quietly departed your quarters. After making sure you're well cared for. That part had always confused you- left your chest aching in a way completely different than your hips.

But this time, you're not left alone in your mattress working up the courage to go file a repair request again. No, as part of his squadron you get to see him off this time. It's all a show, Ramattra had complained about it before- serves nothing but to boost their little human egos. He wasn't wrong, there's no need for you to be here. In fact, you really don't want to be here.

You've never seen Doomfist in person, but he personally escorts Ramattra to his shuttle. He speaks confidently, but quietly enough you can't make out what he's saying, even as he gestures broadly with his cybernetic arm. Even seeing him content makes your stomach flip uneasily, not wanting to be around if something does go wrong.

Ramattra... looks different. It's hard to believe how quickly you've become used to seeing him relaxed. Not just when he's moving in you- no, even when he sits with you, walks about the base, he never looks like this anymore. All seriousness and focused, the weight of the world back on his shoulders.

They speak a moment more, then Ramattra bows his head and turns towards his ship. He stops-

and across the launch bay, Ramattra's faceplate turns towards you. He pauses. Says nothing, hardly moves- but you know. He's looking directly at you. You stare back, unsure why you have his attention now- and ever so slightly his head dips. A tiny nod goodbye, just for you.

Your chest aches.

You smile slightly and nod back- and he's gone, entering his ship and flying away.

You don’t know who finally made the call to assign Ramattra temporary quarters at your base, but you would love to have seen that conversation. Because Ramattra’s voice is perfectly neutral as he comments that his quarters had not only a heavy duty, solid steel bed frame to support his weight- nevermind that he doesn’t sleep- but also reinforced walls.

They knew, of course. But the fact that someone high up enough knew to make the recommendation is what really gets you. Because nobody has said anything to you. Maybe they’re smart enough to- you doubt Ramattra would be particularly pleased with you being public knowledge.

And, well, not saying anything has ended up being your approach with Ramattra so far, too. Despite the frequency that he’d return to your doorway (and now you to his), or the repeated repair requests and occasional trips to medical and skeptical looks in return, you’d never explicitly asked what was going on. What exactly you were to him.

And normally that would be fine! Soldier’s bond or whatever, some bullshit to say “logistically and emotionally easiest lay.” It’s common enough. But you’ve never laid in a squadmate’s bed hours after, never dozed lightly in someone else’s blankets as they work at the desk a foot away- and never felt that perhaps that was still too far from you.

It’s the latter right now that sits heavy on your chest.

You shift beneath his sheets- a silky, deep purple that ripples with every moment. You watch, silent, as he turns some kind of device in his hands, taps it occasionally with an electric soldering iron. You sit up slowly, lean into his pillows. Even the pillowcases match. Probably actual silk knowing Talon’s propensity to keep their board members happy. Fuckers. He doesn’t even meditate on the bed.

“Ramattra,” The question bubbles out of you before you can stop it. “Can I… kiss you?”

He stills. But here, you must acknowledge how close you’ve gotten- because you can tell. Where someone else may feel that pang of fear, that his quiet is a wind-up to rage or impatience or condescension, no, you can read his shoulders perfectly. He’s genuinely contemplating the request.

He looks to you, and he doesn’t need a face for you to feel the incredulity in his voice. “You do understand I do not possess a mouth, correct?”

“I know.” You stand and sweep one thin blanket with you as you move to him. And here- he turns away from his project, sets his iron down, opens his arms for you. When you settle into his lap, he supports you- and when you reach for his face, his jaw, he lowers his head into your touch. You sweep a thumb across the lowest part of the white composite, feel the little crease between it and the purple of his jaw plate. “But I could still kiss you..”

His whole face rumbles into your palm as he hums, considering this. “Alright, though I do not understand what you would gain from this.”

And that is a lie, though you’re not sure who it’s for. It’s fine though, you don’t call him on it. Instead, you guide his head down as you stretch up- until your breath ghosts against him, leaving little puffs of foggy condensation. And you kiss him. Right across the seam between his plates, your lips squishing into the gap, flattening against his metal.

And it would be like kissing a training bot, all cold, motionless metal against your lips- and that must be what he expects you to feel, his disbelief you’d get anything from this. It would be, except for everything else about him. His hands come up to the curve of your spine, to the back of your head, cradling you so gently- and even with such a small display, his fans kick up, a quiet hum purring a hair louder from his chest. Without a mouth, he’s hardly unaffected- and against his faceplate you smile and pull away. His optics cannot, by design, be half-lidded and glazed, but you think they would be if they could.

“Did that… satisfy you?” He rumbles lowly.

“For now.” You grin and tuck yourself deeper into his lap. When he realizes you have no intention of returning to his bed, he makes a show of sighing and adjusting the stolen blanket so you’re well-wrapped and all the ends are tucked safely away before he returns to his work.

"Can I ask you a question?" You murmur, eyes still closed. He's foregone the blanket this time, holding you right up against his chest; you had curled up with him so quickly he hasn't even had time to put his paneling back on. The spars of his ribs are a little uncomfortable, but he's still so warm that you can't complain.

"Of course." His systems have already refreshed, perfectly capable of going on with his day. Unlike you, you're still wavering and floaty and in need of a shower. He's used to it. Being able to hold you afterwards is... enjoyable. He allows himself to trace shapes over your skin. He had noticed, once, how you smile softly when he does it.

"It's personal."

Ramattra's head shifts, looks down at you slightly. He's told you about himself. About the times before he was himself, about the Shambali, about the slave shops he's destroyed, about London. About Lanet. What could you possibly ask that you felt the need to warn him about first? "Go on."

"Who did you make your dick for?" Oh. He shifts awkwardly, ceases the motions of his hands. When he doesn't answer you continue, "You told me you didn't make it for humans, so, I dunno. Was just curious."

It takes several moments before he can manage to put together a stilted "Does it matter?"

You hum softly and lean back against him. "No." You swap the places of your hand with his, sweeping your thumb across the purple plating. You really didn't want to upset him- the likelihood his previous relationships have ended particularly badly is ridiculously high. "It's okay, you don't have to tell me about your exes. Like I said, just curious."

Ramattra has never quite understood the desire to grimace until now. It's not important, and yet... that annoying little whisper has returned to his circuits, prodding at his runtimes until he's forcing the words through his synth. "I don't... have any... 'exes'."

This makes the gears turn in your head. There's no way. "Like... you just didn't stay with any of them?" Even as hectic as his life has been, you cannot reconcile how tenderly he's holding you with him previously being a smash and dasher. It would make sense logistically- no danger of loss or being tied down and losing focus on his work, but… there’s just no way.

"No." He all but squirms. "I never used it before you."

"What?"

"I designed it for..." His voice cuts out as his vocoder fights him again. "...a particular omnic. To their model's... specifications. But I never used it."

You twist around in his arms, as much as he'd prefer you didn't. It's uncomfortable enough without having to see your face, without his still-not-put-away dick pressed between your bodies. "But... you told me you'd fucked before."

Around you, Ramattra bristles, his fans ramping up, his hands firming where they touch you. Too far, you did upset him. "Omnics do not need things as crude as genitals to be intimate."

The pieces come together. Not an ex, they'd been intimate, enough that he'd designed a dick just to hope, but never used it. He wanted more. You slide a hand around Ramattra's neck, over the dark plating his cowl usually hides. Normally, when you slide your fingers around the chunky cables of his mane, he'll purr or at least relax- no such luck. "Sorry," You murmur, and trace a finger along the long line of his jaw piece. "Thank you for telling me."

It takes a few moments, but eventually a soft stream of hot air slips from Ramattra's vents and he sighs. You take the cue and curl up close to him, wrapping your arms around him as best you can with his wide chest. When you think he's calmed enough, you do tack on one last comment. "I am glad you made it, though."

Thankfully, Ramattra laughs softly at that.

Ramattra holds white papers in his hand, carefully held between the rubber pads there, delicate as to not crease them before you can read them. His other hand twitches as his side, then balls into a fist. He does not meet your gaze when he enters his room. He stands there, just past the doorway, clenching and unclenching his fist, his fans slowly amping up.

"Rama?" You prompt him when he still doesn’t say anything, already scooting to the edge of his bed.

"I have to attend to the construction of a titan in person." It's flat, a statement, no particular inflection in his voice where you're clearly expecting something else. "I won't be able to return here for several weeks. At minimum."

Now it's you who looks away. It's a disappointment. You knew it was coming, three days together was already an incredible luxury. "Ah, I see." He's busy, you know this. Lots of hard work running an entire revolution almost by yourself. And you can't fault him for it- can't ask him to postpone. It's important work. "When will you have to leave?"

"Five hours. I'm also chartering transport of supplies. My omnium is short on copper wire, of all things." He says- and his focus shifts from the floor to the paper in his hands. He rubs it, watches as the paper flexes and bends, then returns to normal. You, too, observe his fidgeting and wait for the shoe to drop. You've always kind of waited for it.

"Are you- " He starts- and his synth immediately fizzles. The hand at his side tightens in frustration as he reboots it. "Are you pleased with... this?" The paper flops in his hand as he gestures vaguely between you.

This.

Never did have that conversation.

You bite your tongue, chance looking at him. None of the strain in his vocoder has made it to his faceplate, forever stuck in that passive, almost angry expression. "Yeah." If he wants to kick you out, that's fine, but you aren't going to lie about it. His visits to your base have easily become the best part of your job, the occasional message of where he is, of when he can make it back to you- it's completely different than anything you've had before. "Yeah, actually."

Ramattra's shoulders drop. "You are sure? Genuinely?"

You nod. And he holds out the paper. You don't even unfold it before he's explaining. "It's a reassignment order. Production of Null Troopers is increasing geometrically; ideally I would oversee all production lines directly from here on. It would be... advantageous to have someone else coordinate with Talon on my behalf while I am engaged with this.

"I will be very occupied. This is a critical period of staging. And I would be relying on you." Ramattra says, and there's a sternness laid over top. He wants it to sound like a job offer, to sound serious. It is, to some degree. But more than that-

"You..." The top of the paper is printed with Talon's logo, a big block of text follows, beneath is a signature line. Your eyes skim the page again- and read the most important line. Relocate to meet the needs of Null Sector. "You want me to come with you?"

A breath of silence takes the room, until he steps closer and takes one of your hands in his. So gently, he drags the rubber pad of his thumb over your knuckles. His faceplate focuses there, on the delicate bones of your hand, your wrist. "It would... please me greatly to keep you near."

The ache in your chest blooms out, spills over your cheeks.

#overwatch #ramattra #ramattra x you #Ramattra x Reader #overwatch x you #overwatch x reader #reader insert

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maarriiii · 1 year

Text

Creep | Jason Todd

A/N: rip to this post and all the notes but thank god I still have the copy

Summary: Some guy keep following you but Jason’s there to help you

Pairing(s): Jason Todd x female!reader (she/her pronouns)

Warning(s): Suggestive content at the end

my masterlist :))

"Quick, pretend like you're talking to me." Jason was forcefully turned around by y/n who kept looking over her shoulder like she's being followed. She was agitated and worried, but also donned a scowl that showed her clear annoyance. Jason tried to look for someone suspicious in the sea of guests, but no one stood out in his eyes.

"Why? Is someone following you? Are you okay? Do I need to grab my guns?" He asked, determination in his eyes.

If it was in any other situation, y/n would've smiled and rolled her eyes at his protectiveness but this guy had been trailing behind her since the start of Bruce's charity gala and it's getting on her nerves. The only reason why she hasn't kicked him in the balls yet was because she didn't want to make a scene, especially since last time.

"This guy just can't take a goddamn hint. He keeps following me and I'm tired of hiding just for him to find me again. This is my first night out since god knows how long and this creep is ruining it." y/n grabbed Jason's glass of whiskey and proceed to downed it one go, ignoring the dirty looks thrown her way.

"Why haven't you deck him yet?" Jason casually asked, ordering another glasses of alcohol.

"You think I haven't thought of that?" She whisper-yelled. "The only reason why I'm being "civil" right now is for Bruce's sake. Also, I've had enough of Alfred's disapproving looks to last me a lifetime."

Jason smiled, founding it amusing how y/n is handling her current dilemma. He was about to say that he'll offer to get rid of the creep when someone with eager eyes and even more eager steps started walking towards y/n and himself.

"Don't turn around, but I think your fan is making a move." He stated. "Does he have brown hair, blue eyes, and an extremely punchable face?"

y/n sighed and nodded. "Yup. That's him. So, you have any idea to get rid of this guy?"

Jason assessed the situation and if he's correct—which he usually was—then creeper over there would reach their location in about eight seconds. So, he needed to think and act fast. He could asked y/n to go and find someplace to hide, more preferably his old bedroom in the manor, but y/n had tried the same method and she made a good point about how he could just find her again. He could just go marched right towards him and tell him to back the hell off, but that would cause a scene that would probably get y/n and Bruce angry at him. Another one of Jason's plan was to threatened the guy passive-aggressively into cowering and leaving, but where would be the fun in that. With three methods out of the way and four seconds left on the clock, Jason had one final idea. Though, he haven't figured out how y/n would reacted.

"Alright, I have an idea. It might work, but I need you to promise me that you won't get mad," Jason explained.

"Okay. What is it?"

"You promise right?"

"Oh my God, yes, I promise. Now, tell me."

Without a word, Jason pulled y/n by the waist, leaving no space empty between the two vigilantes. y/n let out an oof sound when their chest collided while Jason slowly leaned in, their lips brushing but his eyes watching the scowl painted on the creeper's face.

"I think it's working," Jason whispered.

y/n gulped, her hands tightened slightly at Jason's suit collar. "Is it?"

"Yup. He's stomping away like an angry toddler."

"That's good," y/n answered dazedly.

Jason smirked, noticing how her eyes were closed. "You okay, princess? You seem a little flushed there."

"I...I'm fine. I just—" she paused, thinking for a moment "—are you wearing that cologne I got you for your birthday?"

"I am." He lowered his hands to her hips. "Do you like it?"

y/n nodded, her arms making their way around his neck. "I do."

Wordlessly, y/n kissed Jason with a vigor that he wasn't expecting, but welcomed either way. The two were in their very own bubble, oblivious to the fact that many people were staring and whispering about their steamy interaction. Their kiss was passionate and full of desire that made neither of them ever want to let go. It was only when the need of air became urgent that y/n had to let go with Jason's lips chasing after her own.

"That was long overdue, wasn't it?" She smiled, forehead leaning against Jason's.

"Yes, it is. So, what do you say we go back to my place and make up for lost time?" He suggested, trailing kisses to her jaw.

y/n kissed him again and pulled away. "I like the way you think, Jaybird."

#dc #dc comics #jason todd #red hood #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd x female!reader #red hood x female!reader

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galaxygirl8880 · 10 months

Text

Sick!Cale au where roksoo Transmigrates a year before cannon, just as Cale is attending a doctor's appointment. He blinks and suddenly he's in a completely different room with a doctor telling him the results of a bunch of tests he's SURE AS HELL didn't take.

He kind of pauses for a minute assessing his surroundings like the smart boy he is and then the doctor gets to the diagnosis.

"(something something, doctor talk).. with the rarity of the disease and lack of a cure, I'm afraid I have to inform you that it is very likely you have less than two years to live."

He files the information in the back of his mind for a moment and asks the doctor to give him a few minutes alone- and then proceeds to figure out where the fuck he is and have a mini freakout session about how he's DYING.

Okay they discuss the almost-helpful treatments and stuff and he realizes that the only way he can prolong his lifespan is to collect the healing ancient power.

He goes back to the Henituse mansion and effectively avoids questions about where he's been and has another small panik about what to do.

I'm imagining that once he gets the vitality of the heart he still has to be cautious about his condition. His brand new shiney ancient power explains how it's keeping his illness In check but it can't just get rid of it entirely because he got the ancient power after the illness started becoming an issue.

(Cale felt a bit like Taylor in that moment)

He very much does not tell anyone about the possibility that he may drop dead one day if he's not carefully because?? They're still basically strangers?? He knows and trusts no one in that house??? (Ron was suspicious but Cale made no plans of telling him any time soon.)

Then he got alarmingly used to the dull pain in his chest just as he got used to living as Cale.

---

Scrapped because I felt like it was too similar to some of my other prompts :v

He probably has an irregular heartbeat as well

#tcf #trash of the count's family #tcf fic idea #lout of the counts family #cale henituse #ron molran #The dragons probably noticed first #but like- when they're just meeting cale. so they don't exactly care too much yet?#raon probably kept that info in the back of his mind #then as cale and raon got closer #he gets more worried #just imagining raon lay on cale's chest listening to his heartbeat.#tcf fic #raon miru #galaxy's scrapped pile

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wordy-little-witch · 5 months

Text

Buggy brainrot-

I spent a few hours today in the EER with mama and had to distract myself Somehow so you get my silly lil snippets of music video stories in my head-

Buggy accidentally seduces a bunch of people and doesn't even NOTICE because of his special brand of oblivious survival rizz

Basically during the 2 year skip where he gets named a Warlord, he does in fact attend a meeting or a few. The first one, he's a mix of audacious loudmouth show boating and critical assessing eyes.

By the second one he's decently comfortable with knowing the names and faces of his vicinity - he's plotting and he's got more than a few cards, knifes, and other items up his sleeves.

