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lighting-and-shadow · 1 month ago

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Ikigai, Part 8

Summary: You’re desperately in love with a man who already belongs to another.

Ikigai (n.) (Japanese): "A reason for being," the thing that gets you up in the morning.

Part 7, Part 9

The walk to Sylus’ room is reminiscent of one to the gallows. You’ve seen those walks in people’s souls, how each step makes their throat tighten more and how they seem to mentally wait for each heartbeat to come. Like every step or every breath or ever beat is going to be their last.

That’s the only way you can think of to describe how you feel right now. A place that once meant safety and comfort to you has been tainted. It’s been warped, smeared, and destroyed in a way that a you from a few weeks ago would’ve never imagined.

Because now, you’re walking there with fear. Fear of Sylus of all people. Your partner in crime. Your confidant. Your closest friend. Your Morana.

You don’t want to think of him this way. Far from it. But Miss Hunter’s words, her shaky tone and fidgety hands, make you this way. The chaos of emotions in her threads make you this way. Everything about how she was when describing her time with Sylus make you this way.

Modification of her Evol.

You know very well what those words mean. You know what it looks like, feels like. You know all of this because it’s woven into her soul.

And her own soulmate tried to do that to her. Tried to split her open. Try to warp her and smear her and destroy what makes her her.

Rage and betrayal and whole other slew of emotions boil up inside of you. Each step makes you wonder when you’ll explode, when you’ll break from all of this.

You try to combat this with each breath. Each deep, hard-fought, breath. You try to embrace a wave of calm, to tamper down the craziness and be who you normally are: in control.

Nothing helps. Nothing works. And before you know it, you’re knocking at that accursed bedroom door.

Since when am I so polite with him?

A weak laugh escapes your lips. You stifle it down the moment the door begins to open.

Sylus is disheveled, an odd sight for someone who can look put together even in the middle of a gun fight. He just stares at you. His eyes refuse to leave yours, as if you’ll vanish if he so much as blinks.

It’s awkward, strained. An uncomfortable atmosphere that hasn’t been between you two in years. You can’t stand it.

“May I come in? I believe we have some things to discuss.”

Sylus says nothing. He looks deeply uncomfortable. It’s subtle, something most wouldn’t notice. But you’ve known him far too long. The slight flicker in his eyes down to the way he walks tells you everything. He’s off. He’s lost.

Not that you’re much different. Your tone earlier was cold, professional, and distant. Entirely lacking the usual playfulness or joy you’d have from simply interacting with Sylus.

You quickly step in his room once he moves aside for you. You don’t spare Sylus a glance. Any further looks would just deter you from your task.

This cannot go on.

Sylus’ treatment of Miss Hunter weighs on you. If you thought it was bad before, it’s far, far, worse now. Experiments? Changing her Evol? Scaring her so much she subconsciously rejects her own soulmate?

It’s arguable the worst start to any love story you’ve ever heard or seen. And you have more experience with that than anyone. You see them in every thread. You hear them in every soul.

All except mine.

You stare at Sylus’ empty bed to distract yourself from that rabbit hole of emotions, one you’re familiar with. You walk towards the bed. But you don’t sit on it. Rather, you just trace mindless patterns into the sheets to calm yourself.

Eventually, you turn to face the man whose room you stand in. Sylus stands with his back on the door. The lock is turned shut. And his arms are crossed, as if he’s shielding himself from you.

Since when were you two like this: weary and afraid of one another? After the argument today? After the one a few days ago? When Miss Hunter arrived? Or was it always there, brewing silently beneath your soft touches and charming smiles?

Whatever the case, you’ve never quite felt such distance from Sylus. You stand in the same room you two have shared for god knows how long, looking right at each other. And yet, you couldn’t be farther apart.

You tap your fingers on the bed like you did the night before Miss Hunter arrived. Tap. Tap. Tap. It’s the only sound that fills your ears until Sylus finally speaks.

“Can I explain now?”

To anyone else, his tone would be calm, demanding, and dripping with that usual hint of arrogance that he has. To you, he practically begs. Screams, even.

He only does that rarely. Like earlier today during your argument after your collapse. Which, given that specific context, made sense. Sylus was out of rhythm. His emotions were chaotic. He does care for you, after all. And you had just screamed your lungs out and passed out in front of him.

Who wouldn’t be shaken by that even a little?

You think over your next words for a moment, pushing that memory of your mind. What is there to explain? You’ve heard everything from Miss Hunter. You know what he tried to do.

Old wounds open up the more you think about it. The pinpricks of needles. Your home becoming a revolving door of doctors when you had no sign of a soulmate by age 10. The increasing prevailing sense of something being wrong with you the longer it went on.

They’re phantom pains, echoes of a past that only emerges when you sleep. They’re ghosts you tell no one about. They’re wounds that only you have ever dressed.

What was done to you was done in good faith. Much like what Sylus did. You could see it in his soul, see it in his thread. And it told you he wanted her to remember. He wanted his sorceress back at any cost.

But you wanted here his words. His interpretations and thoughts from his own mouth.

“Go ahead,” you gesture with your hand.

So Sylus does explain. Just not what you thought he would.

He goes into detail about his deal with Miss Hunter. About the brooch. About her search. About the twins and their pranks. About everything.

You look at him with scrutinizing eyes. You don’t search his soul; you have no need to.

In him, you find the truth and only the truth. You find no deception, no hidden meanings, nothing. It’s probably the most honest he’s been with you since Miss Hunter’s arrival.

“I never even had the brooch on me,” he chuckles a bit before he continues. “I don’t know why she ever thought I did.”

“Then where is it?”

“In your favorite book. On page 70. You know the scene.”

You absolutely do know the scene. It makes you smile even in this moment.

“Seriously? How on Earth do you expect her to know anything about my taste in literature?”

“You two spend so much time together I figured you were “besties” by now,” he says the words a great amount of sarcasm that makes you relax a bit.

It’s not much. But, you lean into the familiarity.

“Besides. Even if she didn’t know the significance of the book, I thought I’d do her a favor and introduce her to something good to read. She claims to be bored during her time here, and I wanted to be a more gracious host.”

You snort at his comment. Sylus tilts his head at you.

“What?”

You want to say, ”A gracious host? After kidnapping her and threatening her and almost turning her into a lab rat for the second time in her current life?” But you shake your head and say nothing.

Sylus seems to brush it off. His eyes soften and he takes a step towards you. When you don’t move away, he comes even closer, standing beside the foot of the bed while you stand in the same position next to the head.

