#jealousy and other sharp objects

[dolicekiss]

Hey,

could you please write a yandere Hannibal one-shot, where the reader is one of Bedelia‘s ex patients/friends and Will‘s best friend. Will soon knows Hannibal is interested in her,( after she met him,while dropping of Will for therapy) and tries to ^save^ her from him. However Hannibal again has his way and maybe it ebds with smut?

♡: ohmygod i was literally about to write a yandere nigel but this is even better, especially knowing how manipulative hannibal can be !! also, i hope i do this justice, thanks :D

Famished

PAIRING: Yandere!Hannibal x Gullible, mentally disturbed female reader.

CONTENT WARNING: smut (18+ only, minors dni) unprotected sex, manipulative hannibal, oral (female receiving) fingering, yandere hannibal, mention of drugging, mentally disturbed reader and traumatized, taking advantage (hannibal is cooking up plans) slight breeding kink, reader is very gullible <3 that's all

SYNOPSIS: After dropping Will Graham to his therapy session and having a run in with his prominent, renowned psychiatrist — Dr. Hannibal Lecter, you become the object of his infatuation and obsession. It is in his best interests to make you fall for him, make you his. Whether it is by his cunning manipulation tactics or his alluring charms.

For the first time ever, Hannibal Lecter found himself lost and in a puzzled position.

He was at a loss of words for the immense amount of adoration and awe swelling in his chest whenever he laid his eyes on you — which was rare. As you only came by when you had to drop your best friend, Will Graham to his office. It wasn't in your daily routine, as you had other things in life that required your attention but whenever you were available and whenever Will needed your help, you were there.

Because he was there when you needed someone.

Hannibal’s brain was quick to recognize you though, after seeing an old file of yours in Bedelia’s office, with your picture inside. It had all your details and Hannibal felt as if it was meant to be. He'd read your file, in the absence of Bedelia. Completely out of character for even someone like him but he knew you.

He knew all of you.

The exchange of pearly smiles between you and Will when he first introduced you to Hannibal was not very pleasing to the eye for the blonde male. Aggravated but hiding behind the mask of politeness, he only returned those smiles and then watched you leave his office.

That same night, both Hannibal and Will were restless. Will because he had noticed the curiosity awakening in Hannibal’s impassive gaze when he took note of you and Hannibal laid restless because of the uneasiness felt ever since you had left his office. He had this, insatiable urge, he felt —famished.

And only you could satiate that hunger of his.

“Hannibal, you appear lost.” Bedelia commented, the dullness of her office somehow matching his own. The two shared similar tastes, no wonder he was associated with her.

He lifted his gaze up from the red carpet covering the entirety of her floor, fingers tucked understand his chin. He was indeed lost, lost in you. Like an alligator, you had consumed him whole and he slightly twitched in the seat.

Hannibal had a plan.

This was the plan.

“I had a run in with one of Will’s associates, who also used to be your patient.” He responded, bitterly referring to you as his associate instead of his friend because even the idea of that burned him with such envy and jealousy.

Will didn't deserve you.

Not as his friend, not as something else.

Bedelia crossed her leg, staring at him with certain curiosity. “I do not break doctor patient confidentiality.”

“I'm aware.” Hannibal responded as quickly as he could, eyeing the woman. His presence was heavy and his gaze was sharp as an eagle's. Nothing missed him, not even the subtle details and minorities of life.

He noticed everything.

Hannibal laid his hands on his lap, mimicking Bedelia as he crossed his leg over the other but with much more authority. “Why did you stop seeing her?”

Bedilia scoffed. “I didn't stop seeing her, she told me her mind had healed. That she didn't need me anymore, that she was fine.” Her voice was laced with subtle bitterness at how you interrupted their sessions. Bedelia felt like she was being called incompetent indirectly by you.

That was all Hannibal needed.

This time you dropped Will off again but this time, he seemed evidently upset with the idea of you running in with Hannibal Lecter again. It was weird to you, how he acted when it came to you crossing paths with his psychiatrist. Hell, you'd even made a joke about not snatching the handsome doctor away from Will.

But he only responded with a sour face, definitely not impressed with your horrible attempt at a joke.

As he exited the car and headed for his office, you watched him but then your eyes captured a wallet and a phone right where Will was sitting. He'd left his belongings behind. You let out a sigh, contemplating whether to give them to him now or later. You didn't care that your bestfriend acted all sour at the mention of crossing paths with Hannibal.

He was uncomfortable with the idea of you meeting his own psychiatrist, now that was weird. You left the car too, with the items in your hand and headed inside. Air chilly against your skin, you smiled at how its soft hands caressed your skin, prickling it slightly but you basked in the feeling.

As you reached the door, you knocked on it and waited for someone to open it. It was peeled open and there stood Hannibal, and a smile broke when he caught you standing there. Cladded in a long coat, which concealed a casual dress behind it. His gaze took you in, drank you like the most finest wine and then he captured the familiar wallet and phone in your hand.

He'd seen it one too many times in the hand of his patient.

“Here to return his belongings, I assume?”

You nodded your head. “He forgot these.”

Extending out your hand with Will’s things in your hand, the door was pulled open more revealing another figure. Will stared at you, a look of annoyance on his face when he found you standing there. He'd told you, even subtly warned you to not ever come to Hannibal’s office but here you were. Breaking the only rule that he presented before you.

You rolled your eyes at Will, his behavior abnormal and different than usual was something you didn't appreciate at all.

Hannibal took the things from you and then handed them over to Will. “I'll take my leave then, goodbye.”

Just like that, you were out of the towering presence of those two. God, was it only your imagination or did it actually feel suffocating being in their presence together — especially after Will had warned you off basically to not come in front of Hannibal Lecter ever. The way he smiled at you, it was sweet but for some reason, goosebumps woke up on your skin.

You shook your head, went home and after a warm shower, curled up in your bed. An attempt to sleep, for the umpteenth time but everytime you rested your eyes, that same nightmare haunted you once more. Adding a new digit to the list as it did. Reminding you of the darkness that would always stay within you. Rooted inside you.

The blood soaked hands, the screams, the shattering of glass — it replayed over and over again. Like a film that was lagging a lot, hesitating to go forward, so all you could do was rewind and watch that same scene over and over.

You woke up, drenched in sweat. Chest heavy and lungs desperate to drag in as much air as they could. It was all too vivid, like it had happened today and not years before when you were only a little girl.

It wasn't easy living with the fact that you had been spared by your kidnapper while he slaughtered your friend, right before your very gaze. You didn't deem it worth it, didn't find yourself worthy enough to be alive, instead of her.

If he'd only killed you too.

— ♡ —

The next day Will had told you he'd pick you up from your house and take you somewhere, somewhere where he could discuss something important with you. It baffled you when the man pulled up to his own house, the irony of it leaving you with certain uneasiness.

“Will, just tell me. Are you jealous?”

That could be the only reason.

He stayed silent, not answering your question before letting out a sigh of what you assumed to be frustration. He shook his head, fingers scurrying to fix his glasses on the bridge of his nose. Eyebrows furrowed and curls resting against his forehead.

“You need to stay away from Hannibal Lecter. He is a dangerous man, a sadist, a cunning bastard.” You blinked at all the profanities Will Graham was suddenly using to describe his own psychiatrist.

You had no idea of his little plan to play along with Hannibal to catch him so this whole situation was extremely uncomfortable for you.

“You're making that up.” You accused him, with a shake of your hand to dimiss his accusations. “If he was such a cunning bastard, he wouldn't be your psychiatrist.”

“Listen to me.” Will’s voice was dangerously low, frustration obvious in it. “Just do what I'm saying. Don't linger around him, don't even drop me off anymore.”

The water was slowly boiling over your heads and it could spill at any moment. Tension rose in the room and you, with your adamant personality, didn't give in. You wanted— no, you needed to know this. Just what the fuck was going on and why were you being kept in the dark?

It made you feel hopeless and almost sad, because to you it seemed as the only paddle in your life didn't really trust you.

“First, stop hiding shit from me. I'm your fucking bestfriend, Will. Just tell me—”

The loud noise of his palms slamming down on the wooden table in his living room made you flinch. Your body jumping as you let out a shriek at the loud noise, not very fond of them ever since the traumatizing event from your childhood. You hadn't expected him to react like this, especially with such aggression.

“Just stay the fuck away from Hannibal Lecter. That's all I'm asking you to do, you can't even do that?” Eyebrows scrunched and disappointment swirling behind those specs of his, your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach at his tone, words and his unexplainable behavior.

It all overwhelmed you to the core.

Then a knock interrupted you both.

Will and you turned around and found Hannibal standing behind the net door, his aura slicing through the heavy tension that hung like a knife on your heads. You composed yourself, hands with a tremor reaching out to fix the few loose strands of your messy bun.

You swallowed thickly — once more put in a situation where you had to pretend to be fine for someone else. All because of your own bestfriend.

The fact made you vulnerable, so fucking vulnerable. To the point Hannibal would smell it off you and it gave him the perfect opportunity, laid out on a damn silver platter. Awaiting to be devoured.

“What're you doing here, Hannibal?”

Hannibal’s gaze exchanged between the two of you, pretending as if he wasn't just standing outside eavesdropping on your conversation. It was evident on your face that you wanted to leave, as soon as you could but without Will’s help, you couldn't actually leave. His fucking house was in the middle of nowhere and he was your only ride.

You wrapped an arm around yourself instinctively, a habit you'd adapted to when you were little. In a silly little attempt to protect yourself from the harm you faced as a child.

“Had to discuss something about a case but I guess I chose the wrong timing?” His gaze trailed over you and he took notice of the way your chest fell and rose, how you stood there as if you were cornered and scared, your own arm wrapped around you in a sense to provide the comfort you ached for.

You seemed so perfect like this.

On the verge of breaking.

“I'll be outside.” You didn't even bother grabbing your coat, only reached for the door and left without sparing them both a glance.

The cold hit you like a damn truck, shivers dancing across your spine. Regret consumed you about not grabbing your coat from Will’s hanger but you were too stubborn to go back inside and take it. So you chose to suffer in the cold, sitting by the stairs, staring ahead into the darkness the forest and the night had to offer you.

You thought about Will. His behavior, how he'd spoken to you despite knowing your history and it pained you but as usual, you suppressed it. Your pain didn't matter, how could it matter when you were lucky enough to be left alive while your own friend was slaughtered like some fucking animal?

Knees glued to your chest, you didn't know for how long you stayed there but you felt someone put a coat on you. Your body was quick to absorb the warmth it had to offer and you lifted your head up, hoping you'd find Will but instead Hannibal had shown you more decency than your own friend.

‘Cunning bastard, this?’ You thought.

“Thank you.” You held the coat tightly around your shoulder and noticed it wasn't yours, it was his own. Hannibal had given you his own coat and the bare minimum action, the simple act of kindness, it all was enough to worsen the situation for you right now.

For Hannibal, this was perfect.

You were the perfect prey.

He knew Will would react the way he had — his emotional outbursts were bound to get aggressive and he wanted Will to be on thin ice around you. To make you cautious of him, so that your lonely heart will begin searching for another companion.

Him.

“Your car isn't in the driveway, which means Will is going to drop you off.” He said and stared ahead at the empty space next to Will’s car. “But I suppose you don't really wish to be in his presence right now.”

You slowly nodded.

He was a psychiatrist, a witty one at that. There was no point in lying to the man as you tightened the coat around you. His scent bringing along a sense of comfort. It was warm, a little like nature itself.

“If you allow me, I can drop you off.”

Hannibal extended his hand out, staring down at you and you looked at his hand, then him. It was a moment of silence but help was offered and you slowly slipped your hand into his, as he raised you up from the ground. The touch of your hand, being this fucking fortunate enough to be able to feel you flesh to flesh, Hannibal was over the moon. An itch growing in his thumb to run it lightly over the skin of your knuckles but he somehow with the power of a celestial being restrained himself.

Your perfume had branded his skin.

You had branded his skin.

He lead you to his car and you sat inside, all the while Will watched from his window. There was only so much he could do but he knew that Hannibal’s charm was difficult, nearly impossible to resist. Whether he visited in the form of archangel azrael, a companion or a foe.

He was still going to be in control.

The car ride was silent when it began. Your gaze lingering over the passing street lamps, blurring in your vision as a lone tear slid down your cheek. Akin to the person you were, lonely and isolated.

“I could sense the tension in the air.” Hannibal’s soft voice sliced through the silence. “Are you alright?”

You turned to him and nodded. “Just a small misunderstanding, that is all.”

It was, infact, not a misunderstanding. Hannibal knew why you seemed this heartbroken, about the incident that occurred to you as a child, about Will’s outburst and how it terrified you.

Like a ripe fruit, you were all raw and vulnerable. Ready to be consumed by him, to be savored by him, to get rid of his insatiable hunger.

Hannibal believed he could fix you — by not fixing you at all. A broken masterpiece you were and he'd be damned if he tried to put back the pieces together. He preferred the picture he saw right now more.

“He should not have raised his voice at you.”

Your gaze lifted up. “You heard it?”

He nodded, while swiftly taking a turn into a street. “I did not mean to pry, my deepest apologies. I managed to arrive exactly at the time when he was having his outburst.”

“It's fine.” Your head hung low as you played with your fingers in your lap. Hannibal noticed, writing it down in his little mental diary he'd kept in his head. “I don't understand why he behaved the way he did. It was, upsetting.”

You mumbled the last word, shaking your head. Hannibal glanced your way. “You were under Bedelia's care, no?”

By now, you'd come to know that the two were friends and knew each other. But deep down you hoped that they hadn't discussed you like some curse, like some ugly freak who magically survived a cruel man while her friend got swallowed.

“Yes.” You whispered. “Her ways to heal the human mind are, peculiar.”

To be honest, Bedelia seemed like a woman who cared more about the influence and power she had on you than your well-being and that feeling of forced incompetence along with other things became the reason of your end with her.

Hannibal chuckled, barely.

It was just there and you heard it for a single moment. “Did you not find her treatment appropriate?”

“I didn't deem her fit to be my doctor,” you picked at the skin around your nails out of habit. “honestly, I don't find anyone fit to be my doctor.”

There was silence.

But Hannibal soon spoke. “Could the feeling that only you're capable of understanding your mind because of you going through what you did be the cause of this?”

Jesus, the man was spot on.

It slightly unnerved you.

“Are you analyzing me, Dr. Lecter?” There was soft sarcasm your voice was laced with as you smiled.

The man stared straight ahead. “Maybe, would you mind allowing me to analyze you at my office over a glass of wine?”

You knew you couldn't go back to your lonely house, especially after the remnants of Will’s behavior affecting you the way they did. The sound of his palms slamming down on the wood echoed in the back of your mind and you had no other option than to agree to Hannibal’s offer.

But poor you, it was all part of his plan.

He'd read your file, thoroughly, well aware of your triggers and your mind. How it worked, processed things, he knew it all and the wicked man used it to his advantage. To lure you in like a prince charming only to shift into a hideous beast.

When you made it to his office, the man had offered you the finest of wine. The most expensive one, all the way from Florence and you could practically taste italy in the bottle — delicious, warm and fruity. You reveled in each sip as you sat across the man on his table, flipping through a book about the human mind.

You enjoyed reading books, found solace in them and Hannibal had all the more to offer.

“I can't believe you've got these many books.” You pointed out, lifting your eyes up at the man who was now coming down from the ladder with multiple books in his arms. It was sweet how he was offering you his book, his wine, his company because somewhere he knew you needed it.

Loneliness was a slow death.

Poison so bitter but painful, it tore you apart piece by piece.

He ambled his way towards you, taking a seat on the chair and placing the books right in front of you on the table. “These are nothing. I own a library too.”

Your eyes widened. “You're kidding.”

Hannibal’s heart skipped a beat at how your eyes expanded in sheer shock, his lips expressing a small smile. You seemed akin to a child in that moment, innocent and appalled by the idea.

“No, dear. I'm fortunately not.” He replied, hands settled on the table. “I could take you there.”

“I'd love to go.” You were quick to reply back but then composed yourself a little, not wanting to come across as desperate. You began coursing through the book, reading the contents of it simultaneously sipping your wine.

Then Hannibal spoke. “You seem disturbed, dear.”

You stopped reading and looked at him, with a confused expression before realizing what he meant. Will’s behavior had left you in a great deal of confusion as well as underlined fear. It was stomach churning, when you remembered how dark his eyes were or how angry he appeared. All too similar to the fragments of the man that had abducted you during you childhood.

“He reminded me of him.” You blunted out, not really caring anymore to conceal your emotions and fears. It had to be how vulnerable you were seeming, craving human companionship and attention. To be comforted and reassured that nothing was wrong with you.

Hannibal leaned forward. “Of who?”

“The man who took me.” Your fingertip danced over the stamped ink on the beige piece of paper, gaze following along the letters and lines. “Every aggressive man reminds me of him.”

“Your fear of aggressive men stems from your childhood, as one had taken you. It is no surprise you'd feel uneasiness in Will’s presence now.” Hannibal was right. These heightened emotions of fear and discomfort would only consume you if you continued seeing Will in the light that he had presented himself in.

He was your friend. Your best friend, the man who was always there — to be your paddle and to be your pillar but now you were scared of him. Of everything, the whole situation to stay away from Hannibal. You were right in his office and so far, he had brought you no harm at all.

Only provided you with company.

“He told me to stay away from you.” The lump in your throat began to grow. If you had a gut feeling, it had definitely melted in the presence of Hannibal. Blinded by his charm and his long blonde strands hovering over his forehead. “It was confusing, Dr. Lecter. It was— too much. He repeated it like a broken record, over and over again. Ordered me even and I don't understand why he was telling me to be this cautious when you're his psychiatrist.”

Hannibal and you made eye contact, for a brief moment before you averted your gaze from him, lacking the courage to look straight into his penetrating eyes.

“Will is unstable.” Hannibal stated, as he caressed his own hand with the fingers of the other. “I have no intention to ruin the camaraderie you both have but his attempt to kill me tells me enough about his mind.”

Your eyes expanded.

Will tried to do what?

And the fact that Hannibal seemed so unbothered about it and continued seeking him as a patient. It was like Bedelia’s case all over again, except hers actually ended meanwhile Hannibal continued giving Will his time and effort.

“But why? I don't get it and you're still seeing him—just, what is going on?” Stressed and frustrated, feeling like you were being kept in the dark, you brought your fingers upto your forehead and began massaging it. It was too much for you, especially when you had your own battles to fight.

Hannibal reached for you, his own hand placed above yours. In silent comfort. “Will is my friend, or so I see him as one. He's unstable and his acts of impulsivity are my responsibility to fix although—”

He stopped and tilted his head. “I can see it is beginning to affect you too.”

You sighed, as you didn't remove your hand from underneath his. Only watching him with a gaze clouded in confusion. This was all like plates shattering over and over on the top of your head and still there is no bleeding, only the throbbing pain that increased with time.

Maybe Hannibal was right.

He was his doctor after all. Will appeared unstable, especially after his behavior tonight and the complexity of the situation terrified you.

“It is humiliating to be flesh.” Your voice was barely above a whisper as you finished all your wine. The sound of Hannibal’s chair scraping against the floor caught your attention and you watched as he rose up from his seat and walked towards you. In his hand was a sketchbook that he'd retrieved from his table.

He stood next to you, placing the sketchbook over your book and then leaning down. The close proximity should've made you uncomfortable, should've sent you scurrying out of his office but because of how gentle he was, you didn't budge. “Open it.”

Your fingers with a subtle tremor in them reached for the crisp edge of the sketchbook and you flipped it open revealing the art of pencils. Humans, bodies, organs, they were all presented to beautifully and you looked up at Hannibal.

Face a few inches apart.

“You made this?”

He nodded.

You flipped through a few more and resisted the urge to caress the face of the greek personalities he'd drawn. They were so beautiful, as beautiful as him and you didn't find yourself uncomfortable like how you expected you would when laying eyes upon the more —gruesome part of his art.

It was beautiful.

“This is truly spectacular.” You commented in a whisper as you raised your stare from the sketches and looked up at him. Your lips were only a few inches apart and Hannibal found himself completely captivated by you. The sheer vulnerability and raw pain in your gaze was tugging him towards his arousal, undeniable and strong for you.

He swallowed as his dark eyes took in the sight of your lips.

And you repeated his actions, staring at his lips in return.

It all happened too fast. He'd kissed you, hand reaching to brush the hair behind your shoulder, then moving to grasp your face in it as he delved deeper. Hannibal was holding back so much, concealing the animal that he was from you, hiding beneath the cloak of a gentle demeanor and a beautiful face. His thumbs swiped over your cheek in gentle brush strokes as he pried your lips open, inserting his tongue.

Draping it around your own, the kiss grew intense and this was the first time you'd ever gotten involved with a man like this. It was too inundating but it also felt extremely good as you had denied yourself this pleasure for so long.

Hannibal’s hands slithered down to your waist, to circle around it curve of it as he raised you from the chair, lifting you up to place you down on the table. Still your height couldn't accommodate with his, neck craned up to kiss him. He soon broke the kiss, forehead pressed against yours as his warm breath mingled with yours.

“It is not humiliating to be flesh, rather special and profound.” He whispered, in response to your sentence from earlier as you gazed up at him. Eyes clouded by desire as your heart swelled with finally feeling like you were being understood. Hannibal understood you.

The connection you felt with him was intense.

The man leaned, and you expected him to kiss you again but this time he chose to attack your neck, peppering kisses all over the unmarked skin. His hands rested by your side, fingers digging into the wooden desk to keep the monster inside him at bay. He was too overwhelmed by his wanton for you but you were a fragile little thing.

He couldn't scare you, not yet.

His teeth dug into your skin, biting and tugging like some beast and you winced in response. It felt good but it was something you hadn't tried with anyone before. You've had sex before— one boy and he was nowhere near the same level as Hannibal. Just by biting on your skin, the man had you squirming.

“If Will finds out—”

He silenced you by pressing a finger on your lips. “Will shouldn't care. You're a mature, independent, grown woman. You know what you want, don't you?”

You nodded.

He was treating you like an adult, rather than some broken little doll. But that was Hannibal’s play, he knew that you craved the validation, you wanted to get treated like an adult and not some damaged person. After being in therapy, people almost treated you as you were some mentally unstable person who didn't know what she wanted. A broken, deranged person that didn't know better.

Hannibal made you feel differently, in such a short amount of time.

“So beautiful.” He whispered, as his fingers moved to the buttons of your dress. He unbuttoned each, swiftly proving that he was an experienced man and then his hands rose up to your shoulders, slipping the dress off and exposing the bare skin.

Your breath hitched and in a couple of minutes, Hannibal had completely rid you of any clothes. His own blazer soon came off, followed by his tie and then his shirt. Before you could reach for the buckle of his dress pants, he scoped you up in his arms and took you over to the couch. Lips pressed against yours, he bit harshly on your lower lip, enough to draw blood and somehow you enjoyed this aggressive manner of his kissing.

He laid you down on the couch and crawled on top of you, his knee settled between your thighs. You whimpered upon contact with his clothed knee as he traveled down, while leaving kissing against your skin, face buried between your thighs. The man held you open to his lascivious gaze, pressing a soft kiss against your clit causing you to shudder. Your thighs twitched in response and he loved how your body responded to his touch.

You were a delicious fucking sight.

He licked a long stripe across your cunt and your back lifted off the couch in anticipation. Hannibal pushed you back down, both his hands holding you firmly down on the couch, his arm prying your thighs further open. Closing his lips around your clit, he sucked feverishly and you cried out. It felt too fucking good.

One hand released you, dropping between your legs. His fingers ran up and down your cunt, coating themselves in the slick of your arousal and then slowly, he added a finger into you. He was gentle with it and stared up at you, mouth still continuing its assault on your clit while holding eye contact. Tears danced on your waterline, waiting for that one single push to slide down in rivulets on your face.

His finger picked up its pace then he added another. Your wet walls clung tightly onto his fingers, pulling them in and he reveled in all the little sounds you and your body kade. The whimpers you released, the wet sounds of your greedy pussy and the ragged breathing escaping you.

“How do you feel, Darling? How good am I making you feel with just my mere fingers?”

Hannibal’s voice had fallen a few octaves lower, deep and rough. You parted your lips open to speak but the wicked man curved his finger and your lips only let out a gasp, eyes squeezing shut at the feeling. He grinned at your reaction. “Answer me.”

You swallowed down another whine threatening to run out of your throat. “It feels amazing, Hannibal. Just —so good.”

He added a third finger and curved them altogether, hitting them against the little sponge of pleasure inside you, rapidly and with increasing speed. Your hands traveled down to grip on his golden strands, fisting them as he continued licking across your cunt and fucking you with his fingers.

Then he stopped.

Dropping all his movement.

His tongue replaced his fingers causing you to buck your hips in anticipation and need, aching for more. Hannibal was feasting on you and he wasn't going to stop anytime soon. He was beyond it. Not possessing any sort of self control anymore.

Fingernails digging into the side of your hips, he dragged them down into your skin as he hungrily ate you out. Tongue plunging in and out of your tiny hole, licking and savoring the taste of you. You were fucking sweet, heavenly and delicious. Hannibal’s mind was clouded by his lust, his ache for you. How he wished he could trap you inside thess walls of his office, of his home and never let you out ever again.

Even the sun and moon didn't deserve to capture the sight of you.

“Hannibal, I'm close.” You whined, thighs shaking as your stomach churned with a foreign feeling. It was going to be fucking intense, you knew it because of how much you were shaking.

He looked up at you. “Come for me, Darling. Make a mess.”

Your stomach clenched and twisted at his words and you soon unfurled underneath him. Thighs suffering from perpetual convulsions and eyes seeing white, rolling to the back of your head. Blood pumping in your chest, spreading like wildfire in your veins as your forehead perspired. The searing pain from your tight grip on his hair only hardened his cock, as it stirred against his thighs. Hannibal reveled in the pain you inflicted upon him.

He rose up from between your legs and your overstimulated pussy throbbed at the sight of him. Your orgasm dripped down his chin, plump lips glossy and covered in the juices you'd produced. Face messy and flushed, he stared back at you with a hazy look in his darkened eyes.

When you came down from your high, you found Hannibal completely naked. Long gone were his dress pants and underwear and your were taken aback at the length of his cock as well as the girth. The first and last time you slept with someone, their size was nowhere the same as Hannibal. The drastic change was slightly overwhelming for you, it even terrified you a little.

He took a seat on the couch, at the end of your feet and then pulled you up, settling you on top of his thighs. Holding you in his muscular arms, the man held the tip of his cock against your hole and then slowly sat you down.

You head fell against his shoulder, face buried in his neck. Being able to feel him like this, sinking all the way down to the hilt, you could only whimper. Hannibal made you feel so full and it was only the beginning.

You felt his fingers trapping your cheeks between them, as he pulled your face out of its hiding spot. Four fingers resting on one side while his thumb squeezed the other. Tears sprung out, sliding across your cheeks and crashing into his digits. You sniffled as he stared at you. Eyes lacking emotions and face still. Hannibal was a man who possessed immense control over himself, he couldn't give away his obsession for you.

“You will look at me.” He commanded, voice thick with need. “As I fuck your little cunt and make you unravel on my cock, you will not move your gaze away from me. Understood?”

You could only nod.

His grip tightened on your cheeks and you winced, lips forming a forced pout. You knew what that little act meant and you parted your lips, managing to mumble out, “Yes, I understand.”

Hannibal nodded, satisfaction glimmering in his dark eyes as he released your face. Both hands now settled on your hips, he began to move you up and down with your help. You gasped every time you felt his cock graze against your wet wells, the feeling consuming your ability to think. Your nails managed to draw blood from his skin but Hannibal didn't care. He wanted you to leave more marks, brand him as his, make him yours.

Oh he was already yours.

“Move, Darling.” You started to move too, lifting yourself up and then sinking back down on him. Over and over again, it was repetitive and Hannibal’s face was full of pleasure. His grip tight and firm on your hips, almost as if he were trying to seperate the flesh from the bone.

But you liked it.

He held you like he didn't want you to disappear.

You fucking loved that.

You both stared into each other's eyes, Hannibal’s domineering stare overpowering yours an you nearly made the grave mistake of shutting your eyes but the little pinch on your waist made you peel them back open as fast as you closed them.

“Don't be disobedient now. I expected better from you.” You could sense the disappointment in his voice and you shook your head, still riding his cock and clenching around him everytime you felt his tip bruise your sensitive spot.

You stared at him, through a blurred vision. “You're intimidating—” You sputtered, the sentence breaking. ���when you stare at me like this, its intimidating.”

“Do I scare you?”

You shook your head. “No, you're beautiful.”

That was enough to cause Hannibal to become a mess. Fuck, he was all over the place and unfortunate enough for you, you couldn't see it but the man was a mess on the inside. The skipped beating of his heart, the way his eyes were almost turned into little crescents, the smile lines appearing for a split moment before vanishing.