At some point, the meeting goes from relatively calm to absolutely hog fucking wild and somehow, someway, someone's belonging winds up damn near launched into the upper rafters of the room. There's a strict No Devil Fruit policy, enforced by a seastone earring, so while the arguments and in-fighting ensue, Buggy just kind of scoffs, walks put, comes back with a pole, jams it into the broken tiled flooring and proceeds to ignore them while he climbs. Pole art isn't too terribly different from his aerials and trapeze, and he's done just about EVERYTHING under the sun at last once, so it's nothing unfamiliar. His gloves are uniquely textured so he can safely handle his Muggy and Buggy Balls, too, so carefully using his momentum and muscles to climb and shift up the pole smoothly is a pretty simple matter.

He gets to the top, hooks his legs and feet properly, and twists his spine to reach out, unaware of the sets of eyes boring into him.

Mihawk is stone faced, but there is a heat to his gaze. Doffy's sunglasses have slipped down his nose a little. Kuma is pointedly Not Looking. Hancock is... frankly pretending to be uninterested but lowkey is staring. Buggy is oblivious, retrieves the hat or sash or earring, whatever it was, and shifts his weight, releases a hold and smoothly drops, stopping just before the floor to daintily rise, sashay over, and plopped the item on the table, fixing his gloves.

It's the silence that has him looking up, arching a brow. "What?"

Then he sees the time.

"Oh. Meeting's over. Bye~"

And baby boy DIPS.

(Nickelback - Midnight Queen)

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Shanks POV post-Rogers-disbanding, pre-Execution, the cabin brats solo on the seas

He's watching Buggy charm the absolute hell out of a guy at a bar in some no name little town. They've been landlocked for nearing a week now, their previous ship shot to hell by a pirate crew hounding their tail after they'd been sighted some three islands back. The ship held together long enough to pull a full miracle put of nowhere, helped along by a storm. Since then, they'd been gathering cash to pay off her repairs to keep moving, unwilling to part with Speed after all she'd done for them so far.

One source of income came from Buggy's silver tongue and sticky fingers.

The blue haired pirate was leaning over the counter now, twirling a loose lock of hair as he giggled, fluttering his lashes. The man he was buttering up was a few years their senior, bejeweled and slicked hair, a flush of intoxication on his cheeks as he warmly regarded the pretty thing at his side. Shanks could relate, at least a little, on the way the man's attention was focused so thoroughly on Buggy.

Pink tinted lips quirked into a smile, head tilting invitingly, to which the man responded as expected. He was under the blue haired pirate's spell already - Shanks checked the time - three minutes in. Not a new record, but close.

He wasn't sure how to feel about it all, honestly. It was not jealousy, not truly, that curdled his stomach. Instead, something bloomed viciously in his abdomen, something akin to possessiveness. Sure, he figured absently, people can find Buggy pretty in his disguise.

But Shanks was the one who saw his entirety.

Shanks saw the tan lines on pale skin; Shanks knew the taste of his freckles and skin; Shanks knew the scars on his left hip and between his shoulder blades; Shanks could map Buggy's face from memory with lips alone, and he damn well knew it.

The world can be played by Buggy, but Shanks would know the game.

And an hour later, outside of that little bar, he would welcome the smaller body leaning unflinchingly into his side, arm around the other's shoulders, heart full and his lover's pockets heavy, and Shanks would look back, would meet wide, dark eyes with a pink smudge on his chin. And Shanks would grin, sharp and unrepentant, turning to guide those same pink lips up to his own.

He's wear his boyfriend's lipstick with pride.

((NEFFEX - Rumors))

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Buggy wears skirts whenever the fancy strikes, and sometimes it works perfectly for parties. He'll be the first to say that people who don't love dancing in skirts have never tried it before. While his fashion tastes aren't always expected, he revealed in the freedom there - and his crew thrived in such environments.

That was why he hadn't thought to make a big deal out of the first skirt day since Cross Guild was established. It simply WAS, in the same way as the weather, the same way as the meal plans, simply just footnotes in it all. He'd gone most of the day without seeing the two newest additions to the island, and frankly had forgotten to be vigilant of them.

It was a good day, a new shipment, a celebration, nothing too extravagant, just a fun night with his people. Really, Buggy hadn't even thought to glance up for yellow or violet eyes.

The crew was boisterous, but that was normal, music playing and laughter ringing. Buggy was sandwiched between Alvida and Marianne, a newer islander from a small island out East. The dialect there was unfamiliar by and large, but Buggy had grown up learning it from a man he considered a father, and Mari had so few who spoke her mother tongue.

Buggy simply had the idea to make tonight Extra fun.

After all, nobody partied like a Roger, and Roger always had the best songs. Bugs wasn't too bad with a fiddle. When asked, Mari beamed, no slouch herself, and offered to take the lead.

So they took to the stage, each swiping an instrument with playful glares, and heels tapped the rhythm as they began, hop-skipping as they bobbed and weaved, clapping joining as people whooped and hollered, making merry and enjoying themselves.

It was midway through that Buggy was caught playfully, fiddle lifted as one of the older mercenaries bowed him out, picking up the tune. He laughed happily, hands fisting his skirts as he twirled and danced, thoroughly enjoying himself-

And then he caught sight of Mihawk. He was watching, an odd note in his eyes, and Buggy could just barely see the way the other seemed to lean into the music. Fueled by a wild idea, high on the adrenaline and joy, Buggy walked over and offered his hand.

And Mihawk accepted.

He was a great dancer, and Buggy was delighted to be lead in a familiar dance, beaming boldly at the goth man before him. Traditional dances like this were few and far between - it only made them more fun.

That night began a change - first of which culminating into Mihawk fluffing Buggy's skirt with an almost-smile, a quiet statement following. "I should quite like to do this again some time."

Buggy only realizes later what that implied.

((Celtic Woman - Níl Sé'n Lá))

#buggy headcanons #song sillies #shameless self indulgence #buggy the clown #one piece #bughawk #buggy x mihawk #shuggy #shanks x buggy #yEET #lore be upon ye

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ofstarsandvibranium · 1 year

Text

Caffeine Crash

Fandom: Ted Lasso

Pairing: Jamie Tartt x F!Reader

Summary: You go on a morning walk and you, quite literally, run into Jamie.

A/N: Part of my impromptu Jamie Tartt series, read Meet Cousin McAdoo

Isaac was still asleep when you woke up. You could hear his snores from down the hall where you stayed in his guest bedroom. For some reason, your body woke up early. It wasn't super early though, just nearing 8am. The weather was nice, so you figured you'd explore Richmond a little bit, maybe seek out a cafe for some coffee.

You got dressed in some jeans, a t-shirt, and a light jacket. You made sure you had your wallet, phone, and the spare key that Isaac lent you. Out the door you went to explore your home for the next few weeks.

_________________

Jamie was jogging ahead of Roy, per usual. It was almost eight thirty in the morning, which means his training session with Roy is ending for the day.

As Jamie's rounding a corner he crashes into someone, causing their cup of coffee to spill onto him and the person.

"Shit! I'm so sorry!" the person says and he realizes it's you, Isaac's cousin.

You seem to also realize who you ran into and you groan, "Fuck. I'm really sorry, Jamie. I guess that's what I get for trying to take a picture of my coffee," you snort, "acting like it's 2014 again or something." You give a chuckle and a shrug.

He shakes his head, "No, no. I shouldn't have rounded the corner so fast."

Roy, who finally caught up, stopped at Jamie's side, assessing the situation. He looks at Jamie then you, then Jamie again, saying "The fuck did you do to her?"

"It was an accident," you and Jamie reply in unison.

Roy gives his usual grunt and then Jamie says, "Let me get you a new drink."

"That's alrigh-"

"Please," he insists and you agree, "Okay. I'll buy you a scone then, as a thank you."

"I don't like scones."

"He doesn't like scones."

Both Roy and Jamie say at once.

You giggle, "Okay, a croissant then?"

Jamie looks at Roy, silently asking him for permission and the former footballer replies, "Fine."

The three of you proceed to head to the cafe that you were previously at and walk inside. The barista smiles politely at you, "Back so soon?"

You nod, "There was a collision and my drink was collateral," you explain.

"So same drink?"

"Yes, please," you answer. You step aside for Jamie to pay and then you're in front again, "He'll have a croissant," you nod to Jamie, "I'm paying for it." You look over your shoulder, "Coach Kent, do you-"

"No."

You chuckle, "Maybe a water for the coach here. Thanks." you proceed to pay and move towards the pick-up counter.

You sit at a table that has three open chairs, Roy and Jamie occupying the other seats. You lean back in your chair with a polite smile, "So, what brings you out this morning, boys?"

"Trainin'," Jamie says, gesturing to Roy, "Grandad here wakes me up every day at four for runs and drills."

You look at him wide-eyed, "Four in the morning?!" When they nod, you look at Roy, "Do you not value sleep? Maybe that's why you're so grumpy all the time."

Jamie laughs, "That's what I tell 'im!"

The older man glowers at you two, "Sacrifices need to be made in order to be the best."

Jamie shrugs and puts his attention back to you, "What about you? Why're you out and about alone?"

"Isaac's still asleep. I woke up a little earlier than usual. Figured I'd grab a coffee and explore Richmond a bit."

"I can give you a tour if you'd like," Jamie offers before he can even think about it.

"Oh! You don't have to. Besides, aren't you still training?"

"We've finished. Besides, I'm here and ready. Who knows how much longer Isaac will be sleeping for. I'm a great guide, by the way," he gestures to Roy, "Gave 'im a tour of Amsterdam while we were there for a game. Taught him how to ride a bike too."

You smirk at Roy, "You didn't know-"

"We don't talk about it," he cuts you off with a glare.

You chuckle, "Alright," and you turn back to Jamie, "I'd really like that if it's no trouble."

Jamie beams at you, "None at all."

The barista then calls out your order numbers and you stand, "I'll get them."

Jamie watches you walk the short distance away and Roy leans, "You better be fucking careful."

"I'm not doin' nothin'!"

"Isaac said to behave yourself around her."

"I'm just giving 'er a tour of the city! It's not like I'm proposin' or anything!" Roy leans back giving a skeptical groan.

You come back with two drinks and a pastry bag, "My drink, your croissant, and Roy, your water," you say as you hand out the items.

Jamie bites into the croissant and lets out a moan that's damn near sinful, "I missed carbs so much," he says after he swallows.

"You'll be doing extra laps during practice today," Roy sneers as he downs his water and then stands, "I'm going home."

You give him a wave and a smile, "See you around, Roy!" When he leaves you look to Jamie, "He seems fun."

He shrugs, "He's not always like that. He has some good moments." He stuffs the rest of the croissant into his mouth and you watch in amusement, sipping your coffee.

He wipes his face and hands, then stands, "Alright, nothin' like the present, right? Let's get your tour started."

"Right!" you follow him out the door, ready for this adventure with your new...friend?

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt imagine

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ch0wen · 2 years

Note

Could you please do a Tangerine x reader (who's his gf) where the two go out on a date and she gets catcalled by some men... so, what do you think Tan's reaction to his girlfriend being catcalled would be?🤔

Request: Catcalling - Tangerine x Fem!reader

warnings: mention of sexual content if you blink really fast

In the reflection of the restaurant's window, Tangerine smoothes out the misplaced hairs in his mustache. Unexpectedly, the sounds of bustling chatter abruptly cut off as fast as it broke out. This gave a sign that someone has also exited the building. Approaching footsteps indicate that a person is joining him outside. At this unspoken but designated smoker's corner.

He assesses the figure behind him through the reflection. Taking note that it was a balding man who was fumbling through his pockets for a lighter with a cigarette dangling from his lips.

Tangerine gives himself a final once-over before grabbing for his own lighter.

“Here, mate," with a thrust out of his hand to the other man. The recipient had already turned around when Tangerine spoke up. He let out a grateful hum while he lit his cigarette before returning it with a mumble of 'thanks.'

They both say nothing more. Breathing in their respective fumes. Watching their smoke mingle and then fade as one into the air.

Baldy has the bright idea to break the shared silence.

“Hey wait. You’re the one that walked in with the red dress. Jesus,” he dragged out. “What’s in that dress is a damn looker. You are lucky, brother.”

Tangerine gives a firm nod with a tight-lipped smile. He can agree that the new dress hugs you in all the right places. But he’s not keen on this sleazy man tossing out creepy compliments about you.

“I am certainly lucky. Speaking of, I should probably get back to her then.”

Without another word, he’s stubbing his cigarette off on a lamppost and striding back in to find your table.

“Have I told you yet that you look beautiful tonight?”

A genuinely warm smile graced his normally frowning lips as he gazes at you. You couldn't help but smile in return, as you grab for his hand once he was settled in his seat.

“Only eight times. Not as many as I was hoping for. But numbers one through three were during that quickie in the bathroom, so I’m not really complaining.”

He gently squeezes your hand as you share a laugh.

You both share a few fleeting minutes of flirtatious smiles and whispered compliments before the mood shifts for the evening.

Baldy breezes by your table. Tangerine immediately notices the way his eyes scan over your toned, bare legs as he passes. And much to his dismay, the man joins a woman seated at another table within earshot.

Your moments of romance proceed to be followed by scenarios that make Tangerine apprehensive.

Baldy's wife, based on the pathetically sized ring on her left finger, smooches his cheek while making her way to the washrooms. The movement had Tangerine lose focus on your story for a beat. He tunes in to the activity since it's in his line of vision.

Baldy's eyes are lovingly following his wife's trail but then stop short on you. A look that was once filled with admiration for his wife now reflects nothing but hunger. He'd devour you if he could.

"You have an amazing pair of legs, honey. What I'd do to know how they'd feel wrapped around my head." He says over his beer glass before taking a swig.

He looks to Tangerine next. A chuckle playing in the crinkling of his eyes. Indicating that he thought that comment would get you hot and bothered, while your man would just sit there and wholeheartedly agree with this stranger. He continues,

"You really won the damn jackpot."

Baldy really cannot read the room or the grimace on your face. His idea of cat-calling has you shifting in your seat to try to cover up. Preventing him from stealing another look. Your obvious discomfort paired with Baldy's ignorance has Tangerine fuming.

In a blink, he is scuffing his chair back. Approaching the half-unoccupied table. His hand landing on Baldy’s shoulder with his back to you. He bends forward with a lowly murmur in his ear.

“As I said. I undoubtedly agree that she’s lovely. Nevertheless, I don’t appreciate you speaking about her like she’s an object. She doesn't find your remarks complimentary, brother."

Tangerine gives him a harsh squeeze then yanks the chair opposite him to sit down.

“To be frank, if I hear you say one more thing about her, I will gouge your eyes out and fix them to this fucking table with a fork.”

He playfully acts like he is deeply considering another idea before fixing him with a glare. His hand grips a fork. That is the only physical sign of his rising anger.

“Or I can take one of your slimy eyes into the kitchen, have the chef À la mode that shit, and serve it on a God damn platter to the lovely woman you’re dining with. And when she requests for the chef to come out and tell her his secret, I don’t think she’ll enjoy finding out that her main course was her husband’s eyeball. And it would be all because you can’t enjoy what’s right in front of you. Instead, you have been eating up my partner with your looks."

As he sat back in the chair, a grin spreads across his face. Giving Baldy an eerie juxtaposition to his threatening words.

"If you disrespect me or her again by talking like that. I'll break you. Are we understood?"

Baldy is the color of the cheap pearls which draped his wife's wrinkly neck. Tangerine takes his silence as a confirmation. Harshly patting his cheek before sauntering back over to your table.

You have a fixed scowl on your face while Tangerine bears a shit-eating grin. Knowing he stirred up trouble with you by terrorizing a stranger. You couldn't help but overhear the entire exchange.

Tangerine was not worried about dealing with your irritation. Not only does he believe his reaction to the catcalling was justified and that angry sex is arguably the best version of sex.

But tonight has confirmed that he can be very persuasive. He’ll be sure to ask for your forgiveness between your legs.

#requests #asks #tangerine x reader #tangerine x fem!reader #bullet train 2022 #bullet train #aaron taylor johnson

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kywaslost · 1 year

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Maternal Affections - Grell Sutcliff

A/N: When I tell you I slaved over this one, I SLAVED over this one! @idyllic-affections asked that someone write this for them, and I liked the idea so I decided to give it a shot. Usually, I knock out requests or ideas in one sitting, but this, this piece took DAYS. I worked on it every day for hours and ended up falling in love with this. I really hope yall like this one! And as a reminder, I haven’t read the manga yet so I’m sure there are things in this that aren’t canon at all.

Request: fanfic writers, i NEED you all to write grell PLATONICALLY taking care of a young (16-18 kind of age range) non-binary reaper and being like a mother/big sister figure to them. just... her knowing what it's like. her knowing and truly understanding how much pain they were going through in life, how bad it must have been for someone as young as them to end up as a reaper. her making damn sure absolutely no-one treats them like that again because god knows grell is hard to handle normally; lord forbid someone genuinely piss her off. grell just taking a young lil non binary reaper under her wing, it would be so sweet.

Warnings: mentions of suicide, sh, drowning. Proceed with caution please <3

The line between reality and unconsciousness was such a blur you weren’t 100% sure you knew where you were. The last thing you could remember was sitting on the edge of the dock, looking out over the endless sea. Then the feeling of water flooding your lungs as you slowly lose consciousness. You remembered there being a warm breeze, but now you seemed to be cold. You couldn’t grasp your surroundings, floating in and out of consciousness.