“That’s all there is to what you saw. It wasn’t,” he pauses for a moment, searching for the words. “It wasn’t anything like you thought it was. Just a series of… interesting events.”

You just nod once more, turning your head to the bed again. You go back to tracing patterns in it, trying to rally yourself for the real conversation.

“Gamayun?”

You give him a quiet hum, but you don’t look up at him. You trace words into the bed, words from the scene of the book he placed the brooch in. They comfort you.

“Say something?”

You say nothing.

“What’s got you so quiet? Normally you talk my ear off, even when I’m being a fool.”

You make a hasty drag against the sheets, and the irritating sound that follows shocks both of you.

“Because I’m not here about what you just talked about and you know it.”

Or, at least, he should know it. He should know that him taking Miss Hunter to Philip is why you’re here. He should know why you’re so angry about him doing that. He should know.

He should know because he knows you were the one to find the twins. Two boys in agony, one covered in crystals. Children suffering because of selfish adults. Just like Sylus did. Just like Miss Hunter did. Just like you did.

The logical part of you knows that his goals for what he did weren’t anything like the ones that got the twins in that state. But, the other part of you, the one that made you come here, won’t listen.

That part of you remembers all those doctors. It remembers the padded rooms and the repeated cycles of accusations. It remembers the fear. It remembers the pain. And it remembers when you finally decided to run from all that.

That part of you is loud. It’s loud, it’s obnoxious, and it wants to cry. It wants to shed vicious tears and wretched sobs. But it doesn’t. It can’t. Because it wasn’t listened to in the past.

Why would this time be any different?

Because Sylus isn’t them, you remind yourself.

He’d listen to you. He has to listen to you. Sylus is a flawed man, not a monster. He’s a desperate and flawed man who just wants the love of all his lives back. He’s a desperate and flawed man who made a mistake.

And he has to know that, right?

“Than why are you here right now, my sweet Gamayun? Surely not to repeat the earlier interesting series of events? Or maybe go even further?”

“You’re deflecting,” you say immediately.

His usual jokes don’t make you flustered. Instead, they make you angrier as he avoids what you need yet again.

“That’s not an answer, sweetie.”

Something in you snaps. Maybe it’s the use of an old nickname. Maybe it’s due to another deflection. Maybe it’s both.

Either the case, you finally address the dreadful elephant in the room, “Why did you bring her to Philip?”

You ask because you want him to admit it himself. Hearing him say the words, the man you’ve loved for over a year, rather than Miss Hunter, the soulmate of said man, will makes things clearer.

Maybe it’ll undo the knot in your stomach and the dread that courses through your veins. Maybe his explanation will make the phantom needles go away, and drown out the screams of your precious boys.

Part of you knows that neither will happen. The other, more optimistic and the one that clings to your love, begs for something otherwise.

All that hopes drains away when you see the color leave Sylus’ face. His color seeps away at the same pace as your fleeting hope.

Oh God, what did you do, Sylus?

Miss Hunter didn’t give you any details. You can only speculate. But with this severe of reaction, especially coming from Sylus (who’s done a lot of questionable shit that he knows you’d never judge him for), you’re not sure you can handle the answer.

Miss Hunter avoiding your questions and looking apprehensive to tell you anything is one thing. Sylus doing it is a whole other can of worms. You steel your heart for whatever happens next.

“We weren’t resonating. I thought there was a problem with her. There isn’t, so we left.”

It’s about the same thing she told you. Enough to give you the gist. Enough to explain her fear and her discomfort. But not enough to explain Sylus’. Not nearly enough, given everything he’s seen and been through in both of his lives.

So you push, “Did you two rehearse your excuses, or did you both conveniently give me the same nonsense in hopes I wouldn’t press? Whatever the case, you ought to practice lying to me better.”

Sylus appears unaffected by your words. You, of course, know better. The slight knit of his brows, the way he holds himself and leans a tad more to one side. He’s so obvious to you that it’s painful.

“You really going to lie to me again, Sylus? After what happened last time?”

That full on makes him flinch. Your heart wavers as a result. That was a low blow. You both know that. And yet, you can’t back down. Because all you can see in your mind’s eye is the twins.

Luke trying to claw at his face, to etch in the same scars his brother carries. Kieran forcing himself to grow up even more as a result of that instability. The way they would both duck from mirrors, or even flat out shatter them, during those first few days.

Dozens and dozens of memories like that just sit in your mind. A weight unlike any weight you’ve ever carried. It festers there. It seeps into your veins, into your heart, and into your words.

You can’t escape it.

“What exactly are accusing us of, sweetie? Be specific. You how I hate to beat around the bush, and waste time.”

You do. And that’s exactly why you’re the negotiator of this business and not him.

Soon, she will take that place. Soon, I’ll need a new role in a new place.

“Is there anything in particular I should be accusing you of?” You counter.

“Not in my mind,” he glances you over from head to toe. “But that seems to be the case in your mind.”

A smirk crosses his lips. It’s not one of humor.

He words hit you to the core.

“That’s not an answer,” you shakily manage to get out.

“Well, if my answers aren’t satisfactory, maybe you can give me a direct question? As you say, it’s harder to avoid something if there’s no room to do so.”

That stupid smirk is still there. His eyes are still cold, colder than you’ve ever seen them directed at you.

“Did you or did you not hurt her?” You tone gets firmer the more you speak.

Sylus’ expression changes again. Not to one of humor or playfulness or anger like you expected. No, the Sylus before you was none of those right now.

He was betrayed.

“Who exactly do you think I am?”

“I don’t know!” You finally raise your voice despite all efforts not to. “I don’t know… why do you think I’m here? I need answers, Sylus. I need conformation that I’m missing something and that you didn’t do what I think you did.”

You pause for a moment, choking on your own words and emotions, “I need the truth from you. Please. I need the truth about this at the very least.”

Sylus says nothing for a moment. And you worry that this’ll be a rehash of your first fight. The fight that broke you. The fight that drove you away.

“My relationship to her isn’t your problem.”

Suddenly, you feel sick. But then, Sylus finally says something and you chase that nausea away, kicking it down with your professionalism.

“I want her gone,” he says with an odd amount of levity. “She isn’t worth the trouble she’s causing, so I pushed my plans forward ahead of schedule.”

You don’t entirely know what to say to that.

“Pardon?” You laugh a deranged laugh. “You brought her here. Why ever would you want her gone now after no progress on what ever it is that you need from her?”

“Like I said: she isn’t worth the effort. And I refuse to waste my time on useless things.”