You felt him press his lips against yours, this time in a rough kiss. Arms circled tightly around you. He kissed you like a wild beast having its feast, enjoying its food. His teeth grazed against yours when you opened your mouth, lips against lips, tongue dancing with tongue. Salivas mixing together, it was too messy and you felt the mixed saliva dripping down your chin. He lapped at your wet muscle, sucking on it.

All the while he slammed you down on his hard cock and you let out a high pitched whine into his mouth. That action alone was enough for his cock to harden even more inside you, his hands now unwrapping from your waist and toying with your bare breasts.

“Such a tight little pussy—” He grunted, head thrown back. “so fucking tight.”

Fingers rolling your nipples between them, tugging and massaging the soft flesh. The searing kiss, the sensitive touch of his fingers against your breasts, the slow and rough thrusts of his cock — all of it combined pulled you near another orgasm.

Your toes curled at each thrust and then Hannibal switched the position, laying you down on the couch and getting on top of you with his cock still inside you. Grabbing you by your ankles, he placed them on his shoulders and began to fuck you at an animalistic pace.

“Hanni—" You cried out, lips agape and tears continuously falling down.

He didn't stop. His bangs were sticking to his forehead, a snarl making its way to his face and that was the hottest thing you'd ever seen. To the point it made you tighten around him. “You're mine. You're mine to fuck, mine to claim, mine to own and possess.”

You took those words as something said in the heat of the moment but Hannibal? Oh he was serious. He meant each and every word, every syllable came straight from the darkness in his heart.

His hips snapped and your stomach went crazy into knots. “Please, please. Harder, please Hannibal.”

You were crying out for him at this point. Your hand reaching out to touch his chest but he didn't allow you, grabbing both of your hands and pinning them above your head on the couch. Bending your knees to the point they were pushed against your chest, his face grew closer to yours. Staring deeply into your soul and that moment felt intimate more than anything you'd ever experienced in the world.

“My pretty Darling.”

You swallowed.

Just his dark gaze. You could live your whole life while being captured in those obsidian eyes.

Snaps growing relentless, he kept fucking you till you came all over his cock. Your orgasm slipping out in the form of liquid, making a mess everywhere. Staining his couch, his chest, his cock. Leaving evidence of the sexual encounter between the two of you in a moment. Hannibal let out a chuckle — deep and soft. Music from heaven to your ears.

You almost ascended to heaven from how good it felt. His cock still thrusting up against your cervix, bruising your spot and continuing its assault. Your sensitive body hadn't even calmed down, still twitching and shivering but Hannibal didn't seem it fit to stop.

A low growl rumbled from his chest as the sound of skin against skin grew, reverberating against the walls of his office. With a loud groan, he also spilled inside you. Coating your walls white, throbbing and pulsating inside you. Filling you up to the brim and he didn't care if you were to get pregnant.

Hannibal was a father once.

To his little sister Mischa.

He wouldn't mind having a child of his own, especially with you.

He fucking loved filling you up and he'd make sure to do it again. After all, you were his now.

The man slowly adjusted himself underneath you on the couch, making you lay on top of his to the side. Arms wrapping tightly around you, he held you pressed against his chest as you came down from your high. His hand brushing your hair gently, caressing your forehead.

Only the fire crackling in the fireplace could be heard, mixed with the soft uneven rhythms of your breathing. You couldn't believe you'd slept with Hannibal, right after your best friend had a literal outburst about it. Guilt took over and you slowly sat up, grabbing Hannibal’s shirt from the floor to cover yourself up with it.

“You're thinking.” He commented.

You looked at him and sighed. “I have this guilt consuming me.”

Hannibal reached over, brushing your hair behind. Playing with the strands. “Why's that?”

“Will is unstable, and I have been there too. I should have heard him out instead of running away from him.” You sighed, shoulders slumped. Hannibal didn't like that, he didn't like that you were feeling bad now. After all he'd done, he couldn't have you feeling bad for Will.

“You reacted according to your trauma, it is completely valid. You were in a situation where you didn't feel safe, so you removed yourself from it.” Thumb caressing against your cheek, he smiled. It was subtle. “You should prioritize yourself more often.”

Somewhere Hannibal was right too.

You leaned against his chest, closing your eyes. Then you felt a stinging sensation in the back of your nape. It hurt but it wasn't extreme, like something had pierced you. Just then you looked up and saw Hannibal already staring at you.

Your vision became distorted.

“Hannibal..?” You called out, confused and in a daze. “What's happening?”

“Go to sleep, Darling. You'll be alright soon enough.” He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead and fear filled you up. Just what was happening? The man held you in his embrace, caressing your cheek as you slowly lost all control of your limbs and fell against his chest.

Darkness dragged you in, from your feet and the last thing you remembered was seeing Hannibal with a syringe in his hand.

[viperify]

CONGRATULATIONS ON 1K!!!!! Your writing is so amazing, you deserve it and I’m so excited for you!!!

Do you think could you write a brother’s best friend trope using the dialogue prompt “careful. You are starting to sound jealous”? And have it be smut? 👀 (no specific kink request)

I’m so so happy for you and excited to see what you write (even if it’s not this request!)! Congratulations again!!!!!! 😊🫶🩷

1k celebration | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ x ᴍᴀʟꜰᴏʏ ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

⋆♕₊˚Anything For You.

Short Summary: To many of Abraxas’ friends, you are just his little sister. But to Tom, you are everything—and he will prove it to you if he has to you.

Warnings: 18+ only! jealousy, oral f!receiving, light impact play, praise, Tom Riddle is completely obsessed with reader, fingering, overstimulation, Tom Riddle is a munch.

A/N: Totally obsessed with this ask and brother’s bsf!Tom. Thank you so much for requesting and your sweet words! 🩷 I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I loved writing it. <333 Also I am in love with bratty, spoiled reader. UGH.

wordcount: 2,0k (yes, I said I would write shorter works—only drabbles, in fact. Yall know me. Sigh.)

in this fic, you will find HINT NR #2.

You don’t even glance up when the door to your bedroom creaks open and footsteps approach, old wooden panels creaking under the weight—because you already know who it is. Tom always does this—sneaks away from the others when they are at your place, looking both ways before he walks up the stairs leading to your room instead of going to the bathroom like he says he would.

“You’ve been seeing her again.” You remark, trying to sound as emotionless as possible as you paint your nails with dark red polish, not looking up at him once—not even when he stands right before you.

He doesn’t reply, and it’s silent between you two until you are done with your nails. You sigh, deciding to be the less stubborn one of the both of you for once and finally meet his expression—closed, calculated.

“I am tutoring her.”

You raise a brow at him. “So? You promised.”

“Dippet’s orders. I don’t choose to spend time with her—believe me, I have more important matters to attend to.”

You hate how smugly he says it. As though he doesn’t remember when you told him how much you despised her—always acting like she owns the place, as if she is the object of desire for everyone. 

You think of the one time you entered the library in search of a book you needed for your studies—and they were there. That stupid witch practically pressed up against your man, laughing and smiling as though she meant something to him. Now, Tom didn’t respond to her advances. Obviously he didn’t, because great Tom Riddle doesn’t want to be seen being affectionate with anybody—not even you.

But that’s for a different reason.

However, you couldn’t stop the uncomfortable feeling forming in the pits of your stomach at the sight of them together. You still wonder if, behind closed doors—

“Then why don’t you? She’s clearly failing classes just to get tutoring sessions with you.” You glance away from him again, putting the nail polish and nail file back into your drawer, fixing your hair in the mirror of the dressing table you are sitting at.

“I just— hate how much time she gets to spend with you only because she is not intelligent enough.”

You sigh as you catch his expression from the corner of your eye. His eyes are slightly darker than usual, eyebrows furrowed just enough to form a slight crease between them. Hands casually tucked in his pockets, posture perfectly straight as always. Sometimes, you hate how good he looks even when you are mad at him. Like right now.

“Careful, you are starting to sound jealous.” He says, and you huff. 

Did you now? You wonder why. Tom Riddle, nerd and know-it-all, finally catches on. You often wish he’d spend more time engaging in meaningful social interactions rather than his boring literature he reads every evening.

You shoot him a sharp glare. At that, the corner of his lips lifts into a smirk, and he nods.

“You are jealous.”

“M’ not.” You reply, trying to sound convincing—but it comes out sounding more like a pout.

Damn it.

Tom laughs at that, and you cross your arms over your chest, looking at your reflection in the mirror. You look pathetic with the scowl on your face, but you don’t care. He should feel it.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He drawls, pulling you up from your chair and into his arms. “Let me show you just how much you mean to me.”

You don’t find yourself resisting as he takes your hand in his, leading you towards your queen-sized bed. Tom presses a soft kiss to your glossy lips before taking a look at your outfit—the one you spent 30 minutes choosing after hearing that Tom would be coming to Malfoy Manor today.

A soft pink top, revealing just enough skin, hugging your curves perfectly. And the skirt—his favourite—white, and very short—too short for you to wear outside your own room, anyway. You are still a respectable woman, after all. That’s what your parents say, at least. A Malfoy.

Although the things he does to you each time you meet are anything but respectable. 

They don’t have to know about that, though.

He makes a low sound of approval as his eyes roam over your body, his hand smoothing over the curve of your hip, resting just below the hem of your skirt—on the exposed skin of your thigh. The contact of his skin on yours, so close to where you are aching for him, sends a shiver down your spine.

“All for me?” he asks, eyes fixated on your skirt—the familiar fire igniting behind them.

Not only he could play smug.

“No, I was thinking of Avery.” You reply, batting your eyelashes innocently at him, a grin playing on your lips.

Tom merely scoffs at that, quick to turn you around and bend you over the bed, a firm hand between your shoulder blades keeping you pressed to the softness of your mattress. He hikes your skirt up, bunching it up around your waist, leaving you exposed—the pretty little thong you are wearing on full display for his eyes. 

His next movement isn’t what you expect, though—you jolt forward as his flat palm meets the curve of your ass, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips.

“Brat. Don’t even deserve what I am going to do to you.”

You whimper softly at the sting of the impact, even though he didn’t hit hard—he knows just how sensitive you are. His pretty little doll, as he likes to call you. And normally, he is always careful with you—but sometimes he needs to give you a little reminder to tone that attitude of yours down.

“Get on the bed and spread those pretty legs for me, darling. I will be right there.”

You do as he says, crawling to the middle of your bed, leaning back against the stack of pillows you have on your bed. He is quick to follow—though still dressed. You are about to ask what he is doing, but when he positions himself in between your legs, pressing a kiss to the soft skin of your inner thigh—your breath catches in your throat.

“Don’t they miss you already?” You try, but he is quick to shut you down.

“Do you think they dare question me when I come back?”

You shake your head. Of course they wouldn’t.

“Exactly. Let me take it from here. Just feel.” He purrs, thumb tracing over your still-covered pussy, groaning as he feels how the fabric is soaked with your arousal—when he has barely even touched you. “Could never replace you. Look at you, so eager for me already.” 

He instructs you to lift your hips and pulls down your skirt and panties in one smooth motion, leaving your lower body completely bare in front of him. You feel your cheeks heat up as he runs a finger through your folds—eyes following his every move. Instinctively, you try to close your legs, but he is quick to stop you— wrapping his arms around your thighs, anchoring you to the mattress as he spreads you wide. So wide, you feel the sting in your thigh muscles.

“Not going anywhere now, darling. That pretty head of yours needs some rest. Clearly you have too much time overthinking.” He murmurs, trailing kisses down your lower tummy, ending with a kiss on your clit—making you gasp. “Perfect. So perfect.”

You wish to complain and argue with him, but when he gently parts your folds, warm tongue licking a stripe up your slit, finally looking you in your eyes as he does—you feel as though heaven and earth collide. And suddenly, all your problems are somewhere in the very back of your head, locked away.

“Merlin, Tom—“ you gasp as your fingers curl into your sheets, back arching off your bed. It’s all too much—too good, too intense, and yet, too little. He’s never done this before with you—youhave never done this. But fuck— it feels heavenly.

“Be good and hold still,” he instructs, and without further warning, his lips wrap around your throbbing clit. He first circles your entrance with his finger, then slowly pushes inside. His eyes meet yours again, and he grins just slightly as he scans your expression—lips parted, panting, eyebrows furrowed—you are a sight. Completely at his mercy, whimpering so sweetly at everything he’s giving you. 

Oh, how could you even think for a second he’d consider leaving you? No, no. You are his. His only. And soon, your brother will realise that too.

Your walls clamp down tightly around his finger when he finally starts sucking on your clit—but he is not done. A second finger soon follows, and then he moves them—slowly at first, letting you adjust. Not for too long, though. Soon, he curls them inside of you—pads of his fingertips pressing into your sweet spot, rubbing against it with every thrust of his hand. And most importantly, his eyes never leave yours. These dark brown eyes that you have grown to love, urging you to look back at them. Watch how he takes you apart with his tongue.

“Tom, please, I—“ you manage, breathing laboured. He is too good at this. Always has been.

Merlin, he is gorgeous. Dark curls dishevelled, messily falling over his forehead, veins in his hand standing out at the effort to keep you still. And God, the way the muscles in his jaw tense as he feasts on you—that sight alone almost sends you over the edge.

Tom knows you too well, knows every single spot that has you trembling and shivering—and when he has found a rhythm, a perfect mix of his digits stroking along your walls, tongue licking and sucking on your clit—you feel like you can’t take more. Vision growing black at the edges, eyes rolling to the back of your head. And yet—he keeps you open for him, continues tending to your most sensitive spots.

Naturally, it’s not long before you convulse around him—fingers tangled in his dark curls as your orgasm crashes over you, a strangled moan leaving your lips. You try to keep silent, but with the sheer intensity of your climax, it’s nearly impossible. He doesn’t stop until you whimper and your thighs tremble in overstimulation, only then does he pull back, admiring the mess he’s made of you.

“Gorgeous. Did so well for me.” He praises, kissing you gently, making you taste yourself on his lips. Tom is about to pull back, casting a quick spell to clean you up—

You are still out of breath but can’t stop yourself.

“Is this what you do with her when you study in private?”

You shouldn’t have said that.

Because just a second later, he is back between your thighs. “Still haven’t learned. Don’t worry, I will make you forget—even if it takes five more orgasms to get there.”

You wince when his tongue laps over your swollen clit once more—still sensitive from before. His hand finds yours then, interlocking his fingers with yours as he works your body towards another orgasm—eyes on yours, always.

By the third, you don’t have the energy to tease him.

Tom cleans you then and gets down beside you, pulling you closer to him, letting your head rest on his chest.

“Better now?” He asks softly, wiping a strand of hair from your face.

You shake your head as best as you can, pouting. “I am still mad at you.”

Tom sighs in defeat.

“What is it that you want?”

“Hmmm,” you hum, pretending to think—smiling as you look up at him.

“You’ll go to London with me tomorrow. Shopping.”

He nods, kissing you. “Anything for you, Princess Malfoy.”

thank you for reading! feel free to reblog and leave feedback <3 — masterlist. | 1k celebration. <- event masterlist.

©2025 viperify. please do not copy, translate or claim my work as your own.

[yuwuta]

AFTERGLOW. — JJK BOYS + JEALOUSY

❝tell me that you’re still mine, tell me that we’ll be just fine, even when i've lost my mind  

featuring. gojo, inumaki, nanami, okkotsu

content. a character study in jealousy, no content warnings, no smut in this version, fem reader

word count. 2.8k

SATORU GOJO You’re attempting to finish getting ready for the evening and Satoru has taken his favorite activity: filing through every crevice of your room like he’d been hired as a private investigator. Even though he knows that you know that he’s nothing more than a nosy idiot, Satoru claims that it’s an important and intimate routine that he should know the ins and outs of your living space just as well as you know his—“You know exactly where I keep my boxers, and I don’t even think I’ve seen the inside of your closet—oh, hey, this is cute,” he grins, sticking out his impossibly long arm to shake a thin, lacy bodysuit on a hanger, “How come you’ve never shown me this, huh? Maybe you should wear this instead, it seems easier to take—ouch.”

He groans at the impact of your hairbrush against his shoulder, then swiftly proceeds to pout and whine about how mean you are to him when you return to ignoring him in favor of applying the final touches to your makeup. Your closet seems to be of little interest to him after that, as Satoru crosses the room to hover around you at your vanity instead. He leans in too closely, as if watching you apply bronzer was a novel sight to him. You flip your brush quickly, barely tapping at his nose and laughing at his scrunched reaction.

“Your reflexes aren’t so sharp today,” you tease. You’re prepared for a witty response, and when you glance, there’s a familiar mischief shimmering in your boyfriend’s eyes; but, then his gaze ventures slightly past you, and all signs of playfulness drain from his face. Instead of getting revenge, or annoying you further, Satoru reaches over your body and into a shallow jewelry dish to pick up the bracelet he’d spotted. It’s a dainty little thing, thin gold with a small heart in the middle glittering with shiny stones, that he threads along his fingers with scrutiny before standing up straight to dangle it in front his face for further inspection, “This is new to me.”

Perhaps you’d spoken too soon, because only Satoru would spot that one piece of jewelry amongst the others swimming the tray. His eyes flutter between the bracelet and you, and you can practically hear the gears turning in his head, and the accusation he won’t say outloud—did you buy yourself heart-shaped jewelry, or is there something else going on here?

You sigh and keep your expression and voice neutral, your attention seemingly still focused on the finishing touches of your makeup, “It’s new to you because I haven’t worn it in years,” you tell him, “My ex gave it to me.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you occupy yourself with your mascara, before Satoru speaks, “That makes sense, it doesn’t look all that promising. What is it—barely gold plated?” he taunts, sweeping away his air of concern with one of mockery, standing up straight to twirl the bracelet around his index finger, “Figures your ex boy toy had no taste for the finer things in life. You’re worth more than this, my darling.”

You shake your head with light laughter, patting in the remnants of your setting spray before standing. Satoru continues on, rambling about the poor construction of your commercially produced bracelet—holds it between his index finger and thumb like it’ll poison him if he exposes it to too much of his skin, and you can’t help but smile as you reach for the lapel of his blazer to pull him down for a kiss. He has no words of objection to this, pulling you in by the waist for another and another and another, before you finally pull away, “Come, let’s go. I don’t feel like getting lectured by Utahime for your tardiness again.”

You’re too preoccupied for the rest of the evening to notice the item missing from your jewelry dish. What you do notice, two afternoons later, shortly after Satoru has left to pick up Nanami from the airport, is a blue velvet box with your name written in pretty, gold cursive along the top—and inside, a gold tennis bracelet, glittering with diamonds, with a necklace to match. You have no doubt they’re legitimate, if not for the way the sparkle, then by the text that rings through on your phone after you question Satoru:

from: satoruwu 🫧🩵 — only the best for my baby <33

TOGE INUMAKI

Toge knows that the price of coffee has gotten way out of hand, but what bothers him more is the decreasing pace of said coffee getting made and the increase of crazy, caffeine addicted people who feel the need to be loud around him while he’s waiting for his drinks. You, however, seem to take pleasure in his suffering, as you always thank him and coo, saying he looks cute despite his grumbly demeanor, “You always look like you fought a war for two cups of coffee, Toge.” 

He rolls his eyes as he steps into your apartment, not minding the sound of your giggling behind him. He sets the drinks on your island, and pulls out a stool to sit on. You round the marble, reaching him just as he’s pulled down his mask for a thank you kiss to his cheek. He wants to make you suffer for longer, but when you lean against him, he can’t help but to return the hug and kiss your forehead—you’re welcome, always.

Still, he pokes at your head, waits until you dig your head out of his shoulder with curious eyes, before he points to the Keurig sitting in the corner of one the wall-mounted counters, and moves his hands to sign, “Why keep that if you spend all my money on coffee?”

“Rude. I offer to pay all the time,” you chide, poking at his collar bone and standing straight. You make your way back to the opposite side of the counter, and reach to a drawer to fetch a straw, before shrugging, “My ex left it here when we broke up. I keep it for the aesthetic—I’m not even sure if it works.”

A myriad of thoughts runs through Toge’s mind—most importantly: had your ex left other things here, and how quickly could he get rid of them?

“Besides,” you break his murderous train of thought, “None of the pods make good espresso. Couldn’t even make my hot girl latte if it worked.”

“Your ‘hot girl latte’ is iced,” Toge signs.

Under normal circumstances, a comment like that would earn him a flick to the forehead, but you can tell that behind the sarcasm, Toge is actually upset. So, in lieu of teasing him, you walk back over to him; settling yourself behind his stool to give him a back hug. You lean your cheek against his shoulder and press a small kiss there, “You’re cute.” 

Toge huffs, shaking his shoulders for dramatic effect. You laugh, leaning up to give him another kiss on the cheek. “You’re cute and you have nothing to worry about. It’s an old coffee machine.” 

He hums, taking another sip of his coffee before turning, barely bumping the top of your forehead, so you can see his raised eyebrow. You lean up to press a kiss to his lips, “You’re cute, and you have nothing to worry about, and I love you.” 

He finally smiles again, content, and grants you another kiss to your forehead. With his mood back to normal, the two of you finish your coffee and carry on with your scheduled study session as normal (normal being Toge leaving you alone for all of twenty-seven minutes, before he starts taking videos of you with various outrages Snapchat filters on).

However, the following day when you return from your classes, there’s four new items on your kitchen counter: a silver espresso machine, a reusable Starbucks cup (already filled with your usual drink), a neatly folded apron decorated with cartoon Shiba Inus, and a small card with Toge’s bubbly handwriting on it: “Don’t worry, I’ll still pay for you $6 pink drinks, but if you wanted to thank me by making coffee in just the apron, then I wouldn’t complain ;)”

KENTO NANAMI Kento is a rational man; he favors using logic to carry out decisive actions, rather than letting his emotions get the best of him. So, the rational part of him knows that it’s not a big deal that the lunch bag and bento-style tupperware you bring to work was a gift from your ex-girlfriend; but there’s a small, ugly, green part of him overrun with jealousy and another bitter-tasting feeling he can’t quite name.

Because it’s not that important. It makes sense that you keep using them—the lunch bag is nice, leather, sleek, and insulated, and the tupperware is sturdy and functional. The whole system is sustainable, practical. It was a good present, one that objectively serves a good purpose whether or not it was given by an ex or not.

Maybe that’s what he hates so much. That this person still has room in your life, even though you haven’t spoken to them since you’ve met him. Kento doesn’t like that reminder—that there are people out there who might be a good fit for you, a better one than him. Those ugly feelings aside, there’s a sour taste in his mouth when he packs your lunch now; knowing that the food he cooked for the two of you—the meal you’re both going to indulge in—sits in a container gifted to you by an ex-lover.

Irrational to the point of being unfocused, he doesn’t realize how close the glass is to the edge of the counter, and when he turns to scoop more rice, he accidentally knocks it over with his elbow. It breaks into tiny pieces on the ground, the small portion of rice and chicken spilling onto the ground. The sound draws you out of your bedroom, mascara wand in hand and robe still on to call for him, “Kento? Everything okay?”

“I… it was an accident,” he explains, setting the spoon down in favor of reaching for a napkin, dropping to his knee with a light sigh, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to break it.”

Your laughter surprises him, prompts him to look up at you with broken glass shards pooled in his palm, “You don’t have to worry so much! It happens, we have a million more.”

There’s something about the way you don’t seem to acknowledge it being special to you in any way—Kento’s not even sure if you recognize what broke—that reassures him. Because it really was an accident, but Kento doesn’t mind that he managed to break this particular plate. 

When he shoos you back to getting dressed, he finishes picking up the broken glass shards. There’s a certain lightness to his actions now, petty as it may be, he’s happy. Spends extra time writing a note for you to see when you unpack your food before he retires to the bathroom to start getting ready himself. 

Maybe he could do something about that lunchbox next. You don’t seem to mind.

YUUTA OKKOTSU Thursdays are Yuuta’s favorite day of the week because on Thursdays, you two meet up at your spot, which is really just a set of twin benches in the west quad, but it’s your place and Yuuta loves it. You will have reserved a study room in your favorite library, and Yuuta will buy snacks for your study session before you both head to the library in an attempt to finish up your work for the week in order to keep your Friday evenings free.

Yuuta usually gets to the bench before you, a combination of the engineering building being a little bit closer, and his legs being a lot longer. He doesn’t mind waiting for you, as it’s usually his first time seeing you in two days (your Tuesdays are too packed for anything other than a shared coffee break between lectures, and Wednesdays are his hell days), and spotting you through the crowd of dissipating students always brings a smile to his face.

You look cute today, an oversized sweater enveloping your frame that Yuuta can imagine you cozying into and nearly dozing off in your dreaded microbiology lecture. He laughs to himself at the mental image, just as you stop in front of him to ponder, “Something funny?”

Yuuta shakes his head, leaning down to kiss your forehead with a proper greeting. “Nothing,” he reassures you, reaching around to pull your backpack off of your shoulders, and slings it over one of his, “You look cute. Did you mean to buy a sweater big enough to double as a blanket?”

“The oversized look is in,” you scrunch your nose and roll your eyes, letting Yuuta take your hand in his despite his teasing, “I don’t even think I bought this, honestly. It might be Todo’s? Or Toge’s—it might even be Maki’s at this point.”

Yuuta freezes. He feels the world stop and a million different emotions surge through him at once, but the most prevalent of them all is something ugly and green. He could deal with Toge, though he doubts he’s the culprit. While you two shared a penchant for oversized clothing, Toge was more often than not the thief, rather than the lender, and he’s pretty good at keeping his collection of stolen goods under lock and key. Maki was out of the question, too, because you shared a class with Nobara earlier today, and there’s no way you’d have made it out of there wearing her girlfriend’s sweater.

So it probably was Todo’s. And Yuuta had said you looked cute. Though he wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole, his moment of self-pity is waning, and overcast by something steely, something too-hot bubbling in his chest. The question of why you have it goes over his head—he’s not concerned with that, nor will he fault you for it—the matter at hand is that you’re wearing it. And, sure, Yuuta thought you looked good in it before, but he could name sixteen other things you’d look better in at this very moment.

You’ve gone on to ramble about something that happened earlier, but Yuuta’s not listening. He drops your hand first, then both of your backpacks on the bench behind him, before tapping at your wrists. You don’t seem to understand him, cocking your head to the side with a pensive expression, but Yuuta only taps at your wrists again with a simple command, “Up.”

It doesn’t seem like you understand, but you follow anyway, and Yuuta is pulling the sweater up and off of your body before you can question him. He tosses it onto the bench with little care, then removes his white jacket and places it atop your backpacks. “What are—” you don’t have time to finish before he’s pulled his own hoodie off his body, and slid it over your head.

Yuuta smooths out the fabric under his palms with a satisfied grin on his face. Much better.

“Aw, Yuuta!” you bring a hand to tug at the strings of the hood, a wicked smile replacing your dazed blinking, “I didn’t know you were so possessive.”

You tease him until he’s red up to his ears, embarrassed and borderline bashful, a complete 180 from the looming jealousy that took over him moments before as he shimmies on his jacket again and picks up your back backs. He huffs, as you tease him, circling an arm around his as you begin to walk to the student center. He doesn’t know if he agrees with your declarations of him being a possessive boyfriend, but he does know that he’s your boyfriend, and your boyfriend only.

“So, you think I look cute, still?” you question, picking up a pack of gummy worms. Yuuta lets out a breath of laughter, pressing another kiss to your forehead, “Even cuter than before.”

(Two days later, Todo can be found screaming wildly to Itadori when he comes across a familiar hoodie strewn across a random bench on campus—who considers visiting the Student Health Clinic to make sure an eardrum wasn’t ruptured—because, “Bro, what the hell? I swear I fucking lost this thing!”)

[darkbluekies]

Dr kry x nurse reader

Like imagine nurse reader was college student wanted to be a nurse to learn some medicine or help people sick and taking care old people

Sea sick

Doctor!yandere OC x nurse!reader

Summary: being the only one to be granted as Dr Kry’s apprentice on board a hospital ship ends in tragedy

Warning: yandere, sinking ships (fictional ship and incident), poisoning, indirect killing, mentions of dead bodies and autopsies, blood, sharp objects

Word count: 8k

A/N: a lot of people hav wanted a story where darling is a nurse and I have tried writing it so many times over a year, but haven't been able yo. So I tried changing location and it seemed to work, so it is not exactly what was asked, but I hope that it is enjoyable anyway!

He stands on the promenade deck, watching out over the harbor, breathing in the fresh air. People carried on stretchers catch his eyes. 

He used to get sea sick during his first weeks out at sea. There was something about how the ship rocked back and forth during the stormy days that made his stomach turn inside out and want to eject the food he had eaten. But now that he's been here for three months, it's barely noticeable. He hasn't thrown up for three weeks. A new record. 

He has grown to like the rocking motion of the sea, but doesn’t care much for the people he shares the ship with. The female nurses try to invite him into their cabins, the male nurses fight over who will be his apprentice and the doctors either watch him with jealousy or ignore him. It’s only for a few more months, until he has saved up enough money. Until everything is over. 