Then there were voices. Your breathing stalled for only a moment, fearing you had been found before you could die. And that’s when you began assessing your physical state. You weren’t in any pain, not like you were before you lost consciousness. In fact, you felt just fine, as if you had only fallen asleep instead of attempting to take your own life. And you were lying down. Did you wash up on shore? Last you remembered, you were too far under the surface of the water to be seen.

“Well, good morning dear,” you heard someone say to your right. “You’re finally waking up!”

You stilled, unsure you wanted to open your eyes just yet. You didn’t recognize the voice, and feared it was a nurse, or a doctor, that you’d open your eyes just to see a hospital room.

“You can open your eyes, you know,” the voice spoke up again.

You slowly opened your eyes, only to groan and close them again when you were met with a bright light. Blinking back the tears that formed from the light, you rubbed your eyes and sat upright. The room you're in didn’t look like a hospital room, which made you feel a bit better, until you realized you had no idea where you were, and the person beside you was a complete stranger.

They had bright red hair, dressed in extravagant red clothing. They sat in a cushioned armchair in the corner of the small room you were in. Their legs were crossed at the knees, and they smiled widely.

“Hello, darling.” There was a slight accent to their words.

“Where am I?” you groaned softly. Looking down, you saw a thin blanket covering your legs, and suddenly you were grateful for the fabric. You fiddled with the hem of the blanket as you asked, “Who are you?”

The stranger smiled even wider, bearing sharp, pointed teeth. “Why, I am the infamous Grell Stufliff, the most beautiful reaper around if I do say so myself.” The reaper flicked her long red hair over her shoulder, looking over to you. “Welcome to HQ. You’ll be spending a lot of time here, reviewing souls and whatnot.”

You were so lost and confused. You couldn’t believe what was going on. Surely this wasn’t true. Maybe you were hallucinating from lack of oxygen. Maybe you haven't died yet, but in the process of doing so. But why were you dry?

“You’re confused, that’s common,” Grell said, pushing up off of the chair. “Follow me, and I’ll explain.” She walked over to the door, turning her head to look at you over her shoulder. “Coming, dear?” Snapping out of your thoughts, you pulled the blanket off of your lap, tossing your legs over the side of the bed and lowering yourself to the floor. You had no shoes, like you remembered, and you could feel the cold linoleum floor through your socks. Stumbling to the door, you followed Grell out into the hall.

“Am-am I dead?” you asked hesitantly, pulling at the hems of your sleeves. Grell turned around, walking backwards in order to talk to you.

“Well of course you are darling, how do you think you got here?” She smiled kindly, leading you into a busy room, crowded with people trying on different outfits, much like a clothing store. “This is where people go after they end their lives.” Grell beamed at the sight of red, gripping your hand suddenly to drag you over to them. “Now, first thing’s first, a uniform. Most reapers wear black, but really you are allowed to pick whatever you like.” She let go of your hand to flick through the various tops, taking one off the hook and holding it up to your shoulders. “Oh, red suits you so well, darling! Positively stunning!”

You cleared your throat nervously. “Um, I’d prefer a different top, please.”

Grell frowned, but nodded understandingly. “Aw, alright. I’ll help you, and explain more about why you are here.”

As Grell helped you look for a new outfit, she also explained why you were with her, as well as what you are now. She explained the purpose of reapers, what to expect on the job, and the works, such as death scythes and the death schedule. You didn’t say anything, just taking in her words as you tried on various articles of clothing.

You didn’t understand how you could feel so calm. You’d think waking up in a strange place with an unknown ‘human’ beside you would freak you out, let alone finding out you’re now a supernatural being. But death does that to someone, you think. You already felt safer in this new environment than you did back when you were still living.

It wasn’t until you were dressed in your new clothes and led back down the hall that Grell asked for your name.

“Oh, I’m such a terrible woman!” She shrieked dramatically, falling onto you as you walked beside her. You pushed her away quickly, uncomfortable with her touch. She was still a stranger. “I haven’t asked for your name!”

“Oh,” you said quietly, looking at the ground and shrugging. “Y/N. Y/N L/N.”

And it was now that Grell finally took in your appearance. Your slouched posture, as if you were trying to hide within yourself. You let your hair fall into your eyes, and avoided eye contact. You wouldn’t say much when you spoke, and had such a soft voice it was hard for ehr to hear you sometimes. It left her wondering how old you were.

She decided to back off a bit for the rest of the night, calming down in hopes of making you feel more comfortable. She helped you pick out the perfect pair of glasses, and even recommended death scythes. In the end, she had finished walking you through the beginning steps of becoming a reaper, and it was beginning to get late into the night. Grell was growing tired, and she could see that you were as well.

“Every reaper is assigned a trainee from time to time,” she explained, leading you to yet another unknown location. “So each reaper is assigned a housing unit with spare rooms for the trainees to stay until they become fully-trained.” Grell smiled as she pushed open another door and led you inside. “Welcome home! Mi casa es tu casa, as they say.” She opened yet another door, revealing a decently sized bed with a small closet, and even a desk tucked away in one corner. “This will be your room for the next few months. Make yourself at home!”

The next week passed too slowly for your liking. You learned more and more about becoming a reaper each day, and to be completely honest, you didn’t mind becoming a reaper. Sure, you were lonely, and it looked like a tedious job, but it seemed much better than the life you had when you were living. At least here, there was some understanding of pain between everyone.

You wouldn’t admit it, but having Grell by your side almost 24/7 really helped. She trained you hard. Enough to challenge you and leave you sore, but not enough to hurt you in any way. Every night, once you both returned home, she would make your dinner while you showered and changed into your night clothes.

One night, sleep eluded you. You layed in bed for hours, tossing and turning, but you just couldn’t seem to fall asleep. So you decided to get some fresh air. Grell’s apartment had a small balcony, with the entrance in the living room. So you snuck past Grell’s room, hearing her snores from the hall, as you slipped into the living room and out into the balcony. There wasn’t any furniture, so you settled in the corner, leaning your head against the railing.

Breathing in the fresh air, you closed your eyes, letting the gentle evening breeze caress your face. There was a slight chill in the air and you shivered, curling into a tight ball.

“Darling, what are you doing out here?” You jumped, not hearing the balcony door slide open. Shooting your head up you saw Grell standing in the doorway, blanket draped over her shoulders and another one bundled in her arms. “Mind if I join you?”

You didn’t say anything, only moving your feet slightly so the reaper could sit across from you. She leaned over you, tucking her second blanket around you before sitting in front of you. She let you sit in silence for a moment before speaking again. “Is something troubling you, dear?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” you muttered, pulling the blanket tighter around you. “I’m sorry.”

Grell smiled kindly. “There’s no need to be sorry, love. Would it make you feel better if I stayed with you?”

You thought for a moment, then nodded. “Please?”

“Of course, darling.” Grell took this moment to analyze you again. You looked so young compared to the other reapers-to-be, and you were so quiet. The more she thought about it, Grell realized that she really didn’t know much about you. She only really knew your name, not your age, or how you died, or what caused you to become a reaper.

“How old were you?” Grell asked quietly, also leaning her head against the balcony railing.

“Hm?” you hummed, raising your eyes to meet Grell’s bright green ones.

“When you died. How old were you?”

There was a moment of hesitation before you answered. “18. I was 18 when I died.”

Grell inhaled sharply. “Oh, I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve to die so young.”

You shrugged, closing your eyes again. “I did. I deserved to die. But it’s ok, it’s nicer here.”

Grell placed a comforting hand on your knee. “No you didn’t. No one deserves to be pushed to kill themselves so young.” She received no response, and that’s when the reaper realized that you had fallen asleep. She sighed out of grief for you. She didn’t know how you died, or what pushed you to do so, but Grell had grown fond of you over the past week.

She could never have kids of her own, but she felt so protective over you in this moment, so motherly towards you. So much so that she carefully picked you up, carrying you back to your room and tucking you in. Stepping out only long enough to grab a pillow, Grell returned to your room, making a make-shift bed on the floor beside your sleeping form.

Two days later and you were running off of no sleep. You’d spent the last two nights staring at the ceiling, not daring to sneak back out onto the balcony. By the second day, Grell could notice that something wasn’t right. You were much quieter than usual, and your movements were growing sluggish.

The reaper quietly made two cups of warm tea, bringing them to your bedroom during the early hours of the morning. Knocking softly, Grell slowly opened your bedroom door. As soon as she entered your room, however, her heart sank. Your back was towards the door, but that didn’t stop her from hearing your quiet sobs as you cried into your pillow.

“Oh, darling,” she said quickly, rushing over to the bed. Grell lowered herself to sit on the bed by your hips, then placed the two mugs of tea on the nightstand. “It’s alright, dear. I’m here with you.” She rubbed your back gently as a means of comfort, letting you cry ‘til your heart’s content.

When your tears were reduced to soft hiccups and stuttered breaths, Grell spoke again. “What’s troubling you darling?” she asked softly. “You can talk to me, you know?”

You sniffled, moving so you were laying on your back. Grell brushed the hair from your eyes. You looked like you wanted to speak, but you wouldn’t say anything. With a sigh, you pulled your blanket up to your chin then sat up, leaning against the wall behind you. “I thought that once I die, I would be ok. I wouldn’t have sleepless nights or anything to worry about. I’d be dead.”

“Oh, love,” the reaper cooed. “I understand how you feel. I was once in your shoes. It’s hard to understand the supernatural world while also coping with memories of your past life.”

Tears welled in your eyes again but you refused to let them fall, wiping them away with your sleeve. “Haven’t I struggled enough? I mean, it was so bad I had to kill myself, wasn’t that enough?” You hid behind your hands as you began to cry again. “I suffered for so long, I just wanted it to end.”

Grell slid to sit beside you against the wall then wrapped her arms around you, pulling you against her chest. You let her hold you, stroking your hair and whispering comforting words into the crown of your head. She held you like she’d hold a small child afraid of the monsters under their bed.

While rocking you back and forth slightly, your sleeves slid up just ever so slightly. Grell expected as much, the scars on your forearms showing just how much pain you were in in your past life. She had them too, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt her seeing your scars. When you noticed her green eyes staring at your arms, you quickly pulled your sleeves back down, crying harder.

“Honey, it’s alright,” she cooed. “You don’t have to hide them, I have them too.”

After what felt like years of crying, you lay against Grell and she ran a hand through your hair. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or the fact you felt so comfortable with the reaper at the moment, you began telling your story.

“Drowning,” you muttered into Grell’s shirt.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that dear?” she asked quietly. “I couldn’t hear you.”

You repeated, “Drowning. I drowned myself in the river.” Grell’s grip around you tightened. “I’ve always loved water. It’s so calm and I feel like everything will be ok. It’s a nice distraction. So I drowned myself so I could finally have peace.”

Grell was silent for a moment. “I know you may have talked about it when you were living, and it did nothing to help you, but you’re here now. Whatever, or whoever, hurt you is not here anymore. So if you’d like to talk about it, maybe you can finally put it behind you. And if you tell me, maybe I can help you, dear.”

You rubbed your eyes, putting your full weight against the red-head. You then proceeded to spend the next two hours spilling your life story to Grell. You told her about anything and everything, from how you were treated by the world, to how you felt about yourself. You told her about the time leading up to your death, what your thought process was and how you were feeling during that time. The best part was the fact that she didn’t judge you in the slightest. She only held you firmly, rubbing your back or running a hand through your hair.

By the time you finished your tale, you were practically asleep in her arms. There was so much she wanted to say to you, but she couldn’t bear to wake you, and she couldn’t decide what she’d even say. So she just continued to hold and rock you, resting her head on your own. She was definitely keeping you home for the day. There was no way she was going to risk the other training reapers hurting you, either physically or emotionally, while you were in this state.

For your remaining life as a reaper, Grell took you under her wing. She was unbearable most of the time, you learned after speaking with William once. But you learned how to handle her and her crazy personality. After officially becoming a reaper, Grell requested that she be paired with you, and you with her when either of you were scheduled to work. And when she wasn’t paired with you, she’d follow you, hidden within arms reach at any point in time.

When you were given your own apartment, you were lucky enough to be next door to your favorite reaper. You were still young, afterall, and didn’t fully understand how to live on your own in this new world. You still spent a few nights a week at Grell’s place, especially if you had a particularly hard day or weren’t feeling well.

Once, Grell caught wind of some of the newer reapers talking about you and how you dressed. Oh boy, they began praying real quick when they saw Grell storm over, chainsaw propped up on her shoulder. Needless to say, those reapers were out of commission for a while, and Grell came home so pissed off you had to force her to go on a walk with you to cool off.

Now that she knew your whole story, and just how young you were when you died, Grell kept an eye on you at all times. If you had a bad day and she knew before you came to her, she’d make sure she makes your favorite food for dinner, as well as have your favorite warm beverage on hand. Her quest room was always prepped and ready in case you wanted to stay with her.

If you had to be gone for long periods of time due to work, she’d clean your apartment and do your laundry, making sure everything was clean by the time you returned home. Grell saw you as her own personal child, one she couldn’t have on her own. So she made sure to look after you and take care of you in any way she could.

#platonic #x reader #comfort #black butler #black butler x reader #fluff #black butler comfort #black butler fluff #black butler fanfiction #black butler grell sutcliff #grell sutcliff #grell sutcliff x reader #grell sutcliff x reader platonic #grell sutcliff comfort

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youcouldmakealife · 1 month

Note

A couple weeks ago you said “'4 neurodivergent people (3 of them undiagnosed) walk into a bar” - can we ask what Finn’s is?

Were Finn to walk into an assessment he'd probably come out subclinical because he masks harder than the other three (possibly combined), but he's a little of column A (Holden and Fiona), a little of column B (James), and Doing His Best at all times.

Yes, he is tired.

He's also the first Audhd character I've really tackled, except for, in hindsight and entirely accidentally, the character whose freckles were the subject of the first sentence ever written in this universe.

(I am unsure how to proceed honestly, because there is no universe Marc wouldn't figure that out and immediately proceed to become an advocate for neurodiversity, so we might have to sorta...backdate that one into canon somewhere.)

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anxiousstark · 2 years

Text

THE BANISHED KING | EDDIE MUNSON

Bastard King! Eddie x Princess!Reader

Word Count: 14K (worth it, I think).

Warnings: Mentions of sexism, homophobic comments/ideology, abuse from a parental figure, mentions of sexual abuse (not explicit and not regarding Eddie or the Reader), dirty talk, mention of objects being inserted in v, masturbation (mutual or solo), unprotected sex (this is a fic, be safe), blowj!ob, cum play, caught having s€x, breed!ng kink, filthy, public sex, Eddie is teasing and a kinky b!tch. This is filthy. DNI NEEDED. THOSE YOUNGER THAN 18, LEAVE!

Didn't finish proofreading it. I was exhausted.

A/N: Hi there, it's finally here! Enjoy it and please reblog or like if you enjoyed it. It means a lot to all of us who write here.

BIG MASTERLIST

Words you must know for the fic:

Setsunai: something once bright, now faded. It is the painful twinge at the edge of a memory, the joy in the knowledge that everything is temporary.

"We made a pledge." Thomas' voice rang out, sharp and unconcerned. He appeared too calm for how fast your heart was racing at the time. How dare he make such promises?

"With all due respect," your father's piercing eyes shot in your direction, causing you to shudder as you strove not to meet his powerful gaze. "I did not promise such a thing." Your brother scoffed, appearing irritated by your remark.

You both used to be pretty close as children, but the power that had infiltrated his body as a result of your father reminding him that he would one day be king had utterly transformed him. Thomas was no longer the lovely young boy who used to defend his younger sister with all his might.

"They saved me." One of his responsibilities as a future King was to visit other places and assess the reality of how his people lived. However, you had learned a long time ago that they never did anything about the appalling conditions under which your people were forced to live.

During one of these trips, some anti-Crown individuals decided to assault him and his personnel, putting everyone's lives in peril and nearly murdering your brother if it hadn't been for King Fareq and King Munson. Your brother had pledged to thank them for saving his life by giving them a gift.

One of the most precious assets in your kingdom was one of the presents he offered. A chest that had belonged to your family for centuries and had remained untouched in the palace, guarded by hundreds of guards. You thought the chest would be fantastic to sell and utilise the proceeds to benefit your people. Elders and children were both dying before their time. It was a frightening situation. A situation that their King should have resolved long ago.

The other gift? Your brother had offered your hand in marriage.

You could marry King Fareq, a 63-year-old nobleman known for being involved in highly dark business. A man who was uninvolved with his Kingdom. A self-centred individual.

Aside from that, King Fareq was well-known for his 'adoration' for women. He'd been married seven times, and each of them had vanished without a trace. Nothing further was ever known about those women.

Then, King Munson, your second choice. There was so little known about him. Yet, you had heard so many different descriptions of him, making it impossible for you to imagine what he looked like.

It was unbelievable how many individuals feared him while not knowing anything about his character, whereas they feared fewer others whose dark secrets were always visible. It astonished you how much stronger the fear of the unknown was.

"They saved my life. We must be thankful and provide something of significant worth." When did you start being something rather than someone?

"You said it, brother." You didn't say anything else till you took a big breath, trying to stop your body from quivering. "It was your life that was saved, not mine."

He sneered once again, something he seemed to do quite a lot. "What exactly are you implying?" He sneered.