“Useless? You have the gall, the absolute audacity, to call her useless?”

You aren’t yelling, despite how much you want to be. And that want gets stronger the amused Sylus appears.

“Why do you care so much about her, sweetie? She’s my guest, not yours.”

”Because she’s your soulmate. Because she’s the key to your happiness,” is what you want to say.

Instead, what comes out is, “Because I’ve become quite attached to her. And I find your attitude towards her appalling.”

“Of course you would, sweetie,” his voice gets quieter and softer. “Of course you would.”

Sylus gets close to you, putting his fingers beneath your chin and tilting your head upwards. You don’t resist; in fact, you embrace the small touch as much as possible.

“Because you have such a bleeding heart.”

You roll your eyes at him. Normally, Sylus says that to tease you. Like on negotiations where you spare the business partner in question. Or when you talk him down from simply killing his opponent and into seeing their usefulness. Or any of the numerous times you’ve brought in a stray animal and nursed it back to health.

He always says it in a teasing tone, almost mocking. But now, he says it with fondness.

Or love, your delusional and desperate brain says.

As soon as that thought cross your mind, you take a step back. Sylus immediately releases his hold on your chin, disappointment flashing across his face. Or, at least, that’s what you think you see.

“My heart aside,” you say to calm yourself and get your heart to stop racing. “That doesn’t change the fact that your behavior towards her has been reprehensible. Deplorable, even.”

“Why are so obsessed with her, Gamayun? Should I be jealous? She’s been tearing us apart just by being here. Don’t tell me she’s gone even further…”

He says it with jest and usual nonchalant attitude. But something in you tells you there’s more to it.

“Because of my bleeding heart, as you say,” you smile a bit before going back to a more serious expression. “And the fact that you two seem to hold so many secrets that I’m not privy too despite your less than stellar relationship.”

Suddenly, something in Sylus changes. You can’t quite put your finger on it, other than the fact that you strangely feel like prey. Like he’s hunting you or something like that. You’re on your guard. You’re waiting for him to strike.

Sylus lets out a bitter laugh. “You’re not being truthful with me either, sweetie.”

That makes you pause.

“This isn’t about me.”

“Isn’t it?” He takes a step closer to you, the smirk on his lips thinning and his expression shifting to a more softer one.

You don’t know exactly what’s in that smirk. Anger? Bitterness? Hurt?

Hatred? Annoyance? Grief? your thoughts whisper before you can shut them down.

“No, it isn’t.”

“Sure, sweetie,” he’s surprisingly genuine and not sarcastic with his tone. “Sure it isn’t.”

“What in the world are you going on about this time?”

Fear drips into your words. You hope it isn’t noticeable. But judging by Sylus’ face, you didn’t succeed.

I’ve lost my touch.

Being so utterly emotional for the past few days has done this to you. Made cracks in your armor that show more and more with every passing second.

Sylus reaches for you again. And you, again, accept the touch. He cradles you head, hands delicately cupping your face, thumbs rubbing your cheeks in a way he knows soothes you.

Foolish man and his foolish tenderness when you’re supposed to be angry at him.

“Your obsession with her. I’ve never seen you act this way.”

You’ve never seen me try to mend the bond between someone I love and their soulmate before. But, hey, there’s a first time for everything?

“I am not obsessed. I do not do obsessed.”

Sylus frowns. You’re the one doing the deflecting now. You’re the one using humor as a distraction now.

“Than what you call all this?” He keeps stroking your cheeks with a featherlight touch.

“Care? Empathy? Because, as you know, I have a bleeding heart.”

It’s getting harder to keep your tone light. You hope that your voice never wavers. You pray that Sylus doesn’t notice how your skin warms from embarrassment or how fast your heart rate is.

You can’t even look him the eyes. And you struggle with all your might not to squirm.

“Your bleeding heart has never gone this far. Nor made you this mad at me,” the chuckle he lets out at the end of his sentence is bitter, but his eyes are still as sweet as ever.

Every statement Sylus makes feels like he’s ripping you open more and more. Like the claws of the fiend he was has made their way around the individual bones of your ribcage and is slowly but surely prying them open. It’s like he wants to expose your heart to the world.

Your brain is beginning to fog. Your mouth is beginning to dry. And the urge to run from here is getting heavier and heavier. Your feet are glued to the ground, and at the same time, they feel like they want to take flight.

When was the last time I felt this way? When I was still back home? At the jewelry store? Or maybe my old bar job?

“Well, most people I deal with are people of the N109 Zone. They’re far more secretive and, how do you and the twins put it, murderous than little Miss Hunter.”

You speak in hopes of cutting off your own horrible train of thought. It doesn’t work very well.

So you keep talking, “Speaking of Miss Hunter, I’m no closer to having an earthly idea of why she’s here. And whatever plans you have with her seem sloppy for your standards. I’d give them negative reviews. Maybe that’s why you didn’t share them with me?”

Another crack in your armor shows with your final teasing question. A crack that Sylus sees judging by how he takes his hands off your face and a step away from you.

“Than I’ll share my ideas with you to get some feedback for a better showing next time.”

You consider your words. Because this is your chance. Your chance to be in the know. The chance to know the truth. The chance to hear from Sylus’ own lips about why he brought this woman here.

But, you’ll also have to hear about their connection. Their past. And their future as soulmates.

You couldn’t hear that. You can barely think about it and see the proof with your own eyes everyday. Hearing it… well, that’s another story.

If he had offered this before their bond, you would’ve taken it. Jumped for joy, even. But you can’t now.

I can’t hear you say that you two are soulmates. I can’t hear you talk about your destined love and what that means for your future. I can’t.

Because hearing that means I can’t lie to myself any longer.

Hearing Sylus’ conformation means you take away that last layer of protection you have, that last bit of lies you tell yourself. Because you’ve know for years what the threads you see mean. You’ve confirmed it several times since you first saw them at age 7.

But, with Sylus, sometimes you cling to thought of being wrong. Of not seeing what you think you’re seeing. His words are all that it would take for that temporary peace to come crashing down.

Who in their right mind would do that to themselves?

“No. After all, I’m just a lowly actress in this show of ours. I’m no director.”

“Oh, you are no actress, Gamayun. If anything, you’re my director and writer. I’m merely here to finance whatever your heart desires to create. So, let us discuss our visions for Miss Hunter, and draw up a new episode this season.”

“I’d rather you consider this my resignation from that role into a new one. Because acting is starting to sound more appealing.”