They’ve just picked up a town hall full amount of wounded soldiers and new nurses. Doctor Kry has heard that his new trainee will be among them. He scans the crowd of people walking towards the gangway, trying to guess which one will be his to deal with. He hopes that they are obedient — he has no interest in scolding them — and that they aren’t stupid. 

“Watching the fresh blood?” a voice asks. 

He turns to the side to see one of the other doctors coming out to look at the new herd. Doctor Hart is an asshole, always in everyone’s business. One could almost think that he was getting paid for it. 

“You could say that”, Doctor Kry replies shortly. 

“How many dead, do you think?”

Doctor Kry let his eyes wander over the crowd below. 

“Fifty, maybe”, he says. 

It’s a cruel game, he knows that, to guess how many won’t survive the trip to the mainland. But he doesn’t know how to converse with the other doctors unless he joins in on their sad games. 

Sometimes, he plays with the nurses out on deck. There’s all sorts of games tucked away in boxes, ready to be taken out whenever.

“I heard that your trainee will be among those”, Doctor Hart says and nods down at the group of waiting people. “Who’s the lucky one?”

“I don’t know”, Doctor Kry replies shortly and stops leaning on the railing. “I should go find out.”

He doesn’t wait to hear the reply. He’s not sure where to go for his trainee to find him, but he decides to go to his cabin — if not to be at a static place, then to get away from everyone. Him getting a trainee must be the only hot topic they have. 

He navigates the white naked steel corridors to get to his cabin. It’s hard to believe that this naked ship should be covered with polished oak panels, golden details and expensive paintings. None of that can be afforded to be lost, in case the ship is sunk. 

They have lifeboat drills every morning to make sure that everyone on board knows what to do. Since they rotate staff often, those drills need to be done. They’re boring, but handy. 

The ship is nothing more than an empty shell of what she’s supposed to be, stripped of anything that gives her personality. All that’s left is bare necessities, nothing for pleasure.

He opens his door and walks in. The room is small and only contains a bed and a desk, the walls bare steel. It has a rectangular window overlooking the forecastle and he can’t help but think that he has gotten one of the best cabins on the ship. He knows that doctors, officers — both military and ship — and a handful of passengers, get better cabins than  the wounded or nurses. 

Doctor Kry sits down by the table and opens his notebook to write. He has time to finish two pages before there is a knock on the door. It’s a drastic knock, as if the person on the other side of the door is either nervous or eagerly excited. He stands up, not knowing what to expect as he opens the door. Outside stands a young thing, with their hands clasped in front of them. You take him by surprise. You’re not what he expected — but then again, what had he been expecting?

“Are you Doctor Kry?” you ask. 

“Yes, I am”, he replies. 

“I’m told that I am your apprentice.”

He lets his eyes wander over you. You seem so … small? You’re younger than he had thought, and there’s something naive about you. He can’t help but wonder what events has led you to end up here. 

He realizes that he can’t have you standing out in the corridor forever and steps aside, gesturing for you to come in. You walk past him into the small room and look around. 

“You have a better cabin than I do”, you say with a small — nervous — laugh, as if to bring some kind of humanity into the conversation. It’s as if you want to skip right past the awkward small talk. You grimace. “I have to share a cabin with five others. We only have a small porthole.”

Doctor Kry closes the door. 

“What’s your name?” he asks. 

“Oh, sorry”, you reply quickly, eyes widening with realization. “Y/N.”

Doctor Kry can’t help but tug at the corner of his lips. 

“Are you always this light-headed, Y/N?” he asks.

You look down in embarrassment. 

“No, doctor”, you say. “I am just nervous. I haven’t done anything like this before. Sorry, doctor.”

“Sit down.”

You look around for somewhere to sit and end up on his neatly fixed bed. Doctor Kry sits down on his chair by his desk. You fiddle with your hands in your lap as your eyes follow him. 

“You’re going to be my trainee, which means that you have to listen to me at all times”, Doctor Kry says. “The medical field is a profession that requires precision. One faulty move and someone could die. Is that clear?”

“Yes, doctor.”

“I’m responsible for you, so I don’t want you doing anything stupid, do you get that? No breaking rules, no stupid behavior.”

“Yes, doctor.”

He stretches his neck. 

“This doesn’t have to do with you but I will tell you this anyway, in case it should occur”, he says stiffly. “If any of the other nurses give you any trouble, you’ll come tell me right away, understood?”

“Yes doctor”, you reply. 

“Good. In that case, let's get started. A lot of people have boarded the ship today, and we need to check up on them. You might have thought that you’d get a day to settle in, but that’s not how we do things here. On board, things can happen at any hour of the day and you need to be prepared.”

You nod. 

“Good”, he says, pleased. “Let’s go then, we have work to do.”

When he stands, so do you. He walks towards the door and so do you. You follow him through the corridors like a puppy, in silence. You don’t say anything. Maybe this will work for him after all?

You come out to the main staircase, a pathetic excuse of what it should be, and walk up a flight of stairs. What should be the lounge is now an operating theater and bedroom to wounded soldiers. He can hear you draw a breath as you walk in. The smell must hit you, he guesses, the smell of pain and blood. 

You follow him around the open room as he talks to different men and women who have all kinds of painful injuries and sickness symptoms. You’re quiet behind him. When he’s done with his round, he takes you out onto the promenade to get you some fresh air. You hold onto the wooden railing. 

“That can be unpleasant”, he says, leaning onto the railing beside you with his elbows. “Especially if it is one's first time. You’ll get used to it.”

“I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to expect”, you reply. “I knew that it would be … bad … I just didn’t know what type. Tomorrow will be better. Now I know what to expect.”

You give him a small smile. Don’t give up on me yet, I will prove myself to you. You are weirdly cute. 

“Why are you here if you lack so much experience?” he asks.

“Good question”, you sigh. “Money problems, I suppose. My family has it rough.”

“How long will you be here?”

“A few months, until I've saved enough money.”

Doctor Kry nods. “Same here.”

“Is life on board tiresome?” you wonder. “What do you do out on sea?”

“Some play deck games, some write, draw or read”, Doctor Kry says. “Some spend time with the wounded. Everyone comes up with different activities.”

“I would like to explore the ship, see what the home I will have for the coming months contains.”

“If you want I can give you a tour.”

“Really? Thank you, I would love that.”

You follow the doctor inside again. He decides to start from the bottom of the beast and show you up to the very top.

The orlop deck is the one right above the boilers. The two of you shouldn't wander further below, in case of danger. The orlop deck contains a mailroom and the cargo hold. It's chilly inside the ominous cargo room. Wooden boxes stand in groups.

“These contain everything from weapons to medical equipment to food and alcohol”, Doctor Kry says and taps the top of a wooden box. “Some people — of the military staff, I've been told — sneak down here to steal some of it. I wouldn't advise you to explore down here. The ones you'll meet will most likely be drunk beyond measure and not trustable.”

“I understand”, you say.

“That being said, let's go upstairs.”

G-deck is filled with bunk beds, rows and rows of them. Walls that used to separate cabins have been demolished and left are the marks on the floors where they should stand. People are in bed, either sleeping or chatting with each other. They’re wearing bandage.

F-deck was the same as G-deck, filled with bunk beds and cabins. 

E-deck has a pool with crystal clear water. It’s a simple pool, only there for exercise. It used to have much more detailing, a children’s part of the pool and some children’s floating toys. 

“It would be nice to swim here”, you say. “After long hours of standing.”

“I think it is nice”, Doctor Kry says. “I haven’t used the pool yet. I think it’s seawater but, like I said, I haven’t tried the pool yet.”

Before he has time to think, you’ve crouched down, sunk your cupped hand into the water and taken a lick. Doctor Kry gasps and twitches forward.

“What are you doing?” he questions. 

“It is seawater”, you say. 

He grabs your wrist, pulls you up on your feet and shakes your hands free of the water.

“That is disgusting, do not do that again”, he says sternly.

You laugh slightly, meeting his eyes. Doctor Kry shakes his head, but has to restrain himself to not smile. 

“Get out”, he says, nodding at the door. 

You walk before him. Your youthful behavior is going to wear him down. 

D-deck has more dim corridors than the others you’ve explored. Doctor Kry stops in front of a steel door with his hand resting on the handle. 

“This room is the morgue”, he says slowly. “I don’t expect you to like this room, but I do expect you to treat it with respect. Don’t do anything ‘fun’ here, like you did in the pool. Understood?”

You nod. Doctor Kry opens the door. A chilly wind blows through you. You hug yourself. The room is colder than the winds up on deck and you look at Doctor Kry to see if he’s also feeling the cold. Along the walls of the room are numbered hatches. You don’t need him to explain what is inside them. Doctor Kry opens a door to the right, showing a small room with an operating table on it. 

“Have you ever performed an autopsy?” you ask. 

“Many times”, he responds and closes the door. 

“Do they get … easier every time?”

“Easier? I wouldn’t say easier, but you learn to shut off your brain. You’ll learn that too while working here.”

He walks you out of the morgue. D-deck also contains even more wards. 

C-deck has the first class dining saloon, now nothing more than a school cafeteria. The tables are simple, the chairs looking uncomfortable. A few men sit by a table eating. Doctor Kry is quick to get you out. 

B-deck has more cabins and open wards, along with an enclosed promenade deck filled with beds, where patients can rest in fresh air. There’s nothing left of the verandah cafe, the suites have been emptied and the hairdresser doesn’t have the equipment that it once had. 

A-deck is the only deck on the ship left with some of her old personality. The lounge has some armchairs and couches and the smoking room still has the painted glass windows. You look at the painted mermaid on the window. 

“It’s beautiful”, you say. 

“It is”, Doctor Kry says. “I think it has something to do with Greek mythology, but I haven’t asked.”

The enclosed promenade deck the two of you had been on is on the same deck. Boat deck, on the other hand, has nothing enclosed. Nothing to shield anyone from wind or rain. Rows upon rows of lifeboats stand in their davits, collapsible ones are positioned on the roofs for easy access. 

“Okay, I think you’ve seen it all”, Doctor Kry says and sighs. “Not much, as you can see. Majority of it have been removed in case anything would happen to the ship.”

“Is there a risk of something happening?”

“The ship is painted white with a green line and big, red crosses. People know better than to sink a hospital ship.”

“But at night you can’t see what color the ship is painted.”

“I assure you that has been thought of. I will show you. Meet me at my cabin at sunset.”

“Okay.”

You knock at his door as the sun is resting on the horizon. Doctor Kry stands up from his chair a bit too quickly.

“Good evening”, you say. “I’m here.”

“So you are”, he replies and grabs his beige coat. “Let’s go, we can get dinner afterwards.”

You follow him out to the main staircase and up to the boat deck. The red shade above you is fading into dark blue skies. Wherever you look, nothing breaks it. You follow Doctor Kry to the stern where you have a good view of the ship. A strand of green light lights up the side of the ship, big spotlights turned to the red crosses. The green light gives your face a magical shade, one which makes the doctor stare at you when you’re not looking. 

“You can sleep soundly”, he says. “As you can see, there are lights showing other ships what we are. Now, how about some food?”

“Yes, please.”

The two of you walk back inside and make your way down to the dining hall. You don’t say anything, but the way your hand travels the railing down the main staircase makes him smile. 

You get a bowl of soup and a piece of bread. Doctor Kry leads you to a table full of doctors where he always sits. Not because he likes their company, but because he doesn’t want to sit with the immature nurses. 

“So this is your apprentice?” Doctor Hart says, eyeing you. 

“Yes”, Doctor Kry replies. 

You sit down beside him. 

“I’m Y/N”, you say, remembering how you had forgotten to introduce yourself to Kry earlier. “

“You are a voluntary nurse, right?” a doctor asks. 

“Yes.”

“What training do you have?”

“The absolute minimum, sir. I didn't have time to learn more before being sent here.”

“That’s why they’re my apprentice”, Doctor Kry says before anyone else has time to say something that could invalidate your lack of knowledge. “I’m supposed to train them.”

“You have gotten an unfortunate fit, Y/N”, Doctor Hart says jokingly. “Kry is a good doctor, but probably the most boring man I have ever come across.”

You frown, looking between him and your mentor. 

“I wouldn’t say that”, you say slowly. 

Doctor Kry looks at you with a small smile before taking a bite of his sandwich. 

“If you ever get tired of this boring man, I could always use a trainee”, Doctor Hart says with a small smirk. 

The other doctors laugh. You give them a small, uncomfortable smile.

“Let them be”, Doctor Kry says warningly. “You don't have to be an ass to the newcomers.”

He turns away from them, looking at you. 

“Don’t listen to them”, he whispers.

“Okay”, you reply quietly and give him a thankful smile.

He spends the rest of the dinner conversing with you, completely ignoring the other doctors. He asks you about your family life, the members in it, what your favorite memory is. For the first time in months, he's had a purposeful conversation, one he won't forget the second he leaves the dining hall. You've only been here less than a day and yet you've managed to put color in this white steel beast.

“I shouldn't keep you”, he says suddenly. “I suppose that you're tired. You should rest. I will see you tomorrow morning. Will you find your way to your cabin?”

“I think so”, you smile. “Thank you.”

“Be at my door at seven tomorrow morning.”

You nod. Doctor Kry gives you a small nod before walking away. His heart pounds in his chest, already looking forward to tomorrow morning.

Days go by. You spend every waking hour with your mentor, following him like a dog. You don't get why everyone else calls him strict, why some pity you for having him. And some pity themselves for not being picked. It's a weird feeling, you find, that everyone has a divided opinion of you and you have no idea who thinks what. All eyes on you, and none seem to be in your favor.

Doctor Kry is awoken by knocking on his door. Still in his drowsy state can he recognize the pattern. You have a unique sense of knocking. The darkness still covers the sky.

You're standing outside, wet to the bone, wearing your pajamas and a guilty look in your eyes.

“You told me to tell you right away”, you say quickly. “I'm not sure if you meant that literally but … I have nowhere else to go.”

Your voice dies out. Doctor Kry frowns, looking at your wet form up and down.

“What happened?” he asks suspiciously.

“They locked me out.”

“What are you talking about? Who locked you out?”

“The other nurses.”

What?

“Why are you wet?”

“They threw water on me and threw me out of the room. I-I guess that it was a joke but … I didn’t really … find it funny …”

He can tell that you're shivering, although you're trying your best not to show it. It makes him unexplainably furious.  

“Come inside”, he says and steps aside.

He's quick to grab his towel from his trunk and wrap it around you. You sit down on his chair.

“Did they say anything to you?” he asks. 

“Not from what I heard”, you reply quietly, shaking slightly. “Everything went on so quickly. I barely had time to wake up before I found myself in the corridor.”

“They threw you?” Doctor Kry asks, trying to understand. 

“Grabbed me by my arms and threw me out.”

“You must have hit the opposite wall in the corridor.”

“It’s fine.”

He feels his heart tug. His poor little apprentice, getting thrown around like trash. He knew that the nurses were assholes, but he is appalled that none of them even tried to befriend you. He knows that it’s because of him. In some way shape or form, it always leads back to him. It’s his responsibility to take care of you now. And, like hell, he’ll do it.

“Let’s get you out of those wet clothes to start with”, he says and removes the towel from around your body. “You’ll get sick if you keep them on any longer.”

He helps you remove them and dress you in his spare pajamas, offering you his bed. 

“Don’t go back to that room”, he says. 

“Why?”

“I feel like I am responsible for you and that’s why I can’t let you back there.”

“What do I do then?”

It’s such a simple question, but it makes him feel even more determined to take care of you. You’re asking him how to proceed. You trust him enough to let him decide what should happen to you. It’s enough to make him hear his heart in his ears. 

“You’ll stay here for the night, and I will decide what to do with you in the morning”, he says and removes the cover of the bed. “Why don’t you go to bed while I get you a hot cup of tea?”

“Okay, thank you, doctor”, you say quietly. 

“Of course.”

He smiles as he walks out, but the second he closes the door he feels a pain in his heart. He has been with you for two weeks by now and every day has been a pleasure. He can’t remember the last time he’s been this excited to work. Every meal, he spends it with you. He plays deck games with you on your breaks and play board games in the lounge at night. You’re interesting to him without being annoying. Everyone else gets on his nerves, being too much, too loud, too clingy and too … much. You, somehow, seem to be just perfect in every category. It’s such a rare trait for him to find. He doesn’t care that no one else understands it —  on the contrary, he finds it great that he is the only one you spend your time with — but he hates that the others are childish enough to mess with you because of it. 

Sea air must bring even the sanest people to madness. 

The morgue flashes before his eyes and he stops right in his tracks. He wants to. Oh, how he wants to. But there’s no way that he could play it off. On a secluded place like a ship, there was no place to hide a crime. Nowhere to flee if he did get caught. He’ll figure it out, though. They won’t go unpunished. 

He gets the cup of tea and makes his way back to the cabin.

“Drink this”, he says and holds the cup to your lips. “This should warm you up.”

He notices how you’re trying to take the cup from him, but he won't let you. Wants to feed you. You drink slowly. 

“What do I do from now on?” you ask. 

“Well, firstly, I will talk to your roommates”, the doctor says. “Tomorrow morning. You can take my bed, I will sleep on the floor.”

“No, I can’t do that. I’ve troubled you enough, doctor.”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he tucks you in and opens his trunk to take out a shirt to use as a pillow. 

“Doctor, please”, you say. “I can take the floor.”

“Don’t be absurd. Enough of this, now go to sleep.”

There’s no use in fighting him, he will not budge. You try to lay as still as you can, but it’s hard to drift off to sleep. You’re unaware that Kry is awake as well, having an even harder time getting some rest. The only thing he can think of is how angry he is at those nurses … but also a particular happiness. They sent you his way. In an unofficial way they sent you right into his clutches. 

The very next morning, he awakens to find you there, in his bed, sleeping peacefully. He stares at you. There is something so heavenly about you. Something alive, among all this death and suffering. 

He changes into his uniform before walking through the ominous corridors of your room. His knock must have echoed in the room because he can hear a few surprised gasps.

He recognizes the tired face that opens.

“If you don't mind, I'll grab Y/N’s things”, he says and, before waiting for a response, pushes past into the room, hitting their shoulder intentionally. “Where are they?”

“Under that bunk bed.”

He follows the pointed finger and grabs a brown bag. 

“You should be ashamed of yourselves, you know”, he says without changing his normal calm tone. “I thought nurses were supposed to be caring, but what do I know? I never spend time with them. And now I see that it was with good reason.”

“What makes you so special?” one of the nurses scoffs. “There are a lot of doctors people would choose before you too.”

“I'm aware of that, and I'm very thankful for it. But you shouldn't forget that there is a hierarchy on board. I might not fall for your charms, but I can still get you downgraded to kitchen staff.”

He walks out. You're still sleeping when he returns to his cabin and he decides to go get you breakfast.

“Wake up”, he says and places the tray on the desk. “I've gotten you breakfast.”

“Really?” you ask and sit up. “Thank you so much. And thank you for letting me stay here.”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he gives you a cup of coffee. 

“I brought your things”, he says. “I don’t think that you should go back to that room at all. I will try to get you into another cabin.”

“Oh”, you say. “Thank you.”

“You say awfully many ‘thank you’s.”

“Well, you do awfully many nice things for me.”

He tries not to show how happy he gets, but his ears burn a crimson red. You get out of bed and walk over to your bag, looking around for something. 

“I want to give you something”, you say and hold your hands behind your back. 

“What?” asks. 

You take out a little porcelain dog, a spitting image of a Golden Retriever. 

“I don’t have much”, you say, “but I really value this little thing. Take it.”

“No”, Doctor Kry says simply. 

“I don’t have anything else.”

“Which is why I can’t take it.”

“Please?”

He looks at the little dog in your hands and the pleading look in your eyes. His hand reach out and take it in his hand, knowing that he won’t keep it. He will find a way to give it back to you at a later time. But he has to accept it for now so that you don’t feel stupid. 

He places it on his desk and gives you the cup of coffee again. 

“What will we work with today?” you ask. 

“We’re picking up some new people.”

Everytime they pick up new people, he’s reminded of your limited time. One day, sooner than desired, you will walk off the gangway … and someone will take your place. No. Never. He doesn't want anyone else other than you.

Among the newcomers, you find a child. The six year old boy seems to like running along the big ship's decks. 

You and Kry observe him from the promenade boat above.

“Why is there a child?” you ask. “Isn’t it dangerous to let a little boy run around?”

“His parents must either be military, a nurse or wounded”, Doctor Kry replies.

You let go of the railing. Doctor Kry follows you with his eyes as you make your way down to the boy. You introduce yourself, take his little hand and ask him for his. Nicholas. You play with him. Doctor Kry can’t look away. You’re a natural with children. The little boy seems to have genuinely fun with you. You’re running along the deck, back and forth. You pretend to have a hard time catching up with him, making Doctor Kry smile. He’s not much for children. They’re loud, unpredictable and lack consequence-think. He hates all of it. But you seem to have a natural talent for it. The boy seem so comfortable with you. It’s adorable. 

“Doctor!” you shout. 

“What?” he replies without raising his voice. 

“Come down, let’s play something!” 

He sighs and lets go of the railing before making his way down to you and Nicholas. 

“This is doctor Kry”, you tell the boy. “He won’t bite you.”

“Bite?” Doctor Kry scoffs. “Since when have I ever bitten someone?”

“That’s what I’m saying — you won’t bite him.”

“I never bite to begin with.”

“That’s what I’m saying, so what are you arguing about?”

“Y/N- … nevermind, I’m getting nowhere.”

You laugh. He shakes his head disapprovingly, but his heart aches fondly. You’re like an annoying fly buzzing around, but he doesn’t want to kill you. 

You play curling on the deck and you throw lamely to let the little boy win. He tries to match it, tries to follow your lead. 

The image doesn’t leave his brain for the rest of the day. The only thing he sees is you with the little boy. 

“Doctor, be careful!”

He doesn’t notice how he’s slipped with the scalpel and cut himself in the palm. With a hiss, he backs away from the man on the operating table. You grab his other arm and pulls him with you. His head is awfully cloudy. The only thing he sees in front of him is your smile when you played with the boy. 

“Sit here”, you say and place him down on a chair. “Are you okay?”

“Yes … yes, I’m fine”, he says and clears his throat. 

You clean his hand and wrap it in bandage. Your touch makes him want to pass out. But it also makes him want to yell in frustration. How could he slip up that easily? He has never been distracted during an autopsy and suddenly seeing you with a child puts him out of balance enough for him to slip the knife?

“You need to be careful”, you tell him.

“I know”, he sighs, rolling his eyes. “I don’t enjoy hurting myself.”

“I didn’t mean that, I know you’re careful, I just-”

He realizes that he’s made a mistake. 

“I know”, he says, cutting you of before sighing heavily and continuing in defeat. “I didn’t mean to sound mad. I’m not angry with you.”

He could never be. If anything, he’s furious at himself. 

“It’s okay”, you say gently. 

You let go of his bandaged hand. 

“It should be okay now”, you say. “But I don’t think that you should go back.”

“I won’t”, he says. “They need a steady hand and clearly my isn’t.”

“Don’t be hard on yourself, doctor. It happens to the best of us.”

He sighs and stands up, keeping his eyes on a point above your head. 

“Let’s go out”, he says stiffly and clenches his jaw. “I need air.”

“Do you want to be alone?” you ask. 

His reply comes short. “Just come.”

You nod and hurry after him out on deck. His entire body screams anger. You don’t dare to open your mouth, scared to upset him even more. Instead, you follow him like a shadow around the promenade deck. He suddenly stops and looks at you, as if he just only realized that you are still here. You back away a few steps to give him space. He flinches forward, as if his body wants to walk over to you, but his brain stops him. He wants to hug you. Wants so bad. But it is not professional. 

“Maybe i should go”, you say. “I think that you need some alone time to think. I’ll see you later, okay? Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“No, wait”, he says and grabs your arm. “Don’t leave.”

You look at him questionably. 

“Let’s just sit”, he says and pulls you over to the deck chairs. 

“Are you sure that you’re okay?” you ask hesitantly. “You seem a bit on edge.”

“It’s not directed at you”, he says.

“Okay, but you’re still upset. I know that you hurt yourself, but it’s okay, it’ll heal quickly.”

“It’s not just that.”

He never makes mistakes. He never slips up. You’re becoming dangerous for him.

“Do you want to tell me?” you ask.

He shakes his head and gives you a small smile. “No. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

It’s cute how worried you are about him. He gives you a smile. 

It feels like a dagger through the heart when you tell him that it is your last week on board. What do you mean that you’re going home? You just came here. His mind spins as he tries to come up with something. He needs you here on this boat — or wherever he is — to work properly. Both figuratively and literally. He feels like he performs better, both in the operating theater and as a human. 

The cut on his hand has healed by now, but he can still feel the burning sensation of your fingers against his skin. He can’t — won't — forget it. He kept the bandage, despite the blood on it.

You need to be kept here … and he needs to come up with a solution on how to keep you. He could make you trip down the stairs and have you break a leg. No, you could still return home with broken bones. He could tie you up and lock you in, but if you screamed loud enough someone would hear you through the thin steel walls. You need to blend in. How does one blend in, in a floating prison with wounded people. 

Oh. Of course.

He makes his way to the medical supply room, looking around for something — anything — that he can use. He finds a little green bottle. You shouldn’t drink it straight away, but if he dilutes it in water, it should be fine. 

He decides to mix some of the dangerous substance in your tea the following mornings. For the first few days, there seem to be no symptoms of his little poisoning. Until the fourth morning when you’re not at his door when he expects you. He gets himself dressed and out of the room, marching down to your new — own — cabin. He knocks on the door. 

“Y/N, are you awake?” he asks. 

“Yes”, he hears your voice through the door, your voice thick and hoarse. 

“Can I come in?”

“No.”

He opens the door. You’re lying in the bed, curled up with your arms over your stomach. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks. 

You shake your head weakly. “Not well. My stomach really hurts … I think that I’m going to throw up. I haven’t been able to go get a bucket so I’ve been trying to keep it in.”

“I’ll get you a bucket.”

He leaves the room. Out in the corridor, he can’t help but smile. It’s finally kicking in. He had been worried that it wouldn’t work until you had left the ship … where he can’t care for you. He gets a clean bucket from a storage closet and returns. 

“Let’s get you up right”, he says and helps you sit up. 

The motion alone is enough to have you throwing up. He places the bucket under your mouth, letting you empty yourself. 

“I’m sorry”, you hiccup. 

“It’s okay”, he replies. 

“I don’t think I can work today.”

“I don’t expect you to.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that.”

He opens the window and sits down by the desk. 

“You don’t have to stay here”, you say weakly, leaning against the wall. “I’ll be fine.”

“You won’t be fine”, the doctor says. “I can see that. You took care of me, now I’ll take care of you.”

“It’s different. I just put on bandage.”

“So? You weren’t skilled for more. I am, and I intend to put my knowledge to use.” 

He stands up abruptly, deciding to start right away. 

“Let’s get you some fresh air”, he says. “This open window won’t do.”

“Doctor, I can’t move”, you say, eyes widening. “I-I’ve tried, but I-I … I can’t.”

He frowns. Has he done too much? 

“My stomach hurts so much and my limbs don’t seem to want to move.”

“It’ll be okay”, he says shortly and lifts you up in his arms. “I’ll do the moving for you.”

He walks slowly along the decks, so as not to make your nausea even more unbearable. He walks out to the enclosed promenade where rows of beds stand along the walls and places you down in one of them, making sure to get you in the sunlight. With a smile, he tucks you in.

“Some fresh air and sunlight will do you good”, he says and sits down on the side of the bed. “Why don’t you try to get some rest? I suppose you haven’t had much this night. I’m not going anywhere, you’ll be safe.”

You nod and make yourself a bit more comfortable. 

“It’s hard to not be nauseous when the ship moves so much”, you mumble. 

“I have the bucket, you can vomit as much as you’d like”, he says. 

“In that case I won’t vomit at all. Because I don’t want to.”

Doctor Kry scoffs with a smile. 

“I know”, he says. “Try to rest now.”

He sits by your side until you’ve fallen asleep. You are so unbelievably sweet. In every single way. Doctor Kry stands up to go empty the bucket. He walks out the enclosed promenade, out onto the open deck and throws the contains over the side. 

“What’s with your apprentice?” Doctor Hart asks, walking over to him with his hands in his pockets. “Rumour says that they’re sick.”

“Yes, they are”, he says shortly. 

“Weren’t they going home this week?”

Do not remind me.

“They were”, he says, even colder. “Not anymore. I can’t let them go back if they have some kind of sickness. Better for them to be isolated here where it can’t spread far.”

“Is it contagious?”

“Yes, very. I think that you should stay away from them — tell everyone else to be cautious and keep distance as well.”

He grimaces and quickly backs away from him, walking away. Doctor Kry smirks and shakes his head. 

And you consider yourself smart enough to be a doctor? 

“What are you doing?”

The little boy is back. Nicholas stands a few steps behind him, watching curiously. 