"They saved your life; marry them if you wish to repay them." Your mother exclaimed, bringing her hand to her chest. She despised every time you responded, fearful that your father's wrath would fall on you.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." As he stood from his brown throne and marched towards you, your father's fury became too much to bear. "What did you say?" You had to look up. He'd always been a giant. Tall and broad. He became one of your worst nightmares — particularly when he was enraged, which was most of the time.

Your first mistake was to glance to the side to escape his gaze, knowing how much he loathed not being looked at while being spoken to. But you had to peek in the direction of your mother to see her reaction, hoping that your brain and mouth would agree to remain silent.

They didn't, though.

Your eyes followed your head movement, eventually settling on the man standing too close to your face. "My life has not been threatened, and no one has come to my aid." How did your mum end up marrying such a man? He wasn't a decent one, and he wasn't handsome. His arched nose and dull dark eyes were both acute. His long brown beard nearly covered his entire face, making him even more frightening. Your mother was not at all like that. He was a beast, and she was soft and kind. "I'm not sure why I have to endure the repercussions of his conduct."

It occurred suddenly.

His palm struck your cheek, forcing your head to the side where your mother stood, breathless and unable to go to you. If she did, she'd suffer the same fate as you. "You will do as I say." He exploded. "You will also obey your future King." You blinked hastily, clenching your jaw, regretting your previous action as your cheek and mouth ached much more. "We fulfil our pledges."

"Where are the clean water and supplies that you promised your people?" You stood firm, staring at him, challenging his might. But, before he could strike you again, your mother screamed out his name.

She'd pay for it later.

"You're going to marry." Your fists clenched the skirts of your dress as you peered about, looking for a way out. So vain. No one has ever fled this prison, especially not you. "My son." Thomas sprang up, terrifyingly staring at your father. It made you want to laugh. He pretended to be powerful, but he was just as frail as your mother and you. Gerald Y/L/N was dreaded by everybody. "We shall inform King Fareq that he has a new wife. King Munson should be aware that a magnificent treasure is on its way to him."

"No." Once again, heads turned to you. Your mother begged with her face. You exhaled a sigh. "King Fareq gets the riches." You took a step forward, ignoring them as you approached one of the tall white doors, which opened for you as soon as you were near enough. "I'm marrying King Munson."

"It is preferable that you marry King Fareq. He is one of our loyalists and-." Your brother appeared to be anxious. "King Munson was kicked out of the Kings assembly. We do not make judgments based on his Kingdom. He is impractical. He is a-."

"A bastard?" You aided him.

Edward Munson Jr. ascended to the throne after his father murdered every single person in a nearby realm. He was perhaps the most dreaded man in the world. A position presently inhabited by your father.

Of course, when the previous King was assassinated for his crimes, only two individuals were granted access to the throne. The next one would have been Wayne, the King's brother. But he had done everything he could to avoid being in that predicament. He did everything he could to ensure that his nephew became King, knowing that his brother would be writhing in hell, driven by the wrath of watching his bastard son, whom he despised, govern.

"I'm marrying King Munson…The Banished."

As you stood in front of the castle, your jaw dropped open. It was a dark gothic fortress with towers that seemed to pierce the sky. Since the sky was grey, it appeared much more ominous and even eerie.

"Don't those look like bats?" A voice spoke alongside you. You nodded in response, not daring to turn away from the piece of architecture that had piqued your interest. "Gosh." Following your father and sibling into the castle, your mother shrieked. "Y/N!" You turned your gaze her way, recognising her distress. What you were most afraid of was not marrying King Munson but leaving your mother alone.

"King Munson will arrive shortly." You were still perplexed by the youngster guiding you into a massive and spacious room with a black medieval table in the centre covered with dinnerware. "Would you please have a seat?" Said youngster made a motion with his hand, directing you to the table. As usual, you attempted to sit near your mother. Yet, the boy, whose name you had discovered was Dustin, halted you. "King Munson wishes his future wife to sit by him. "

As your father growled, you had trouble swallowing. "Since when did a King seat beside his wife?" He attempted to occupy the seat next to the throne but was again stopped.

"My King certainly does." He looked to have a lot of courage for such a young child, speaking openly. "Please, allow me." He approached you, extending his arm for you to hold and escorting you to the chair just next to the throne.

Your father growled once more and slapped your mother's hand when she had attempted to calm him down. You were about to say something until you were startled by a horn. "King Munson has arrived!" A young girl declared. Because her hair was so short, you initially mistook her for a boy. Why were there so many children here? You'd also observed the redhead female dressed in what appeared to be an antique knight's armour.

Your mother gently patted your leg, urging you to rise and greet the King. You did it swiftly, your chest heaving with anxiety. "My King," Dustin said quietly, not looking your way. "Is a genuine King." You just disregarded his comments, returning your gaze to the entrance through which you had entered.

Gradually, a figure entered and it wasn't until he took a few steps that the darkness stopped swallowing him. He was clothed entirely in black, from head to toe, and was wrapped in thick, warm clothing. Your gaze travelled up quickly, but you were distracted by the bat resting on his shoulder. Except for you, everyone in your family gasped.

Then your gaze wandered over his face. His skin was fair. His eyes were dark and round, which appeared to defy each other. His nose was pretty, as were his full lips. A shadow adorned his jaw, indicating that he had most likely not shaven. Most notably, he had luscious chocolate brown hair. Curly and long…never seen on a King before.

"I've been expecting you." As he got closer, you realized his eyes weren't as dark. They appeared to have golden specks. "To be honest, I was quite thrilled to meet you." Your father took a step forward, ready to be presented. To your astonishment, King Munson was speaking to you, not him. He towered over you slightly, but his piercing look made you feel much shorter than him. For his eyes never left yours. "I've always longed to see your Kingdom's two outstanding beauties." He addressed you, but at the latter, his eyes shifted to your mother as he offered a smile and a light bow. "It gives me great joy to meet you, Princess." You shivered, mouth gaping as a breath left your body.

"Likewise, my King." One of his warm and rough hands took yours, bringing it to his lips, depositing a kiss on the back.

"New Kings must not be aware of the regulations." Your father spoke out, averting his gaze. "It is of crucial courtesy to address the King of another Kingdom first, followed by those who accompany him."

You flinched, and King Munson noticed, not pleased with your reaction. "If you honour your pledge, she will be the one sharing this castle, her life, and my bed." Your skin burned. "I do not really understand how addressing someone else when she is present is more important."

"It is significant because I am the King." Your brother attempted but failed to silence him. "As her father, it also is." Edward assisted you in sitting down by holding the chair for you and pushing it closer to the table. He then sat on his throne.

"As a man of my word, I am allowing you to marry my daughter in compensation for saving the man who will replace me on the throne when I die. This does not imply that I like you, King Munson." Your father eventually sat down. "I am not thrilled that my daughter will be sucking a bastard's dick." You exclaimed, your eyes wide with surprise.

"If she pleases," you were taken aback when the King spoke up, unfazed by your father's comments. "She'll be doing more than just a little sucking." He had stated it with such a solemn expression. "Plus, if she is to be my Queen. She does not follow your rules, but rather her own."

"She is not yours yet." Your brother spoke out, but he appeared to be afraid as King Munson glared at him.

"You would be rather ungrateful if you went back on your promises and did not provide me what you had promised me." He stated. "You would not only be untrustworthy but also a man who does not keep his promise." Eddie motioned for Dustin to cease serving him alcohol. "If you are concerned about your lovely sister marrying the banished King…" He paused in his speech to take a sip of his wine. "Then you should not have offered her hand so hastily as if you were trying to get rid of her." Your gaze had been resting on your lap, but as soon as you heard his words, you shifted it to him. He extended his cup when he noticed your staring.

You shook your head. "That is not acceptable to me, my King."

"How come, my Princess?" The pet name came out in a deep tone that caused you to shudder. You cast a peek at your father. "You are free to communicate with me, Princess Y/N. There is no need to get authorisation." He cleared his throat. "Your word is as important as mine from now on. That is how it is in my Kingdom. Do you understand?" His gaze never left yours as if you were the finest thing to look at.

In answer, you nodded your head. "We, women, must abstain from drinking since we risk doing dumb things that will tarnish our reputation." You'd grown up hearing those words. Words told to your mum by your father and later transmitted to you. "That's what we were taught, King Edward."

"Call me Eddie." He scoffed, shaking his head and casting a peek at your father. "She just said something ridiculous."

"My Kingdom, my rules, King Eddie."

"Do not address me as such. Except for her, I am King Munson to you and everyone else at this table." His gaze returned to you. "Do you want to try?" You gulped. You were intrigued, but drinking from it would get you in trouble. "You are now free to do anything you choose. You're marrying me, therefore you'll be staying in my castle, far away from them." Something told you he wasn't talking about your mother but about your father and brother, who were glaring at him.

"I'm curious."

He grinned, bringing the cup from which he had been sipping to your lips. "Don't take a huge sip; you'll regret it." You followed his instructions. Your hands brushed against his as he never released the grip on the cup, assisting you. "Good girl." You almost choked, withdrawing the cup from your lips and coughing loudly. He smirked. "How did you find it?"

"It's rather strong," You said, making him laugh as you scrunched your face. "I always imagined it would be sweeter."

"I have some that are sweeter. We'll give them a go the next time."

The remainder of the night progressed in silence, with everyone engrossed in their own dishes and hesitant to speak up. Normally, such a situation would make you exceedingly anxious but because you were seated next to King Munson, you didn't feel that way. He would sometimes ask whether you were enjoying your food, and he would take your honest responses into consideration, not wanting to offer you something you didn't like.

After supper, King Munson and you accompanied your family to the front door, where he only bowed to your father and brother but reassured your mother that she could visit anytime she wished. You'd miss her terribly.

"I'm sure you're fatigued, my Princess." You nodded shyly now that you were on your own. "This castle is large, but you will soon figure out where everything is. I'll give you a tour tomorrow after you've rested and eaten." You nodded your head again and accepted the arm he offered. You linked it with his as he led you to the second floor of his palace. A red rug adorned the stairs.

You two approached a black door, admiring its numerous intricacies. "I assume you like bats, my King." The one that had been perched on his shoulder had long since vanished.

He laughed. "I love them." He extended his free arm, opening the door and making you gasp. There was a large king-sized bed in the centre of the room, covered with black satin sheets that looked warm and inviting, as well as translucent drapes that gave the bed a more intimate appearance. Two massive wardrobes were situated on the right side of the room and were embellished with large tall mirrors that ran from top to bottom.

"That's the bathroom." He pointed to his left side. "If you need help bathing, I have female staff who will happily assist their future Queen."

"I usually bathe by myself." You valued your own space and intimacy.

"I hope our room meets your expectations. Notwithstanding, if you want to change any of the decorations...that is fine with me."

You had turned on your side to gaze at him, ignoring his last remarks. "Ours? I-I assumed we would…" You took a breather. "I thought we were supposed to sleep in separate chambers."

He rubbed his chin and shook his head. "Do your parents sleep in separate bedrooms?"

After nodding, you swallowed. "My parents' rooms are fairly apart from one another." He scowled as if he didn't like the idea. "My father believes that a wife should be in another chamber so that a husband may freely interact with other women."

King Munson sneered, disgusted by all he'd discovered about your father. "Well, Princess. Apart from you, I do not intend to sleep with anybody else. I will not share my bed or my body with a woman who is not you, and I hope you will desire to do the same." You simply nodded. "We'll be sharing a room and a bed, but I won't touch you without your permission." You breathed a sigh of relief. "My hands will only probe your body if you ask them to." His stare was usually so piercing that it made your legs shake and wonder if you were capable of standing. He must have noticed as he smirked and squeezed the flesh of your arm. "Come on, Princess. I'll let you change into your nightgown and then return to your bedside to sleep next to you." You lowered your head slightly as he did. His lips landed on your forehead, pressing a light and short kiss just beneath your hairline.

The night before had been pleasant. You had assumed that falling asleep in a strange place would be difficult. Nevertheless, you were totally wrong. As soon as your head struck the pillow, your eyes began to feel heavy, and your blinking became slower and lengthier.

King Munson was lying on his side of the bed, looking at you and speaking quietly to you about his Kingdom. He was undoubtedly attempting to lull you into absolute relaxation so that you could fall asleep. And you'd done it.

As a result, you awoke this morning well-rested and with a growling stomach.

Eddie had not been there in the morning, much to your dismay, but Nancy, one of his employees, had reassured you by explaining that King Munson had a meeting early in the morning and had decided not to wake you up. Then she gave you time to wash and dress before guiding you into the same dining room as last night.

With a handful of sunshine streams coming in through the window, you were able to enjoy the palace's magnificence even more.

"Is it good?" Dustin inquired, nodding his head and smiling broadly.

You nodded rapidly, attempting to swallow your food as soon as possible. "Will King Munson join me?"

Dustin shook his head, a remorseful expression on his face. "I'm sorry to inform you that Edd-." He coughed to restrain himself. "As you are aware, King Munson is attending an important conference. He will be unable to meet you for breakfast today, but he wanted me to let you know that this is a one-time incident." That sentence brought you joy. If you were to marry someone you didn't know, you hoped that both of you could live comfortably and without tension. "You will be escorted back to your room after breakfast. Nancy has prepared three lovely and unique gowns for you." You nodded, checking to see whether Nancy was present to thank her. "You may pick the one you like most." His brightness was contagious. "You will then be escorted to the carriage that is waiting outside the palace. King Munson will be there to receive you." You nodded and sipped the tea that had been particularly made for you. "You will both have a short tour of the city. It is customary for our people to view their new Queen-to-be."

You swallowed, tentatively. "Is it…are the people alright with having a Queen…daughter of Gerald?"

He gave a strained smile. "Do you want total transparency, ma'am?" You nodded immediately. "They are afraid of Gerald of Y/L/N, but they are open-minded. I know terrible things have been said about my King, but I can promise you that no one is better than him." You paid great attention to what he was saying. "The people adore him, and he puts forth every effort to listen to them as frequently as possible."

"That's fantastic." It really was.

"Have you noticed, my lady, how many children live in this castle?" He laughed, as did you. "King Munson does not want upper-class individuals to work for him, believing that they do not need the money as much as others do. The majority of us were orphans, and King Munson permitted us to live and work here." Your heart began to beat rapidly. "We will be eternally thankful to him. Please forgive us if we ever refer to him as Eddie. We address him as King Munson in public, but he has allowed being addressed as Eddie when important figures are not around. Also, please let us know if our presence ever makes you uncomfortable." You grimaced. "As previously said, we reside in this castle. We have access to every room on floor three, so we may be noisy and act like kids from time to time." He sheepishly looked at the ground, as did the knight-dressed girl named Max and the boy who constantly followed her around; Lucas.

"I believe that will be fun" You responded truthfully, making him grin in response.

"Do you have any children in your castle?"

You tilted your head. "Just extremely elderly and wealthy people…quite frightening ones as well." You trembled as you remembered some of the people your father kept around the residence. There was a man whose name you couldn't recall but whose visage you would always remember. He had abused some of the castle's workers, both men and women, and your father had still allowed him to live and work there. It was frightening to think that he may have tried to do something to you if you hadn't been the princess…but something told you that it wouldn't deter him from trying.

"King Munson looks after everyone here." He may have noticed the difference in your expression. "In fact, we all look out for each other."

"It appears to be a large family."

"Very much like that."

After breakfast, you were given a quick tour of the palace by a girl named Robin, who appeared to be laid back and made you feel at ease. She had raised expectations for a few of the rooms by suggesting that King Munson was disappointed as he couldn't give you the tour himself.

The palace was stunning.

Without a question, your favourite room was the library. It was a huge chamber with white shelves that spanned the entire length of the walls. They had no vacant space since they were crammed with novels. Plus, there were scarlet chairs that looked ideal for a reading frenzy. You were eager to put them to use.

After the tour and changing into a delightful bluish gown, you were led by Nancy and Dustin to the palace's entrance, where a pumpkin-like black carriage with silver ornaments awaited you.

"King Munson is already there." Dustin approached the chariot, and when someone opened the door for you, the lad gave his hand, assisting you in climbing the steps while your other hand grasped your skirts, not wanting to tumble down.

You'd crept inside, disregarding the door closing behind you as you sat down, your gaze fixed on the man sitting next to you. He looked stunning in a dark suit. "My future Queen," He pulled your glove off one of your hands so he could kiss the back of it. His gaze roamed over your face and body, making you flush. "May I say that you look fantastic?" As you told him how nice he looked, a hesitant crooked grin on your face. "I apologise for not being present this morning. I am sure everyone helped you feel at ease." You nodded, allowing him to continue holding your hand on top of his lap. "This will never happen again."

"It is fine." You gave him one of your brightest grins. "They took excellent care of me. I felt quite protected and at ease." Your comments had brought him comfort. He had spent the whole conference hoping you would be well without his presence, and he was relieved to learn that the treatment you received was what he had expected. "I was concerned about this part." You took a look around the carriage. "I wasn't sure if your folks would welcome me, but Dustin reassured me right away."

Eddie made a mental point to thank a favourite. "Whatever people believe has no bearing on who will spend the rest of their life with me." His thumb brushed against the back of your hand. "I care what people think about how I treat them, how they live, and everything else…but, as I previously stated, not in terms of who will spend the rest of their life with me. So don't let such thoughts into your head." You simply nodded. "Nonetheless, I believe they will like you. The only thing we can do right now is; grin and wave out the window. They only want to glimpse the face of their new, upcoming Queen." You hadn't realised you were already in the city, and people were crowding around you. Eddie leaned in and slid the curtain open.