Sylus pulls back. His face falls, and lets out a deep sigh that shakes you to your core.

“Than what do you want from me, Gamayun?” He pulls you close again, your head resting on his chest. “I’m so tired of fighting with you over something, someone, so trivial.”

Tired.

That one words carries so much weight. It seeps into your lonely soul.

It’s exactly how you feel. How all that’s happened recently has made you feel. How all the secrets and the soulmates and the unrequited love has made you feel.

You’ve been tired for years. For so long you no longer know what “rest” really feels like.

Tired of loving a world that would reject you in a second. Tired of holding it together. Tired of lying.

And maybe that’s why you did what you did. Maybe that’s why you hurt Sylus. Because you’re tired of always being the one to run.

People in your life drifted from you, yes. But it was always you that had to put the final nail in the coffin of your relationships.

So maybe that’s why you’re so tired. And maybe you wanted to make Sylus tired. Tired of you. So tired of you and your shit that he just turns his back on you permanently.

Tired.

“I’m tired too,” is all you can muster at the moment.

You pull back from Sylus. But not for long. As soon as you slip out of his embrace, you sit on his bed and pat the place beside you. He sits down immediately.

The way you two sit, facing each other and knocking knees together, reminds you of the position you and Miss Hunter sat in not too long ago. It warms you heart in an ironic and bitter way.

But you chase those thoughts away to focus. Focus on Sylus and focus on what you need to do right now. You take his hand, giving it light squeeze, before you look him directly in the eyes and begin speaking.

“I’m sorry,” it’s hard to get the words out, not out of pride, but out of pain. “For pulling away. For being so hostile earlier. For saying… no, threatening to leave you. And for not trusting you.”

For hurting you, and doing that so you’d chase me away. For making you believe I could just abandon you. For being jealous of you finding your destined love. For acting like a complete ass. For being hurt by some silly words.

I’m so sorry, my Morana.

“I’m sorry too.”

“For?” You press him, despite the discomfort on his face.

“For the lying. For what I said when you confronted me. For not telling you about my plans to bring Miss Hunter here. For not telling of my plans with—“

“You don’t need to apologize for that.”

The shock on Sylus’ face is evident. Even if he doesn’t completely show it.

“I’m not entitled to every little thing in your life. Just as you aren’t mine. We both need to learn to be okay with that.”

You pause before continuing, “And we both are entitled to space whenever we want and for however we want. Just as long as we communicate things.”

Sylus just nods. He squeezes your hand tighter. His eyes have his signature glimmer back. One so uniquely Sylus you don’t know how to describe it.

My selfishness dulled that glimmer.

As you and Sylus just talk for a bit, you think to yourself about your new plan.

I can’t just leave. And even with Miss Hunter as my replacement, I need a better idea for my departure. Somewhere away from the two of them, but with ties to my current life so that there’s no suspicion._ An idea hits you: Onychinus has many connections, many of which you forged yourself.

Kai did always want to recruit me. Maybe I’ll finally take her up on the offer?

Author's Note: Also, please go to the original blurb to ask to be added to the taglist (it's impossible for me to keep checking every part every time I update).

2nd Author's Note: Do you prefer long chapters or short chapters? This story will be pretty long regardless, i just want to see what people prefer.

3rd Author's Note: Ikigai, Fun Fact = I originally was going to make this a one shot (and then plot ran away after breaking my kneecaps) and one where Reader didn't realize they were dating the entire time (but I wanted Sylus to suffer more, so I just made them very touchy, but with a line in the sand).

Taglist: @eolivy, @rafayelridesfisheatsfish, @animegamerfox, @jasperjokester, @schrodingerskimdokja, @just--crys, @snowdynasty, @shi-thats-kiera, @mansonofmadness, @dwuclvr, @ameilli, @katiedoesstuff101, @everythingistaken00, @napa-the-yappa, @hanaluxx, @lovesick-sylus, @tenaciouszombiewombat, @ladyparamount, @applepi405, @midnight-reverie, @69-gojos-wife-69, @bellagrayson-wayne, @phisen, @idkmanimjusthorny, @munchychuusy, @autumn2534, @poptrim, @sillyfreakfanparty, @zaynesfirefly, @flamedancer13, @thissmartdumbass, @mrsllawliet, @jeondyy, @ssetsuka, @dels-page, @that-lost-one, @johnnysactualgf, @mariquitas-en-verano, @toelady, @sinnamon-bunn, @yesbiaswrecked, @doggyteam2028, @little-rays-of-darkness, @albatrossblue, @vyntheria, @silverianni, @browneyedgirl22, @tiklestar, @beaconsxd, @pepperushia

#lads x reader #ikigai #sylus x non mc reader #love and deepspace #sylus qin x reader #sylus x reader #sylus x non!mc reader #love and deepspace x reader #sylus x mc #sylus angst

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onlyheluvsme · 2 months ago

Note

Girl I’ve been thinkin sooo much about the entries in Ellie’s journal and 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 can you pls write reader finding some nsfw drawings or entries in her journal?

my mind also likes to wander and think of all the things ellie must put in there as someone who also keeps a journal. id like to think she would fill it with song lyrics she would find, what she would imagine planets to look like close up, omg i cant shes fucking adorable.. thank you for this anon!!

˗ˏˋnaked in her journal i´ˎ˗

you find drawings in your best friends journal — mdni, lowercase intended, bestfriend!ellie, loser!ellie, fluff/smut *ೃ༄pls leave reqs!!

headphones sat on ur head as you laid on ellie's bed waiting for her to get back from patrol. you knew her entire schedule by heart and since you had an extra key to joel's garage and currently ellie's bedroom, you felt no shame as her best friend waiting for her in her room slightly earlier than needed.

it had been a long day and you desperately needed your best friend. no one understood you like ellie did, always listening so intently to the issues you had. you listened to some track ellie had already set in her cassette tape, something joel had given her when you hear a thud.

eyes shooting open, your hands remove the headphones and you sit up inspecting the noise. jackson was relatively safe but you still worried about something making it through those walls.