“I’m emptying a bucket”, Doctor Kry answers, trying not to sound short and cold like usual. You like this kid and if he’s impolite to him, he’s sure he’ll hear about it from you. 

“Why?”

“Because there was vomit in it.”

“Ew! Did you get seasick?”

He rolls his eyes. “No, not me. Y/N’s not feeling well.”

“Is Y/N sick?”

“Yes.”

He looks worried. His best friend isn’t feeling well? Doctor Kry sighs. 

“Do you want to come and meet them later?” he asks. “They’re resting right now but you can come visit when they’re awake again.”

“When is that?” Nicholas asks. 

“I don’t know.”

“How will I know then?”

“I don’t know.”

He doesn’t wait to hear more dumb questions. Doctor Kry walks straight back to the enclosed promenade and places the bucket by the bed. He sits down by your legs and takes your hand. 

A few days go by. He continuous to poison your tea, and help you throw up. When your body doesn’t want to do it anymore, when it’s too exhausted to work for your benefit, he has to help. 

“Alright, open your mouth”, he says, brushing any type of hair away from your face. “This will not be pleasant, but I need you to throw up, okay?”

You sit beside him on the bed with the bucket in your lap, hugging it tightly. Your unsure grimace is enough to answer. 

“I know”, he sighs. “It’ll be quick. It won’t hurt.”

“Okay”, you mumble and nod, opening your mouth. 

He reaches in with his fingers until they touch the soft part of the back of the mouth. Your mouth is warm and soft, making him feel light headed. As soon as you gag, he pulls his fingers away. You hover over the bucket for the thirteenth time in twenty four hours. Doctor Kry pats your back. 

“There you go”, he says. “See? Quick and easy.”

“Easy?” you cough, giving him a stern eye. “Nowhere near easy.”

“Okay, maybe not easy. Bad wording. But it’s over now. Good job, I’m proud of you.”

A sad smile appears on your face. You lean your head onto his shoulder, sighing in exhaustion. Doctor Kry tenses. His heart stops. 

“I’m so tired”, you whisper. “My body hurts.”

He hesitates before wrapping his arm around your shoulders, bringing you closer to him. Your scent clogs up his head. 

“I should be home by now”, you whisper. 

“I know”, doctor Kry whispers comfortingly. 

You break out into sobs. Doctor Kry swallows. He can imagine how you must feel. Body broken and unresponsive, not back home with your family like you had planned and anticipated … and you can’t do anything to stop it. Doctor Kry turns your body to him and hugs you. Holding you feels like heaven. You fit perfectly in his arms, as if you were made for him, and him only. You were born to be his.

“I'm sorry if this is unprofessional”, you mumble. 

“It's okay, you're sick”, he replies thickly

He closes his eyes, enjoying the embrace. It’s everything he could — and have — ever dreamt of. His own little patient, in his arms, where they belong. Only for him. Oh, God, he can never let you go. You will be here for as long as he is, and then he’ll take you back home to him. Whether you like it or not.

“I’m cold.”

“I'll go get you some more blankets.”

He dreads to let you go but he can't deny your request. Your warmth disappears from his embrace. 

He decides to hurry, wanting to get back to you as quickly as possible. As he walks down the main staircase, he feels the entire ship shudder and hear a loud ‘bang’. He has to grab onto the staircase railing to not fall over. The sound of porcelain crashing onto the floor in the distance hits him. He hurries down.

A man covered in soot runs past him. One of the men from the boiler room.

“The ship is flooding!” he shouts in full panic. “We're sinking!”

Doctor Kry widens his eyes. There's no way, right? They're a hospital ship! No one in their right mind would sink a hospital ship! His mind forgets the blanket. He needs a lifebelt. Not a blanket. 

He runs past the room where you had stayed first, and he can see the nurses inside trying to scramble their belongings into small purses. Without thinking, he marches over, shuts the door and grabs the nearest fire extinguisher to break the lock. He throws the fire extinguisher to the side and hurries down the corridor, opening the first door he finds. It's a cabin for female nurses. He reaches over one of the bunk beds, to a net where lifebelts Are kept. He pulls down two and runs out. 

The floor has started to shift beneath him. He can tell that it tilts to his left. She's going down by the stern.

He runs up the stairs, trying to push his way through a flood of people desperately climbing upwards. He wants to shout at them, but it won't matter. No one else will listen or care. Instead, he uses force to push himself through the crowd.

He has to get to you before anything happens. There's no certainty in how much time there is, but there is a certainty of death if he doesn't hurry up. 

He runs through packed corridors, ripping open your door.

“What's going on?” you ask with wide eyes.

There's something horrific with your fearful eyes. Everything about you is dull and tired, besides your panicking eyes. 

“We've been hit”, he says in a steady voice and forces the white lifebelt over your head, tying it tightly around your body. “We need to get to a lifeboat as quickly as possible.”

“What?” you ask in shock. “What happened? You said that we were okay, that nothing would happen to a hospital ship!”

He doesn't answer. If he does, he's worried that he'll snap at you. Instead, he lifts you up and carries you out of the room. He makes sure not to trip, but carrying you through tilted spaces is harder than he expects. Giving up is not an option, however.

The boat deck is crowded. He manages to get through to a lifeboat and sits down with you in his arms.

“I’m scared”, you whisper.

“It's okay”, the doctor whispers back. “Everything is going to be okay.”

He holds you tightly when the lifeboat slowly sinks towards the water, scared that you might fall off. 

Seeing the ship from afar as the lifeboat makes its way away from it finally puts things together in your head. You gasp. You had been on that … and if Kry hadn't come get you you would still be on it, waiting for death.

The bow slowly rises out of the water, dripping with water. The sun shines right on it, as if it is the ocean’s main attraction. The room where doctor Kry locked in the nurses is far underwater by now. He hides a smirk under his hand. He had promised that they would be punished for what they had done. They'd have a chance if they hadn't been childish.

“I never thought that I’d see something like this”, you say. “I never wanted to see the bottom of a ship.”

“Me neither”, the doctor replies. 

“Will many die?”

“No, not many. I’m sure of it.”

You creep closer to him, shivering although you don’t feel any cold winds. He holds you tighter. 

The only thing left of the floating hospital is a steamy, bubbling mess, filled with debris. It’s like you can hear her hit the ocean floor. You can’t help but wonder what position she is in, if you’ll ever get to know. If anyone ever will dive down and check. If that will be possible.

“It’s so silent”, you whisper and meet his blue eyes. “It shouldn’t be silent … should it?”

“I don’t know”, he replies. “What is the other choice? People screaming?”

You shake your head quickly. Don’t want to imagine that.

Hours go by. When the evening comes, you’re picked up by another ship and given blankets and food. Doctor Kry stays close to you, not letting anyone get close. He sits in a protective position beside you, arms crossed over his chest, eyes scanning everything and everyone around him. 

The little boy clings to a woman who you guess is his mother. He doesn’t seem to understand what has happened, how lucky he is, and you hope that he never will.

“What will happen now?” you wonder quietly.

“I will continue to care for you until you are well”, he says. “That’s what will happen. I will take care of the rest, you don’t have to worry about anything. Just lean on me and everything will be alright, okay?”

You nod. Doctor Kry smiles and straightens his neck. 

“Good.”

You look up at the colorful evening sky and sighs. No one died this day — apart from a few nurses who doctor Kry didn’t like, but he will never tell you that — and that is a comfort. But you’re unaware of the plans doctor Kry has for you. And maybe that’s for the best.  

[milfshotss]

Title: Closing Arguments

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Lawyer!Reader

Summary: After years of tension, Emily and Reader finally give in. No more objections. No more denials. (part 2 of Cross Examinations)

Warnings: enemies to lovers, rough sex, power play, office setting, dom!Emily, biting, desk sex, semi public tension release, jealousy, unresolved tension snapping hard.

MEN & MINORS DNI: 18+ ONLY!!!

————————————————————————

Emily slammed the file shut with a little more force than necessary.

“Do you enjoy wasting federal resources, Counselor?” she snapped without looking up, pen clutched in her hand like a weapon. Her voice was sharp, but low. Dangerous.

You smiled slowly, that practiced, courtroom calibrated smirk that always made her grit her teeth. “Not nearly as much as I enjoy watching you pretend I don’t get under your skin.”

Her jaw clenched.

You walked around her desk slowly, heels clicking deliberately… closer, closer, until she had to look up or risk being towered over. Her gaze rose, flicking up your body, your blouse, your mouth.

And you knew she wanted to bite it.

You leaned in, one hand resting on the corner of her desk. “You going to arrest me, Agent Prentiss?” you asked, low and suggestive.

Emily stood up. Fast. Chair scraping behind her. She didn’t say a word, just stepped into your space until your perfume and her fury blended into something volatile.

Her hand gripped your jaw, not gentle. “You think I won’t?” she said, voice like smoke, like gasoline.

Your breath caught.

“You’re not going to cuff me, Emily,” you whispered, heart pounding, “You’re going to fuck me.”

Something snapped.

She shoved everything off her desk in one swift motion, papers, pen, that stupid ceramic BAU mug, all crashing to the floor in a chaos that matched the pounding in your chest.

“Turn around,” she ordered.

You did. Slowly. Deliberately. You heard her breath hitch the second you arched your back against the desk, skirt tight over your hips. She didn’t hesitate. Hands gripped your waist, dragging your hips back hard against her. You gasped, more from how badly you wanted this than from surprise.

“You act like you’re in control,” she growled into your ear, one hand fisting in your hair and yanking your head back. “But you walk in here like a fucking temptation and expect me not to lose it?”

You moaned.

“Tell me to stop.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

Her hand slid up your thigh, dragging your skirt higher until it was bunched at your waist. Her other hand, ruthless and confident, was already at your panties, yanking them down your legs without care. “I’ve hated every smug word out of your mouth,” she muttered, voice thick with desire, “but God, I’ve dreamt about shutting you up like this.”

And she did.

Two fingers inside you in one hard thrust. You cried out, forehead hitting the desk with a soft thud. She didn’t give you time to adjust, she knew you could take it. Knew you wanted it rough. Her fingers curled expertly, finding that spot instantly and abusing it with precision that came from studied frustration.

Your hips jerked. “Emily…fuck…”

She bit the back of your shoulder. Not soft. You arched under her, every nerve in your body catching fire.

“You don’t get to fall apart yet,” she hissed, pumping faster. “You walk in here like you own the damn room. Let’s see how cocky you are when you’re moaning my name into this desk.”

You were close. So fucking close.

But she pulled her fingers out.

You whimpered. “Emily…”

“Turn around.”

Your legs nearly buckled as you did. She grabbed your hips, lifted you up onto the desk, papers crinkling under your back, and spread your legs like she’d been waiting years to do it.

“You’ve had this coming since the first time you opened that pretty little mouth,” she muttered, stripping off her blazer and throwing it aside. Her eyes dragged down your body like she wanted to ruin you.

She undid your blouse. Slowly. Torturously. But when she saw your lace bra underneath, she growled…low, deep, primal and ripped it open. Buttons flew.

“You’re not delicate,” she said, almost admiring. “I don’t have to be careful with you.”

“Then don’t,” you dared.

She didn’t.

She dropped to her knees, no hesitation and buried her face between your legs like a woman starved. You cried out, hand fisting in her hair, trying to keep up with the onslaught of tongue and teeth and heat.

She knew exactly what she was doing. Her rhythm was devastating. One hand held your thigh wide, firm and possessive, while the other reached up to grip your breast, fingers pinching just enough to drive you higher.

“Jesus, Emily…” you gasped.

She sucked hard, once. You shattered.

You were still panting when she stood, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, watching you with eyes blown wide and dark with hunger.

“I’m not done.”

She unzipped her pants and pulled you back to the edge of the desk. Bent over you, kissed you hard, biting your lip, forcing you to taste yourself on her tongue. It was messy. Rough. Perfect.

Her thrusts were punishing. Deep. She fucked you like she hated you. Like she loved every second of ruining you.

The sound of skin, panting, the slap of her hips against yours, it was obscene. Filthy.

She wrapped a hand around your throat, light pressure, but enough to make your eyes roll back.

“You wanted rough,” she growled, slamming into you harder. “You get rough.”

Your nails raked down her back. She hissed and bit your shoulder again, moaning against your skin as you clenched around her.

“Gonna come again for me, counselor?” she whispered, dragging her hand between your bodies to rub tight circles on your clit. “Show me how that mouth moans my name.”

You came with a cry, loud and wrecked. Your body convulsed, legs shaking. Emily didn’t stop until you were begging. She kissed you again, like she could drink the aftershocks from your mouth.

When she finally pulled away, she was breathless, flushed, and looked utterly victorious.

“You’re still a fucking menace,” she muttered.

You smiled, ruined and sated. “But I’m your menace now, Chief Prentiss.”

————————————————————————

AN: here is the long awaited part two… hope you guys enjoyed it<333

[thesilmarillionblog]

𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 ── Part 3

Click here to read the first part.

Summary: In the hopes that things would improve between you, you choose to lose your virginity to your friend Dean Winchester because you have been in love with him madly for a long time. However, he doesn't feel the same about you.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Warnings: Unrequited love, angst, jealousy, tension, language

Word Count: 6043

A/N: English is not my first language.

Song: 'It takes a Lot to Know a Man' by Damien Rice

While it was exhausting in some ways and occasionally involved people who were a little noisy and irate, spending an entire day at the hospital and taking care of patients felt good. It was occasionally unclear which task you had more difficulty with than the other: hunting or nursing. That being said, one of them was a little too dangerous for you.

Your thoughts raced at every word Dean said, hinting that he didn't want you to tear down your bond, as you thought back to the evening he'd spent with Jo while Sam spent his time watching TV. Though he hadn't stated it explicitly, his sharp statements with soft tones made it clear. Although you were happy that he was trying to be respectful and polite, the fact that it hurt so much made his efforts a waste.

Perhaps it would be better for you to listen Sam. Giving new people a chance and meeting them might perhaps heal whatever hurts you on the inside. But when it came down to it, you were a coward for being devoted to someone you never had and never would. Especially when you saw Dean enjoying himself with Jo there in front of your eyes, it didn't even make sense. 

As if absolutely nothing happened between you. 

It was just too much for you, yet it meant nothing to him. But because you were the one who let everything happen and didn't even inform him that you were a virgin, you had no reason to hold Dean responsible. Nothing at all. However, that was such a burden. 

You cleared your mind of thoughts and saw your colleague doing his job while you treated the small girl's hand when she reached you with her nervous mother, who was frequently repeating to her that she had warned her not to play with sharp objects. It wasn't that horrible, but you did your best to soothe her and divert her attention by carefully cleaning her hand.

You informed her mother that there were hundreds of such and even worse incidents in emergency, much like her daughter, after the sharp glass was removed from her arm. You were given the task of stitching, and you began it meticulously and with caution. Sadly, it had to be stitched. Even doing it with adults appeared to be challenging. 

She was trying her hardest not to weep when she saw the needle because she felt guilty and ashamed, but you swiftly covered it up and looked at her mother to let her know that she too needed to calm her daughter. Fortunately, she got the message. 

I was just wondering what your name is. You haven't told me yet," you inquired, trying to complete your task without drawing attention to your hands. 

“Talia,” she sobbed as she turned to face her mother as if she wanted to see if she was still angry with her.

“It's a very lovely name.” You replied, “It's good to meet you, Talia,” and gave her your name. Making sure her kid wasn't gazing at you while you were taking care of her arm, you encouraged her mother to talk to her as well. Not in an angry way, of course.

“It's not very pretty,” she said. Children typically complain about several things. 

“Why do you say that, though?”

“It sounds like 'Arya.' I was playing with Aisha when she told me that. I don't even like that name.”

If there was anything positive about kids, it was being prone to share too much. That was really beneficial for handling youngsters during an emergency, though. It would have been better, of course, if they had just been cautious and not gone through at all. It seemed to you that the other girl she was referring to was her closest friend. 

“I don't believe so. Their pronouncations are really differently,” you observed. “I has a very beautiful meaning, and it's not a very common name, which is a nice thing. Don't you think so?”

“Yes,” she said after giving it some thought. “Will it hurt?” 

“Just a little bit,” you smiled reassuringly at her. “People say my hands are really soft.”

She was unable to conceal her frightened and apprehensive look as you began stitching as her mother went on to remark about how impulsive her daughter might be at times. Additionally, you saw her continuing talking with her daughter about topics that would divert her attention. 

She inquired, “Do you have a boyfriend?” with curiosity.  She was attempting to cover up the hurt expression on her face so her mother wouldn't say anything further.

“No,” you smiled and stated. 

“Why?”

“I'm not sure.” You attempted to respond vaguely in order to get her to stop interrogating you about your nonexistent romantic life. “Adult life is difficult to comprehend when it comes to such matters.”

“Now I'm not interested in growing up. Mine is not difficult.”

You interrupted with, “Good for you,” and carefully cleaned her arm while smiling sincere at her. “It is finished. I told you that my hands were soft, right?”

You felt better as the rest of the day passed, taking care of other patients, listening to them, and doing what you could to help them. It dawned on you that becoming worn out was an effective distraction from troubling thoughts. Making yourself occupied at that moment was definitely the best thing for you because you were going to lose your mind over thinking about Dean constantly, even when you had to pee. Your body was hurting so much that you had no energy left to consider anything but resting.

You were taken aback when one of your closest friends randomly stopped by the hospital where you work right before you were about to leave. You looked him in the eye and saw that, indeed, it was him. You shivered in anticipation as you gazed at him because of the little coolness in the air. Your pulse was pounding with excitement and curiosity as you narrowed your eyes and caught him with such a focused glance that he knew you were the one gazing at him before you could.

In a tone that suggested both shock and joy, you exclaimed, “Robert?” as you approached each other. You could have recognized him sooner, a few minutes earlier, before you left the hospital.

He was your pal from college. Before you left the hospital where you both worked and joined Sam and Dean, you two were extremely close friends. With Rob, everything was simple, and he was a really nice and supportive friend; you would never deny that. But at that point, you couldn't simply bury your desire to go after the family business in addition to your own work, and it was difficult to say no to Dean. He was the one who initially convinced you. After all of your losses, you had also yearned for something different—something that could brighten you up. 

During the times you worked together, Rob was a highly professional, talented, and encouraging doctor. Even though there was a hierarchy between you at the hospital, you respected the fact that he never treated you worse than necessary or better than he should have. He was always completely aware of the lines.

But even though you've been in touch with Rob, your connection with him has been weakened since you've spent so much time with Dean and Sam. There's no denying that.

You gave him a huge, tight hug, and he chuckled, “Hey,” as if he wasn't at all shocked to see you. He knew that you were working here after all, but you didn't expect to see him anyway.

Warmly hugging him again, you said, “What are you doing here?”

He winked and added, “I was in the neighborhood,” as you drew back and gave him a suspicious look. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

Dean attempted to divert his attention throughout the day while he fixed things and cleaned Baby. He became consumed with a sensation of rage and frustration that he just didn't comprehend. He was thinking about the past three weeks nonstop, even if nothing was wrong. Particularly the last night. 

After speaking with Jo over the phone about his intention to stop their connection and his lack of interest in pursuing a serious relationship, Dean was pleased that she accepted his request and that she wasn't interested in pursuing it further either, even though she offered him to go hunting. His and her desire to hunt were similar, but Dean didn't comprehend how different they were in fact. He was glad Jo felt the same. 

If Dean had cared a little bit more, he may have been ashamed by his obviously poor performance last night, but oddly, he didn't. He felt a lot of burden when he realized that even for a brief while, he fucked Jo thinking about you. Imagining your body under him. It wasn't fair, and he didn't even mean it. He was aware of that.

The worst thing about it was that he enjoyed it and wasn't pleased with it behaving like this. Clearly stating that one night shouldn't be enough to ruin your friendship, he shouldn't reciprocate by fantasizing about fucking you. About filling you with his—Uh. Whatever. 

All day, he tried to find a way a way to divert his attention with Baby and all things mechanical. He sometimes purposefully broke things so he could fix them again. But he also couldn't quit thinking about your most recent conversation.

It wasn't the unclear situation between him and Jo that was causing him the strain he thought it was. It didn't ease him at all to cut his links with her so quickly. He was surprised to see that you were encircling him in his thoughts, imprisoning him there. 

“You look messy,” Sam said, observing his ripped t-shirt and dirty face. 

As he bent over and looked at Sam, he said, “Thanks,” in a dismissive voice, while searching for the right tool for his car. 

“You seem to be quite busy today, aren't you?” said Sam to carefully avoid getting his shirt dirty as he gave Dean the right tool in his palm from afar. 

“You think? I guess it was a long time since I took care of Baby.”

“Yeah, for around a week. But why in the world are you behaving like a cranky old lady?”

“Sam, don't get started. I mean it.” Dean shot back immediately, suddenly becoming quite defensive. He felt like the irritation was pouring into him again, but he didn't even understand why, which was making him angrier. “I have too much to do as you see.”

“By the way, when did Jo leave? Even though I got up early, I didn't see her.”

“Yeah, she left in the middle of the night.”

Recalling the evening did not soothe his feelings, but Dean responded to Sam, stating to let the fuck him alone as soon as possible. But Sam seemed intent on playing the part of the curious bitch, as if he intended to test Dean's patience to the maximum extent possible. 

“After you two had finished, huh? She's an awesome girl, but her loudness..is definetely something else. I'm not trying to say it in a mean way, but for heaven's sake, Dean. If you two have... kinky stuff, it would be best if you spent the night at her place. I bet you two also probably made it difficult for Y/N to fall asleep.”

Dean shot a look at Sam, who was attempting to say something without coming out as weird about Jo or whatever. Sam didn't dislike Jo at all; it wasn't that he despised her. She was a little too cunning and rebellious for Dean's liking. That was a known fact. His brother was sometimes a bitch; that was true, but not that bitchy for sure. 

When Sam brought you up in the chat, Dean found it difficult to focus on his work and became disoriented while lying down beneath his car. Sam was trying very hard to get under his skin for sure.

He had become frustrated in some way by the thought that you heard him and Jo. He wasn't trying to get you to hear something or anything. Dean frowned with distaste, picturing you hearing Jo's exaggerated noises. He shouldn't have brought her home to have sex in the first place, but what is done was done. Even it wasn't right. Fuck that.

Dean attempted to lightheartedly remark, “Women have a hard time with staying silent when I'm around, huh,” in an attempt to divert Sam's attention. He attempted to change the subject at hand.

“Have you seen Y/N in the morning?”

“Why are you asking that right now?” Dean grunted and glared at Sam. He suddenly lost control of the tool he was holding and groaned in pain as it landed across his face. “God. Fuck this.”

Puzzled by Dean's odd behavior, Sam put his hands in his pockets in between his complaints. His recent behavior has been peculiar. Sam was hesitant to confront it since he thought it was likely to do with their father and other hunting experiences, but he couldn't help but wonder if he was still angry with you for what happened on the previous hunt.

Sam was appreciative of Dean for constantly watching out for him, taking care of him, and protecting him from harm—even if there were times when it made him feel like a little child. Sam knew that Dean would always be looking out for him, even if he lived fifty years old. Dean has always been overly protective, and he always will be. However, there were times he was being too much. 

“Have you?” Dean was curious and asked. Remembering your swollen eyes, he wondered if you were okay. It didn't appear like you got much sleep. 

Sam said, “Yeah,” while keeping his hands in his pockets and observing Dean's struggling with Baby. “She seemed pretty bad though.”

“Why do you say that?” Despite his best efforts to appear indifferent and normal, Dean's tone betrayed him. There was absolutely no stopping it. He was wondering if he was treating you too harshly these days. Neither Dean nor you were ever good at expressing yourself clearly.

“I'm not sure. She was quite exhausted, and her eyes appeared to be red, but I'm not sure. Her having to work and hunt at the same time must be challenging.” Sam thought you were pushing yourself a little too hard since he got to know you; however, he wasn't sure if it was just weariness or something more. He was impressed by your ambition and couldn't help but feel respect and appreciation for you.

“Maybe,” Dean interrupted, reminiscing on the way you looked the previous night. You looked so worn out, but he was too preoccupied with the talk to notice. Even though he wasn't sure whether he would believe it himself, he would prefer to pretend that you were just dizzy or sleepy. He would have said that you had sobbed uncontrollably all night, but he quickly brushed this idea from his mind as a sensation of uneasiness overcame him. “She must be tired.” 

“Did you apologize to her?”

“For what”

Sam kept rolling his eyes at Dean because he was becoming a little irritated with the way he was acting. He would claim that throughout the previous two or three weeks, something inside of him had altered. 

“For acting like a grumpy old bitch,” Sam shot back. 

Dean kept it short, refusing to elaborate on what had happened the night before. “We talked it out,” he said. “She'll start being more watchful now. By the way, is your arm okay?” 

Sam kneeled down and attempted to look into Dean's face in an effort to start a meaningful conversation, realizing that Dean was unwilling to acknowledge that his reaction was wrong. 

Sam remarked, “It's been a year since she joined us, and she's far too helpful and too kind for how you reacted there," dismissing his inquiry over his arm. Though I'm grateful for your concern, it's wrong. You need to be a little softer and gentler.”

“Do you think I don't know that?” After switching out the tool, Dean gave Sam a stern look.

“No.”

Sam grumbled in frustration, acknowledging that it would be impossible to alter Dean's perspective. “It wasn't very kind to tell someone that you have only one left to care about when they don't even have one.”

For a brief period, Dean's hands paused, and regret overcame his mind. He couldn't recall the exact moment those piercing words, as if he intended to intentionally harm you, came out of his mouth. It was never his intention to do so. Gradually, Dean's hands slowed, and he stood up, recalling that you were the only member of your family still living. For a moment, he stopped being interested in everything. 

“Now you know what you must apologize for, huh?” With a broken smile, Sam remarked. At least Dean wasn't so rigid, which relieved him. “Do you know when her shift ends?”

Dean murmured, “Yeah, I guess,” in a tone that was more controlled and calm. 

“You need to fix this; I'm serious. Give her a call, and bring her over for tonight. Having a dinner together might be a wonderful place to begin, and she'll be too exhausted anyway.”

“Don't tell me what to do.” Dean hurriedly walked by Sam, messing his hair to annoy him. He returned inside from the garage, determined not to engage in any further discourse. 

After a quick shower, Dean changed into new clothing and stood in front of the mirror, making adjustments with his hair until he was satisfied with the way he looked. He bit his lip anxiously and walked the room for a little while, considering calling you, but then decided to come get you because he knew you would be finished with work in an hour. It would be better to give you a call on the way. On the drive back home, it may be somewhat more appropriate for conversation. Driving back after so many hours at work would exhaust you too much. Besides, it was becoming late. Perhaps you might even consider eating in a restaurant.

“But why didn't you inform me about your arrival? You could have called me,” you wondered, your mouth making into a smile. It surprised you too much to see him so abruptly, even though you knew he would let you know if there was another time. 

Unexpectedly, he replied, “I actually did it on purpose.” You waited for him to continue. “I thought, surprising you about that, I'm going to work here from now on, and seeing that face of yours would be worth it.”

“Oh my god,” you said, displaying greater excitement than you had expected.

“You can't be serious.”

“I am pretty serious actually.”

When your phone began to ring, you apologized and continued to ignore Dean's calls. Rob then informed you that he had chosen to relocate after his father passed away, and you had attended his funeral around a month prior. You assumed that it must have caused some sort of trauma, but you didn't pursue the matter further since you didn't want to reopen old wounds.

You inquired excitedly, “Do you want to come over? I could make you some food so we can have an actual conversation instead of chatting under that weather. You know, it's kind of cold, and I'm sort of tired as hell,” you joked, hoping he would take you up on your offer. It has suddenly occurred to you that you have been missing your friend, an old friend you haven't fallen in love with despite knowing for years.

Dean eventually lost patience with you and, making an annoyed sound, placed his phone back in his pocket. He thought about giving you another call right after he parked and got out of his car, but if his eyes weren't playing tricks on him, you were speaking with a man. He could tell that you had ignored his calls since you were having a heated chat that briefly made him stiff. If he didn't see you giggling and even giving him a firm hug, which caused his body to tense up for a brief moment, he would say it was simply small talk.

Dean wasn't sure if being ignored was the cause of his growing ire. Since his rage had been driving him insane since the morning, he put the blame on his lack of patience. His pride was hurt by your disregard for him as well. 

With a sidelong glance at the man you were speaking with, Dean saw his rage flare up. Not feeling calm since the morning was tiring though. The man had a prideful appearance yet exuded a sense of confidence. From a distance, he could express that enough. 

His body stiffened for a moment, indicating that the conversation was... intense. So that was the reason that you ignored him for that long. 

Dean moved fast but calmly to avoid making a scene, attempting to maintain his composure despite his mind racing with thoughts. As he walked to each of you, he considered lying about his work. Maybe he would pretend to be a doctor in order to create a good impression, or he would claim to be working for the CIA or FBI in order to make dirty jokes about you and him. He would decide that soon enough.