"Wow." You were shocked to see so many people of all ages, all happy and chanting for their new Queen as their eyes landed on you. They greeted you warmly as if they already knew you. "Wow." You waved at them again, a genuine and thankful grin on your face.

"I told you." His voice was quite close to your ear, caressing it with his breath. "My people trust who I choose."

You did not look away from the gathering. "You saved my brother, and I was just a mere compensation."

"An immense compensation." He continued. "However, in some ways, I had chosen you." You frowned again, this time while looking at him. "I was already smitten by you."

"Until yesterday, we didn't know each other."

He grinned, his gaze moving from your eyes to your mouth. "We did." When you frowned, he chuckled. "You've formerly danced with me, my Princess." You struggled to recollect such an event, but you were certain you would remember if it had occurred. "On your 18th birthday. The palace was open to all Kings and Princes. Except for you, everyone had to wear a mask." You had despised the idea of not knowing who you were dancing with, whereas they knew who they were dancing with. "I danced with you twice and assisted you in leaving the ballroom before midnight." You exclaimed. He had been a pleasant individual with a gentle and polite grip. The one who had kept silent throughout the night. "Wearing the-."

"The raven's mask."

He nodded and smiled. "The one and only." Why hadn't he told you who he was that night? You had inquired, but he had merely bowed, feigning to kiss your hand, leaving you with wonder and a tingling body.

"I asked for your name that night, but you didn't reply." A sigh escaped from between your lips. That mystery man had had quite an influence on you that night. You couldn't help but wonder who he was.

Every other person who had danced with you had used the chance to touch you more than you had desired, making you extremely uncomfortable. He was the only one who hadn't done such a thing. Such a simple and expected thing. "The ball was intended for Kings and Princes." And he was one of them. "But…" He moved in closer. "Do you think The Banished King was invited?" You winced, shaking your head. Edward Munson Sr had been a cruel man, yet why should King Munson have to pay for his father's sins or be mistreated since the King's only son was a bastard? Why was it his fault rather than his father's? "I'm pleased you were as intrigued about me as I was about you."

You were hesitant. "I had been thinking about you that night." He smirked at your linked hands now on your lap instead of his. "I was quite interested in learning who you were."

"Oh, you thought about me?" As he talked, his big, innocent eyes appeared to narrow and darken. "What kind of thoughts?"

You tensed your body, attempting to keep it from twitching. "I was only wondering who was hiding behind the raven's mask." You coughed, trying not to keep your voice from cracking. "It was a magnificent one, and…you were the only one who displayed even the tiniest regard for me."

He paused for a moment. "I'm sorry you had to position yourself throughout that situation. It will never happen again to you."

Turning your head toward the window, you continued to smile and wave with your free hand, your cheeks flushed. "My entire body tingled." You soon regretted uttering such embarrassing things.

"Raise your voice, sweetheart." He squeezed your hand. "And be sure to look at me when you do." His statements made it plain that he had heard you and merely wanted you to repeat what he had said.

Your stare met his once again. Your heart seemed to be attempting to flee from your chest, thumping furiously. "That night, my body felt odd." He hummed as he transferred his sight from your eyes to your mouth. "It felt tingly."

"Does that happen frequently?" You shrugged, not knowing how to respond to his query, feeling very ashamed for having revealed such information. "Do you do anything when this happens?" He enquired about what you did to stop the sensation after you nodded your head.

"I take care of it."

He hummed again, a grin on his face and a curious sparkle in his eyes. "How do you look after it?"

You took a deep breath that made your chest tremble. "Hands." Eddie was able to hear a whisper.

"Hands?" You simply nodded. His hand dropped from yours, his finger gently touching your cheek. "Do you rub yourself?" You swallowed. "Does that ease the ache?"

"Sometimes." He cocked one of his brows. "Aside from that…" It was terrible for a woman to enjoy herself without a male; you had always been told. "Aside from that…" You shook your head, too ashamed to say anything else.

"Do you insert them in?" You gasped, staring deep into his eyes, only to see the amusement on his face.

"Do not make fun of me." You were nearly succeeded in returning your gaze to the window when King Munson's delicate touch under your chin stopped you.

"I'm not mocking you." He reassured. "I'm wondering if you did similar things when you were thinking about me. Women are entitled to more pleasure than men, I believe." Your pulse was descending to other regions of your body as you chewed your bottom lip.

"Yes, my King." He grumbled and closed his eyes for a few seconds.

"Please tell me, Y/N." His pause was brief. "May I touch you? This very moment."

You wanted that. For some reason, you wanted to feel his touch even more now that you knew he was the raven. You'd met the man the day before and were already interested in him, eager to get to know the person about whom others had spread rumours…and wanted to discover if his rugged hands would be soft when caressing you.

"People will notice."

His head jerked. "They are not going to. If I thought you would be seen in such a position, I would never have asked." Your heart was pounding furiously. "May I? You should not feel pressed. You certainly can-."

"I want to." You said. His lips twitched.

"Good." The way his voice darkened had your heart racing. "Look at your people. Smile and wave." His fingers left your cheeks and took off down the side of your neck, brushing up against the curvature of your chest. Your nipples stiffened instantaneously as they felt constrained by the clothing. "Show them how lovely their new Queen is." Your lips twitched, making it impossible for you to deliver a flawless grin. "Just like that." You heard him shift around and sensed movement close to you. King Munson had seized your skirts and lifted them to your lap, sliding his hands against your thighs.

"W-what." Your voice and body shook as a result of the predicament you were in. His fingertips massaged the inner of your thigh, causing goosebumps all over.

He hushed you softly, his finger moving farther and farther as the seconds flew, until it reached the place between your legs, causing you to yelp. One finger travelled up and down the centre of your underwear. "How did it get so wet?" He hummed in satisfaction, his finger again repeating the same motion.

His fingers performed the very same pattern numerous times, seeking to gently explore your body. As his fingers crept into your underpants, anxious to touch your flesh, King Munson caused you to gasp and close your eyes for a few seconds. "Oh, my gosh." Your voice was trembling, and you couldn't conceal it as the pads of two of his fingers parted your lips, trailing up and down and rising the temperature of your body.

"You are soft and warm." He muttered, and you fought the urge to turn around and examine what he looked like at this minute since he sounded to be having a great time. "Is this all for me?" You nodded briefly, still concerned the people of your soon-to-be Kingdom could perceive anything odd or unusual in your expressions. "Use your words, Princess."

"Yes, my King." He groaned, pleased with your response and how attentively you listened to him.

His fingers ascended after a few strokes, settling on your bundle of nerves. You shuddered with excitement, and he chuckled, appreciating every reaction your body could muster. "How adorable." His fingers massaged it in circles. The pressure was appropriate, and his motions were neither forceful nor mild. "I cannot wait to see how it looks." You gasped, leaning backwards as your back connected with his chest, unable to sit upright on your own. You simply wanted to open your legs and offer him the most access to your core. "I'm curious how big or small it is. My fingers are not enough to guess, but I'm confident I'll adore every part of you." His voice was closer than it had been, and his breath tickled your left ear. "I'm curious about how you taste." A moan from your lips as his fingers ran in circles at breakneck speed, causing your hips to buckle against his hand. "Are you trying to fuck my hand?" How could he speak such things freely while making you feel as if you were in heaven? "I can feel you getting closer and closer." Your hips began to move by themselves, attempting to meet his hand in sharper strokes. You had to use all of your strength to keep your lips from opening as your forced grin and wave faltered.

King Munson waved with the hand that wasn't between your legs before closing the curtains and leaning forward, giving you privacy and permission to recline backwards. Your eyes closed and your mouth opened, accompanied by your body arching. "Oh my god."

"Not your God, Princess." He began to place open kisses on your neck. "Your King." His fingers moved even quicker, allowing your hips to connect with the rest of his hand, providing you with even more pleasure. "Your fiance." Whimpers left your lips as your hand rested on his thigh, clutching his suit pants. Simultaneously, his free hand explored your chest. You nearly moaned, wanting to feel his skin against yours rather than simply his hands squeezing and pinching your breasts through your clothes. "Your future husband." His mouth went in closer, biting your elbow, while the hand on your breasts travelled to your neck, circling and clutching it like a necklace. "Give it to me, Princess. Wet my fingers and make a great deal of noise while doing so." He didn't need to ask for the remaining bit since your whimpers grew louder.

"My King," you wailed, as he pinched your clit. "Oh, my g-. Oh, my King." You groaned a few times.

"Y/N, let it go." You shuddered. "Do not be greedy," His fingers tightened around your neck. "Now it's my time to enjoy some of you." That was enough to make you moan loudly, cumming and coating his fingers with your juice. Your clit beat at the same rate as your chest strained.

You quivered as his fingers brushed you for the last time, and when you heard an unusual sound, you glanced up, twisting your head backwards, seeing King Munson licking his fingers, which were coated by your slick. "W-what."

"I'd like to claim this is the best meal I've ever had." His chin gleamed. "But it was just the appetiser." His hand reached into one of his coat pockets, pulling out a white silk handkerchief with his initials embroidered on it. He then lifted your skirts again, wiping your core. He folded the same item and placed it back in his pocket after delicately cleaning the dampness between your legs, much to your surprise. "Let's return home." Your chest expanded. "You must be hungry, and we have our wedding announcement dinner tonight." His lips found your brow and kissed it. Then he directed the carriage driver to return home. Eddie chuckled as your cheeks reddened, believing he must have listened to your moans. "Don't worry, he didn't."

The day had flown by in the company of King Munson. However, your gaze had remained fixed on him throughout the remainder of the day, while your thoughts seemed to be preoccupied with what had occurred in the carriage. You wished to feel his hands on you once more. You wanted his fingers to explore regions of your body that he hadn't had the opportunity to pursue, and…you wanted to explore his body as well and understand all he was hiding underneath his garments. Simultaneously, you were experiencing feelings of humiliation. You had already let him touch you shortly after meeting him. Did he believe you were easy?

A harsh grip on your forearm yanked you away from the evil notion that invaded your mind, causing you to yelp as a result of the unusually forceful grip.

"I need to speak with you." Your brother snarled, dragging you away from the centre of the room and concealing you both close to a wall where no one could see you.

The ceremony for your wedding announcement was underway, and your family, as well as several significant figures from neighbouring Kingdoms, had been invited. Everyone was eating and drinking and conversing at the same time.

"What exactly do you want?" You tried to wrest your arm from his grasp, but it simply tightened more.

"To speak with you." He looked around to make sure your fiance wasn't nearby. "I need you to cancel it all." His hand eventually left your arm as he signalled what was going on at the time. "You are not allowed to marry King Munson. I've been thinking about it, and it would be horrible for me as King if our people found out that I had permitted you to marry a bastard." He snapped, looking you in the eyes.

"You should have considered that before promising two unknown and random men that they could marry me in exchange for rescuing your ass." You cried. "I will not marry a man who is notorious for making his wives disappear." You shook your head and attempted to move away. He kept staring at you. "You're more concerned with what other people think of your decisions than with me. You are more concerned with what could happen to you than with what might happen to me." Your breathing was unsteady. "And recently, it's all been about you. Me listening to you. I'm weary of living for your benefit. I'm exhausted, and I'm going to marry King Munson." You attempted to reduce the loudness of your voice. "At the very least, he appears to care about me."

"Do you believe marrying this man will make others respect you?"

"You are not the person to speak, Thomas."

"I'll do all I can to shatter this." He spat on you unintentionally.

"Do it!" You retaliated with a spit. "I dare you, Thomas Y/L/N. I dare you to do anything about it, and I will tell everything." His brow creased. "If you do something about it…Father will find out about Steve." He flinched. You would never harm your brother or Steve, but you needed to intimidate him because you were afraid of being removed from Eddie and thrown into the hands of a disgusting old man. "I will tell father how much you have loved him since you were children, how you have promised him the best of lives, how you have told him that you would never touch the lady who will be chosen as your future bride." He exclaimed, his eyes welling up with tears. "I'll do it, Thomas. He'll be aware of every location Steve and you have-." His jaw tightened, as did his hold.

Someone coughed, drawing your attention in that direction. "Is there an issue here?" King Munson stood there with a stern expression on his face, looking between you two until his eyes settled on your brother's grip. "I'd prefer the only markings on your sister's body to be love marks done by me, therefore I'd really appreciate it if you could remove your hands off her." Your brother turned around and let you go, his sad eyes looking deep into yours, filling your own with tears. "Come on, princess."

You rushed to your fiance, who warmly wrapped his arm around you, attempting to soothe your trembling body while still staring deeply into your brother's eyes. "How did you find out?" Thomas' voice trembled.

"The walls can see and hear." You responded before turning around. Indeed, the walls did. And you did as well.

Perhaps they felt a love for each other that you had never known. One of those loves that will destroy you from within if you let it go. You had noticed their stares, the not-so-subtle touches, and you had seen them hide and try to consume their love.

You felt terrible for threatening him in such a way, not comprehending how difficult it must have been for him to know that he might someday marry a woman he did not love or even feel attracted to. Even if he had told Steve he would never touch her…he would have to give a new King to the Kingdom. What was he thinking at the time? Would he spend his entire life hiding, keeping Steve near and forcing him to hide with him?

"What was the meaning of that?" Eddie muttered as he led you to another part of the room. "Should I have someone evict him? I'll do it if he is bothering you. I do not care if he is the King of Setsunai." It made you pleased to know that he cared about you and did not like how your brother had treated you. It made you feel safe, which you had not felt in your house. Your mother had attempted to protect you as much as she could, but you both knew that there would come a moment when she would be unable to shelter you under her wing. Where your father will not hold back and will determine everything for you.

"It's fine." You took a deep breath and spun to stare into his eyes. "I was just taken aback." Your gaze darted across the room, surprising yourself when you noticed Steve in a corner, eyes wide open as he peered in your direction. Perhaps he had witnessed your interaction with your brother. That's what you thought until you realised he wasn't looking at you but at something happening behind you: your father was introducing your brother to Princess Everleigh, and Steve was staring at them with the greatest pain he'd ever felt.

"Are they together?" King Munson inquired, his voice just above a whisper so that only you could hear.

"I think so." He'd noticed the concern lines on your face as you continued to stare at Steve. "They're both future Kings; why cannot they do whatever they desire?"

Eddie gazed at you, eager to hear what you had to say. He admired the fact that your ideas were so different from your father's and that you felt everyone should be free to do anything they chose. "Unfortunately," he gripped your hand as it rested on his elbow. "Whether you are a King or not, you must constantly follow someone else's desire or you will be rejected by everyone else." He cast a glance towards Steve, who turned around and left the room. Your brother saw him leave, and although taking a step forward, he ended up shaking his head and remaining with princess Everleigh. "Some would rather live an endless life of pain and comfort than endure the repercussions of seeking to live the life they dream of with the one for whom they bleed."

As you looked at him, your eyes welled up with tears. "That's awful."

He nodded, dreading the tears welling up in your eyes. "Such is life."

You offered a teary chuckle. "Life is hell then."

He returned the chuckle. "I believe life is awful in and of itself, but it is up to you whether you want to look at it that way or not."

You scowled. "I do not really think it's that simple."

"Not always, but most of the time." He proceeded despite your perplexed look. "If you dwell on your flaws and the awful things that have occurred to you, you are just throwing yourself in the hands of similar things happening again. Of course, life has its ups and downs, but focusing solely on one would cause more harm than good." You took a big breath. "I can think of how horrific my life had been: my father was a murderer and I am a bastard, or I can think of me being a King today, even though it is a stressful task. My people trust me and approve of my judgments." His fingertips massaged your skin. "And I now have you."

You felt a tremor sweep through your body. "Is this going to last a long time? Crowds irritate me."

"Then we're two." His response made you smile. "However, I bet no one will notice if we leave. He'd leaned in closer, whispering in your ear.

"This is our wedding announcement." You giggled, covering your mouth with your hand, which he swiftly withdrew, yearning to see your smile. "I think they'll notice if the future husband and bride vanish."

He hummed. "I believe the food and beverages will keep them occupied. We've already spoken to everyone and made our presence known." He appeared to be looking for someone, and when he did, he raised his arm in the air. Dustin arrived not long after, dressed in a suit that appeared to be too large for him. He smiled in your direction, and you reciprocated. He was your personal favourite. "The future Queen is exhausted, as am I. Do you think you could make an excuse for us if someone asked about us?" Dustin gave a brief nod of his head. "Good. Tell Eleven and Mike to keep an eye out for anyone removing anything of value from the castle." Yet another nod. "And instruct Max and Lucas to make certain that no one goes anywhere they should not." You had discovered that several people had attempted to enter King Munson's castle without his consent.

"Good night." You spoke to the youngster, who grinned broadly. King Munson escorted you two out of the chamber, and your ears appeared to relax after not hearing hundreds of voices from every direction.

"He seems to like you a lot."

"I like him a lot as well." You replied with a smile on your face, but you suddenly hissed, preventing Eddie from guiding you upstairs. "May I remove my heels?" He frowned. "I'm not used to wearing such high heels…my feet hurt." He kneeled in front of you after your words, letting his fingertips brush your ankles and part of your legs as he removed your heels.