"ellie? joel?" you called out to the empty room, your eyes scanning each corner to find the window open, a breeze coming through, and a book that had sat on the ledge now on the floor.

with a roll of your eyes and a sigh, you rise from her bed the feeling leaving you cold and make your way to close the window. with a heavy push, you manage to close the rusty thing and lean down to pick up the object that had fallen.

what looked like some kind of notebook stared back at you, the name 'ellie' written across the front in large block letters. what was this? you didn't realize ellie kept a journal and you'd known ellie since the day she and joel walked into jackson.

your eyes shot to the garage door, then to the half-working clock ellie kept next to her bed, and finally back down to the journal in your hands. you had probably five minutes before ellie walked through that door huffing about how annoying jesse had been today.

you bit your lip, slightly in guilt but also in excitement. of course you knew it was wrong to go through your best friends most important thoughts. yet everything in your body was telling you just to take one peek. how would she ever know?

caving into your thoughts, you flip open to a random page somewhere in the middle, 'june thirteenth' it reads across the top right corner. you giggle at the chicken-scratch that is ellie's handwriting.

you read about her day with joel, raiding some pharmacy that probably had nothing left to give anyway. mindlessly, you flip the page to find something drastically different from her takes on joel's horrible jokes making you pause.

the page you find, well what spans across two pages are different drawings. they scatter from one side of the notebook to the other, they're all different but all the same; each of them depicts you. ellie had drew you in various positions, yet in every single one of them you were completely bare.

your eyes were wide as you scanned each and every drawing. there was not a single part of you that felt disgusted or uncomfortable, only a heat began to pool between your thighs. she likes me back.

every image she drew was different from the next, a few of your full body laid out on what seems to be her bed, completely bare in different positions; splayed out on your back with two fingers curled into ur glistening cunt and your face in a moan, your ass in the air and head to the bed cunt being spread by two very familiar fingers.

some of them were more close up images, the tinier details. your eyes caught one of your tits, every detail exactly perfect down to the beauty mark that she definitely shouldn't know about. had my ellie taken a peek during one of our sleepovers?

your eyes find another one, this time its your back and ass on display, then another, your neck stretched back.

"fucking hell ellie" you whisper into the book, flicking through more pages of your naked body, completely engrossed in her beautiful drawings.

she notices that? you note as your eye catches one of your smile, a little higher on the left side.

you don't hear the door open or ellie's whisper of a "fuck" when she sees you on her bed, specifically when she sees what's in your hands. all of a sudden the journal is ripped from your hands, head shooting up so fast it's a surprise you didn't hurt your neck.

"ellie-" you attempt with no success as her babbling starts.

"you weren't supposed to see that, fuck! please don't hate me or think i'm weird, i promise i don't mean anything weird by it! i honestly didn't realize what i was drawing till i was done! no- wait- that sounds bad-" you cut off her babbling with a hand to her mouth.

"ellie, shut up" you smile as you look into her eyes, filled with fear and embarrassment. once you're sure she won't continue her nonsense, you remove your hand from her mouth.

slowly taking the journal from her shaking hands, you place it onto her bed and turn back to your nervous best friend.

"ellie?" you look at her freckled face.

"y-yeah?" her cheeks a shade of pink,

one of your hands goes up to brush a stray auburn lock behind her redden ear and her eyes go wide at the act this situation going completely different from when it did in her head,

"you wanna touch me ellie?" you innocently question her, pulling lightly on her earlobe as you watch her eyes flutter and jaw go slack.

she gives you a mindless nod in response, completely in shock by the entire situation. you don't find her repulsive? weird?

your eyes catch one of her pencils on her desk and a new idea sparks. with a new excitement you turn around grabbing ellie's journal and walk over to her desk, taking the pencil.

you turn to find her eyes watching you curiously, still in her clothes from patrol, shaky hands at her sides. walking over to her, you place the two objects in her hand and grab her desk chair rolling it up to her bed.

ellie watches you with confusion as you sit on her bed, her desk chair a few feet in front of you,

"c'mere" you pat the desk chair, signaling her to sit in it.

hesitantly, ellie walks over and sits in the chair, her journal and pencil between her sweating hands. when you could see her begin to get anxious, you slowly begin pulling the strap of your tank top down your arm. her eyes catch it immediately.

"here's what we're going to do ellie..." you speak seductively as you slowly remove your shirt; ellie's brain began to short circuit at the sight,

"you're going to open that journal of yours and draw pretty pictures of me and I'm going to make myself come." her wide eyes shot to yours in shock.

when ellie first starting drawing you, after years of imagining what you might look like in those delicious positions, she thought you would find her completely repulsive. she never thought this would be the reaction she got and fuck did she feel so blessed.

ellie couldn't move, frozen in her spot as she watched you slowly removed each article of clothing. first your top then your shorts leaving you in only a lace bra and panties. she held her breath watching you remove your bra, tits bouncing with their release.

"fuck" ellie whispers, chest heaving.

you continue with your show, slowly laying back onto her bed as your hands come down to slide off your panties.

"better start drawing baby" you tell her, spreading your legs to give her a perfect view of your soaked cunt and ellie loses it.

"fuck, please let me touch you" she leans forward, hands reaching towards you but your foot comes out and presses into her chest stopping her.

"draw." is all you give her as you push her back into the chair with your foot, re-spreading your legs, and dragging your hand slowly down your body until it reaches your aching clit.

ellie's eyes catch each movement as she fumbles with her pencil and journal. not once looking at the objects as her hand starts rapidly drawing across the page, no her eyes stayed on your fingers and cunt the entire time.

part two

[ellie masterlist]

#lulu writes ✧₊⁺#lulu writes ellie⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚#ellie williams x reader #ellie tlou #ellie williams #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x female reader #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams tlou #tlou2 #ellie the last of us #ellie williams x f!reader #ellie williams x you #wlw #lesbian

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fenya-scribbles · 2 months ago

Text

Hips

Network: @stayphone

Pairing: BFF!LeeKnow x fem!reader

Other Characters: Hyunjin

Summary: Dancing is a dangerous thing to do.

Genre: best friends to lovers, smut, fluff, 18+ MDNI

Content warnings: explicit sexual themes, oral (f receiving), piv, fingering (f receiving), unprotected sex (don't be stupid)

Word Count: 3531

A/N: It took too damn long, but I finally finished it. Hope you enjoy ;)

"Please!", you draw out the word, giving your best friend the biggest puppy eyes you can muster. You've been begging him to let you sit in on his dance practice with the members for weeks now, but so far he'd refused every time. "No", he said, moving swiftly through his bedroom, packing his sports bag, “you’ll only distract the others.” "Come on, Min, just once! I just wanna see you sweat." You give him a suggestive grin from where you sit on his bed. It's not a lie either, you'd love to see him sweat. Maybe not from dancing, but still.