You whispered, “Dean?” in shock as he unexpectedly appeared at your side. It was unusual for him to show up, especially considering how distant you two were in the last couple of days. He glanced in your direction, but then his gaze shifted to Robert. 

Dean glanced at you and added, “I've been calling you for some time.” It was a little judgmental, which bothered you.

Robert stared at you both bewildered, and you lied to him, “I wasn't aware,” but he didn't interject. Awkwardness suddenly filled the air. Three of you were waiting on foot as the chilly weather grew more intense. It was a really uncomfortable moment. 

As Robert extended his hand for a formal introduction, Dean said, “Can't imagine why,” while concentrating his entire attention on him. Dean talked first: “Dean Winchester.” 

Robert also introduced himself quite sweetly and kindly. He was typically really polite and mindful. You hoped Dean wasn't feeling like making uncomfortable remarks or embarrassing you in any way. He wasn't a reckless person, but when he wasn't in the mood, you just didn't know whether he knew the lines. 

Robert gave you a long stare when they finally got to meet, but he remained silent. Rather, he said, “So are you two friends or?” 

“Yeah, very close,” Dean said immediately. Robert only nodded to him. “How do you know each other?”

“Well, I'm a doctor.” Robert said, giving you a real, heartfelt smile that warmed your heart, “We've known each other for a long time and worked in the same hospital for quite a long time from my perspective since I'm always on the move. She’s a very good nurse, very talented.” When someone you looked up to complimented you, your heart skipped a beat. These days, it's difficult to find someone who values your effort.

You tensed up for a moment when Dean responded, “I know,” in a proud voice and with a sly smile. When he saw Robert smiling broadly at you, he was powerless to stop himself. Licking his lips, he added, “She has very soft hands indeed and definitely knows how to use them.”

Though Dean had no intention of making any inappropriate remarks, his patience with the man in front of him was getting thinner by the moment as he kept looking at you while he talked. Dean felt like he was getting in the mood when he observed Robert's face change. With a confused expression on his face, he seemed to be trying to figure out whether Dean meant it literally or if it was a metaphor or something.

You gave Dean a glare, but you remained silent despite your cheeks turning red from his unexpected and dirty statement. You were shocked that he chose to act this way in order to make you feel uncomfortable in front of your friend. You didn't mind when he made similar jokes when there was just you and him; nonetheless, you felt embarrassed acting in this way in front of Robert. You weren't sure of Dean's actual intentions. 

You choose to cut it off in order to release some tension. “Robb, would you like to have an actual conversation with me later, or simply come over? Of course, if you have the time.”

Dean gave you and Robert a bitter look as he realized how fast and recklessly you had welcomed a man to your house at that hour. He knew you well enough to know that you weren't someone who liked to greet guests at your place with such ease. It didn't matter how hard you tried to disguise your trust concerns; you had trust issues. You were so at ease and full of energy around that man that he wondered how close you must have been to him. Dean closed his eyes for a while, pushing the terrible pictures from his mind as he considered the scenarios involving you and him.

“Actually, I came here at that hour to visit with a different friend before spending the night with my aunt. Can we have a call for tomorrow to set up a suitable time?” Robb remarked very politely, “I guess your friend came here to pick you up,” glancing at Dean as if he required clarification from both of you.

You went to offer him a hug by saying, “Of course. I'm so glad to see you again.”

His hands massaged your back as he gave you an even closer embrace, kissing you briefly on the top of the head and telling you to take care of yourself. He promised to text you as soon as he had some spare time.

Dean gazed at you and him confused as he saw you two embrace like lovers who had met years later. He questioned whether the man's irritating conduct was intended for annoying him. He was curious as to how and when you two first connected, as well as why, given that you spent the entire year with Sam and him, you would still be so close to someone a year later. Although Dean was aware that you remained in contact with your pals, he was unaware of how close you were to one of them.

Dean was ready to say something, but he instantly changed his mind and was waiting for you to end the hug. He kind of wanted to break Robert's face and hands when he touched your back. Dean wondered when he'd felt you give him such a yearning hug. Most likely never. Considering all the times he had saved your ass, you were ungrateful. Later, he would speak about this. 

Dean turned to face you shortly after Robb departed and said, “I've called you many times.”

You apologized as he gave you a strange look. You had no idea why you sounded so aloof and cold. “I haven't seen him in a very long time. He's one of my closest friends.”

You questioned, “Why are you here?” before he continued.”Has anything happened?”

“Not at all. I arrived here to pick you up.”

“But my car-”

“I will drive you to work tomorrow, alright?” Dean watched as you began to tremble in the chilly weather. As Sam mentioned, you looked pretty tired. 

Dean felt his heart melt and sigh as he saw you shiver from the cold and appear exhausted. Even though he didn't mean to come across as so crude and distant, there was still an uneasiness between you that seemed impossible to get past.

“Fine.”

You continued to shake as you got in the car. You knew you were starving yourself to death when you heard the loud sound coming from your stomach. You had hardly had time for an adequate meal because you were so busy with work.

“You need to have dressed properly.” Dean softly remarked, “It's cold outside these days,” observing your attempts to sooth yourself by lightly massaging your bare arms.

You said in a whisper, “Yeah,” while Dean pressed a button to warm the car up. 

Your muscles gradually relaxed, and you began to feel much better as Dean drove. He turned his head to face you, giving you a little, pleased look after he heard your little satisfied sound. He liked it so much. “Relaxed now?”

Giving a quick nod to him, you muttered with a hint of gratitude in your voice. “Uhm, yes. Thanks.” 

Dean said, “So,” his gaze glued to the dimly illuminated road. “How long are you friends? You and him. You appeared to be really at ease with that guy.” 

“I think for four or five years. I find him to be a really caring and compassionate friend. I hadn't seen him in a very long time, so it was a surprise to see him, as he didn't give me a call in the first place.”

You were taken aback by Dean's attempts to have a polite, regular discussion with you. Your pulse beat with excitement and anticipation since it had been a long time since you had spoken to him in that way. All you wanted was for things to be normal between you two again. You might get by with less and normal if you are unable to have more. 

Prior to Dean addressing Robert and your friendship, you said, “Baby looks and smells amazing today. Have you just given her a wash?”

“She's a good girl all the time,” he remarked, chuckling. His hands around the steering wheel were more tightly now. “She needed to be clean and nice.”

You eagerly questioned, “Why did you come, by the way?” as the minutes ticked by in quiet. You wanted to make it seem like nothing occurred between you as well, and now it looked like a good moment to sort out things between you and him. 

“I decided to pick you up to avoid an accident after Sam warned me that you looked terrible. Are you hungry?” Dean wouldn't say 'no' to a pie right now.

“Actually, I'm starving,” you answered, sidestepping the comment Dean made regarding your appearance. You bet you did. 

“Alright.” Dean glanced at you and said, “I know a good restaurant,” in a rough voice, clearing his throat. 

Stating, “To be honest, I'm exhausted.” in a sorry tone, you waited for him to offer something else. You instantaneously forced the never-to-come-true visions away from your thoughts, even though you really wanted to go on a date with him. It wouldn't be a date, but it would be a nice moment. However, it would only get your situation worse.

“You wasted the opportunity. After that, you're going to eat anything Sammy orders.”

You smiled and responded, “I'm okay with that,” but you couldn't help but worr if Jo was still there.

Your face sank unintentionally, remembering the noises she'd made with Dean last night and how he'd been distant when you two chatted. You didn't want Dean and Jo's relationship to fail if it would harm Dean in any way, but you were unable to give up and were hoping that she wouldn't be around for tonight at the very least. Undoubtedly, your body was worn out, but your heart was spent beyond comprehension. 

Dean occasionally glanced at you, and thoughts of you and Robert were constantly racing through his head. He was thinking a lot of things at once—things that would make him see red, things that would make him angry, and things that would make Dean want to punch Robert in the face. 

“Have you slept with him?” unexpectedly Dean asked in a stern voice that made you stiffen in hurt and disgust.

Though he didn't want to sound so harsh and judgmental, Dean couldn't resist posing the question. He had to know the answer, even if he had no idea why.

You said, “What?” your heart thumping with pain. You never wanted to tell Dean that he was your one and only and how much you gave of yourself to him that night. “How could you ask such a question?”

Dean said, “It's a simple question,” as if he were defending himself. His attitude altered upon witnessing your expression transform to one of disappointment and rage. He wasn't sure if it was really necessary to get the answer. “Did you get fucked by him?”

You responded angrily, “He's my friend,” yet both of you stiffened at the words. Your body was filled with shame, and your heart ached from the burden. All you needed was Dean making no mention of wanting to cause you more damage. Wasn't it enough?

He said, “I am your friend too,” which made you tense up in your seat. “But things happen.”

You told him sternly, “You're being too much,” while doing your best not to seem pathetic or reveal how upset you were. “I can't believe you.” 

“Why are you not answering the question?” Again, he lost his temper. Dean noticed that his tolerance was wearing thin and that the pictures that were filling his mind were not helping the situation. He was aware that he shouldn't have said those things, but whatever. Fuck that. He wanted to know. He needed to know.

You snapped, “Of course not, Dean!” as a wave of rage overcame you. You wished he would have remained silent the entire way. Both of you should have stayed quiet.

Dean fought himself not to exhale in relief as a sensation of ease exploded in his heart. He didn't understand the significance of your connection with Robert or if it mattered if he really fucked you. However, the very idea was plenty to irritate him. You deserved better than this haughty, dumb man. It was such a simple question. That was it.

You didn't ask Dean whether he loved wounding your heart these days or why he was acting like an asshole. It pained your heart to see his suspicious look, even if you had no intention of telling him that he was your first to not ruin whatever you had from the beginning. If you told him the truth, you weren't sure how he would react. But knowing that he was still distant from you, you were unable to find the trust that you needed. You had no idea how he would react.

You said, “I want to go home,” in an icy tone, though you didn't actually mean it. You desired more time to be with him. It hurt so much to not be around him. Your eyes welled with tears, but you forced them back as your need for him reminded you of how pathetic you truly were to him.

He had an innate ability of ruining a nice moment just when you thought everything was going well. You realized that in order to stop him from hurting you, you needed to find a method to physically separate from him rather than cling to him. If nothing else, perhaps you could convey to him the meaning of his behavior and how easily his sharp words hurt you. Maybe someday.

“We're already-”

But you soon interrupted, saying, “My home.”

When he proposed that you have dinner at a restaurant, you should have accepted. Maybe you would chat about things that could break the ice between you, or even better, maybe you would find a way to bring up the young girl you took care of and her thoughts about love. Maybe he would act a little differently, acting more kind and cheerful rather than staring at you with rage. If only you had known which way to go to win him over, so much may have been different.

Next Chapter

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A/N: Please, let me know what you think about this one. I hope you like it. Comments and reblogs are very appreciated! They keep me going. ^^

Taglist: @procrastination20 @faiirynyaa @deangirl96 @steelthespooder @t1asstuff @slut-for-evans-stan @esposamultifandom @rebecca-hvnstn @monkey-d-hoshizora98 @sammyxorae @filmologetica @n-o-p-e-never @stoneyggirl2 @hhiggs @neptua @yuckqr @steelthespooder @jaredpadonlyyyy @jeysbae @robynn9436-blog @x3zerochanx3

@midnightpearlaurora @zaratahir @opheliadynah @mango-munchies @spxideyver @chirazsstuff @anyisaravia2001

[kittenan2]

Hey Babes!

Absolutely adore your work! It’s always a treat to get the tag alert for the absolute meals you’ve been serving. I’ve got this idea that’s been haunting me since I dove headfirst into BTS.

MafiaBoss!Yoongi x Y/N x BodyGuard!Namjoon

(It’s giving childhood friends who have the same taste in partners vibes).

Or

Rival Mafia Bosses!Yoongi x Y/N x MafiaBoss!Namjoon

(Both vying for Y/N’s attention only to be told “Both, Im not choosing between you two.”)

And in this both cases there are no objections to boyfriends being boyfriends. (They def compete a little at first but find qualities they admire in each other).

Kings of Ash and Desire

Pairing: MafiaBoss!Yoongi x Reader x BodyGuard!Namjoon Tags: Mafia AU, polyamory, possessiveness, jealousy, smut, praise x degradation, voyeurism, aftercare, gunplay (consensual, brief), dark romance, explicit content Warnings: 18+ only, explicit sexual content, violence, power dynamics, dub-con elements (handled with clear consent), overstimulation, emotionally intense. Word Count: ~4k Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY, Minors DNI) A/n: If you don't like the idea of multiple partners, poly au, polyamory relationships then DNI. I have already mentioned in warnings and Genre.

The city’s neon veins pulse beyond the tinted windows of Yoongi’s black SUV, but inside, silence chokes the air. You clutch your bag’s strap in the backseat, heart pounding. Your father’s voice haunts you: “They’ll keep you safe. You don’t understand the debt we owe.” A rival gang’s threat—blood promised for unpaid dues—has tethered you to Min Yoongi, the mafia kingpin who rules this city like a shadowed deity. Namjoon, his head of security and lifelong confidant, drives with a soldier’s precision, his eyes occasionally meeting yours in the rearview mirror, warm but unreadable.

Yoongi, in the passenger seat, hasn’t acknowledged you since you were hustled into the car an hour ago. His black coat and sharp profile scream power, but his coldness is a blade. Namjoon breaks the silence as the SUV glides into an underground garage. “We’re here,” he says, voice steady. Yoongi exits without a word, his presence a storm vanishing into the elevator.

Namjoon opens your door, offering a hand. “Don’t take it personally,” he murmurs, his calloused fingers grounding you. “He’s… focused.” His touch lingers, sending a jolt through you, and you nod, though Yoongi’s distance stings. The penthouse they lead you to is a fortress of wealth: marble floors, crystal chandeliers, a cityscape view that feels like a taunt.

“Training starts tomorrow,” Namjoon says, showing you to a guest room with silk sheets and floor-to-ceiling windows. “Self-defense. You need to be ready.” His gaze holds yours, a flicker of concern breaking his stoic mask before he turns away. Alone, you collapse onto the bed, pulse racing. You’re a diplomat’s daughter, out of your depth, yet Namjoon’s steady grip and Yoongi’s silent intensity linger in your mind, dangerous and magnetic.

Morning brings Namjoon to a private gym, all sleek equipment and mirrored walls. He’s patient but firm, adjusting your stance, his hands brushing your hips, your shoulders. “Guard up,” he murmurs, breath warm against your ear. His fingers linger, and your pulse spikes, heat pooling low. You’re not imagining the tension—it’s in his tightened grip, the way his eyes darken when you land a punch.

Yoongi watches from the doorway, unnoticed at first, his presence a gathering storm. When you catch his stare, it’s unreadable, but it pins you. He vanishes without a word, leaving a chill. Namjoon clears his throat, stepping back.

“Good work. Same time tomorrow.”

That afternoon, you’re exploring the penthouse when a crash echoes from the garage below. Curiosity pulls you to a balcony overlooking the space. Yoongi’s there, barking orders as his men unload crates—guns, you realize, glinting under fluorescent lights.

A rival’s graffiti mars one crate, a taunt. Yoongi draws a pistol, his movements fluid, and fires a single shot into the crate’s lock, splintering it. The precision, the danger, makes your breath catch. He glances up, catching you watching, and his smirk is a challenge before he turns away. Your heart races, fear and fascination warring.

That night, you overhear Namjoon and Yoongi in the lounge, their voices low, sharp. Hiding behind the door, you listen as Namjoon pours whiskey, Yoongi leaning against the bar. “She’s got fire,” Namjoon says, swirling his glass. “Not like the others.”

Yoongi snorts, but it’s soft, almost fond. “Same as always, Joon. You see it, I see it. That spark. Just like…” He stops, and Namjoon nods, a shared ghost between them. “We always did fall for the dangerous ones,” Yoongi adds, voice wistful.

Your cheeks burn. They’re talking about you—wanting you. The forbidden thrill sends heat curling through you, and you slip away, mind reeling.

Days blur into a tense rhythm. Namjoon’s morning coffees become a ritual, his dimpled smile softening the penthouse’s edges. He teaches you to disarm an opponent, his body pressed close as he guides your movements, his praise—“You’re a natural”—warming you. Yoongi, meanwhile, leaves gifts: a diamond necklace on your pillow, a velvet box with a single rose. They’re possessive, like he’s marking you, but he rarely speaks, his silence a wall.

One evening, you’re practicing knife throws in the gym when Namjoon gets a call. His face hardens, and he steps outside. Curiosity leads you to the hallway, where you catch his hushed voice: “Another hit on her family. They’re getting bolder.” Your stomach drops. The threat is real, closer than you thought. When Namjoon returns, he finds you frozen. “You heard,” he says, not a question. His hand cups your cheek, steadying you. “We won’t let them touch you.”

His touch is gentle, but his eyes burn, and you lean into him, craving the safety he offers. “I trust you,” you whisper, the words slipping out. His thumb brushes your lip, and for a moment, you think he’ll kiss you, but he pulls back, jaw tight. “Go rest,” he says, voice rough.

That night, your fantasies ignite. In bed, silk sheets cool against your skin, you imagine Namjoon’s hands, gentle but firm, kissing down your throat, whispering praise as he teases your nipples, his tongue soothing the ache. Yoongi’s sharper, pinning your wrists, his voice a growl as he drags his teeth along your thighs, his cock stretching you with deliberate slowness. Your fingers slip beneath your panties, circling your clit, slick and needy. You picture Namjoon’s tongue lapping at your core, Yoongi’s hand fisting your hair, forcing you to meet his gaze as you unravel. A whimper escapes, louder than intended, as your climax leaves you trembling, guilt and desire colliding.

The tension snaps a week later. Yoongi summons you to his office, the door clicking shut like a trap. He’s behind his desk, whiskey glass in hand, eyes glinting like obsidian. “You think Namjoon can protect you from me?” he says, voice low, dangerous.

You step closer, defiance flaring. “I don’t need protecting from you.”

His smirk is a dare. He rounds the desk, crowding you, knuckles grazing your cheek, his ring cold against your skin. “Brave little princess,” he murmurs, “but you’re playing with fire.” The air crackles, his scent—leather, whiskey—overwhelming.

The door opens, and Namjoon steps in, freezing. Yoongi’s jaw ticks, but he doesn’t move. Namjoon’s eyes dart between you, jealousy flashing. “Everything okay?” he asks, voice tight.

“Perfect,” Yoongi drawls, stepping back. You feel the loss of his heat, but Namjoon’s gaze—protective, hungry—holds you. He nods and leaves, but the air hums with unresolved need.

That night, passing Yoongi’s office, you hear them arguing. “You’re not subtle, Yoongi,” Namjoon snaps. “The way you look at her—”

“Says the one jerking off to her every night,” Yoongi retorts, his voice a low, venomous hiss, sharp enough to cut through the smoky haze of the lounge. He leans back against the bar, whiskey glass dangling lazily from his fingers, but his eyes are predatory, glinting with a mix of accusation and smug satisfaction. “Don’t play saint, Joon. I hear you through those thin walls, groaning her name like a man possessed, fisting yourself to the thought of her spread out for you.”

Namjoon’s jaw clenches, the crystal tumbler in his hand creaking under his tightening grip. He steps closer, his broad frame looming, voice dropping to a dangerous rumble. “And you’re any better, Yoongi? Don’t think I miss the way you lock yourself in that office, panting like a dog in heat, her name slipping from your lips while you stroke yourself raw, imagining her on her knees for you.” His lips curl into a mocking smirk, eyes blazing with challenge. “You’re just as fucking obsessed, picturing her writhing under you, begging for it, those pretty lips wrapped around you, taking everything you give, aren’t you?”

Your heart lurches, a wild stutter in your chest, as their words sink in like a brand. Yoongi and Namjoon—both of them, consumed by you, their desires laid bare in that heated exchange you weren’t meant to hear. The rawness of it, their unguarded confessions of lust, sends a rush of heat pooling between your thighs, your core clenching involuntarily. Your breath catches, a soft gasp swallowed by the penthouse’s heavy silence. You step back, retreating down the dimly lit hallway, the marble floor cool beneath your bare feet, but their voices follow you like specters.

Yoongi’s voice slices through the darkness, low and deliberate, dripping with a dangerous edge. “Careful, princess. These walls are thin.” The pet name is a taunt, wrapping around you like silk laced with venom. You freeze mid-step, pulse hammering, as his words coil in your mind. He knows you were listening—knows you heard their hunger, their shared obsession. The thought of him catching you, those obsidian eyes pinning you from the shadows, sends a shiver racing down your spine, equal parts fear and thrill.

Namjoon steps into view, leaning casually against the hallway wall, his broad frame silhouetted by the faint glow of a sconce. His white shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled to expose corded forearms, and the sight of him—steady, composed, yet simmering with something darker—makes your mouth dry. “We heard you,” he says, voice soft as velvet but weighted with intent. His eyes, usually warm, burn with a hunger that mirrors Yoongi’s, their intensity stripping you bare. The memory of your own breathless whimpers from last night, stifled against your pillow as you touched yourself to thoughts of them, floods back. They heard—every gasp, every shudder. Your cheeks flame, mortification warring with the reckless spark their gazes ignite.

You force your spine to straighten, meeting Namjoon’s stare, then glancing toward Yoongi, who’s emerged from the office, his black shirt half-untucked, a whiskey glass still in hand. Their predatory attention—Yoongi’s cold smirk, Namjoon’s heated scrutiny—should make you shrink, but instead, it stirs something defiant, something bold. “I wasn’t… hiding,” you say, voice steady despite the flush creeping down your neck, your skin prickling under their scrutiny. The lie is bold, but you lift your chin, refusing to cower. The air hums with tension, thick with unspoken desire, as if the hallway itself is holding its breath.

Namjoon’s lips twitch, the ghost of a smile, dimples barely forming before they’re gone. “Good to know,” he murmurs, his tone deceptively gentle, but the way his gaze lingers on your lips, your throat, betrays the storm beneath. Yoongi steps closer, his rings glinting as he tilts his head, studying you like prey. The scent of whiskey and leather clings to him, mingling with Namjoon’s clean, earthy musk, and the combination makes your head spin.

“Oh, princess,” Yoongi drawls, voice low and teasing, a wicked edge curling his lips, “you say that, but your pretty little whimpers beg to be caught.” His words are a taunt, daring you to admit the desire pulsing through you, his gaze flicking to your trembling hands as if he can see the heat pooling within.

You’re caught between them, the walls of this gilded cage closing in, yet the reckless fire in your chest burns brighter, urging you to step into their dangerous game.

The confrontation erupts days later in Yoongi’s office, the heavy oak door slamming shut with a thud that reverberates through your bones. The air is thick with the scent of polished mahogany, whiskey, and the faint metallic tang of ink, the room bathed in the dim amber glow of a single desk lamp. Namjoon’s voice is a low growl, accusing Yoongi of pushing you too hard, his broad shoulders tense under his fitted black shirt. Yoongi, leaning against his desk, snaps back, his voice sharp as a blade, whiskey glass glinting in his hand, the ice clinking softly. “She’s tougher than you think, Joon.” The argument spirals, their words slicing through the air, until you can’t take it anymore.

“Stop fighting over me like I’m a prize!” you shout, your voice echoing off the high ceilings, your chest heaving with frustration. The sound cuts through their bickering, and the room falls silent, the only noise the faint hum of the city beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Yoongi’s laugh is dark, a low rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. “Oh, princess, you are a prize.” He sets his glass down with a deliberate clink, rounding the desk to cage you against it, the cool, polished wood pressing into the backs of your thighs through your thin dress. His proximity is overwhelming, the heat of his body radiating, his scent—leather, smoke, and a hint of bergamot—flooding your senses. His pale fingers, adorned with silver rings, brush your cheek, the cold metal a stark contrast to your flushed skin. “And we both want to win,” he murmurs, his breath ghosting over your lips, eyes like polished obsidian locking onto yours.

Namjoon’s hand closes around your wrist, firm but not bruising, pulling you toward him with a gentle tug that makes your pulse spike. “She’s not a game, Yoongi,” he says, voice tight, his thumb brushing the pulse point beneath your skin, sending a jolt of warmth through you. His clean, earthy musk—cedar and rain—grounds you, but his eyes, usually warm, burn with a possessive hunger that matches Yoongi’s. The air crackles, electric, as they face off, your body caught between their opposing forces.

Yoongi’s hand fists in your hair, tilting your head back with a controlled tug, the slight sting making you gasp. “Then let’s see who she wants,” he says, lips hovering a breath from yours, the whiskey on his breath intoxicating. Namjoon’s grip tightens, spinning you to face him, and his kiss crashes into you like a wave—deep, consuming, all heat and need. His lips are soft but demanding, tasting faintly of mint and coffee, his tongue sliding against yours in a slow, deliberate dance. You moan into his mouth, a soft, needy sound that vibrates against his lips, and Yoongi growls, low and feral, yanking you back to him. The sudden shift makes your head spin, your lips tingling from Namjoon’s kiss.

“Enough,” you gasp, trembling, your voice raw as you shove against their chests, your palms meeting the hard planes of muscle beneath their shirts. “I want you both. But I choose how this goes.” Your words hang in the air, bold and unsteady, your heart pounding so loud you’re sure they can hear it. Their eyes meet over your head, a silent pact forming in the charged silence, the tension shifting from rivalry to something darker, hungrier.

You nod, voice firmer. “I’m sure.” Yoongi’s gaze narrows, and he reaches into his desk drawer, pulling out a sleek black pistol, the metal catching the lamplight with a cold gleam. “You trust us?” he asks, his voice a low purr, one finger tracing the barrel before brushing along your jaw, the steel’s chill kissing your overheated skin. The danger sends a thrill through you, your breath hitching, but his eyes hold yours, waiting, searching.

“Yes,” you whisper, the word steady despite the pulse thundering in your ears. He sets the gun aside with a soft clunk, the test passed, and the air shifts, charged with a new intensity.

Yoongi moves first, shoving you onto the desk with a force that makes the wood groan, your dress rucked up to your hips in one swift motion. The cool surface bites into your bare thighs, a stark contrast to the heat flooding your body. He hooks his fingers into your lace panties, tearing them with a sharp rip that echoes in the quiet, the fabric grazing your skin as it gives way. Your slick folds are exposed to the cool air, glistening under the lamp’s glow, and you whimper, the sound high and desperate, as the vulnerability and desire collide. Yoongi’s eyes darken, a predator’s hunger etched into his sharp features, his pale hands unbuckling his belt with a slow, deliberate clink of metal. His cock springs free, thick and veined, already glistening with pre-cum, the sight making your mouth water and your core clench.

He doesn’t prep you—doesn’t need to. You’re soaked, arousal coating your inner thighs, the scent of your need mingling with the room’s heady mix of whiskey and leather. He thrusts in with one brutal push, stretching you to the brink, the burn exquisite and overwhelming, like fire racing through your veins. You cry out, a sharp, keening sound that bounces off the walls, your back arching off the desk, the edge digging into your spine.

Namjoon’s hands pin your wrists above your head, his calloused fingers a grounding pressure against your fevered skin, the coarse texture sending sparks through you. His lips brush your ear, voice a velvet murmur: “You’re so fucking beautiful, baby,” the words sinking into you like a balm, his breath warm and teasing against the shell of your ear.

Yoongi’s pace is merciless, each snap of his hips driving him deeper, the desk creaking rhythmically under the force, papers sliding to the floor with soft thuds. His hand wraps around your throat, not squeezing, just holding, his silver rings cold against your flushed skin, the pressure a possessive claim. “Fucking mine,” he snarls, voice raw and gravelly, his cock hitting spots that make your vision blur, stars bursting behind your eyelids. The wet slap of skin on skin fills the room, obscene and intoxicating, your slick walls clenching around him with every thrust. Namjoon’s fingers find your clit, circling with precise, maddening pressure, the calluses on his fingertips adding a delicious friction that makes you writhe. His touch is a counterpoint to Yoongi’s cruelty, a dance of tenderness and dominance that frays your nerves. “You’re perfect,” Namjoon murmurs, kissing tears you didn’t realize were falling from your cheeks, his lips soft and warm, tasting faintly of salt.

Your breasts bounce with each thrust, the torn fabric of your dress grazing your hardened nipples, the sensation sharp and electric. Yoongi pinches one, hard, rolling it between his fingers, drawing a keening moan from your throat that vibrates against Namjoon’s lips as he kisses you again, swallowing the sound. The contrast—Yoongi’s degradation, Namjoon’s praise—splinters you, your nerves alight with sensation. Your first orgasm crashes through like a tidal wave, heat and light exploding from your core, your walls pulsing around Yoongi’s cock as you sob, your body trembling, overstimulated and raw. The slick gush of your release coats him, dripping onto the desk, the scent of sex overwhelming.