"Done." He grasped your heels in one of his hands, and before you could say thank you and proceed up the steps, your body floated as he scooped you, carrying you in bridal style. "Perfect." He grinned down at you, who was staring at him with amazement on your face. "I heard through Robin that you had never read The Lord of the Rings, and I was hoping that was not the case." You remembered when Robin showed you the library and you fell head over heels in love with it. She had inquired whether you had read TLOTR, only for you to respond that it was not the sort of book you preferred to read since you were drawn to romance. "So it must be true!" He exclaimed, a terrific expression on his face as if he had written TLOTR himself and been informed it was a terrible book. "I seriously can not believe my future bride and Queen has not yet read these amazing novels. That must be changed, my Princess." You laughed at his offended expression. He came to a halt and placed you on the ground in front of the bedroom you both shared. "This is the plan," he said, perplexing you. "We change into comfortable clothing and then head to the library to read The Lord of the Rings together." He grinned, and for some reason, spending that quality time with him made your pulse race wildly. "Is that okay with you?"

You nodded, trying to disguise your excitement as you swiftly unlocked the door, stepped into the room, and rushed to your bed, pulling your nightgown from beneath the pillow.

Eddie laughed as you walked into the bathroom to change clothes as he changed in the room.

Eddie and you were sitting across from one other, his gaze fixed on you.

He made you read the book aloud, and to be honest, you were nervous about it, afraid of tripping over the words since you were anxious and intimidated by his presence, but not in a bad way.

"On September 20th two covered carts went off laden to Buckland, conveying the furniture and goods that Frodo had not sold to his new home..."

Eddie rose up from his seat, his eyes fixated on you in a manner that prompted you to shudder. "Keep reading." When he realised your silence, he was ready to speak.

You nodded as you gulped. "...by way of the Brandywine Bridge." He was now quite close to your body, and you could feel the warmth emanating from his skin even though he wasn't touching you. As he kneeled on the ground in front of you, your voice trembled. "T-The next day," You coughed. "F-Frodo became really anxious, and kept a constant look-out for Gandalf."

His gaze shifted to your lap, and he gently parted your legs, exposing them. "Open them." Your pupils dilated.

"That's not very ladylike." You responded.

"What I want to do is also not very genteel." As your body trembled once again, he grinned. "Y/N, open your legs." You listened to him and opened them further for him. You were tiptoeing since the only portion of your feet that came into contact with the frigid ground were your toes. "And I said to keep reading."

His fingers gradually tugged your nightgown upwards, revealing most of your naked legs to him. His breathing was uneven, but he was fast to control it, which you did not appear to be capable of. His fingertips brushed over your flesh, causing goosebumps. "Thursday," you tried to continue, your gaze darting from between the pages to the man in front of you. "His birthday morning," Eddie's face moved closer to your legs, and you could feel his breath tenderly tickling your legs. "…dawned as fair and clear as it had long ago for Bilbo's great party. Still-." You shrieked. He was kissing your legs tenderly, around your ankles and calves. "Gandalf did not appear." You had to pause once more, your mouth opening as his kisses grew more intense, open kisses in which his mouth stroked and nibbled your skin. "I cannot think clearly." His fiery eyes just returned your gaze, pushing you to continue. "In the evening F-Frodo gave his farewell feast: i-it was-." As his lips brushed over your flesh and bit the inside of your thighs, a whimper escaped from between your lips.

"Go on." You shuddered as his lips slipped away from your body simply to utter such a thing.

You exhaled, straining to concentrate. "It was quite small, j-just a dinner for himself and his f-four helpers." His bites were drawing closer and closer, causing your body to respond by dampening your undies. You'd stopped again without realising it, prompting King Munson to slap the side of your right leg as a warning. "But he was t-t-troubled and felt in no m-mood for it." His hands moved higher, clutching your hips and dragging your body closer to the edge of the couch so he could get to the centre of your core effortlessly. He pressed his nose on your underpants, inhaling. Such dirty behaviour made you exclaim and become flustered. "The t-thought that he would so soon have to part with his y-young friends…" As he reached beneath your panties, his hands touched your lips. He growled, ripping your underwear, shocking you. "…w-w-weighed��on his heart." The book then fell from your hands, bouncing on the couch before landing on the ground.

His mouth had begun to devour you. Not gently. Not slowly. He acted fast and hungrily as if he had been anticipating this moment his entire life. As though he'd been trying to restrain himself since the night you walked into his castle, or even since the night you both danced with each other.

"Oh my goodness," You sobbed, seizing his long curls as his hands penetrated the flesh of your thighs and his mouth and tongue fought with your core.

He didn't appear to require oxygen.

He continued to devour you in ways you never imagined conceivable. And when he paused, peering deep into your eyes with a glistening nose and chin covered in your slick, he made you whine.

He brought his hand up to your face, displaying three of his fingers. "Suck them." Your eyes widened, and he had to tap your lips to shake you out of your reverie. "Go ahead, Y/N." You opened your mouth and let him shove his fingers inside it, sucking and twisting your tongue around the digits.

You almost closed your eyes. But before you could, his fingers left your mouth, slipping between your lower lips and quickly pushing themselves within you.

"Ahh." A gasp rang out once again in the room.

"You are trusting my fingers to enter you." The heat assaulting your body was unbearable. "I can feel you clamping around my fingers." He began thrusting gently, making you whimper and long for more. "You're very warm and inviting." His fingers and your fluids made a slapping sound as the action grew faster. "That sounds fantastic." As his thumb circled your clitoris, his movement grew frantic. You tightened your walls.

"Eddie." You whimpered, tears welling up in your eyes as a result of the incredible pleasure caused by his fingers inside you and his thumb still kneading your bud. "Oh, my gosh." His fingers curled. You shrieked. You'd never felt anything like what you were feeling at the time…he…his fingers were striking a certain part of your insides, causing you to feel some type of delightful pressure. "Oh, fuck." The big eyes of King Munson met yours. He was taken aback by the fact that you had cursed.

"Is that it, sweetheart?" You couldn't respond since you were too engrossed in the sensation. He didn't need to know the answer anyhow. He knew he was about to reach the area that had you screaming your lungs out. "Is it here?" He began to strike it harder.

"I am going to-." Your hands sought to grab the couch as if you needed to squeeze something.

"Come on. I can tell you're coming closer." He bit his bottom lip, repositioning himself to pound harder into you. Sweat beads poured down his brow. "Come on. I want to lick you clean." That made it for you as you groaned loudly, hips rising as you came.

The waves in your body caused you to tumble off the sofa, and even if you had cum, King Munson continued to thrust his fingers. "I can't. I can't." You were being overstimulated by him. "Please stop. Something is going on." You swiftly grabbed his wrist, but he was stronger than you and kept going. "Please." You sobbed.

Something bizarre and awkward was going on with your body. It vibrated and twitched on its own, and you felt like you were about to wet yourself, which was quite humiliating.

"Fuck, that's tight."

"Oh, Eddie, please." Of course, he did not pay attention, continuing to twirl his fingers. Then you sensed it. Eddie's lap got moist from the satisfying dripping. You'd seen a flow emerge from your pussy. "W-what?" Eddie's motions had paused as he glanced at his soaking lap and arm. "I am so sorry. I am very sor-."

You were interrupted by the collision of lips. "Fuck, you squirted." Was that what happened? "If I couldn't imagine you being any more captivating…"

After those words, his mouth met yours again, and he kissed you fervently, permitting your tongues to dance seductively against each other. You could taste him as well as yourself.

Your hands were pushing against his chest. "That is not fair. You've already pleased me twice, yet I have not done anything for you."

"I am a giver, Princess." He said, biting your lower lip, drawing blood, and sucking it. "But if I had your hands wrapped around me or that lovely mouth of yours." He wiped more of the blood off your lip with his thumb. "I would not be able to stop myself."

"Then don't."

He groaned. "I want to truly commit to you when we marry." You tugged his bottom lip into your mouth, feeling more daring, causing him to groan. Eddie Munson kept his eyes open the entire time, desiring to see every emotion you could muster. "But tomorrow night…you are entirely mine, and I am entirely yours." His brow rested against yours. "I swear I'm doing everything I can not to get you naked right now and bury myself deep in you." You closed your eyes, envisioning it and longing for tomorrow night. "I realise it's far too soon, Princess." His hand ran over your hair. "But I've loved you ever since that night we danced." You gulped. "I will do all in my power to provide you a life you will adore because I love you." You hesitated before your mouth opened. "You do not have to respond if you do not really feel it." He chuckled. "I am confident that you will ultimately fall in love with me."

After a few more kisses and fondling, King Munson and you returned to your room at night, taking turns bathing and falling asleep with intertwined hands.

The same chamber as the day before was, again, filled with hundreds of people who had been invited to your wedding. Even if you wished for fewer guests, you understood that Eddie, as King, had to invite those with whom maintaining a connection would benefit his Kingdom and people. Of course, many of the guests you did not even know and others you had only met the previous night when you and Eddie had stunned everyone by announcing your wedding the day before your formal wedding.

A platinum ring with a ruby now encircled your finger. It was exceptionally lovely and classy. You could detect King Munson…your husband's taste just by looking at it.

"It's a lovely gown, my Queen." A woman, whose name you could not recall, congratulated you. You could not even tell if she was the wife of the older or younger politician. Although, what you grasped was the way her eyes were fixed all the time on another lady who flashed her winks from another part of the room. "Did you choose it yourself?"

You promptly nodded your head, a grin on your face, thanking her for her compliment. Then you excused yourself and went in search of your husband, who had gone in pursuit of one of your favourite cocktails. Your heart started racing as soon as you saw him, and it continued to do so as he steadily approached you. A grin, of course, adorned his face as his gaze wandered all over your body and appearance. His eyes usually spent more time on your face than any other area of your body.

"You look stunning." You cracked a grin. "I absolutely can not wait till tonight." His forehead leaned against yours as you grabbed the cup from him.

You were overjoyed to finally be able to be with him. While at the same time, you were nervous since you had no prior experience with another person. You were familiar with your own body, but you had never had someone else explore every curve and weak spot.

You brought the cup up to your lips. Edie moaned as he took a step closer to you, his protecting arm wrapped around your shoulders. "Here we go again."

"You look stunning." Your mother smiled at you, her sparkling eyes signalling she was crying. Your heart ached as you hugged her and smiled. She profited from the chance to whisper in your ear. "I'm delighted you disobeyed our rule."

It was customary in your Kingdom for the bride to wear all white, with globes and a veil concealing her face. It was a symbol that a lady was pure for her spouse. You've always despised it. The women had to be pure, and the men…it didn't matter what they were.

Eddie was aware of the custom and had expressed his displeasure with it, proposing to wear one of the colours that symbolised his Kingdom. So, you were dressed in a dark purple bridal gown that looked stunning on you. You had never felt this attractive or lovely in a dress before.

"Thank you, mom." You squeezed her one final time, your gaze meeting that of your father and brother, who were plainly dissatisfied with your colour choice.

"I must admit that I am perplexed by the need to demonstrate that you are not pure." Snorting, your father commented.

"As much as I don't see why others need to know if a lady is pure or not." King Munson responded by mimicking your father's snort. "As I do not see how you can openly speak or express your view about a Queen in a position higher than yours." My eyes, like my father's, expanded. But, although I was trying not to laugh, my father was visibly enraged. "The amount of people available for you to control is dwindling, and I will happily urge you to refrain from making comments about my wife and Queen." He moved his fingers around your cup as he gripped it. He sipped from the same place that had been smeared by your lipstick. "I don't take it lightly when people make disparaging remarks about my wife." He looked over at your brother. "Neither when they attempt to do something else." He was referring to the previous night when your brother had tightly grasped your wrist. "Whether she is pure or not is irrelevant to any of you." Your father said something. "Were you, Gerald, pure when you married?" He cocked his brow.

"A man needs experience."

Eddie scoffed, shaking his head. "For his wife's or his own pleasure?"

"As I previously stated," Your father had a firm grasp on his drink. "A man needs experience."

"And, in most cases, a muzzle too."

"It is not wise of you to offend another King from another Kingdom, regardless of your position." Thomas stepped in, his jaw clenched.

"Please tell me, Y/N." You stared at your spouse, but he didn't look at you. "Do your Kingdom's men have every type of experience?" You wrinkled your brows, unable to grasp what he was saying. "Because I'm aware that certain ministers from your former Kingdom were banished for…interacting with other males." His gaze was fixed on Thomas, nearly searing him. "It's too bad people can't freely love or do whatever they want." You were now listening carefully to what he was saying. "But were those gents practising for their wives? I have no idea how fucking…" Your mother's eyes were wide open, and your father was visibly agitated. He'd be much furious if he knew about Thomas. "How can fucking another man be preparation for their future wife?" He sipped yet again. "It is broadly acknowledged that men and women have different s-."

"Father," your brother stepped in once again. "There is no benefit in remaining in his presence. Let's go engage with individuals who can benefit us." Your brother stared at him before shifting his focus to you. "Queen." He snarled and bowed.

"You're making a mistake, girl." Your father seized your mother's arm, yanking her away from you.

"I wish there was something I could do for her."

"You certainly can." Why did he constantly appear to stare deep into your eyes? "You are now a Queen. What I have is yours as well. Your mother is entitled to leave your father and migrate to our Kingdom." He looked up to find your mother standing next to your father, who didn't look her way. "My money is now yours. Your mother could rebuild her life." His gaze shifted elsewhere. "Who really can say? Maybe she'll meet someone else." You followed his eyes until you noticed a broad man with a beard. He was fixated on your mother.

"Who is he?"

He grinned, placing the cup on a nearby table. "Hopper, one of my most loyal guards." He twirled the rings that adorned his fingers. "If I may say so myself, he is my favourite."

You burst out laughing. "Everyone is your favourite."

"No." His voice had warmed. "They are favourites, but you prevail over all of them." He took a step closer, unconcerned that others might see both of you as he dropped his head, lips connecting with yours. And it wasn't an innocent one. His hand was wrapped around your throat as his mouth pushed wide, his tongue quickly entering your mouth.

"Stop." You licked your bottom lip, your hands on his chest. "Everyone is watching."

"If that's what they're interested in." He grinned as he attempted another kiss, but you were swift to step back.

Fuck. He stared you in the eyes with those huge, dazzling pupils. Eyes that made him appear innocent even though you knew he wasn't. His energy validated your ideas.

And how could he seem so intimidating and domineering yet his hands were always soft, seeking whatever portion of your unprotected flesh to caress?

"I love you." Before you could think about it, the words had left your mouth. You'd only known him for a few days, but you'd never felt this way before. This was not a crush. You've had a crush before. For a long time, Arthur was your biggest infatuation. He was the baker's son who provided for the castle. He used to accompany his father, and you had heart eyes for him since you were a teenager. But what you felt for him was curiosity, excitement, and lust. Those were sensations you had for Eddie as well, but they were far stronger and mixed with love.

"Fuck." Eddie moaned, capturing your hand and guiding you out of the room, taking full advantage of everyone else being preoccupied with dancing and conversing. You attempted to inquire as to where he was taking you, but he remained silent, wordlessly guiding you to a chamber. His office.

The door slammed shut behind you.

Before you could ask what was going on, his mouth was locked on yours. As he kissed you, his hands again encircled your throat. Kisses that were too sloppy, revealing his desperation to feel you against his body and mouth. His hips were constantly slamming into your lower abdomen, and you responded by awkwardly rotating yours against his.

Your hands, which had been resting on his chest, chose to explore, prompting you to drop them to his tummy. You were curious to see how he looked without those garments. If he looked like a God when dressed, imagine what he looked like nude. Perhaps Death himself. Your demise.

Eddie stopped, attempting to regain his breath so he could linger kissing you for a longer period. Nevertheless, you had spoken before he could do so, causing him to blink incredulously. "W-what exactly did you say?" He sought proof that he had correctly heard you.

"I'd want to suck you." Everything was said hurriedly. You needed to know as if it were a matter of life or death. You plainly couldn't wait for him to sober up as your hands slid down, pressing against his already firm member. Both of your eyes followed your hand as you stroked it, highlighting the shape through his suit pants with a finger. "Teach me."

"Oh my God, Jesus Christ H." Eddie exhaled. Was this real?

It was. Even though you appeared surreal lowering yourself to the ground and kneeling…everything was real.

Eddie looked at you, recognising a surprising glint in your eyes. The same one you got every time you were intrigued or thrilled about something. And this time, that something was him.

"Guide me." Your words made him throb, his cock pounding on his pants and hardening painfully. "Please, I really want to do it." Those remarks led him to drop his pantsuits as quickly as possible, practically tearing them and allowing his member to be free. He hadn't been wearing underwear so it slapped against his stomach as it stood tall and firm.

King Munson leaned against the office door, allowing you full access to his member, who was in your line of sight. Before he could speak, he had to clear his throat. "First, use your hands." His voice had broken with anticipation of what was to come. "Wrap your delicate fingers around my cock. Encircle it." He shuddered as your hands neared his member, and when he felt your fingers and palm around him, he nearly passed out. "Fuck." He closed his eyes for a few seconds and whispered, "Up and down, move." Eddie felt his legs shake a little when you started doing so. "Sweetheart, twist your wrist. It will be more pleasurable." You nodded, your gaze fixed on his dick. You looked like you were ready to take him into your mouth, and he was as ready to be in there.

"Is this all right?" Alright? Eddie was fighting with every fibre of his being not to pass out or to fuck you like an eager rabbit.

"It's flawless. You are flawless." Your hand had come to a halt while you awaited his response. "Sweetheart, don't stop." You proceeded. "Use your other hand for my balls." You flushed, raising your eyebrows. "They should be stroked. They should be massaged."