Minho stopped his movements, focussing his eyes on you. You’ve been doing this for a while now, throwing lines like this at him. And his self-control started wearing thin, but you didn’t know that. Yet. “If I let you join today, will you promise to shut up about it?", he asked, eyebrows raised. He knew this was a stupid idea, but he also needed you to stop pestering him about it. You and him and dancing was a deadly combination, one that would test his restraint to no ends, but at least this way, he wouldn’t be alone with you. Because when he looked at you, he didn’t just see his best friend. He hadn’t for a long time. He saw a beautiful, witty, intelligent and devilishly attractive woman who’d stolen his heart. But he couldn’t tell you. He couldn’t risk your shared bond, he couldn’t risk losing you.

Your heart leaped in your chest. Was this it? Had you finally worn him down? "Yes, I swear", you said, "just take me with you this one time and I'll shut up about it." You were most definitely never going to shut up about it. Watching him move through the world the way he did already sent your mind to unholy places, but watching him dance? In sweatpants? Surrounded by 7 equally as handsome men? No way you'd ever be able to shut up about that. Because you loved watching Minho in his element. You loved watching him cook and take care of his members in his own subtle way, you loved listening to him sing, you loved being around him, you just simply loved him. But alas, there was no way that would lead to anything, not if you didn’t want to risk the friendship. So you took what you could get. Dance practice.

Minho sighed and said: "Fine. But behave yourself." You decided to pointedly ignore the way his command went straight to your core. You were less than successful, earning a sassy smirk from the man. “Shut up”, you said, pointing your finger at him. Minho knew that you found him attractive, you told him frequently. And he also knew about your subby tendencies, as much as you’d tried to hide them. But with the tension between the two of you and his urge to be in charge, especially around you, there had been no way to keep it to yourself. Minho was observant, he could read you like a book. Sometimes you wondered if he knew about the feelings you harboured for him, but since he never did anything about it, you figured it didn’t matter either way.

***

The drive was silent, but not uncomfortable. It was one of the things you loved about your friendship with Minho. You could just be quiet around each other, just exist in each other’s space comfortably. He was a good man and a great friend, and you cherished him with your whole heart. Watching him drive, eyes focused on the road and jaw slightly clenched in concentration, stirred something within you. The feeling was warm and soft and you urged to just grab his hand and be domestic. And your fingers twitched, but you held back after all, too scared to make a wrong move. It was one thing to blatantly flirt with him, you could always say you were just joking. But grabbing his hand? Now that would be more difficult to explain without putting your heart on the line.

When you arrived at the JYPE building, Minho turned to you after stopping the engine, eyes narrowed and locked with yours. “You know the rules?” You rolled your eyes. “Yes, I know the rules.” “Then recount them.” You raised your eyebrows at him. “You heard me. Recount them.” Minho’s eyebrows were furrowed, creating that adorable crease between them and you had to stop yourself from smiling at him. He was utterly serious about this. “No distracting anyone from practice. No interruptions. No pictures or videos.” “Good”, he said with a nod, and then with a grin he added: “Now get out of my car.” You playfully punched his arm before getting out with a giggle.

The practice room didn’t feel too big, but that might also just have been because of the 8 men that were scattered around it stretching themselves and each other. You quickly found that they took their warmups pretty seriously, so you just watched them from your spot on the bench, catching one or the other look at you from time to time. Hyunjin looked at you the most, and he grinned every time. He’d been the most excited about you walking in after Minho, and your best friend had given him a less than approving glance for it. But that was the usual thing to happen, Hyunjin liked to flirt with you just to tease Minho, although you didn’t quite understand why it worked. Minho never had returned your flirting in earnest, so why was he upset if Hyunjin did?

You kept to the rules, even though it was hard. You wanted to film them so bad, but alas, you decided not to pick a fight with Minho tonight. He’d never let you step foot in here again otherwise. Instead, you watched them dance, taking note of their muscles flexing and their hips rolling and their bodies spinning around. And as you had assumed, watching Minho dance was a transcendent experience. He looked so damn hot, the way he controlled his body, the way he instructed the others, the way that he was completely in his element. And it did something to your heart, to your mind, to your whole body. You didn’t even notice how hard you’d pressed your thighs together until they decided to take a break, and you let out an unintentionally shaky breath.

“So, Y/N, are you enjoying yourself?”, Hyunjin asked as he sauntered over to you. “Mhm”, you hummed, eyes wandering over his sweat soaked body, “it’s quite the show.” “Really? What’s your favourite part?” He smirked at you, that signature playful glint in his eyes. Minho was standing not far off, drinking his water but never taking his eyes of Hyunjin and you. “Hmm”, you said, pretending to think about it, “I like that thing you do with your hips in the pre-chorus.” Hyunjin immediately did the move you were talking about. “This one?” You hummed affirmatively and bit your lip as you watched him roll his hips just a little too smoothly. “How do you even do that?”, you asked with a giggle, eyes nervously darting to Minho for a second. Your best friend was still watching you, like a cat watching a mouse.

“I could teach you”, Hyunjin said, and with a short glance around, lingering on Minho a tad too long, he added: “Privately.” And that’s when Minho had enough. “Don’t be stupid, Hyunjin”, he said, taking a few steps towards you, “she’d only hurt herself.” You gasped and made a pretend-shocked face at him. “Ah, Hyung, you have no faith in me, huh? I bet I could teach her that move in no time.” Hyunjin winked at you, the grin on his face only widening. He clearly enjoyed this. “And I can put you into my air fryer in no time. Don’t forget who you’re talking to, dumpling.” At that, Hyunjin let out a giggle and threw up his arms in defence. ��Alright, alright.” Then he turned to you. “Sorry, princess, no dance lessons for you, I fear.” And before anyone could say anything else, Chan clapped his hands ordering everyone to resume practice.

***

“Why did you shut him down?”, you asked, as you lounged on Minho’s couch, lazily running your fingers through Soonie’s fur. The cat purred happily beside you, enjoying your gentle touch, while his owner sat in his armchair, Dori in his lap. Doongie was curled up by your feet, soundly asleep. “Shut who down?” “Hyunjin. About teaching me that move.” It had been two days since the dance practice and you’d tried to forget about it, but something about the situation had it suck in your head and you just couldn’t let it go. “Oh”, Minho said, eyes focused on the purring ball of fur in his lap, “you know how he is.” You raised your eyebrows at his non-answer. When you didn’t say anything he looked up, locking eyes with you. “I just don’t want him dancing with you”, he said, almost too quiet for you to hear.