They reposition you fluidly, their movements practiced, almost choreographed. Your knees hit the plush rug, soft and thick under your shaking legs, a stark contrast to the hard desk. The fibers tickle your skin, grounding you as Namjoon kneels behind, his broad hands spreading your thighs, the calluses scraping lightly against your sensitive flesh. His cock, slightly thicker than Yoongi’s, nudges your entrance, slick with your release and Yoongi’s pre-cum, the heat of him pressing against you. He enters slowly, inch by agonizing inch, stretching you anew, the fullness dizzying, like you’re being remade around him. His chest presses to your back, warm and solid, the fabric of his shirt brushing your spine as he whispers, “You’re taking us so well, baby,” his voice a soothing anchor, his breath hot against your neck, raising goosebumps.

Yoongi kneels in front, his cock still slick with your arousal, the musky scent heady as he taps it against your lips. “Open,” he orders, voice a dangerous purr, his hand tangling in your hair, the strands pulling taut against your scalp. You obey, lips parting, and he slides into your mouth, the taste of yourself and him intoxicating, a mix of salt and sweetness that makes your head spin. He’s rougher now, guiding your head with a firm grip, fucking your throat with controlled thrusts, the wet slide of him filling the air with obscene sounds. Your tongue swirls around him, tracing the veins, and he hisses, “Fuck, just like that, slut,” his voice a low growl that sends a fresh wave of arousal through you.

Namjoon’s thrusts deepen, each one pushing you further onto Yoongi’s cock, your throat constricting around him, saliva pooling at the corners of your mouth. The rhythm is brutal, synchronized—Namjoon’s steady, deep drives, Yoongi’s demanding pace, the rug burning faintly against your knees. Spit drips down your chin, mingling with the tears streaming from your eyes, your mascara smearing in dark streaks across your cheeks. The office is a haze of sex and sweat, the sounds obscene—wet slaps, choked moans, their twin groans blending into a symphony of desire. Yoongi’s degradation—“Such a dirty little whore, choking on me”—clashes with Namjoon’s praise—“Our fucking angel, so good for us”—and the push-pull shatters you, nerves fraying like exposed wires. Your second orgasm builds fast, unstoppable, a coil tightening in your core. Namjoon’s fingers return to your clit, rubbing tight, relentless circles, and you scream around Yoongi’s cock, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash over you, slick gushing down your thighs, soaking the rug beneath you. Namjoon groans, his fingers digging into your hips, the pressure bruising but grounding.

Yoongi pulls out, his release painting your face, hot and sticky, dripping over your lips and chin, the warmth clinging to your skin as you gasp for air. Namjoon follows, spilling deep inside you, his cock pulsing, the heat of his release flooding you as his arms wrap around your waist, keeping you upright against his chest. You’re a trembling, dripping mess, full and ruined, your pulse a deafening roar in your ears, the scents of sex, whiskey, and their mingled musks enveloping you like a second skin.

Yoongi wipes your face with a cloth, gentle, his fingers lingering on the diamond necklace. Namjoon massages your wrists, kissing red marks, his lips reverent. They guide you to a leather couch, the cool surface soothing. Namjoon drapes a blanket, stroking your hair, while Yoongi presses a water glass to your lips.

“You okay, princess?” Yoongi asks, softer now. You nod, dazed, pleasure humming.

Namjoon kisses your forehead. “You were incredible.” His hunger lingers, mirrored in Yoongi’s darkening stare.

The air in the office shifts, thick with the lingering musk of sex and the faint tang of whiskey, a charged undercurrent sparking to life. Yoongi’s hand slips beneath the blanket draped over you, his rings cool and biting against the fevered skin of your hip. His touch is deliberate, tracing the curve with a possessiveness that sends a shiver through you, the metal grazing like a whispered threat. “You think we’re done with you, princess?” he says, voice low, a dangerous edge curling through it like smoke rising from embers. His dark eyes glint in the lamplight, hooded and hungry, the faint smirk on his lips daring you to challenge him.

Namjoon, pressed close on the leather couch, shifts beside you, his broad hand finding your thigh. His fingers, warm and calloused, glide upward, slipping between your legs to find you still slick, your core hypersensitive from the earlier onslaught. The contact pulls a soft gasp from you, your body jerking involuntarily. “Fuck, baby, you’re still dripping for us,” he whispers, his voice a heady mix of awe and raw need, vibrating against your ear as he leans closer. His breath is hot, carrying the clean, earthy scent of cedar, and his fingers linger, teasing your folds with a gentle, exploratory touch that makes your pulse stutter. “You’re incredible,” he adds, softer, his lips brushing your temple, leaving a faint dampness that cools in the air.

Your breath hitches, caught between exhaustion and a reckless hunger reigniting in your core. “I… I can handle more,” you murmur, voice trembling but defiant, your eyes flicking between Yoongi’s predatory gaze and Namjoon’s burning intensity. The words feel bold, a spark of your own power flaring despite the ache in your muscles, the lingering throb between your thighs. Yoongi’s smirk widens, a flash of pride in his eyes, while Namjoon’s dimples flicker, his expression softening with something like adoration.

They guide you to the plush rug at the center of the office, its fibers soft and grounding beneath your knees as you kneel between them, your body trembling with anticipation. The rug’s texture is a stark contrast to the cold marble floor beyond, anchoring you in this intimate, heated bubble. Yoongi stands before you, his black shirt unbuttoned to reveal the lean, scarred planes of his chest, his cock half-hard, the skin warm and velvety as he guides it to your lips. His movements are slower now, deliberate, savoring the way your tongue swirls around the tip, the musky taste of him—salt and heat—flooding your senses. His hand cups your face, fingers tangling gently in your hair, the cool metal of his rings brushing your cheek. “So fucking greedy,” he murmurs, voice thick with pride, his gaze locked on yours as you take him deeper, lips stretching around him. “Look at you, taking me like you were made for it.”

“Yoongi…” you breathe, pulling back briefly, your voice hoarse but laced with need, spit glistening on your lips. “I want to make you feel good.” His eyes darken, a low hum of approval rumbling in his chest as he guides himself back into your mouth, letting you set the pace, your tongue tracing the veins along his length.

Behind you, Namjoon kneels, his hands steadying your hips as you position yourself on all fours, your knees sinking into the rug, your back arching slightly to offer yourself to him. His fingers spread your cheeks, the air cool against your exposed, slick core, and you moan softly around Yoongi’s cock as Namjoon’s tongue licks a slow, deliberate stripe, tasting the mingled mess of your release and his own. The sensation is electric, his groan—“Goddamn, you’re perfect”—vibrating against your sensitive folds, his stubble grazing your inner thighs, a rough counterpoint to the soft heat of his mouth. His tongue delves deeper, lapping with a desperate hunger that makes your hips buck, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet office, mingling with the faint creak of the leather couch and the distant hum of the city beyond the windows.

“Please, Joon,” you whimper, pulling off Yoongi’s cock for a moment, your voice breaking as you glance back at him, catching the raw devotion in his eyes. “Need you inside me.” Namjoon’s breath hitches, his hands tightening on your thighs, and he positions himself, his cock—thicker, harder now—nudging your entrance. He enters slowly, inch by agonizing inch, the stretch easier but no less intense, filling you until your breath catches, your fingers digging into the rug for stability. His chest presses to your back, warm and solid, his arms caging you as he thrusts with a steady rhythm, each movement dragging through the slick warmth, hitting that spot that makes your vision blur.

Yoongi seizes the moment, leaning down to kiss you, his lips crashing against yours in a filthy, possessive dance. His tongue mimics Namjoon’s thrusts, tangling with yours, tasting of whiskey and the faint salt of your earlier efforts. The kiss is a claim, hungry and unyielding, and you moan into it, your body caught between them—Namjoon’s deep, measured thrusts rocking you forward, Yoongi’s cock heavy on your tongue as you return to him, gagging slightly as he hits the back of your throat. “That’s it, princess,” Yoongi growls, breaking the kiss to guide himself back into your mouth, his hand fisting your hair with just enough pressure to make you whimper. “Choke on me, show me how much you want this.”

The rhythm builds, synchronized and brutal—Namjoon’s thrusts slapping against your skin, each one pushing you deeper onto Yoongi’s cock, your throat constricting around him. The office is a sensory haze: the rug’s soft fibers under your palms, the cool air brushing your flushed skin, the mingled scents of sweat, sex, and their colognes—leather, cedar, whiskey—overwhelming you. Namjoon’s fingers find your clit, rubbing tight, precise circles, and you cry out, the sound muffled by Yoongi’s cock, your body trembling as the pressure builds. “I’m… I’m gonna—” you gasp, pulling off Yoongi briefly, your voice raw, desperate, as you look up at him, tears pricking your eyes from the intensity.

“Come for us, baby,” Namjoon pants, his voice strained, his thrusts quickening, each one driving deeper, the wet slap of skin echoing. Your third orgasm crashes through, a tidal wave of heat and light, your walls clenching around Namjoon as you scream around Yoongi’s cock, your body convulsing, slick gushing down your thighs. The rug burns faintly against your knees, grounding you as you shake, every nerve alight.

Yoongi spills first, his release flooding your mouth, hot and thick, the taste overwhelming as you swallow what you can, the rest dripping down your chin, warm and sticky, pooling on the rug. “Fuck, look at you,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, his hand stroking your cheek as he pulls out, watching the mess with a mix of pride and possession. Namjoon follows, his thrusts erratic, his cock pulsing as he fills you, a guttural groan tearing from his throat. His arms wrap around your waist, holding you upright as your legs give out, your body collapsing forward onto the rug, the fibers soft against your cheek. Their hands linger—Namjoon’s tracing soothing patterns along your spine, Yoongi’s stroking your hair, their warmth anchoring you in the haze of aftershocks, the office quiet save for your ragged breaths and the faint hum of the city outside.

They clean you again, Yoongi meticulous, Namjoon tender. Nestled between them on the couch, their warmth envelops you. The necklace glints, a claim. “You’re ours,” Yoongi says, final, tracing the diamonds. Namjoon kisses your temple. “Always.”

Months later, the diplomat’s daughter is a memory you’ve shed like a second skin. You stand at Yoongi’s side in a smoky backroom, the air thick with cigar haze and the low murmur of negotiations. Your sleek black dress hugs your curves, its deep neckline catching the dim light, the diamond necklace—a gift from Yoongi, now a constant adornment—glinting like a star against your collarbone. You’re sealing a deal for a shipment of rare whiskey, your voice steady and sharp, weaving authority with charm as the supplier nods, impressed. Yoongi’s hand rests lightly on your lower back, a warm, possessive anchor, his fingers brushing the silk of your dress, sending a quiet thrill through you. Namjoon, your steadfast shadow, leans against the wall, his broad frame relaxed but eyes vigilant, scanning the room for any shift in mood. His gun is tucked beneath his tailored jacket, a silent promise of protection.

The deal concludes, and Yoongi leans closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Handled like a queen,” he murmurs, voice low and proud, his lips curling into a rare, soft smile that makes your heart skip. Namjoon steps forward, his dimples flashing as he hands you a glass of champagne, the bubbles sparkling like tiny stars. “You make this look easy, baby,” he says, his tone warm, teasing, but his eyes hold that familiar reverence, like you’re a wonder he’s still unraveling.

Later, at the docks under a starless sky, you oversee the whiskey shipment’s arrival, the crates heavy, their wooden edges rough under the sodium glow of streetlights. Yoongi’s hand lingers on your waist, his touch grounding as the sea breeze carries salt and diesel to your nose. Namjoon’s gaze sweeps the workers, his fingers brushing the grip of his gun, ever-watchful. You catch his eye, and he winks, a playful gesture that softens the night’s edge. You smile back, feeling the weight of their loyalty, their love, like a warm cloak.

Back in the penthouse, the city’s skyline glitters beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, a tapestry of lights. The air is warm, scented with the faint vanilla of candles flickering on the coffee table. You’re curled on the plush sectional, still in your dress, the silk rumpled, your heels kicked off, toes sinking into the soft rug. Yoongi lounges beside you, his black shirt unbuttoned, a glass of whiskey dangling from his fingers, the amber liquid catching the candlelight. Namjoon sits on your other side, his arm draped over the couch, fingers idly twirling a strand of your hair, his touch gentle, reverent.

“Remember when we were kids?” Namjoon says, his voice soft, nostalgia warming his tone as he glances at Yoongi. “Sneaking into that old arcade, fighting over the same claw machine prize?” He chuckles, dimples deepening, his eyes crinkling with the memory.

Yoongi snorts, a rare, genuine laugh bubbling up, warm like a crackling fire. “That damn stuffed tiger. We nearly broke the machine over it.” He sips his whiskey, his gaze flicking to you, then back to Namjoon. “Guess we always had the same taste, huh, Joon?”

Namjoon grins, his fingers pausing in your hair to nudge Yoongi’s shoulder playfully. “Always. From tigers to troublemakers,” he says, his eyes locking on yours, sparkling with affection. “Took us this long to find one we both couldn’t resist.”

You laugh, the sound light and free, your cheeks warming as you swat Namjoon’s arm. “I’m not that much trouble,” you tease, leaning into Yoongi’s side, his warmth seeping through his shirt. He arches a brow, setting his glass down to pull you closer, his arm wrapping around your waist, fingers splaying across your hip.

“Oh, princess, you’re the best kind of trouble,” Yoongi murmurs, his voice a soft growl, but his eyes are gentle, crinkling at the corners as he presses a kiss to your temple. The gesture is tender, his lips lingering, leaving a faint warmth that makes your heart flutter.

Namjoon leans in, his lips brushing your cheek, his stubble a soft scrape against your skin. “Our trouble,” he adds, his voice a warm hum, his hand finding yours, lacing your fingers together. The diamond necklace catches the light, a quiet symbol of their claim, but it’s their touches—Yoongi’s possessive hold, Namjoon’s gentle grip—that make you feel like a queen.

The moment shifts, a familiar heat sparking as Yoongi’s teeth graze your neck, a playful nip that sends a shiver down your spine. “Careful,” you murmur, half-laughing, half-breathless, as his fingers slip beneath the hem of your dress, teasing the sensitive skin of your thigh. “You’re gonna start something.”

Namjoon chuckles, his free hand cupping your jaw, turning your face to meet his kiss, slow and deep, tasting of champagne and devotion. “Good,” he whispers against your lips, his voice thick with want. “We’re not done spoiling you.” Yoongi’s hand slides higher, his breath hot against your ear, and you melt between them, their love a fire that warms rather than burns.

One gun, two kings, a queen they’d burn the city for. In this moment, wrapped in their warmth, their laughter, their unbreakable bond, you’re untouchable—a triad built on love and loyalty, soft as silk and strong as steel.

A/N: This story was crafted with love for a special request—thank you for inspiring this dark, passionate journey! I hope it captures the heat and heart you envisioned.

Taglist: @the-djarin-clan . @jeonjamiekim . @moonjinniecafe  . @minpdrecs . @bontensbabygirl . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @mytaegiheart . @dear-mono . @lilyficrec . @janeluvwonuuuu . @k-fan-fics . @iztrouble . @pikajooni . @namluvili . @alonahh . @paradise172 . @stay-tiny-things . @micdropitlikeitshot . @softhaes . @littlebluhellfire . @niqueesthings . @nocturnalsingularity . @syudoeslove . @namjoonbaby17-blog . @mar-lo-pap . @naesarang07 . @diame93 . @themwordsblog . @chaos-gem . @crizoosblog

[delusionalwritingsofagay]

Jealous HOTD Targaryen boys

Aegon II Targaryen

Aegon is not one for subtle emotions. When jealousy sparks, his usual smirk twists into a sneer. He'll often retort with cutting remarks, thinly veiled jabs directed at whoever has captured Y/N's attention – though he'll never admit to being jealous.

He becomes incredibly hands-on. When Y/N is conversing with someone else, Aegon will drape an arm possessively around Y/N's waist, pull him closer, or thread his fingers through Y/N's hair, marking his territory in a way that’s both blatant and deliberately sensual.

Alcohol only amplifies his insecurities. A few cups of wine, and Aegon's jealousy spills out in drunken taunts. He might mock the other person's lineage, their skills, or their appearance, all while clinging to Y/N as if daring anyone to challenge his claim.

He will never directly say he is jealous but will instead make little jabs at Y/N, such as "are you finding him more suitable company than me, my love"

While he is not above striking someone who has made him jealous, he prefers to inflict torment indirectly, perhaps by publicly humiliating the person or assigning them dangerous tasks. He only resorts to outright violence in extreme cases.

Back in their chambers, the jealousy transforms into raw, possessive desire. Aegon becomes demanding, his kisses bruising, his touch urgent. He needs to feel Y/N's complete surrender, a physical reassurance that he is the only one who truly matters. He might whisper possessive words, reminding Y/N of their bond, their vows.

He'll leave marks on Y/N's body – a lingering bite on the neck, a trail of kisses down the chest – a way of branding him as his own. It's a primal act, fueled by insecurity and a desperate need to assert ownership.

Once the passion subsides, there's a vulnerability that peeks through Aegon's usual arrogance. He might cling to Y/N, seeking reassurance that he is still desired, still loved.

Aemond Targaryen

Aemond doesn't outwardly explode with jealousy. Instead, a frigid silence descends. He becomes even more withdrawn, his eye glinting with an intensity that could freeze fire. He'll observe Y/N and the object of his jealousy with a predatory stillness, cataloging every interaction.

While he avoids outright accusations, his tongue becomes a weapon. Sarcastic remarks, subtle jabs disguised as "observations," and pointed questions designed to undermine the other person's value in Y/N's eyes become his preferred method of attack.

When jealousy claws at him, Aemond asserts his claim through touch. A hand possessively placed on Y/N's waist, a lingering kiss on his neck in front of others, a tightening of his grip. These are silent declarations of ownership.

Aemond is not one to back down from a challenge, even if the challenge is winning Y/N's attention. If another man is vying for Y/N’s affections, Aemond will subtly engage in a contest of skill, intellect, or even ruthlessness, always aiming to prove himself superior.

In moments of deep jealousy, Aemond might temporarily withdraw his physical and emotional affection from Y/N. This is not intended as a punishment, but rather a reflection of his own internal turmoil. He needs to regain his composure and reaffirm his own worth before he can fully engage again.

Aemond is not prone to uncontrolled violence, but he is pragmatic. If someone poses a genuine threat to his relationship with Y/N, and words or subtle intimidation fail, he is capable of decisive, even brutal, action. It would be carefully calculated, never a blind rage.

The tension of his jealousy often culminates in intense intimacy. Sex with Aemond becomes a raw, possessive claiming. He might be rougher than usual, his kisses demanding, his touch branding. He needs to feel Y/N's complete surrender, a physical reassurance of their bond.

Aemond would leave marks - bruises that resemble love bites or scratches from his sharp nails on Y/N as a physical reminder to everyone that they belong to him. This is a way of conveying a message without using words.

In the aftermath of such encounters, when the fire has cooled, Aemond might whisper his insecurities to Y/N. These are rare moments of vulnerability, revealing the depth of his fear of losing them. He will never beg, but quietly, vulnerably explain that he is afraid of losing Y/N.

Ultimately, Aemond craves reassurance. He needs Y/N to actively choose him, to reaffirm their love and commitment. Acts of devotion, whispered words of affection, and displays of loyalty are the balm that soothes his jealous heart.

Daemon Targaryen

When Daemon feels a pang of jealousy directed towards Y/N, his first instinct isn't overt anger, but a subtle assertion of his claim. He might place a possessive hand on Y/N's waist during a conversation with someone he perceives as a threat, or ensure he's the one leading Y/N through a crowded room, a silent announcement of ownership.

Daemon is a master of nonverbal communication. A smoldering look, usually reserved for battles or moments of passion, is weaponized to intimidate the object of his jealousy. It's a look that promises consequences, a silent "back off" delivered with the full force of his Targaryen intensity.

His affection towards Y/N becomes more pronounced when jealousy rears its head. Expect lingering kisses, whispered endearments, and a focused attentiveness. However, his wit turns cutting towards the perceived rival. Sarcastic remarks, subtle insults, and a general air of disdain are directed their way, designed to diminish their standing.

Daemon might test Y/N's loyalty, subtly probing their feelings towards the person who sparked his jealousy. He'll frame it as casual conversation, but his questions will be carefully crafted, designed to gauge Y/N's true affections and reaffirm his own position.

Daemon possesses a volatile nature, but he's not prone to senseless violence, especially not towards those who haven't truly earned his wrath. However, he is more likely to engage in displays of physical prowess when feeling insecure. Sparring sessions become more brutal, hunts more relentless, a channeling of his frustration into controlled aggression. He's more hot headed towards people when they upset Y/N.

In private Daemon seeks reassurance from Y/N. He craves their undivided attention, needing to hear that he is the object of their desire. He won't directly admit his insecurity, but his need for intimacy and validation becomes palpable.

Jealousy fuels the fire in the bedroom. His touch turns possessive, bordering on rough, a physical claiming of Y/N. Kisses are deeper, more demanding, a desperate attempt to merge completely. Words are sparse, replaced by sounds and a fierce need to remind both of them who Y/N truly belongs to.

On occasion, Daemon might retreat into a brooding silence. He'll become withdrawn, his usual swagger replaced by a simmering resentment. This is often a tactic to garner Y/N's attention, a subtle form of manipulation designed to elicit concern and reassurance.

+ jaecerys velaryon

Jaecerys is surprisingly susceptible to jealousy, especially when it comes to Y/N. It stems from a deep-seated insecurity – a fear that he isn't enough, that someone else might offer Y/N something he can't. He is always aware of his duty and his position.

His first reaction isn't outward anger, but a quiet withdrawal. He grows more reserved, his smiles less frequent, his eyes always watching Y/N and whoever has drawn his ire. He won't make a scene, not publicly.

He'll subtly increase his physical presence around Y/N. An arm casually draped over his shoulders, a hand always finding its way to Y/N's back when they're in a crowd, a possessive closeness that's meant to send a clear message.

He might start peppering Y/N with questions about his interactions with the person who sparked his jealousy. He feigns casual curiosity, but he's fishing for reassurance, for any indication that Y/N's affections remain firmly with him.

He would never act violently towards another person due to jealousy. It is not in his nature.

In private, with Y/N, Jaecerys will eventually voice his concerns, but he'll do it with vulnerability, not accusation. "I trust you, Y/N, but sometimes I worry... I just want to be sure I'm enough for you."

He craves reassurance. He needs Y/N to remind him of his love, to tell him what he cherishes about their relationship. Verbal affirmation is incredibly important to him when he's feeling insecure.

[kryptznnn]

♡/♛- Patience [II]

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➸ INTERESTS; -pro-hero!katsuki bakugo (26) x f!quirk-less reader (23)

➸ BACKGROUND; -During pro-hero 'Dynamite's term within the top 3 heroes of the country, it was made aware by his agency that he needed assistant around. He hadn't appreciated the gesture really, as he hates being followed let alone babysitting, but he wasn't ready for you to enter his life.

➸ WARNINGS; - wc. 3k, romantic tension, intentions of kissing, friendship buildup, romantic buildup, slight age gap, fight mention, affiliation mentions, jealousy, etc.

➸a.i; - emptying out my drafts trust im making a comeback

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♡/♛- Patience I

Nine months was a long period of time, however for the two of you it felt as if it passed by too swiftly. Skipping through certain holidays, birthdays, and even sick days with one another it truly never got old. You wouldn't call it best-friends, as this was a professional branch to which things should remain strict, but the two of you definitely had your moments.

At least in your description towards others your boss was your friend. He wasn't just a friend obviously, but he made you feel seen in a way you liked; you were flattered honestly to create a small bond with someone you hadn't known ever before.

Eventually, your relationship with one another began to progress, not enclose but progress. After months the two of you grew understanding and mutual of one another, learning one another’s dislikes and likes. Of course you adapted to things much sooner than he did, now no longer needing a log of his daily antics or acquaintance’s. You were completely sure that whatever you would even tell Katsuki would go in one ear and come out the other.

Or at least that’s what you thought, because in his case that was completely false. If it wasn’t obvious enough his memory was just as sharp as his attitude, and he didn’t have to carry around a little notepad like you had in order to keep tabs on what mattered to him. It might’ve seemed stupid to others and maybe himself, but the more you two interacted with one another the more he wanted to see you smile, or laugh even. Laugh so hard to the point where you’re huddled over clutching your stomach, so he could laugh alongside you.

He wasn’t sure what it was about you or your nature, but whatever it was he liked it and it drew him to you. He had caught himself on numerous occasions going out with friends and going to the store wanting to invite you, to which he immediately brushed off and reminded himself everything between the two of you had to remain strictly professional. It hadn’t stopped the fact that he’d encounter items and objects that reminded him of you, it’s like no matter what you were always with him, and he wasn’t sure whether he liked it or hated it.

Like all things of course it quickly became annoying, he was the type of man to be bothered easily, that was something the two of you were aware of. No matter what he did or how he tried to avoid it things would constantly get out of hand, like how a couple weeks ago he ‘accidentally’ mentioned you to his close high school friend Mina while the group was out drinking and having fun. She immediately jumped on him and asked for more details, to which he explained you were his assistant and did a damn good job.

You were gentle, but harsh, cruel, ruthless, and a badass fighter. No matter how mean you attempted to make yourself you were as soft as can be on the inside. He thought of you as some sort of flower almost, one that refused to bloom for whatever reason. Your beauty on the outside that was wrapped tightly shut hadn’t fazed him, only more interested on what’s inside. He had even described it to Mina in that sense, that he wasn’t even able to see a glimpse of your petals, and it was killing him to just get a look, for you to just let your guard down.

Thankfully for him God must’ve heard his prayers and pleas, because for whatever reason his mother had told him to personally invite you over for dinner on his father’s birthday and you came. Not only did you come, but you offered to help with anything she needed, even if she rejected your first offer. You were so gentle and caring, open almost, and honestly, he never thought you could be more beautiful than you were now.

You acted different with his parents, the entirety of it all he had barely spoken a word, just observed you. Mitsuki wasn’t sure if it was because you were too busy helping her prepare or just oblivious to it, but she could tell exactly what her son felt for you by his looks. It only took on glance over to her husband with a firm nod before looking at their son and smiling to themselves as they set the table and spoke in hushed whispers.

He hadn’t deemed it fair in his case, that he wasn’t the one to bring out that side of you, to let your closed exterior loosen slightly. He hadn't minded it too much honestly, just seeing you outside of a work demeanor made him feel something warm inside. Still unsure if it was something he liked or disliked, all he knew was that he wanted to see you like this all the time.

He was quick to argue and bicker with his parents when they asked questions that seemed to out of character for them. Obviously digging into your personal life to know more about you and how working with their son was, hopefully not too much. You’d laugh at their questions and jokes along the side as the 4 of you ate along together, nothing harmful in the makings of it, just enjoying one another’s company.

If there was any way you’d be better understanding of who you worked for it’s a great idea to have quality time with his family, it couldn’t hurt. All the small and short details Katsuki had mentioned about his parents were honestly scary accurate, he used such little words to express how they were and yet was spot on.

You were quick to put two and two together on how Katsuki seemed much more like an observer than anything else. It wasn’t that surprising honestly, but you had wished he would open up more too you, or at least speak to you more outside of just his daily schedule or texts every once and a while after getting home. You knew your job wasn’t to be best friends with him, but it would be nice to at least enjoy one another’s company instead of walking around or sitting in his office in deafening silence.

Well, not entirely true, the loud air blasting through the square sized ventilation through the ceiling gave you some sort of closure. Beside it you’d play music quit often, only keeping one earbud in incase by any chance Katsuki would call out to you, but it’s never happened. You’d catch him glancing over at you from time to time, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t, or maybe he did know what he wanted to say, he just refused too.

Whatever it was you didn’t like it, it felt like there was a huge hole in the mists of the relationship you were trying so hard to build with him, and you didn’t know why. Maybe you were reading into it too much as you had for everything before, he didn’t seem like someone who cared so much, especially for little things, so why care so badly?

Everything was okay, dinner with his parents was okay, working alongside him throughout early mornings was okay, being an assistant and working on your training was okay, being in his office from time to time on weekends or his days off while he was in the room across during his ‘personalized gym time’ was okay.

Well, better than okay, way better than okay, it was great, perfect even. It somehow gave you small motivation to get your work done even quicker to enjoy the show aside from you.

You weren’t sure if he was able to catch you looking over at him several times or even staring for periods, but it got to a point where you didn’t care. Besides, you were only human, any person who admires the athletic build of a person working out would sit and stare, or at least glance. No matter what was happening you couldn’t help the feeling that things were just too bland, you didn’t want everything to be just ‘okay’ you wanted them to be great or something enjoyable.

You missed how things started off prior when you first began working with Katsuki. The first month you’d get up energized on nothing but your erratic emotions sending you into a frenzy. You were excited to explore more with him, do more with him, now things felt so different and it bothered you highly.

“Same time tomorrow?” You asked without looking up, collecting things from Katsuki’s desk then making your way over to your own, emptying your busy hands into your empty computer bag. You awaited the same response that you had been receiving the past few weeks as you placed your laptop and it’s charger in it’s designated pouch before he spoke.