"Like you did with my chest?" He muttered, tightening his jaw and allowing his hips to come into contact with your hand.

"Just like that."

"When am I supposed to put it in my mouth?"

Maybe he had a fever and you were some kind of demon convincing him to go to Hell. But if Hell felt this way, he didn't need convincing.

"Come closer." He made a hand motion, asking you to hurry, and as you got closer, his hands rested on your head, fingers intertwining with strands of your gorgeous and silky hair, bringing you farther closer. "Begin with the tip gently. Suck it, kiss it. Then try to take everything. No teeth, okay?" You licked your bottom lip as you nodded, your thighs twitching. You were ecstatic and drenched from just seeing and touching him.

You had paid close attention to him. Eddie's palm tightened in your hair, your tongue probing his tip and encircling part of his head a couple of times. You licked strips along his dick, following one particular vein that appeared to pulse in your mouth, becoming more daring. Then you began to take him in, inadvertently grazing him with your teeth but rapidly using your lips and tongue.

His other hand brushed your cheek as he fixated to see his cock enter and exit your mouth. Even in that state, you were stunning.

As your hand wrapped the bit of his member that you couldn't get in your mouth, your eyes squinted in delight. When you whimpered around him and Eddie noticed you rocking against your heel, he slapped your hand away. His hands, now, on the back of your head, thrusting his full member into your mouth and causing you to choke. Eddie began fucking your mouth. Teary eyes met his and nails piercing his thighs. You were no longer in command. He was. "Oh, heck yeah." He thrust aggressively, a handful of times scraping the back of your throat. Even though you were in astonishment, your hands stroked his balls. "You're taking me so well." You groaned again, choking around him. "Gagging around me…fuck, you look wonderful even like that." Your hair was stuck to your brow, and your cheeks were flushed. "Is this your drunk-cock face, sweetheart?" He went even deeper, grunting and moaning and not caring whether he was heard. "That's right. That look will haunt me for the rest of my life…divine." He shifted his posture, going deeper. His sack slapped against your chin, which had a trail of saliva running down. "Good, uh?" You whined, nodding. "Fuck, I'm going to cum." He, like you, was growing restless. "I'm coming in your mouth." You made him moan by hallowing your cheeks. You could taste hot sperm spurts on your tongue. "Swallow." He smacked your face lightly, dick still in. "Swallow it, don't waste it." He thrust three more times, following his high. Then your mouth was released from his cock, allowing you to swallow the rest of his cum, which was quite a load.

A smear of saliva connected the tip of his member and your mouth.

"Salty." Your words were opposed by your tongue, which came out of your mouth to lick the drop that tried to fall down your chin.

"Sweetheart, get up." You did as you were ordered, but Eddie had to grasp your elbows since your legs were wobbling. How would you feel after taking him nice and deep if you were only like that by sucking him? "Come on, let's go to our room." He'd barely gotten the door halfway open when your palm slammed against it, shutting it.

"No, I need you right now." He loved how you responded with words rather than just nods and smiles or soft eyes. Words. "I need you right now."

"I, too, need you." He pecked your lips, his hands grasping your thighs, and he despised the fact that you were covered. "But I want our first time to be memorable. I-."

"It's special because it's with you, Eddie." It may have sounded corny, but it was precisely how you felt. "And I don't believe I'll be able to wait till we get to our room. I desperately need you right now." Your chest was pumping and your body was beginning to burn from the heat. "Please. I'll beg."

Eddie could feel every muscle in his body quiver and twist. "Go to the desk." He smacked your buttocks again, angered by the garments you were wearing. "Quick." He trailed close behind.

You both rounded it, and Eddie plopped on his desk chair, which resembled a throne, reminding you that you were now a Queen, married to King Edward Munson.

You gulped, seeing his confident posture, hand resting under his chin as he stared at you, unconcerned with his dick still standing stiff and exposed. "What should I do?"

"You should go nude right now." He demanded, his voice hard and stern. He removed his jacket and tossed it to the ground, followed by his white shirt. Eddie wasn't extremely fit. Even so, there was a slight tightness of his arm muscles. His chest was covered in hair, and his belly did unusual things to your body. "Screw it." He grabbed your skirts, dragging you closer to him. "I can't handle it any longer." Your skirts were torn off your body in an instant, and you had no time to complain about how lovely your wedding gown was as you found yourself practically naked in front of your spouse. Only wearing a corset and undies. Eddie, on the other hand, was quick to stick his fingers inside your underwear. "Drenched, as expected," and ripped once again. "I don't believe I need to prepare you. You're wet enough to welcome me." He drew you onto his lap, kissed your lips, and let you sit on his dick. He felt firm against your sensitive core, yet you both shared the same fire.

"Oh gosh."

"Doesn't it feel amazing? Imagine when I'm inside." He bit your lower lip. "Up." A slap on the side of your hip. "My Queen, you're going to ride me." He grasped the base of his member and guided it towards your entrance, causing you to moan as the tip brushed against your lips. "It'll hurt a little bit at first, but it'll feel so much better after a couple of minutes, okay?" Your gleaming eyes locked on his. He really wanted to corrupt you. He was going to love and please you for the rest of his life. His other hand assisted you in lowering yourself.

As the tip penetrated you, you exhaled a nervous breath and hissed. Eddie was long and quite thick. Besides that, he wasn't entirely groomed. Some black curls curled above his member.

"Stings." You huffed, hands on Eddie's shoulders. He kissed your forehead instantly, delivering soothing words and placing his hands on your hips to lower you fully on him.

As motions came to a halt, you both gasped, mouths wide and breaths mingling. While Eddie felt the constriction around his cock, you felt full in ways you had never felt before. He was on the edge of bursting if he didn't settle down.

King Munson's gaze dropped from your mouth to your bosom. Eddie found your breasts so appealing that he nibbled on the skin as the corset pushed them upwards. "You're a fucking goddess." Moving forward caused him to jerk within you. "You're taking me so well." He urged you to move, which you did, causing both of you to whimper. Eddie kept nipping your breasts, sick of the corset, forcing it down so he could attach his lips on your left nipple, paying it attention before letting it go and loving on the other. While doing so, his hips clashed with yours, luring you to move faster. "It's so fucking wonderful. I swear you were created for me." His lips were tickling your chin as he spoke, his face incredibly near to yours. "You tighten around me so well and take every inch like the good girl you are."

You groaned aloud. How could he make you feel this way? You didn't appear to mind that hundreds of people were gathered in the castle to celebrate the fact that you two were now married. You didn't care, so you let Eddie take you into his office, sucking him in and burying himself in you. "This is surreal." You bounced on him, your chest bobbing up and down, hypnotising him.

"I'll fuck you like this every day, sweetheart." You cried so loudly. "When you wake up every morning," Thrust. "This is how I'm going to put you to sleep every night." Hickey on the side of your neck. "I'm going to fill you up and keep you warm." Pecks to the collarbone. "Make your little bud tingle." He squeezed your hips. "I'm going to bury myself deep in you in every corner of this palace and on every surface." He came to a halt by kissing you. Because of all the groans coming out of it, your mouth was already open, making it easy for him to slip his tongue into it. Tongues dance seductively against each other once more. Trying each other out. "How many babies do you believe you can give me?" You shivered at the thought of a huge belly and Eddie repeatedly fucking you. "Will you be able to take everything I give you?"

"Fuck yes, I will." You were on fire.

King Munson reclined in his chair. "You look gorgeous, sweetheart." Hips began to move erratically. Eddie's finger caressed your clit.

"Is this a dream? I'm on my throne, and my Queen is on hers." A pinch on your clit had you groaning, gasping, and clawing him until you came undone.

"I'm going to cum, Eddie."

"Go, my Queen." He massaged your clit vigorously. "Cum." And you certainly did. Soaking wet all over your body, cloudy eyesight, and every muscle spamming. "Was it good?"

You nodded, attempting to catch your breath. "Didn't you cum?"

His head shook. "Y/N, get up." You grimaced but swiftly followed his instructions. "Chest against the desk. I'm going to fuck you and fill you from behind." You didn't have enough time to drop entirely against it when you felt his cock penetrate you, leaving you no time to adjust as he began hammering you, being close due to the previous session. "I'm not going to make it." He smacked you in the ass, leaving a mark from how hard he whacked it. He grunted and nibbled your neck as his chest leaned against your back. "You want it?" You whimpered and immediately nodded. "I'm going to fill you, my Queen. I wish you could view yourself from this angle." He was smirking. "I slipped a ring on your finger, and you slipped a ring on my cock." The combination of your fluids created a ring around his manhood. "Fuck." His thrusts grew lengthier and harder as he pulled your hair, and you felt the warm spurts filling you and driving you to your high once again.

The office door clicked at the same time, and Eddie, mercifully, was quick enough to throw your shredded skirts over you, hiding your entire body and face from whoever was about to enter. You couldn't see anything and couldn't be seen, but it was clear what Eddie was doing and with whom (you both had left the party).

Steve and Thomas stood at the entrance, their eyes wide open as they assessed the situation. Eddie, on the other hand, didn't appear to mind as he resumed plunging into you.

Steve's shirt was unbuttoned, and Thomas' pants were drooping. "Sorry, gentlemen, filled room; please find another." Steve tried to yank your brother away, but he was stunned, staring at Eddie, who merely grinned. "Are you planning on staying? Maybe we'll have twins. One for our Kingdom, and the other for Setsunai."

"You are a fucking bastard." Yes, and? "Fuck you."

"I'm more into your sister: my wife and Queen, and I'm not sure I'm your type."

Taglist: @og-baby-ob14 @seaweedthewhale @spookeybabey @yuninha2004 @munsonology @bluegalaxyprime @qardasngan @juny567 @apolixyan @1-fuzzy-squirrels @impliedpetewentz @theawkwardbutterfly @chrisevansmarvelmcu @bakugous-babie @mlktea13 @tlclick73 @mikiepeach @d64d-n0t-sl66p1ng @lady-jane3

Those in bold; I cannot tag you.

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gallifreyinstituteforlearning · 6 months

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What could i do to help him if my gallifreyan has a hearts attack?

Disclaimer: This strategy is not suitable for humans. Follow the directions as stated by your human medical people: The Resuscitation Council UK - How to do CPR link

🚨 Immediate Actions for a Gallifreyan Hearts Attack

Secure the Scene: First, ensure the environment around you and your Gallifreyan friend is safe. Look out Daleks or any other environmental hazards that could pose additional threats.

Initial Response: Engage with your Gallifreyan friend by asking, 'How are you feeling?' and gently shake their shoulder while inquiring, 'Can you hear me?' This might help gauge their level of consciousness.

Seeking Bystander Assistance: When dealing with a Gallifreyan hearts issue, getting bystander help is key, but remember, a human ambulance won't cut it for their unique biology. If able, ask around for anyone with knowledge of alien medical care to assist, and direct others to help keep the area clear or communicate with specialised medical teams using any advanced tech you have. It’s all about finding the right support while ensuring everyone understands/remains unaware of the patient as a non-human.

Recognising Cardiac Arrest: Check for the two hearts' rhythm and normal breathing patterns. The absence of these signs indicates cardiac arrest, but if there's a pulse and they're breathing, proceed with a systematic ABCDE assessment.

Here are a normal set of life signs for reference.

Respiration Rate (breaths per minute) - 5-10

Supplemental Oxygen (cannula/mask etc. in use?) - No

Temperature (orally) - 15.1-19°C / 59.1-66.3°F

Systolic BP (top figure from blood pressure) - 151-240

Heart rate (individual) - 45-90

Level of consciousness - Alert

CPR Adaptation for Gallifreyans: If you suspect a cardiac arrest:

Perform 5 compressions over the left heart (from the patient's PoV), maintaining a depth of 5-6cm.

Switch and perform 5 compressions over the right heart (from the patient's PoV) with the same depth.

Administer 2 rescue breaths.

Keep this going until they have signs of consciousness or until medical help arrives. If you tire, find someone to swap out with to maintain good quality CPR.

Precordial Thump Strategy: If one heart seems to have stopped and you don't have a defibrillator, deliver two precordial thumps. One should be on the chest over the affected heart, and the other on the back, aligning with the heart. This method is slightly unconventional but might kickstart the heart again in urgent situations.

When Help Arrives: When Gallifreyan or similarly equipped medical responders arrive, provide them with a quick but comprehensive overview of the situation. Your actions and the information you've gathered can be crucial for the next steps in the patient's care.

🤖 Additional Tips

Stay Calm: Your calmness can help keep the Gallifreyan calm.

Telepathic Assistance: If you're skilled in telepathy, offering a soothing mental presence can help stabilise them.

Emergency Kit: Always keep a Gallifreyan medical kit nearby.

🚑 Post-Emergency Care

Once the immediate threat is over, following up with a specialised Gallifreyan medic is vital. Your Gallifreyan might need specific treatments to fully recover and prevent future incidents.

Remember, while these steps provide a general guide, each situation is unique. Always prioritise professional medical advice when available.

Gallifreyan Assessment Scoring System (GASS): Guide for assessing vital signs.

ABCDE Assessment: Guide for quickly assessing and treating a sick Gallifreyan.

Sepsis Emergency Response (SER): Guide for identifying and treating sepsis.

Hope that helped! 😃

More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →😆Jokes |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴

#doctor who #gil #gallifrey institute for learning #dr who #dw eu #gallifreyan biology #GIL biology #whoniverse #time lord biology

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stardoc676 · 5 months

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Wow.. Just wow

Ogata really went from being "I have no attachments/people." "Why would I care if somebody's dead? Guilt is not real." " Going through the path of less resistance. If killing someone puts me in a better situation then I'll do it. There are no exceptions. This is the most efficient way to live."Everyone thinks like this. People are faking empathy. Which is unnecessary." and so many other things

To Ogata having several emotions towards ONE unlucky person deciding to keep that person locked up for reasons. if said person dies under his care, he then holds on to said body until people start noticing the smell.

(Ogata probably thinks this is a normal human behavior too) (( Finally, Ogata figures out gooey feelings/ love are real, and people are not lying. He experiences what he thinks could be those gooey feelings / love, then proceeds to do everything wrong in most insane way possible.))((( anyways I'm not studying in psychology like you so im probably wrong about my assessment of this man but this is what i'm getting)))

Ogata yandere AU!

Omg I love this type of comments! I like your way of thinking ♡

I'll try to explain this as simple as I can and I'd like to clarify that I'm gonna translate some things (because my psychology disorder text book is in Spanis, I don't know the English name for some of them)

First of all, the psychopath or sociopath terms are not use because they are a mixture of other symptoms and disorders. The most prominent one is the Antisocial Personality Disorder (APD for shorts) and it comes form the personality disorder (PD) scheme. in here there are a lots of other stuff like Obsessive-compulsive Disorder and narcissist behavior. So basically there is not such thing like one only archetype of psychopath.

Patients with APD have the following things in common: lack of empathy and little to no empathy (or only when they are caught). Something like that happens to Ogata in the manga at the finale, when he recognized his guilty feeling by the situation he is in, and when his plan uncovers by Tsurumi.

But other things in the APD scheme are that they tend to seek validation and have internal fights with their contrary emotions. By this, they could do things to harm others for their own pleasure or even be submissive in some escenarios to feel accepted by others.

In this AU, I like to think that his behavior is like this towards this person because he is seeking validation (one that he never had from his family) in an extreme way (harming others) because that's what it feels right to him and since he have this lack of empathy he doesn't know how to reach this feeling by a more healthy way. He is desperate to be in control of the one person he needs validation from in a strict way, one that couldn't be achieved if he didn't kidnapped them.

The "keeping his corpse thing" goes like this. Patients with Obessive-compulsive behavior have an intense desire to be organized or have everything the way they like. When things aren't like that, they have breakdowns in different ways. But sometimes, they keep things they no longer need. And something interesting about this is that they usually have a close mind setting about moral and ethics or tend to be really scrupulous about them.

Another thing I'd like to clarify is that Ogata is having this obsession just because. This happens to Stalkers that usually doesn't have a valid reason to do what they do. They just need someone to hold onto.

That is my analysis. And thanks a lot for your comment. I really like this topic ♡ and also, I'm just a psychology student by now. There are a lot of things that I couldn't know or be misinterpreted. Don't take this way to seriously.

#ogata hyakunosuke yandere au #gk ogata #golden kamuy ogata #ogata hyakunosuke

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dr-futbol-blog · 1 month

Text

The Siege II, Pt. 5

Next, there is an honest time-skip. Where we left off with Sheppard staring at the Colonel in the gate control platform, we now find Sheppard walking into the hologram room where the Colonel is already waiting for him. Sheppard tells him "You wanted to see me, Colonel?" which means that some time must have passed between the two scenes. This is also indicated by a shot of the outside view of Atlantis, letting us know that night has fallen. Sheppard is still wearing his full gear, P-90 and all, the same as he was wearing in the earlier scene where he was fresh off the jumper. What ever he might have done in the meantime, he seems to have been fully clothed.

The Colonel tells him that he wants to learn about the Ancients and how they lost the war which is what Sheppard then proceeds to show him via the holographic projection of the galaxy. The doors of the room start closing before Sheppard has even moved to the controls which seems to be indication of the city responding to his thoughts. The way Sheppard tells the story, he knows it by heart. And we know that many of the things he mentions are things he has explicitly heard or learned from McKay over the course of the season:

For several more years, the Atlanteans were able to hold off their attackers, relying on the city's shield and superior weaponry, including the weapons satellite system. No matter how many wraith ships they destroyed, more kept coming here. They could win almost every battle but they saw no way to win the war, so they submerged the city and left. That's it. That's the story.