Your heart skipped a beat. Your hand stopped petting Soonie, as you processed what you just heard. The cat immediately protested, but you ignored him. Why not? You could ask. You could pry and push. But then, your brain went somewhere else. “You could teach me”, you said instead. “What?” “The move. You could teach me.” Minho blinked at you a few times, and then a smirk rushed over his face. It was only there for a second, but you’d seen it. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Y/N”, he said. “Oh, come on Min!” You pouted at him, eyes big for good measure. He squinted at you. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?” “Never.” Minho sighed, knowing very well that this had the potential to end in catastrophe. “Fine, get up then.”

After helping Minho to rearrange his living room just enough to make space for dancing to happen, you found yourself standing in the middle of it, facing him. “So, what now?”, you asked. “Turn around.” You obeyed with a giggle. “Good. Now, you need to widen your stance. Like this.” Minho gently pushed your legs apart with his feet. “Now bend your knees.” You felt very grateful to your past self for attending those yoga classes, as you lowered yourself, bending your knees, keeping your wide stance. Just then, Minho circled you, assuming the same position opposite you. “And now you just have to roll your hips. Like this.” As you watched him move, you felt yourself blush, heat pooling at your core. It looked so damn hot and you couldn’t help but wonder what other things this man could do with his hips.

But you forced yourself to return to reality, trying to imitate his movement. Minho had the absolute audacity to chuckle at your attempt. “Cute, but no”, he said, “let me help you.” He walked around you again, positioning himself behind you. Close behind you. So damn close, you could feel his body heat radiating against your back. The sheer lack of space between the two of you had the air shift drastically, a thick tension starting to build. He gently placed his hands on your hips, and you swallowed hard. “Move with me”, he said, voice low and so very close to your ear. And then he moved, gripping your hips a bit harder so he could steer them, his hips rolling behind yours. Slowly, you got into a rhythm, and out of sheer instinct, you started to lean back against his chest. “Good”, he purred, “you’re doing so good.”

It was too much, he was too close, you were too whipped for him to simply endure this. And that’s when it slipped. “Min..” A short sigh, bordering on a moan, as your hips pushed back just a little too much, effectively grinding against him. Your heart stopped for a moment, your breath stuck in your throat, as you anticipated his reaction. He moved, straightening his legs, and you feared he would move away, break the tension, but his hands remained on your hips. His fingers dug into your sides for a second, then he pulled you out of your stance as well and spun you around. “What was that, kitten?”, he said, pulling your body against his own. “I…uh….”, you stammered, unable to form a sentence. Not when you were this close to him. Not when he called you kitten.

Time stopped, as Minho’s eyes dropped to your lips, his fingers digging into your sides. Your breath hitched, your heart hammered against your ribcage, your core was positively throbbing, and all you could do was stare. Stare at his lips, stare at the way his ears turned slightly red, stare at his beautiful, darkening, half-lidded eyes. “Don’t be shy now”, he all but whispered, pulling you impossibly closer, pressing his crotch against yours - that’s when you felt it, felt him, hard and pulsing against you through his and your clothes. “Min…”, you repeated, unable to hold back, as you unintentionally leaned in just a bit. It was enough for him to act. You caught a glance of his smirk and then his lips were on yours, hot and hungry, as if he’d also been barely holding on. Your arms went around his neck in an instant as you lost yourself in the way he devoured you, tasting his tongue, becoming putty in his hands.

You almost didn’t notice how he manoeuvred you backwards to the couch until your legs hit something soft, and he lowered you down onto it. Hovering over you, Minho examined you. Your lips were red and swollen, your pupils dilated, your breath ragged - he’d never seen you like that and it had his cock throb painfully. “We can stop”, he breathed, softly running his fingers over your cheek, because he knew, if he went one step further, he wouldn’t be able to stop. “No.” Your answer was immediate, almost a bit too fast, but you didn’t care. You wanted this, you wanted him. More than anything. And with your answer his expression shifted. Gone was any softness, replaced by sheer unadulterated lust, as he dove back into you, kissing you so sloppy, so greedy, that it had your whole body shaking beneath him.

Before you knew it, he was kneeling in-between your legs, hands exploring your body, slipping underneath your shirt, as he continued to kiss your lips, your face, your neck. He was all over you, taking control, and you melted beneath him, making the sweetest little sounds. His hands slid over your body, mapping out every inch, until he was cupping your breasts, squeezing, kneading, playing with your nipples. “You’ve no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this”, he breathed against your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses, teeth grazing your delicate skin.

You were tangled up in each other, surrounded by nothing but heat and desire, so lost in the moment you didn’t even realise when he had pulled your shirt off or your pants down. All you knew were his lips trailing down your bare chest, sucking marks here and there, until his kisses found your inner thighs, hungry and teasing. His shirt had been discarded too, at some point, and you enjoyed the view of a shirtless, panting, borderline feral Minho sitting between your legs, looking up at you with lidded eyes as his tongue ran through your slick folds.

“Fuck…Min…”, you gasped, rolling your hips against his face, but he was quick to grab you and keep you steady, as he hungrily kept licking and sucking at your core. When your hand went to his head, fingers quickly tangling in his messy hair, he hummed against you, sending another shiver right down your spine. It didn’t take him long to get you all riled up, tight knot already forming in your lower belly. And he knew it, too. You could feel him smirking against your skin as he slowly, deliberately pushed two fingers into your wet, needy hole. It pulled a deeply sinful moan from you, to which he had the audacity to chuckle. “You like that, huh?”, he said, lips not leaving you once, “come on, show me how much.”

Minho had no mercy, pumping his fingers into you with reckless abandon, as his tongue continuously slid over your clit. It was driving you mad, your hips bucking against his now one-handed hold, but he was still keeping you firmly pressed against the couch. “Fuck...’m so close…”, you panted, to which he hummed against you once again. “Come for me, Kitten”, he purred, “let go for me.” And with that the knot snapped, sending a shockwave of pleasure through your body, thighs shaking, back arching, vision blurring. You were only half aware of the scream that escaped your mouth - or the satisfied smile on Minhos face as he helped you ride out your climax.

You were gasping for air, slowly coming down from your high, barely noticing how Minho pulled his fingers from your core. “Fuck”, you panted, “that was…wow…” “Glad you liked it”, he said, hovering over you face to face once again. Slowly, he leaned down and pressed a soft, but still very hungry, kiss against your lips. “Think you can take more?”, he asked, his eyes still dark with desire. “I can take you”, you said, still a little breathless, “I want to.” “You sure?”, he smirked as he rolled his still covered crotch against your soaked, sensitive centre.