“Actually I’ve been meaning to talk to ya.” He responded, now taking in your confused reaction as you turned to face him and pausing your actions. He only walked over shortly, leaving plenty of space between the two of you as he dried his hair with a small towel in one hand.

“About what exactly? Did something new come up with the agency or- “

“Actually ‘ts personal” he cut you off, now seizing his movements with his hair before placing the towel over his shoulder. Your cocked brow soon lowered as you took a seat next to your items, now showing him he had your full attention before he continued.

“Okay” you responded softly, placing your hands in your lap and flashing him a soft smile. He looked away at your face for a moment, before turning his back to face you entirely before speaking again.

“Not tryna be in your business.. but have you been busy with someone after work?” He asked, his voice stern as he made his way over to his desk before grabbing a rolled up paper and making his way back over to you. Your brows furrowed harshly as your lips pursed, before you could even part them to defend yourself Katsuki spoke again.

“Cuz in this picture you seem enticed by whoever you’re chatting with.” He says honestly, unrolling the paper and handing it over to you, pointing directly at your face in the picture as he spoke. “One of my publishers was going to post this out for millions to see, got caught by me last minute and I was asked for it to be terminated.” He said, reading your surprised expression as you attempted to piece all of this together.

From the looks of it this picture was of you, from 2 nights ago to be specific, catching up with a friend from university after hours before you had gotten back to your apartment. Stupidly in your case Katsuki had texted you asking if you got home safe and you stupidly lied to him. Where the two of you were was a public setting, so it’s not surprising that someone could’ve seen you two, you just never expected anything like this to happen, especially so suddenly.

The alarming title of the page being ‘Pro-Hero Dynamite’s Assistant; L/n Y/n sneaking around just to get some.’ Making you immediately crumple it up out of frustration and shoving it in your work bag before sucking your teeth and apologizing profusely.

You hadn’t expected for even you to grow a fan base, let alone paparazzi stalking you and your personal life with friends aside. You even explained that to Katsuki, and the titles being a bold accusation, there were thousands of things you’d do, have been trained to do, and sleep with a guy like F/n definitely wasn’t one of them.

“I know, it’s okay I just wanted to run it by ya first, wasn’t worried.” He said, walking back over to his desk and placing the damp towel down on it. He’s such a liar, a good one at that. He was worried, head over heels worried, when he received that text with images from the publisher he nearly fell out of bed.

That fucking smile, he hated it, not you though, just the smile. Over time Katsuki’s been able to differentiate whether or not he actually dislikes people for their being or just their actions and presentation. He knew he didn’t hate you, he just hated what you were doing to him, how you were making him feel.

Polar opposite to your own mornings now however Katsuki woke up determined, getting ready a little faster now. Wondering how you’d style your hair that morning or if you’d wear heavier amounts of makeup than before. If you’d glance over at him while he worked out, purposely taking in an extra fifteen minutes or so just to flex for fun.

The picture surprised him, but the possible title left him even more stunned. He knew you weren’t that type of woman, especially the fact that you had lied about your safety and being home, he was taken aback. In your case he seemed much nicer and understanding than usual, but to him he saw it as letting down his barrier.

Maybe if he could do that you could smile with him as you had before, laugh as loud as he’d like you too. Which is ironic considering the fact he was sure he hated your smile, the way your teeth were aligned well enough to make him wonder if you had gotten braces and retainers in your past. Or maybe you were just bledsoe with them and moved on to nothing but whitening strips, maybe that’s the case.

He found himself to be a little weird when he would just walk around and watch how you’d move hair away from your glossed lips whenever the wind was blowing outside. He was always quick to look away before you could even dream of catching him, but it’s not like you hadn’t felt his eyes on yours.

After working alongside someone everyday for nearly 8 months you grow fond of one another. Although you weren’t too happy with how your relationship seemed slightly distant, his presence was warming at some points. He was willing to speak to you when things were placed on your behave, like your past training and schooling or life before meeting him.

He liked your confidence and radiant energy whenever you did talk about your past, people you’ve fought with, made up with, passed over and grew out of. What he picked up quickly was how you would talk with your hands whenever you were passionate about something, it was physically impossible to keep them down if you were talking.

It’s funny honestly, he wants nothing more than you to express yourself and you want nothing more than for him to do it instead. Yet neither one of you were willing to communicate through the issue without seeming awkward afterwards so just kept everything to yourself. Even now through your small talk and chatter after the newspaper scandal it seemed that wasn’t working.

Within evening realizing it you had been caught up and been lamps an hour behind your original leaving period. You quickly shot up from your seat and fixed your chair before flinging your bag over your shoulder.

“It’s getting late I have to go.” You said sternly, shoving your phone in your pocket before making your way over to the entrance before being abruptly stopped by Katsuki, who only stood in front of you without a word. You took in his state, he smelled good, sweet almost, like some sort of fruit or syrup and you really liked it, especially with how well it mixed in with his fading cologne.

He still hadn’t said anything, just placed a hand on the door beside him as he looked into your eyes. You could feel yourself getting slightly dizzy by deciding which eye to look into, your vision flicking back and forth between the left and right for a period of time before scanning his face. It was almost as if he was pleading with you to stay in some way, or maybe that’s what you wanted him to think, or at least say to you.

You were caught for a short moment staring at his lips before your breath hitched reaching out slowly to place a hand on his broad chest before he leaned in slowly. A short moment between the two of you that had only realistically passed in just a few seconds managed to feel like another hour has passed and it was killing you. You did the only thing you knew to do, look away from him, attempt to distance the tension and suffocation between the two of you.

“Let me.. let me walk you to your car.” He said, now placing his hand on the handle of the door before pulling it open before you. You quickly drew your hand back and looked up at his face once more, now slightly flustered as he looked away and bit the inside of his cheek.

You only agreed and thanked him, leaving the room and heading straight for the elevators as you replayed the moments prior in your head over and over again. You brought your hand up to your mouth for a moment thinking to yourself, then back to Katsuki’s reaction.

That was definitely intentional, and super weird. Things like that haven’t happened to the two of you before, well not as close as it was earlier. The tension was strong but it seemed as if whatever was pushing the two of you towards each other was even stronger.

You sighed as you clutched your bag, the elevator dinging as it reached the lobby floor before you quickly stepped out, nearly bumping into someone on the side who was waiting for it. You were too in your thoughts to even apologize afterwards or look behind you, just digging in your pocket to get your keys.

You hadn’t hated the thought of it, what nearly happened. Truth be told maybe if things did go the way they were hinting towards earlier there was no way the two of you would’ve left the office in such short time. Maybe it’s better to not think of such things, especially such vulgar things, it’s just casual and professional, let’s leave it to that.

While you blew off the steam and marked your way over to your car Katsuki on the other hand was furious. Well furious was a strong word, more like embarrassed, embarrassed he hadn’t taken things farther when he saw how willing you were to kiss him.

Maybe that’s a bad thing, he’s never seen you so vulnerable and willing for something before, especially on his behalf and right in front of him. That wasn’t his prior intention, he didn’t want you to leave just yet, especially after cracking a horrid joke and seeing you laugh, but quickly covering your face with your hovering hand as you chuckled. He didn’t want you to hide from him, he wanted you to be as open as possible.

If a small gesture could show that, or even your intent on nearly kissing him could prove that you were somewhat into what he was feeding you made him nonetheless anxious for more. You were beautiful to say the least, Katsuki was many things, but a liar wasn't one of them. He was honest, if not brutally honest when it came to you and what you were capable of, he just didn't expect one of those things to be reciprocating the same energy he was giving off.

He was so impatient, to the point where it felt as if it was eating him alive. For nearly 9 months he had been attempting to get closer to you, attempting to read you and find out what you favorited without asking. Now when he had you exactly where he wanted, where he needed you, he was the one to bail out and play it off like nothing happened.

Maybe working with one another was going to be way more difficult than you had in mind. Afterall, it was completely evident what the 'large gap' in the two of you's relationship was before it could even begin.

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[white-poppie]

𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃 ⎯⎯⎯ Part II of the '𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇' series

SYNOPSIS: In the bleakest times of your life, there kindled a little ember in you. Tsukiko, moon child, you were coping, one way or another. But dark clouds claw at the litte light of hope in your life as you come face to face with Suguru again.

TW: crying, teen-pregnancy, panic attacks, lactation, depression-like symptoms, post-partum, adoption,, self-loathing, su!c!dal ideation, jealousy, mentions of suguru's twisted ideals of a perfect jujutsu society, big sad :(

A/N: Thank you for all the support to this series!! Ps! look out for the symbolism in objects, i used big brain power lol. Plus I am sooooo sorry for delaying this so much

NOTE: reader is in her last year so she'd be around 17-19 :) This big sad will build up to happiest happy in the last part so bear with me.

WC: 4k lmaooo

Series masterlist Pt1: 𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇 ⏮ ⏸ ⏭ Part 3 Now playing: Part 2

The child, a baby girl, lay giggling and cooing in your arms as you look down at her with warmth in your eyes. She's the spitting image of an angel with her wide and expressive eyes, her small nose, a sharp arch exactly like her father, pink flushed cheeks and a tuft of soft dark black hair on her head…She looks exactly like Suguru.

She is a talkative baby, her little pink lips opening and closing wit soft 'pops', thats quite literally talking, what even is the difference when you are holding a squishy 2 month old? Her hands and movements are disoriented, jerky, flailing her chubby little arms and legs without care.

Her tiny hand reaching up to grab at your strands of hair, her big eyes looking curiously at your hair, observing how it moves with her tiny wrist.

"Come on, sweetheart, let mama do shopping for you." you whisper to the tiny baby strapped to your chest as you go around picking the essentials

She looks up at your voice, her lips almost forming a little pout and you can't help but coo lightly at her cuteness. You resist the urge to snap another photo and send it to Shoko to which she would always reply with a boring thumbs up emoji, but you know well how she smiles after seeing her god-child.

"Let's see what we have... we got the diapers, baby oil, flour, we got the veggies and other stuff...ah pear, we should get some pears." you say to the baby. It was difficult to think singularly in singular pronouns, it was the two of you-- it was 'us', 'our' through and through.

You walk down to the fruit isle, looking for some pears. Eventually you find the last pack in the thin mesh. Your hands reach forward to grip it and so does another. Your heart ceases. There is no way you wouldn't recognise that hand. The faint tan under which lie a constellation of protruding green veins. Fingers with a naturally large nail bed, the skin around it slightly discoloured. Suguru. There was no doubt it was him, you didn't even need to look up or rather you didn't have the strength to.

You suddenly wanted to laugh. You felt like a tragic greek hero, comung across your beloved, a bit too late. Orpheus and Eurydice, Hyacinthus and Apollo. Achilles and Patroclus. But the real tragedy was, as the poets said, "I could recognise him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world."

"Suguru..." You whisper out breathlessly as you finally dare and look him in the eye.

His name leaving your lips like a plea tears straight through his chest, his heart aching at the sound of his beloved's voice again. He can't help but feel his heart racing as he looks at your face, drinking in the sight of your tired but radiant face. "Y/N," he murmurs out.

He feels sick, how instantly his sleep-deprived body finds solitude at the sight of you. Relief flooding into his lungs, spreading throughout his veins like a chasm. Its shattering, he feels like a man who was lost in a desert after having left his paradise for a mirage of an oasis.

His body is on fire, his muscles searing to envelop you, to somehow make you melt into him and never let go. His vision blurs, watery, and then suddenly, his breath stills, when his eyes fall onto the soft bundle safely strapped to you chest. An appearance uncanny similar to his, its alive, living. His ears buzz in trepidation. On one hand you stand in front of him and he wants to fall on his knees and tell you how miserable and lonely he was, how being the villain in everyone's story, including yours doesn't bother him anymore, but that child...

"Is that.." he murmurs, but his voice trembles more that he would have liked it to.

Your eyebrows etch into a small frown, you almost want to scream at him for even asking this question. "Obviously." You reply your eyes darting to the aisles in the mart.

His breath stutters and his palms turn cold. No, no, no, no, no. A soft gasp leaves his mouth. The revelation tumbling down him. he had thought of everything. He was ready to face anything, and every consequence, and yet somehow some way he had forgotten to calculate a variable. A variable that was a variable that you, a variable was his child.

He killed his parents without hesitation, left the walls of the quaint house he grew up in all sullied with but somehow the sight of you with his child brings him to his knees. He wants to sob, rest his head on your knee and shakily kiss you and the baby in forgiveness.

"That's my child..." he says, but it sounds more like a statement than a question. With his silken black hair and nose bridge, the same bright black eyes he had as a kid....that's his

You take in a deep breath and nod, your heart pounds in your chest till it aches. "Tsukiko." You whisper out, your voice hoarse as you look at the little girl

Suguru has to bite his lip just to keep himself sane, memories of that bittersweet night flooding in and he feels he would topple over the pear rack.

"Tsukiko...she's named Tsukiko..." He says out and his hand shakes. That's his blood, his daughter and yet he is the farthest thing from a father. Seeing her so close to you, the way you are fussing over her, it has his throat run dry by the intensity of a ground marred from rain, a rain that fell always but now doesn't fall in the courtyard of his heart, leaving all the plants of humane emotions, wilting and dry.

He can't help but murmur out, "A pretty name. It suits her." He whispers out softly, gently reaching out a hand towards the small child. "May I?"

You look at him as a strange anger wells up within. You want to refuse, yet you want to cry in his sturdy arms, for him to envelope you so hard that you can't breathe. You want to beg him to come back, and yet you want to slap him and tell him to never show his face.

You want him to stay, to apologise for letting some as young as you go through pregnancy alone. You want him to apologise for leaving you in a state where the shadows around you seemed to warp in oddly threatening shapes, where intrusive thoughts had you so scared you had to call Shoko or Satoru just to listen to their voice, so that you feel real and don't end up doing anything stupid.

You want him to go back to your dorm room in jujutsu high, where all of his belongings are untouched like the day he left.

You gently unclasp her from the carrier. “Support her neck, she’s only two months old.”

He swallows the lump in his throat as he gently takes the child into his arms, watching as you gently unclasp her from the carrier and gently place her into his arms. His heart hammers in his chest as he carefully and gently supports her small, fragile neck, feeling her small frame in his arms. Tsukiko blinks her wide eyes in confusion, staring up at him with wide, curious eyes.

You feel anguished, thinking of what life could have been if Suguru had never left for his goals. What if you hadn’t lost half of your soul that day.

His heart aches as he holds the small baby in his arms, thinking of all the moments he will lose out on seeing now. Never seeing her first steps, her first words, never reading her bedtime stories, never having her call him ‘daddy’. He will never get to see her experience the feeling of pure and unbridled joy for the first time, or seeing her face light up at all the small, everyday things that make children happy. He knows he has missed so much already, and the thought of missing more...

His heart aches and his breath catches in his throat as he feels the small child’s bottom lip tremble slightly, her head turning up to look at you with a conflicted look in her eyes. He can feel her small frame quiver slightly in his arms, probably still confused by the fact that she is in a stranger’s arms, but she isn’t crying to get away from him. The fact that she’s not crying to get back into your arms makes him want to laugh and sob all at the same time.

"Tsuki." You whisper out as you gently brush your fingers on her face. For some odd reason you don't want her to cry in his arms. After all the pain he has inflicted on me, Iyou still don't want him to be hurt by his girl crying to get away from him.

You take a sudden breath as your fingers brush against his arm accidentally, and suddenly you feel so small, so alone. With Tsuki away from your chest, even though she is right in front of you, you feel a strange fear of abandonment.

His heart races as he feels your fingers brush against his arm accidentally, your fingers leaving a scorching heat in their wake even though you’re only brushing against his arm. Your fingers are icy cold, and it’s just then that he realizes that you have tears streaming down your face, the droplets running down your chin and dripping onto the linoleum flooring of the grocery store. Your shoulders are trembling and you’re trying to hold back your sobs, but he can hear your strangled breaths.

"Give her back to me and leave." You whisper out as you bite your lips. Its not fair, It hurts so much. You have been so strong until now, taking care of everything, but now he is here and everything is rushing back like a riptide, knocking you off your feet, making you fall face-first onto the sand

He can feel his eyes widening in shock as your strangled words reach his ears, his heart aching painfully as he holds back the urge to cry out. He watches you struggle to stop tears from streaming down your face, watching the way your shoulders tremble as you try to hold back your sobs, watching as you fight back the urge to just hold the baby and run back to his arms.

"Geto." You murmur. Not Sugu, not Suguru. "Give me my child back," You whisper as you look at him, your hand clutching your chest as it aches so painfully. "Are you having fun seeing me make a spectacle of myself in the middle of a mart?" You croak out, but your voice doesn't waver.

His heart breaks as you call him ‘Geto’ in such a cold, detached voice. He gulps and hand the baby to you, his hands immediately feeling so empty, thats his daughter, his little girl. He wants to hold her, kiss her head, kiss the beautiful woman who brought her to life, but he is going to make a new world, and when all that is done, you would all be a family....

You gently tuck Tsukiko back in the carrier as he hands her to you and walk out of the mart, towards the exit. The groceries forgotten. You will buy them some other day. Each step is so difficult.

You wanna go back to him, cry in his arms, sob and hit his chest. Standing underneath a stop as you dial your phone to Satoru and he answers. "Satoru...can you pick us up?" you murmur tiredly, your voice hoarse

The moment he heard your voice over the phone, Satoru felt his heart dropping to his stomach. He can hear the way your voice is strained and hoarse, and he can sense the way that you are on the verge of tears. Satoru swallows the lump in his throat as he stands up from his desk and grabs the keys off his desk. “I’m on my way.”

You nod and cut the call, staring blankly at the clouds. You hear the automated door of the mart open and look at Suguru exiting the mart, three polybags in his hands as he walks up to you and keeps two of them on the ground. You look at the bag...its all the things in my cart and the pears.

Your lip trembles as I look up at him, eyes bleary. Tsukiko is now peacefully asleep against your chest. Her faint smell, that of baby powder and milk...It lingers from Suguru too, your head pounds.

He faintly smells like her too now and the way he looks at her, like he is aching, his eyes begging--- they are peading in the same way as they were on the night which lead to Tsuki. I wish I can have what I love, but to protect what I love, I must make a society where those I love ⎯ sorcerers: you, Tsuki, Satoru, Shoko ⎯ are safe

"Go, it's about to rain soon. You'll catch a cold if you get wet." You whisper out tiredly.

His heart aches as he watches you whisper out your words, the exhaustion plain on your face. He can’t bear to see you struggling and forcing yourself to be strong when he is the sole reason for your pain. And as he hears your tired voice, he just can’t help the way his hand reaches out to gently brush the tear away from your cheek. “Y/N…don’t cry,” he whispers.

You look at his hand caressing your cheek before a soft sob escapes your mouth. His touch making goosebumps rise all over your body. “Don’t do that, you have no right to when you decided to leave….” You say as you weakly push his hand away, but it’s so feeble and weary that it’s like a gentle nudge.

A fresh wave of tears builds in your eyes, and all he wants to do is draw you into his arms and hold you until your sobs fade away. It kills him how weak you are, how weak his leaving has made you. He wants to hold you and never let you suffer like this ever again. But how could he after he’s the one that caused this pain to begin with?

His phone rings, an unfamiliar contact name flashes on his screen. Mimiko with a little childish flower emoji next to it.

You feel your heart drop to your stomach; to the point that you feel as if you are having morning sickness all over again.

"That's your girlfriend?" you ask with a soft chuckle, as you don't feel this ugly cold wave wash over you, you feel your limbs stiffen, your teeth chattering at how cold I feel.

Its as if your heart has closed off, putting up a barrier around it and locking away all those painful emotion that he has inflicted on you. He looks down at his phone, seeing a picture of Mimiko and Nanako, the little girls he rescued and adopted 11 months ago, smiling in the caller ID. "Y/N..no..."

"You don't have to defend yourself y'know." you say with a fake breathy laugh as your hand supports Tsumiko's sleeping head to your chest. "Not that it matters anymore."

He bites his lip as he stares at your expression, his heart being "I’m not gonna defend myself but...those are my kids, not my girlfriends," he says softly.

Your eyebrows furrow as your grip on Tsukiko tightens instinctively. "...What?" Its too much. Its way too much for you to handle, your ears ring uncomfortably, yet you try to stand firm.

"Mimiko and Nanako..." He swallows nervously, trying to figure out the right words to say. "I-I found them, when I left you. They are sisters. Their parents were murdered, and they were in such horrendous conditions that I just had to rescue them," he stutters, feeling a sudden uncomfortable rush of warmth on his cheeks from his heart racing.

"I see, uhm thats very nice of you." You mutter with a little smile. "Having two daughters, must be nice. something positive amongst all that you are doing..." You say, but your throat runs dry. He has two daughters. That’s basically a family. He is raising them out of goodwill and love, it’s optimistic.

Your heart aches as you think about Tsukiko. Her mother still stuck to her past, clinging to her lover.

Most of the days you can't tell the date from start to finish. You blankly do all the work, function normally but trapped in this surreal dream that you can't snap out from, until your back hits the bed and you stare at a picture of you and Suguru on the bedside. Finally crying, showing some humane emotion after acting like a non-sentient being.

He has two daughters. Who first had happy lives with their parents until they tragically died, and were taken in by an equally loving caretaker.

Your expression turns from shock to something a little more painful, a sad half-smile that looks like it’s masking the emotional turmoil that he can see building up beneath it. He can see the way that your shoulders droop a little, your head bowing just a fraction more towards your chest. He can see your fingers tightening just slightly around Tsukiko, "Yeah..it is...” he murmurs out weakly.

“I am glad…every child deserves a home.” You mutter genuinely, but you feel so so terrible, like the worst person on earth that you am jealous of those little girls. Those little kids who get to live with their adoptive dad, a happy life. Full of joys and laughter. While Tsukiko was born in such despair. So much pain. Her mother, her godparents; everyone suffering in the tumultuous Jujutsu society. But what about Tsukiko, who's only fault was being born, why does she have to experience this tragedy?

Suguru's heart shatters as he watches you silently struggle and hold back your tears. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. He did this to you. He did this to you, and now his two adopted children are getting the life that he ripped from you. That he denied you. There’s so much you already hear from people, about your character. When your only crime was being in love

“I won’t tell her that you have kids when she grows up.” You say with smile. “Wouldn’t want her to think she’s not a good kid and that’s why her dad left her for other children who are better than her. She’ll think her daddy didn’t like her.” You mumur. “Kids can be particularly fragile…who would know better than a mother who’s a kid herself?”

His heart drops at your cold, quiet words, his breath catching in his throat, tears building in his eyes at the pure agony that he can feel in your words. The way you’re already resigning yourself to being a single parent all alone. The way you can only do this because you’re still a damn kid yourself. Suguru heaves breathlessly as he gulps, his bottom lip trembling. The words don't leave his mouth. He should just ask you to come with him, to live with him, to be together as a family, a big family.

“At least raise them well Suguru…the two of them should get a safe environment. You look down at Tsukiko, your fingers gently brushing the little hair on her hair. She’s so tiny, hasn’t even gotten hair on her head fully.

Suguru's hands shakes as he takes a step closer, just basking in the sight of his beloved and his daughter. "Yeah," he mutters. "They are good kids, my girls..." he says in a faint whisper as a soft smile graces his face at the sight of Tsukiko's pudgy cheeks.

What a mighty child, she can stop world wars, she has him stopped and he is the closest thing to be a cause of a war in near future.

My girls? Your knees buckle at the words. “Ah I see… they are your girls.” You can't help but be bitter at his phrasing as you look at our little Tsukiko. She looks so much like her daddy. From her eyes, nose, hair, skin…she is a replica of him and yet he’s never had the chance to call her his child. It’s so cruel.

He feels a sharp spike of pain shoot through his heart at your words. His girls…not our girls. His girls. He doesn’t have the right to have you call them our girls. They’re just his. All because of him.

“Will she ever be your daughter Suguru…?” You can’t help but mutter so shakily, your voice quivering like a child’s as tears roll down your eyes…you feel so small it’s embarrassing.

A soft breathy sob leaves Suguru, he can't do this, he is goddamn monster. The sound almost makes you flinch as you look up at him. He sucks in a deep breath and holds it in for a few seconds before exhaling. “How could I...she’s…” he struggles to get the words out. “She’s ours. She’s ours and she’ll always be ours.”

Suguru sakes his head as he runs his fingers through his hair, he so goddamn dizzy. "She is my daughter, Nanako and Mimiko are my kids." he says, the change of a synonym making such a huge difference in the meaning.

"And you- you are mine, you have no- no idea who difficult it has been, I can't even try to compare, but I've missed you so goddamn much." his voice cracks. "And its so lonely, the girls they see me staring at your picture everyday and I tell them that's their mother. When they ask where you are, I tell them how I messed up- left to protect you, because you do not agree with my ideas, I thought you would be better off without me, that you'd move on slowly. But there's my daughter and I feel so guilty. You cannot move on, not when she is a reminder of me, of us. Of our youth."

The tears don't drop, but they pain is etched on his face, deep frown and upturned brows. You breathe out and shake your head. "I can't-" you murmur and he bites his lip, his index finger lightly running on Tsukiko's palm.

"I know." he says, "I just wish- I just wish I had more time, with you and Tsukiko." he whispers in the same soft tone as he conflicted eyes look into yours as if to say. Come with me, leave the jujutsu society, just us, our family.

But leaving with Suguru meant betraying everyone. Satoru, Shoko, Yaga sensei and the entirety of the sorcerers who work day and night for the future. A safe future from people like Suguru. Who heedlessly killed thousands of innocents.

"Go," you whisper out. "the girls must be waiting." You pause, your fingers shakily finding his and his eyes widen. He firmly squeezes your hand, the warmth of his hand against yours rouses and inexplicable pain and fondness in you.

"Satoru must be arriving." you mutter.

He nods his head slowly as he steps away, his voice thick. “I love you." he whispers out. The same words he had denied you the privilege of last time as he leaves...

Moments later a panicked Gojo pulls over, alarmed by your call before his eyes widen as he senses the remnants of Suguru’s cursed energy. His best friend, the strongest along him. Gojo can feel a cold shudder wash down his spine as he senses the remnants of Suguru’s cursed energy in the air, his breath catching in his throat as recognition hits him instantly, realising what may have happened.

You are sitting on the seats on the bus-stand as he comes close.He steps closer to you, his heart breaking upon seeing the dried tear tracks that are on your cheeks and the look of brokenness and despair in your eyes. He kneels down in front of you and gently rests his hand on your knee, his eyes gentle as he looks at you. “Y/N....” he whispers.

“Satoru…” You whimper softly, your voice cracking out of desperation and relief.

He quickly reaches up to pull you into a tight hug, his heart aching at the small, whimpering whisper of his name from your lips and the way your breathing hitches and a choked sob escapes your lips, the rest of your body quivering in his arms from the force of your tears. His arms are locked tightly against your body, keeping you pulled firm against his chest as you cry into your hands and he gently strokes a hand up and down your back. “Hey…shh..it’s okay…I’m here.”

He mutters as he winces, closing his eyes while the remnants of his best friend's cursed energy remains...

A/N: I sincerely apologise for the pain, but I don't have enough money for everyone's therapy.

EXP: Pear symbolism: In Chinese, the word li means both pear and separation, so it's said that to avoid a separation, friends and lovers should not divide pears between themselves.

[vigilante24ish]

🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1233

Chapter 33:

The inside of the room reminded you then top of a tower, no corners to be seen, and some tall glass stained windows offering some light.

Everything had a very medieval feel, with old stones and banners; suits of armour, and an odd circular stone table in the middle, with two wooden chairs across from one another.

However, your attention went quickly to the new outfits chosen by the road for your companions and you.

Agatha had been dressed like the wicked witch of the West, dark cliché witch watches, and even a pointy hat. The skin had even been painted green, only the lips having a purple shade instead.

Billy, on the other hand, resembled Maleficent, and you swore he didn't have that sharp cheekbones before.

You would not lie that it suited him.

And yes, despite your history; you had occasionally chosen to watch mainstream media associated with witches. What could you say? You grew lonely, slightly bored, and the Halloween costumes of certain kids had picked your interest.

"Oh! She's based on me, you know." Agatha suddenly said, posing and clearly enjoying her costume.

Billy was sceptical. "Prove it."

"Well, you are what you eat; so" you commented without much thinking.

Your comment and your tone surprised your companions and earned different looks from them.

Agatha parted her lips in surprise, a silent gasp leaving her as she eyed you carefully. She did not expect that from you, and a part of her wondered if this was creeping jealousy because of Rio.

Truthfully, she hadn't fully seen you jealous, but she knew it was there. When you would kiss her with little more force, when you would snuggle closer to her on certain occasions.

And it was always followed after talk of other people or even small socialising you two would happen to-do; never planned but had to play along not to raise suspicions.

Not that you were always successful. Which was perhaps why you had ended changing places of living quite often.

"Well, then I am curious what your preferences are then," she snapped back.