It is similar to the holographic presentation they heard in Rising (S01E01), being one of the very first things they ever did together, and when we compare the two, his retelling of the tale is much more similar to what we heard McKay recap at the beginning of the previous episode, especially since the satellite systems he mentions had only been discovered by Brandan Gaul later in The Defiant One (S01E12). The original message said:

Then one day our people stepped foot upon a dark world where a terrible enemy slept. Never before had we encountered beings with powers that rivalled our own. In our over-confidence, we were unprepared and outnumbered. The enemy fed upon defenseless human worlds like a great scourge until finally only Atlantis remained. This city's great shield was powerful enough to withstand their terrible weapons but here we were besieged for many years. In an effort to save the last of our kind, we submerged our great city into the ocean. The Atlantis Stargate was the one and only link back to Earth from this galaxy, and those who remained used it to return to that world that was once home. There, the last survivors of Atlantis lived out the remainder of their lives. This city was left to slumber, in the hope that our kind would one day return.

The Colonel seems to observe Sheppard as much as he listens to his presentation. He is trying to get a read on both their tactical situation and the character of this man that has been in charge of the expedition. The view he gets from Sheppard does not seem to be very optimistic:

Sheppard: The picture is pretty clear. Everett: So you think this is a no-win situation? Sheppard: No, sir, What I mean is, even if we beat them this time, they're gonna come back.

He files off Sheppard's assessment of the situation to think about for later. The real reason he had asked Sheppard to meet him in private was because he wanted to talk about his friend, Colonell Sumner.

Everett: Major, I think I should tell you that Colonel Marshall Sumner was a very good friend of mine. We served together a lot of years. You know, I cannot for the life of me figure how it is that you could go as far as you did and not save him, how you could get that close... Sheppard: By the time I reached Colonel Sumner-- Everett: Worse, you admit to firing the shot that killed him. Sheppard: Because I believe that's what he wanted me to do.

Having to justify what he had to do to his superior officer to someone that had not only known him but had obviously cared about him is a living nightmare for Sheppard because the things that Col. Everett tells him are thoughts that he has had himself, repeatedly, ever since it happened. He wants to look anywhere else but at the Colonel but he thinks that he owes the man at least to look him in the eye, so he forces himself to do just that. He did what he felt he needed to do but he had no excuse for it. Even though he wishes he were anywhere else, he is trapped in this situation. The Colonel digs even deeper and Sheppard seems to feel as though he does at the very least owe this man an explanation.

Everett: You knew him that well, did you? Sheppard: You weren't there, sir. Everett: No, but I wish for his sake I was. Sheppard: There isn't a night that doesn't go by where that moment doesn't play in my head. And every time it does--

They are interrupted by an alarm and Sheppard automatically starts to contact the control room when he realizes that he's not the one in charge any more, and he allows the Colonel to take command of the situation.

It seems as though there is a wave of darts coming toward the city, their attack imminent. The Colonel orders Sheppard to get to the control chair while he joins the others in the control room. They do get to finish their conversation later but they never return to what Sheppard was about to say here. We are never told what he means.

Sheppard doesn't say that he dreams about the moment, only that it plays out in his head. If we assume that Sheppard and McKay have been sleeping together, sleeping in the sense of actually sleeping, and that he has had trouble sleeping lately (as by his own confession in The Gift S01E18) but he hasn't been having nightmares himself, these thoughts may well be the result of that. Of having grown close to McKay, of trying to fall asleep with that man in his arms, which would trigger all of his fears of losing him, of being unable to protect him, of failing to save him.

When he was forced to take the Colonel out he didn't just end his life, he unleashed the wraith, all of them, to wreak havoc on the entire galaxy. He did that. He failed so spectacularly in his mind that no one in the history of the human kind has failed as hard. And now, for the past weeks, the wraith had been inching ever closer to them and there seemed to be nothing he could do but to hold McKay tighter in his arms at night. So yes, he probably did play out that moment in his mind all the time, in the dead of night, generally needing much less sleep than McKay but still wanting to be there with him and for him when he went to bed because McKay had a hard enough time getting any sleep anyway.

And there, he would while away the time, watching his uneasy sleep, listening to his breathing, feeling his heart beating under his palm. Going over whether he could have done anything differently, and the ways in which the world, his world, might be different if he had. Would he still have McKay in his arms if he had succeeded in saving the Colonel? What would he do if he was ever forced to make the same choice over his own 'very good friend,' if the wraith ever got their hands on McKay? He hopes never to find out.

As Sheppard runs to the control chair platform where McKay is already waiting for him, trying to get the chair started, these are the thoughts running through his mind. It hadn't yet been 24 hours that he thought that he had lost McKay for good, that his own decision not to accompany him to the satellite had cost him his life. That he had lost the one thing he now knew beyond the shadow of a doubt he couldn't live without, did not want to live without. It is much more this inner turmoil of his than the urgency of their defensive situation that makes him come across as testy as he takes his seat:

Sheppard: McKay, fire it up! McKay: It'll take a minute! Sheppard: We don't have a minute!

He calls him McKay, and it is the first thing he says to him. They are alone in the chair platform, and even if technicians from McKay's team had been present, they surely would have heard Sheppard refer to him as Rodney before. Alone together, he would usually have called him Rodney. The fact that he doesn't now might be because of the arrival of the Colonel and the company of marines, forcing them to act even more carefully around one another, and just having decided to call him McKay across the board might be a result of this. But in this situation, given where Sheppard was coming from, it might also be a way of creating some distance between them.

It is not something he usually even tolerates between them but right now, having to focus most of all in keeping this man alive, he needs that distance. He needs to focus. In order to be able to protect the man he loves, he can't be distracted by his presence. The last time we saw him acting like this was at the beginning of Sanctuary (S01E14) when he was expecting McKay to come up with an immediate fix to the problem facing them, and he was calling him McKay then too. This was following and directly caused by the events of Hot Zone (S01E13), at the end of which Weir had accused him of allowing his feelings to compromise his decisions, having received a talking to from a superior just as he had now.

Even in in spite of all this, Sheppard turns to look back at McKay as he takes a seat on the command chair, clearly wanting to look at the man while addressing him, to see him. He is never too busy not to look at McKay. If he can't look at him when they are facing a life or death situation, what even is the point?

McKay, of course, has no idea where Sheppard is coming from or what is going on inside him, not even having had time to see the man's face to read his emotional state from his expression, from his eyes, the set of his jaw, the slant of his mouth. While Sheppard was able to look at him, he has to keep his eyes fixed on the generator to get it working for Sheppard, to make operating the chair safe for Sheppard, focusing on the most important thing he can think of doing.

McKay: Look, this generator can only power the chair because it operates in a state of barely-controlled overload. Sheppard: Just get the damned thing working. McKay: That's what I'm trying to do!

McKay tries to explain to Sheppard what he is doing because he knows that usually that is something Sheppard wants from him. With anyone else, he wouldn't bother and would just tell them to shut up while he's trying to work. But in spite of the both of them clearly again picking up a conversation that was on-going and had only ever been on pause, Sheppard isn't being his usual self, and it's not the urgency of the situation that is making him snap, it is his emotional state. McKay does not understand what is going on with him but his response indicates that he is affected by it, that he might expect this kind of behaviour from other people but not from Sheppard. He is doing his best, he is working as fast as he can, he is trying to make this as safe as possible for Sheppard, and surely he should understand that. Yes, they are under a time element but he had told Sheppard previously (The Defiant One) that snapping doesn't help. As soon as he can, he has the generator up and working, and he steps aside to let Sheppard do what only he can:

McKay: You've got power--go!

Sheppard is able to quiet his mind enough to be able to ejaculate release and control the drones, and it's likely the chair connects him to the city in more ways than just giving him control of the weapons. He seems to let out a breath as the chair leans him back. When he had done this previously, on the Antarctic base, when he had first met McKay, it hadn't just been one of the strangest experiences of his life, it was something that had entirely changed the course of his life. Because he had seated himself in the chair, he was here now, connected to the city of the Ancients. And it was McKay that had given him this gift both now and back then. Instead of telling him to get away from the chair, McKay had asked him to think about where they were in the solar system, which had been as easy as breathing. And so was controlling the drones now. Even if he hadn't come to love McKay with every fiber of his being, he owed him everything for this gift alone.

They manage to fight off the wraith for the time being, parts of the city still on fire as a new day dawns. They have all gathered in the control platform to discuss the events of the previous night. McKay seems to be nearing his breaking point:

McKay: Power's out in sections of the city. The long range scanners and the internal sensors are down but we're working on it. Everett: I wanna know the status of those hive ships ASAP. McKay: They're coming, that's their status! Tomorrow, the day after, the day after that. Eventually they'll get here. Whether we're here to greet them or not is another matter. Weir: Rodney...

McKay is wearing a belt, something that he was not wearing previously, presumably holding a hand weapon. They were arming all of the scientists earlier but whether Sheppard had something to do with him now wearing it, we do not know.

What we can see is that Sheppard seems to be there mainly to watch McKay work. He tracks him with his eyes when he's at another desk and has positioned him so that he has the best view of McKay's work station. Make note that Sheppard could well be standing on the other side of the table like everybody else, he has no need to be this close to McKay. Out of everyone standing in the control room, he is the closest to him.

McKay seems to be in a notably irascible mood. He is more like "always like this" McKay, as Zelenka had described him when he was chewing out his team during The Storm (S01E10), than he has been in a long time. Yes, he seems to be exhausted, as is explicitly pointed out by Col. Everett later. Yes, they had all just experienced a very tense situation. Yes, they have been living under the shadow of the impending attack for weeks now, and yes, his desperation over being unable to come up with anything at all that might save them or even be of any help at all is getting to him. But he also seems to be still feeling raw from what happened between himself and Sheppard earlier.

This is all but confirmed by the fact that he quickly glances over at Sheppard when he says "Whether we're here to greet them or not," Sheppard not having greeted him when he ran into the chair platform. They have had precious little time to reconnect since he got back, and the death of Peter Grodin is still very much on his conscience. He takes all of this out on the Colonel because he seems like the easiest target, he's the stranger whose opinion matters the least to him. Usually he wouldn't want Sheppard to see him this way, he tried to conceal his irritability from him during The Storm to little effect, but he is feeling so overwhelmed by everything that it is simply spilling over and he's unable to stop it coming out.

It is notable that Weir is the one that has to try to reign him in. Sheppard merely looks on without saying anything, probably feeling guilty about what had happened before. The fact that it is still playing out in McKay's mind as well is confirmed by his reference to the drones having been depleted:

McKay: Look, the chair is out of drones. How do you expect to handle the next wave? Everett: I'm open to suggestions. McKay: Really?

The Colonel is basically doing the same thing Weir did at the beginning of the episode, making McKay feel like the weight of all of their lives are on his shoulders and his alone. And like he did back then, McKay folds his arms in protest because he is so overwhelmed that he can't even begin to think. He feels so much weight on his shoulders that he can't focus on the problem. And for the second time in this episode, Sheppard tries to ease his burden, now by coming up with an idea. He can definitely see that McKay is spiraling. The fact that Sheppard is doing this for him is just emphasized by reaction shots of Zelenka and Weir not being able to contribute anything to help McKay.

Sheppard: We target the hive ships. Everett: With what? Sheppard: We fly the Puddle Jumper in stealth mode right down their throats. Everett: Are you volunteering for a suicide mission? Sheppard: It won't be a suicide mission if McKay and Zelenka can figure out a way to remote control the Jumpers.

Flying a suicide mission was never Sheppard's plan even though it later becomes "sort of a Sheppard thing" to do. He does not want to die, not now that he's found something to live for. What he wants is to ease McKay's load and at the same time, come up with a task for him to do that is achievable as he knows that occupying McKay's mind with something is the best way to keep his anxiety at bay. He gives McKay an achievable goal while taking a lot of the pressure of having to come up with an idea to save everyone. Note also that he is not pawning the task of trying to find a way to remote control the jumpers just on McKay but makes sure to include Zelenka in it.

While he probably has more faith in McKay's abilities than the rest of them combined he is trying very hard to make McKay feel like he's not alone in this, that it's not all on his shoulders. He is doing the opposite of what everyone else seems to be doing, all looking at him for a solution. He is not thinking about what's best for Atlantis or what is best for all of them, he is thinking about what's best for McKay. That is the difference. However, McKay doesn't seem to understand what Sheppard is doing, drawing his lips in a tight line as he listens to Sheppard's idea. To him, it just sounds like more tasks and more work is being piled on him.

Col. Everett is at least intrigued by this possibility, turning back to McKay to get confirmation on the feasibility of the plan. He asks McKay a question Sheppard would never even need to ask him:

Everett: Can you do it? McKay: I knew this was gonna happen. Everett: Is that a fact? McKay: Yes, it's a fact!

When the Colonel had said the same thing to Sheppard earlier, the man had been forced to stay quiet. He did not want to antagonize his superior officer any more than he had to. McKay does not have the same compulsion. He is free to give the Colonel a piece of his mind and he seems determined to do it for the both of them:

McKay: Look, you show up here with your guns and your brush cuts, but when it comes to actually saving the city, you turn to the scientists! And every time what you ask is impossible.

McKay's voice almost breaks at the end. He does not mean to let his anguish show so openly, he just means to air his frustration by taking it out on the people around him, but this is clearly affecting him much more than he lets on. While he makes sure to mention the brush cuts, something very characteristically not Sheppard in a 'present company not included' kind of way, Sheppard still very much feels included in this especially because back on the platform he had done something he had every intention of avoiding, of not ever doing. This is emphasized by the fact that we get a shot of McKay and Sheppard together as he says "And every time what you ask is the impossible".

Sheppard had shifted his position while McKay was going off on the Colonel. Earlier, he was leaning back against the table with one hand resting on his thigh and the other pressed against his lower abdomen. Now he's standing up with his hands on his hips, his whole body erect and his attention entirely on McKay, kind of looking like he's ready to step forward at a moment's notice. However, it's very unlikely his intention was ever to restrain McKay because he knows perfectly well McKay isn't prone to physical altercations never mind the situation. Much more likely is that Sheppard feels an overwhelming need to comfort McKay who is clearly distressed, and while he had already stood up, he's using his own hands to restrain himself from taking that step closer that he very much wants to take here. He knows that he's the cause of why McKay's voice was breaking just then.

And it is entirely possible that the way Sheppard had approached him on the chair platform was still playing in McKay's head as all of this spills out of him. He didn't know that Sheppard had come there directly from one of the most difficult conversations he's had in his life, still trying to shove down and bury all of the painful emotions that it had brought up for him, many of them related to his fear of losing McKay. In his agitation, Sheppard had taken it out on McKay when he had done nothing to deserve it, had done nothing but try to save all of their lives for as long as he had known the man, and even if he hadn't had a hundred other good reasons for it, that alone made McKay the last person he wanted to hurt. And that's precisely what he had done. What McKay feels Sheppard is doing is actually the opposite of what he is actually doing. He feels Sheppard putting pressure on him when he is trying to take it off him.

Even the Colonel, not knowing McKay particularly well, as able to see that the man is exhausted. McKay had been sleeping poorly for at least two weeks, and seems to have been entirely without sleep probably since before they left for the satellite platform over two days ago. While he is acting like Zelenka's "always like this" McKay, it's actually very uncharacteristic of him, which even a stranger can tell. But then, all of a sudden, Sheppard's attempt to engage his mind over his emotions bears fruit, because, even though we see McKay and Zelenka finishing each others' sentences here, Sheppard knows him best of all:

Everett: When was the last time you slept, Doctor? McKay: Shut up, I have an idea. Zelenka: The chair. McKay: Of course the chair! The problem is tying it into the Jumper systems... Zelenka: ...without overloading the generators... McKay: ...possibly using the drones in the Jumpers themselves as a means of propulsion... Zelenka: ...while increasing the inertial dampening to maximum. McKay: It wouldn't be very manoeuvrable but possibly. Zelenka: Possibly!

There seems to be a new fire in McKay, and he happily ignores all of them as he and Zelenka start working out the details. This is precisely what Sheppard was going for with his idea. This is what he wanted to see. McKay forgetting about the impeding doom as his mind is working on a problem that is possible to resolve. The rest of it was details, he had managed to take some of the load off of his shoulders. And again, while Sheppard knew exactly what had just happened, the Colonel needed verbal confirmation for it:

Everett: Is that a yes? McKay: No, it's a possibly. Everett: I'll take it!

As soon as McKay starts moving, Sheppard turns to watch him go once more looking like a child missing its toy already. While the other two turn away from the scientists as they take off, Sheppard watches him go all the way, neck craning to see the last of him. The Colonel turns to Sheppard, wanting to hear what his actual plan was:

Everett: How much damage can one Puddle Jumper do? Sheppard: I've got an idea about that too. I think I know where we can get another nuke.

Where McKay's mind was again working on how to save them all, Sheppard's mind was working on how to keep McKay safe, and he was willing to cross all kinds of lines to see that through.

Continued in Pt. 6

#sga #stargate atlantis #sga meta #john sheppard #sheppard is bi #rodney mckay #rodney is gay #ep. the siege #ep. rising #ep. the storm #ep. sanctuary #ep. hot zone

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