Her words gave you the courage to glance at yourself, hesitating to do so after the last trial. The Road hadn't seem to be that favourable with you, at least not the way you would have expected it.

Perhaps you were simply a picky person, wanting stability through familiar clothes and styles. You shouldn't be judged, though, considering how unstable your life always was.

Constantly changing places to stay undetected, fake names and backgrounds. One should not mention the unstable duo of Rio and Agatha coming up into your life only to disappear soon after... only for the cycle to be repeated again and again.

This time you wore a dress, long and heavy; reaching the foor. The basis was a light grey, its pattern and material reminding you of a more medieval era; which you had lived through. Yet it was the silver extras that got your attention.

They were blended and placed to resemble some sort of fancy female cliché chest armour while the skirt had a more scale like design. You had a rather open cleavage, just enough to draw attention but not as dramatic as the one Agatha and rio had during Alice's trial.

"Hmm," you hummed as you did a twirl around yourself, trying to catch a better glimpse of the full outfit. "Honestly, I am puzzled,"

As you looked at your companions, you saw Billy's eyes lighten up in recognition. "You are the Ice Queen!" He exclaimed happily, the character most likely one of his favourite ones.

"Ice Queen?" You arched an eyebrow.

"Yes, an ice witch that used her powers to become queen. You even have the crown and everything. "

At the mention of the crown, you rushed to the nearest shiny object and got a glimpse of your reflection. Indeed, a beautiful icy blue crown had been worn tightly; going down your temples and giving the impression of grown ice.

"It suits you. White has always been your colour," Agatha commented, having enjoyed watching you walk fast with that heavy but well designed dress; the silvers on it and the crown reflecting the light and giving you a more supernatural look.

An ironic fit in her mind.

You did not wish to continue this discussion and so you tried to find anything to help you change the topic. Thankfully for you, Billy had started to admire his outfit a little too much.

"Well, you seem pleased with your look." You commented as he walked towards you, eager to see his reflection as well.

"Well, if the cheekbones fit..." he replied as he focused on the surprising good contour.

You shook your head, not really in the mood to be amused by his comments. He might enjoy the changes but you didn't, because of two things.

One, you had yet to start the trial.

Two, there was still no sign of Lilia or Jen; a worrisome thing.

In an attempt not to focus on those dark thoughts, you chose to approach this mysterious table and try to get any clues out of it.

You took notice of the card shaped carvings on the stone table. They had been carved to be deeper, acting like some kind of case or place for them to be put on.

The way they were positioned was familiar to you, recognising it as a tarot spreading technique. You had seen it before but never truly focused or bothered with it.

Tarot was never your calling, and you were also never interested in learning of your future. And if you ever need any answers, you would turn your attention to the stars above.

They spoke of secrets that nothing else could, and they only spoke to you after years of training yourself to listen to their mystic, quiet song.

Your hand brushed over the cool surface and above some inscriptions at the side, allap carved on the stone.

"Do you think this is important?" Billy asked him and Agatha, having chosen to finally join you and help you find how the trial worked.

"Your path winds out of time." You mumbled as you read out loud, trying to get some sense out of this rather cryptic message.

Billy took notice of a stack of cards that had escaped your notice, and he grabbed it before flipping one to look at their design.

He could not help but smirk. "It's Tarot. I know this, kind of. I'll read for you, I guess." He said. "To any of you"

"Do her, though I don't think it will work," you admitted, and Agatha rolled her eyes.

"What is it now?" She questioned, one hand in her waist.

She loved you, but sometimes you truly were a joy killer. Especially now. She wanted to get to the end of the road and consider how close you might actually be... she didn't want to wait.

"This is tarot. It's Lilia's trial, " you pointed out.

"But Lilia is not here," Billy commneted.

Agatha did not share the worry. "The kid said he can do it, should be fine. Come on, no time like the present."

Defeated, you let out a sigh and leaned on the table; remaining by the side. Agatha occupied one chair and Billy the other while also shuffling the card deck a few times.

Chapter 34

[aziraphales-library]

Hi yall I’m looking for a type of fic where Aziraphale and Crowley are roommates or share a dorm room

Thank you

Hey. We have a #roommates tag, so check that out. Here's a bunch more where they live together...

And They Were Roommates by SeasNStars (G)

Aziraphale gets a new roommate in Crowley and tries his best not to feel certain way about seeing Crowley with other men. Aziraphale hates himself for it, for he’s trying very hard to be a good ally. Based on that story of the guy who thought he was experiencing homophobic reactions to seeing his roommate bringing over guys, only to realize that wait… he was actually experiencing jealousy and liked the roommate.

Going Out by ineffableword (G)

Crowley had never met anyone like Aziraphale, someone able to understand all of Crowley-specific issues. Perhaps he even felt something more for his angelic flatmate. The problem was, he only realized this once Aziraphale went on a date. Which he'd suggested.

What You Really Want by AppleSeeds (T)

After Aziraphale gets fired from his job, his best friend and roommate Crowley does everything he can to take care of him and help him to feel better, encouraging him to take this opportunity to pursue what he really wants. Of course, there's only one thing Aziraphale is sure that he wants, but Crowley could never see him that way, could he?

The Tenant by MarisFerasi (E)

They Were Roommates Human AU Trope set during Lockdown 2020: Crowley got kicked out by an ex a few months ago and has couch surfed his last wave of his few friends' benevolence. He finds a listing for a bedsit in Soho and goes to check out the place, and finds the fussy little angel of a landlord quite charming indeed. He moves in and they quickly become friends, but both desire more and pining ensues. The real issues begin when Crowley loses his main job during major cutbacks because of the pandemic, and has to rely on his side hustle of online sex work to pay the rent, and Zira finds out. What will happen? Will the two part ways? Will Zira ask Crowley to leave when he finds out his "dirty little secret"?

Joint Honours by FeralTuxedo (E)

PhD student Aziraphale is busy enough with his studies at Tadfield University. But at the start of a new semester, his measured routine gets shaken up by the sudden responsibility of teaching, the arrival of an irresistible new house mate, and a mysteriously flirtatious sausage roll.

Imperfect by Nature by summerofspock (T)

Aziraphale has known Anthony Crowley since they were five years old and his parents moved to the street where the Crowleys lived. First, they were friends, and then they weren't and, many years later, when Crowley answers the ad to rent the flat above Aziraphale's bookshop, it seems the chemistry they've had since the beginning hasn't gone anywhere. The question becomes, can they move beyond their past and have any sort of future together?

Sharp Objects by ElderlySardine (M)

Back in the mid-nineties, Aziraphale and Crowley had it all. They were friends, lovers, soulmates. Life was hard, but as long as they were together it didn't matter. Then in one catastrophic fight caused by Aziraphale's cruel, coercive brother Gabriel, the whole thing came crashing down. The boys parted company for good. Now it's 2021. Life has spun Crowley and Aziraphale in very different directions before throwing them back together at their lowest ebb. Can they manage to hide their history from their new friends? Can they forgive each other, and themselves? Could there possibly still be something there between them? And with Gabriel still lurking on the horizon, will they be strong enough to do anything about it?

Ineffably Enough, They Were Roommates by DiscombobulatedBard (M)

Aziraphale and Crowley are roommates. They are also idiots. They may even be in love with each other. (Not that they’d ever admit it, of course.) If Aziraphale needed help– If he were desperate– Crowley would help him with his heart broken. He would help him with his heart whole. That was what roommates did, wasn’t it?

- Mod D

[bee-the-loser-recs]

✩✮✩✮My OT8 One-shot Fic Recs ✩✮✩✮

I'm re-visiting these fic recs and adding to them now that I have more fics to add and recommend :)

★ Hurts like hell & Hurts like hell [pt.2] By @ja3hwa 571 words & 4.12k, mafia au, angst, heartbreak, betrayal, mentions of cheating, name calling, yelling, making up, mentions of death

★ Overboard By @mymoodwriting 4.8k, pirate au, amnesia plot, blood guns, near death experiences, gunshot wounds

★ The Yule Dragon By @thelargefrye 4.3k, polyamory, dragon!Ateez, witch!reader, fantasy au, fluff, angst, talks of death, light injury, celebrations

★ I wish it was me By @sanjoongie 8.67k, San x reader x Yunho predominantly, avatar the last airbender au, mentions of sex and fighting, water tribe San, Yunho & reader

★ Replay By @whimsicalwritingsandmore 1.47k, pirate au, adventurer reader, time travel, fantasy, panic attacks, sharp objects, butterfly effect

★ Aurorise [pt.1] By @whimsicalwritingsandmore 1.56k, Prince!Ateez, dancer reader, historical fiction, adventure, royalty, fluff, some angst

★ Our party By @starillusion13 11.9k, clubbing, possessiveness, kind of Yandere!Ateez, fluff, smut, angst, getting back together

★ Is this the end? By @starillusion13 5.3k, lore au, mystery, angst, crying, mentions of death, fever dreams, flashbacks, loneliness

★ Lost you forever By @starillusion13 5.3k, mafia au, angst, past lovers, crying, mentions of death, pregnancy, misunderstandings, unforgiveness

★ Can we go back? By @starillusion13 4.2k, mafia au, angst, mature, arguments, regret, trust issues, keeping secrets, mentions of death [Honestly, just check out all their works, like they're so good]

★ My bffs as cakes: a thread & Rating my bffs on how well they'd do as a valentine date: a thread By @bluehwale Social media au, twitter threads, humour, crack, fluff, platonic relationships, mentions of drinking bleach, fuckboy San

★ Rating bff [series of one-shots] By @eightmakesonebraincell Social media au, twitter threads, platonic relationships, fluff, crack, humour, suggestive jokes, friendly bullying, so funny [I just linked their masterlist though, cause I genuinely love all their works and you should also check out their Ateez as ----- series]

★ Dewdrops at dawn By @sunmoonjune 17.2k, Demon!Ateez, soulmates, reincarnation, socially anxious reader, dick angels, little gore, sexual themes

★ Oh my *** By @ohmyamor 10.2k, guardian angel!Ateez, human reader, reincarnation, fluff, angst, car accident, near death experiences

★ Living with 8 vampires [pt.1] [pt.2] [pt.3] By @lilacmingi 7.4k, 7.9k, 7.9k, Vampire Ateez, human reader, roommates, fluff, humour, so fun

The newly added fics:

★ Sick duty. By @woncon 3.5k, established relationship, polyamory, sickfic, slice of life, Yungisang focus, Yunho has a fever, petnames, nudity, going out in the pouring rain

★ OT8 Ateez wanting you for themselves By @mingtinysworld SMAU, friends to lovers, coming back from a meh date, hooking up, suggestive, petnames, confessing they all want reader, down bad for each other, needy

★ The princess By @mimikittysblog 5.3k, mafia husbands Ateez x wife reader, polyamory, kidnapping, major violence, death/murder, arson, angst, fluff, suggestive, pet names

★ Poly! Ateez Texts: Fashion Week Edition | Halloween Edition | Jealousy Edition | Aniteez Date Edition | Spoiled Edition | Lingerie Edition | Post-Concert Edition By @mimikittysblog SMAU, polyamory, suggestive, fluff, pet names, discussions of sex, jealousy, humour, making out, mentions of nudes, being spoiled, mentions of punishments, Ateez's slutty behaviour

★ Random poly!ateez texts [pt.1] [pt.2] [pt.3] & [pt.4] By @bombuni SMAU, established relationship, polyamory, mentions of a creepy dude, suggestiveness, sex jokes, implied food/body issues, protective Ateez boys, slice of life, fluff

★ Poly!ateez x gn!reader By @bombuni Drabble, established relationship, soft Ateez taking care of you, hurt/comfort, non-verbal and isolating reader, implied chronically ill/depressed reader, fluff

★ The essence of youth is summers with you By @eightmakesonebraincell 38.7k, poly!Ateez x reader, surfers, childhood best friend San, kind of college au, slice of life, coming of age, slow burn, jealousy, fluff, angst, implied toxicity, themes of sexuality and homophobia, miscommunication

★ Our leaves must fall before our flowers can bloom By @eightmakesonebraincell 37.6k, poly!Ateez x reader, hockey team Ateez, coach reader, enemies/strangers to lovers, athlete au, slowburn, fluff, angst, themes of corruption, rocky family relationships, trauma, hurt/comfort, injuries

★ And if it stops snowing? then count the stars in the sky By @eightmakesonebraincell 39.7k, poly!Ateez x reader, doctor au, hospital romance, established relationship, slowburn in reverse, fluff, angst, burnout, heavy medical themes (death, cancer), grief, mental breakdown, workplace misogyny & nepotism, profanity

[rainynightmoonlight]

hiii i loved your cute yan bsf is there a part two? i am so obsessed 🫶🫶

Cutey for you! PT. 2 | Yan Cute boy best friend x you

Characters: Jesse

Summary: Your cute best friend just adores you with all his heart. To the point it brings him to tears

Warnings: Yandere themes, possessiveness, violence, mention of self harm, angst

a/n: I can make a part 2! I've been planning this for a while but I wanted people to want it, yk? Also this will be very self projected. Bone is mentioned!

Pt. 1

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Jesse couldn't understand it. Why couldn't you just stay with him? Why did you have to befriend that delinquent of all people! He's tried so hard to show you how he isn't worth your time or attention. Your best friend is! He's supposed to be your number one! You know that… And yet you chose to be with that stupid idiot!

Jesse can't take this! He can't be without you. His heart aches. He needs you so much. More than that delinquent that's taking you from him! There's more than just jealousy within his heart. There's more than rejection. There's so much more, and he has no one to tell because his best friend is with his rival! The person that is ruining his life!

He's scrolling through his phone, reading messages you had sent. He's deliberately ignoring you. He can't take it, and you need to know he's suffering. It's not like he can tell you, but that's not his fault! You should just know that when he's without you, he's suffering. Not only that but he's afraid. Afraid the moment he reaches out, you'll have moved on. Afraid that you'll reject him every time he wants to talk to you.

Laying in the dark, he's moved on to looking at photos of you. Some he took with you, some he took of you, and some were secret snapshots but let's not talk about those. He's fighting tears. Fighting them and losing. Misty eyed as he finds a video of you laughing with him and being silly with each other. He can't take this!

He checks his notification seeing you posted a new video on your social media. It's just like the video he saw with him and you, but this time it's with that delinquent. Jesse's whole world is tumbling down. Now he's stalking your account and that dumb delinquent's, finding every single post you are in together while tears stream down his cheeks.

He makes no sounds. No sobs. Only shuddered breaths and shaky shoulders. Throwing his phone across the room and cracking his screen, his mind becomes a dark place. One of nightmares that he has tried so hard to keep locked away from you. All his insecurities, fears, and intrusive thoughts swirl. Hyperventilating. Panic. Nothing is making sense.

He grabs a plushie of his. One you gave to him. One that reminds him of you. The scent of you is still on it. It soothes him barely, but the panic attack has settled. A single thought screams within his mind.

“You're being replaced.”

“You're not their favorite anymore.”

His brain is lying to him. It must be! You wouldn't just replace him. You've known him for years! You're his best friend and he's yours. Nothing can just shatter a bond like that.

“Shut up.... you don't know! They love me... I'm still they're favorite!”

Jesse whispers to himself. To the thoughts. A sound barely brings him back to his reality.

Your ringtone.

His favorite song now sounding sour. He doesn't want to take your calls. He doesn't care if you're panicking. He's suffering! He's sobbing into the plushie and holding it for dear life. He can't care for anything other than the irrational worries.

A part of him wishes you would break into his room and hold him, another part loathing the idea of you seeing him like this. It's so close. The blades are so close. He's surrounded by them. He can't help but think about it. He can't help but think about hurting himself. Would you notice how much pain he's in then?

Before Jesse can even think about reaching for any sharp object in his room, the darkness is shrouded in the light of an open door. You. The light surrounding you like an angel.

His body stiffens. Your warmth. It felt like a distant memory. When has he been held like this by you? Do you hug your new friend like this? No. That thought doesn't matter right now.

Only you matter. His crying quiets down. His body melts against yours. No words needed to be exchanged. All that was needed was your arms around his and your touch on his skin. In a matter of minutes he's calmed down.

Snores replaced the tears. Jesse fell asleep against you. Something he used to do when the two of you were kids. He's never going to miss this. You're his best friend. He loves you so much. And right now, all the nightmares were replaced with sweet dreams of the two of you together.

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Do not repost or translate without my explicit permission! Reblogs are welcome!

[animeyanderelover]

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional behavior, clinginess, jealousy

Tags: @jamayah @leveyani @chxxz @hyakki-yosai @shenryu-sama @maggiequinn59

Clingy s/o

🪀​Killua thrives on the affection that he receives from you. Though he may be a deadly assassin who can kill easily, he doesn't shy away from affection and love from people that mean a lot to him. Being an older brother to Alluka he is no stranger to clinginess either even if he grew up in the Zoldyck family where teaching methods were more than questionable. The most enjoyment of it all is still when both of you are alone at home. Outside there is always a lingering paranoia within Killua that he cannot shake off no matter how hard he may try. It's a natural instinct for him to be protective of you and this is a switch he is unable to turn off. All noises, scents and movements always register when there are other people around so bits of his mind are always elsewhere. Props to him though for he hides it all very well unless someone approaches the two of you. At home on the other hand he claims his proper share of your clinginess without his senses constantly taking in everyone else within his surroundings. He likes having you on his lap when he is playing games or he just traps you in his arms and plops down on the bed with the only way for you to break free being to give him as much affection as possible.

🪀​If you are clingy not only with him but also around other people you are very familiar with, Killua never fails to be jealous. To him it is an issue to see you so attached to someone that isn't him for he still exhibits some possessive traits that seem to come naturally with being a Zoldyck. Whilst not outright aggressive, it is undeniable that he meets such people with subtle hostility. He likes to threaten and scare those individuals indirectly. A flex of his fingers revealing sharp claws when you hug them for too long, casually showing off his strength by lifting heavy objects with ease or a short zap of electricity when he touches them. It is less bad when it is family of yours that he deems as trustworthy but with friends and good acquaintances his jealousy is harder to keep on a leash. He initiates much more touches in such scenarios, constantly hogging your attention the moment you start leaving his side and appraoch them. He may not admit it verbally but you can usually tell that he is upset after both of you have left for he is much more greedy for hugs and kisses. He enjoys your clinginess but only as long as he is the only one to receive it. He doesn't like sharing your affection after all.

🪀​Your own clinginess only ends up fueling his own clingy side as a result. Both you stick together a lot more than in a scenario where is the only one being overly attached and Killua grows much more controlling too. Always wanting to know where you go and what you are up to when he can't go with you and perceiving a little threat in everyone you harbor a similar level of attachment for. Though your dependence on him and the need for you to always be with him is not exactly heavy in Killua's mind it is merely a sign that you love him about as much as he loves you. Most acts that he commits, even those of murder, are excused as proof of his love for you. The more you cling to him the more overbearing will he return that same notion as he ends up perceiving the dependence as your way of expressing your love and so he naturally wants to reciprocate. It never crosses his mind to fix this as both of you shouldn't be as attached to each other all because to him this is how love is supposed to work. Possible insecurity from your side is met with a smothering obsession from Killua all to reassure you of his love for you. Both of you are comfortable like this. Why would he need to change that?

[krispycreamcake]

Ayato Sakamaki boyfriend scenarios ➹♡ (P2)

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Prompt: Jealousy

Fandom: Diabolik Lovers

Not proofread it's lit 1am

Tws: Cussing, physical violence, degradation, blood, slight nsfw, mentions of sharp objects

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

It was the middle of summer, cicadas chirping wherever you went, the sun beating your skin to a bruised pulp as you tried to siphon as much wind as possible despite there being an unfortunate lack of breeze, shaved ice being sold at every corner.

You thought about how it was just winter not too long ago, as the sound of a fan's slow and guttural hum could be heard throughout the classroom, lights slightly flickering above you as the teacher fanned herself with the roll call sheet. Your fingers glided past the windowpane and you gently slid it open, allowing for the tiniest bit of fresh, cool air to envelop your overheated face. The relief however, did not last long as the world seemed to come to a standstill once more.

Sweat was beginning to drip from your face and the frilly, two layered uniform certainly did not help. All of a sudden, you felt cramped and claustrophobic, the heat boiling you alive as you sat uncomfortably at your desk. You wished you could just kick your feet up and lay back, but no. You were in a tightly enclosed desk at the far back of the class, an entire row of students sitting in front of you.

You glanced out the window once more, trying to distract yourself from the next hour. You looked down at your worksheet, you hadn't even begun and the words already started to make less and less sense. There was no way you could focus, all you saw were blobs of ink that sort of resembled letters.

"Hey..."

Your head shot up. You looked around the silent classroom and couldn't find the owner of the voice, let alone anyone that wasn't looking half dead.

"Oi... I'm talkin to ya!"

You snapped your neck in every which way and still couldn't find who was calling out to you. Was the heat that desperately horrid that you began to have auditory hallucinations?

"Over here!"

You finally looked out the window. At first, you couldn't see anything besides the darkened silhouette of the trees outside. It took your eyes a second to adjust to the darkness before realizing that a pair of emerald eyes were staring right back at you.

You almost jumped out your seat, a shiver running up your spine before you heard a chuckle.

Ayato was leaned against a tree, throwing small rocks your way. What was he doing out of class? Maybe you were hallucinating after all.

"Ahem... Maybe YOU could tell us the difference between rosuvastatin and rosuvastatin calcium."

You felt your heart sink as you realized the teacher must've caught you looking out the window. The entire class was now looking at you, some of them already begging to say the answer, only to be let down by the teacher who looked expectantly at you.

"The difference is... Uh- Ow!"

The rest of students bursted out laughing as the teacher rolled her eyes.

"What is it now?"

You looked on the floor before picking up a pebble the size of your thumbnail. You shamefully glanced at the teacher, showing her your discovery.

"I think someone threw-"

You stopped in your own tracks, realizing just exactly what had happened just now. You clenched the stone in your hand, fumbling for words as anger pooled in the back of your head.

"Someone threw this at me!"

The teacher pinched her nose bridge before looking out the window.

"Seems like we have a comedian now. We'll see who's laughing once your grades are in."

Your hands gripped the edge of your chair on either side.

"I swear I-"

The teacher raised her voice, causing the entire room to go quiet.

"I DON'T want to hear it."

Your face grew red with embarrassment as you asked to be excused to the bathroom. Once you finally left, you almost felt tears of shame run down your cheeks. You could still here their bitter remarks from the other side of the door.

You marched outside angrily and saw him waiting in the courtyard with a knowing grin on his face. You stomped towards him, the sound of your shoe echoing throughout the surrounding area. Your body was rigid as the night air blew past your hair, slightly cooling the overwhelming heat in your cheeks.

You pointed an accusatory finger at him as you practically ran up towards his chest, eyes gleaming with determination.

"You! Look what you did! Now everyone thinks I'm some airhead that doesn't know the difference between rosuvastatin and rosuvastatin calcium!"

Ayato couldn't help but laugh at your puny attempt of a confrontation. His laughter mocking your anger, which caused you to grow more defensive.

"Apologize!"

Ayato halted his laughing, looking at you curiously.

"Who gives a fuck about your academic reputation anyways? Shu's always gonna bring down the average, so it doesn't even matter."

You looked at him with disbelief. You clenched your fist before feeling a small, hard object in your hand. The moment you registered what you were holding, you immediately took a step back and swang your hand harshly towards him, pelting him with the same pebble that he tossed at you, hitting him in his cheek.

All was quiet for a moment and you soon began to regret your decision.

"You bitch-"

As soon as the words came out his mouth, you took off. He wasn't far behind as you dodged and swerved past a couple students, Ayato close behind, bumping into every person you managed to avoid.

You turned a sharp corner and almost twisted your ankle as you sprang up the stairs. Eventually, you made it to the roof. You tried barricading the door but he easily pushed you out the way and onto the floor. You crawled back as he stood there, one arm holding the door wide open as his gaze was glued to the ground, refusing to look at you.

He stalked towards you before grabbing you by your shirt collar and raising you off your feet.

"Who the fuck do you think you are? You think you've got some special privilege over me just cause I drink your blood more than anyone else's? You're not the only one out there with a working heart, I've got my choices laid out for me, so don't be fooled just because I give you more attention."

You felt like throwing up, for more than one reason at this point. How did it even get to this? Your day couldn't have gone worse. You felt a gnawing in your chest, like something was scraping against it. Your throat started to ache as well and began to tighten.

Eventually you couldn't take it anymore and just began to let it all out. After everything that happened, what was the point in trying to keep your composure any longer?

Ayato's eyes widened slightly as you began to shake, tears pouring relentlessly as you didn't even bother to wipe them away. Your head just hanging there, motionless, save for the sniffling.

He dropped you back to the ground harshly, your body not even possessing the will to stand up. You slumped over to the floor, eyes trying to focus on his shoes in hopes of zoning out.

"Don't give me that crying crap. You put yourself in this position."

You stayed quiet, refusing to answer him. Your tears had stopped by now, but the aching in your heart hasn't.

"This wasn't called for... You're acting-"

Ayato cut you off, placing his feet at either side of you.

"I'm not acting like anything! You're getting what you deserved. You don't think I don't know what's going on!? You don't think I see the way you treat him? I'm not a fucking idiot."

You were taken aback. You slowly lifted your head up at him, trying to recall what he was talking about. Treat who like what?

"I don't understand what you're talking about..."

Ayato grabbed your arm and pulled you off the ground, his forehead touching yours.

"Tch.... Like hell you do. I've seen it for myself so there's no point in lying."

Your eyes finally met his and all you could see was unbridled rage. You knew you had to choose your words carefully from now. The chatter of students below didn't help your thought process. What have you changed recently that seemed to be bothering Ayato?

"Wait, you don't mean..."

Ayato sharpened his gaze, waiting for you to finish your sentence. Anticipating your next words.

"We were partnered up for a project...and Reiji said it was fine to not switch. As long as we did the work at school."

Ayato gritted his teeth.

"Well why the hell wouldn't you want to switch? What's so wrong with having me as your partner?"

You almost rolled your eyes. You couldn't believe this is why he was upset. But... Maybe it wasn't. Maybe something happened. You couldn't tell, so you just played along until he cracked on his own.

"Wouldn't it be strange that I dropped every partner I had, just to switch them out with you? People would find it suspicious."

Ayato eventually let go of you. He stormed away, walking towards the edge of the roof.

"I don't get it... It's not like I'm choosing them over you! I just thought it'd be a good change of pace, so people don't start getting ideas!"

It was quiet. He had stopped walking and didn't even bother to turn to you.

"You're ashamed of me... I knew it. You don't want people knowing that I claim you every night."

You blushed at his use of words. Still, you thought you weren't meant to be anything other than prey. So what does it matter if he drinks your blood every night?

"I'm not ashamed! It's just... Rumours spread and I-"

"That's a bullshit excuse! Who cares what people say!? I told you already, you're mines! You belong to me!"

Ayato whipped himself around before speed walking towards you, grabbing your by your throat and sinking his fangs deep into your flesh.

You gasped from the lack of air and tried to control your breathing despite it being impossible.

Ayato pulled his fangs out and released you from his grip. Your freedom was short lived before he pulled your hair back and forced you to look up at the sky as he bit down onto your nape.

The sucking sensation mixed with the pain, felt uncommon, but not necessarily unwelcomed. He continued lower and lower down your body until your shirt was half way off your chest.

"I'll show everyone what's mines, whether you like it or not. I'll bruise this stupid mortal body so badly that the teachers get worried for your safety. I'll write my name on every inch of you, no matter how long it takes, or what it takes. I'll use a knife to be more efficient, you won't get away from me. No matter where you are, your body will always scream my name."

Ayato began licking down your belly button. He forcibly held your wrists together, knotting them so you couldn't stop him.

Just then, you heard the door squeak open. You immediately spun your head around to see who it was, Ayato uncaring to the situation. Continuing to lick and suck at your waistline with complete disregard.

Your eyes widened with horror as you saw your teacher staring at you blankly. You felt so embarrassed and began to try to wiggle free from Ayato's grip, instead his mouth landed on your thigh as he looked up at your teacher. A stern look on his face as he made eye contact with the shock ridden woman, a look that made her immediately go back down the stairs as she yelled for the dean.

You took in your own disheveled appearance and soon realized that the dean would be the least of your worries once Reiji hears about this.

You heard Ayato chuckle, scanning his face to see what was going on inside his head. You thought he was upset, now this is funny because you got caught?

"Ayato, this isn't funny! We're going to get suspended!"

Ayato looked up at you as he kneeled on the floor, your calf tossed over his shoulder as he bit your lower leg.

"Wait... You- You knew this would happen! This was your plan all along! You knew she'd come looking for me! You expected us to get caught, didn't you!?"

Ayato lapped up the blood that dribbled down your knee.

"Now everyone knows who you belong to. And the rumours won't just be made up stories, so you can rest assured, heh."

Authour's note: credits for the divider above @kodaswrld