“Ah…don’t be a tease, Min.” You let your hands run down his back and hooked your fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants. “Just fuck me already.” He didn’t need to be told twice. His pants and underwear were gone in an instant and you had only a short moment to marvel at the size of his cock. “Turn around”, he said, and you obeyed without hesitation. His hands were lingered on your butt for a while, grabbing, appreciating. But eventually, after you let out a few frustrated whines, he lined himself up. “Ready, kitten?”, he purred in your ear, and with your permission he slowly pushed himself in.

Inch by inch he slowly filled you out. You held your breath as he stretched your walls, low grunts vibrating against your shoulder where his lips were locked to your skin. “Damn, kitten”, he rasped, “you’re so tight….so perfect...” When he finally bottomed out, you released your breath, feeling utterly full of him. And then he began to roll his hips, slowly at first, letting you adjust to his size. “Mhhh….Min….feels so good”, you moaned, as he sped up, hips snapping against your butt again and again and again. It was obscene, filthy, downright pornographic how he fucked you. Like he’d been thinking about it. Like he’d been starving for it.

Your best friend’s dick drilled into you, hard and fast and ungodly, the angle too good, the size too perfect. You couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, only lewd noises coming out of your mouth as tears of pleasure stared to roll down your face. It felt too good. His hands gripped your hip tight enough to leave bruises, his breath was laboured and hot, his restraint was out the window. He fucked you like a feral beast, chasing his own release, and just when you thought he might not send you over the edge again, his right hand moved, fingers finding your clit. “Ugh…come…come with me kitten”, he panted, pressing and rubbing your most sensitive spot.

You screamed into the pillow as the second orgasm hit, too overstimulated to care if the neighbours would hear you, too fucked out to have any control. Your whole body shook as you felt him pulse inside you, hips stuttering, painting your insides white. Your whole body tingled, as you collapsed beneath him, unable to hold yourself in any position other than flat on the couch. He followed suit, panting and sweaty, chest pressed against your back, only barely managing not to put his whole weight on you. For a while, the both of you stayed like this, finding your breath, slowing your hearts.

Eventually, you could feel him press gentle kisses against your back as he carefully pulled himself out of you. For a moment he was gone, and then you were turned over and picked up, carried to the bathroom and set down in a tub of hot, soapy water. Minho climbed in behind you, legs wrapping around your waist, and pulled you back against his chest. And for a very long time, you just sat there, surrounded by warmth and silence, safety and comfort. Until your mind returned to you. Until you realised what had just happened and a smile rushed over your face. “Min”, you whispered without turning around. “Kitten”, he whispered back, gently resting his head on your shoulder. “I get it now”, you said, calm and quiet. He pressed soft kisses to your neck. “What d’you get?”, he asked. You chuckled. “Why you didn’t want Hyunjin to dance with me.”

Fenya’s Masterlist

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luveline · 2 months ago

Note

Could I ask for bombshell!reader x Spencer at the beach? Maybe before they officially got together and he's all heart eyes at her

ty for requesting!! fem, 1k

“Do you want to go to the beach with me?”

When you asked, Spencer had immediately felt like saying no. He does not have a good track record with the beach. As in, he doesn’t deal well with heat, or sand, or large bodies of water. The sun is his pale enemy —he tans only after he’s burned to a crisp. The skin peels away and leaves him smooth and warm-toned, but the risks of a sunburn freak him out.

“Skin colour doesn’t matter,” he’s saying, pleading, on his knees in the heat beside you, the sand uncomfortably hot under the Miami sun, “anyone can get melanoma.”

“I already told you, Spencer,” you say lightly back, “I’ll wear sunscreen so long as you put it on me.”

“You’re making it a joke, but it’s not a joke. It’s a big deal.”

You’re laying on your back on a beach towel, another rolled up under your head, sunglasses perched on a pretty nose and your face delightfully clear of any makeup. (Spencer likes your makeup. He just likes this too, the treat of seeing you without when he doesn’t usually get to look in on something so private.) You have a novel tented across your chest which is a whole thing, something Spencer’s sure to think back on in quiet times and feel magnanimously guilty for afterwards, just, you’re his dream girl and it’s boiling and you have sweat running down the inside of your leg, and Spencer’s going to die here watching it fall to your ankle.

You pass him your drink. “Here, honey, have some of this. You’re getting hot.”

He takes it because you’re right, drinking three big mouthfuls of it as the sunshine kisses the line of his throat. Your hand lands carefully in the crook of his arm, and that’s not your usual way of touching, but he appreciates it nonetheless as your fingertips begin drawing small circles.

“Ticklish?” you ask.

He wipes his eyebrows. “A little.”

You draw up the naked stretch of his arm until you reach the sleeve. You’re inquisitive as your fingers slide beneath, and your hand stills there behind his shoulder, inside of his shirt, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I put some on before I came out, but I’ll put more on in a bit.”

“Thank you.”

“Sure. I don’t want melanoma anymore than you do.”

“I don’t want you to get melanoma. I don’t want anyone to get it, but especially you.”

Your fingers close around the top of his arm, using him for an anchor as you pull yourself into a sitting position. Your book falls into your lap. He grabs it and sits it on your open bag, closed properly lest the pages get bent.

“C’mere,” you say, pulling at his arm gently, “reward for your sweetness, sweetheart.”

Spencer tips his head to the side so his hat misses your eyes, his own squeezing closed as you press a nice kiss to his cheek, and then, to his heart’s rearing excitement, a clumsier second one further up his cheek.

“Don’t worry about melanoma,” you say, nearly a murmur. “Today’s supposed to be for us to relax.”

“I am relaxing.”

“I can tell.”

You stretch your legs out. You’re wearing a tankini with little bottoms, like boyshorts, and a camisole-esque top, leaving the softness of your stomach exposed for his eyes to roam over and over. That’s after he’s finished with your arms, your legs, the forbidden slip of your thighs crossing as you rest your cheek against his shoulder. Spencer may be timid, but he’s no fool, wrapping a steadying arm behind you.

“Tides coming in,” you say. You’ve already told him that the both of you will be going for a swim after to cool down. He can imagine it already. His hair is soaked under his hat and there’s sand in his new shorts, and Spencer thinks this might end up being the very best day of his life, spent alone with you, for no reason other than your wanting his company.

“How come you’re not boiling in your skin?” Spencer grumbles.

“Mind over matter.”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

You laugh into his arm, rubbing your nose there. “Sure it does.” He chances a squeeze. You laugh more, and press a kiss half into his sleeve. “Spence.”

“What?”

“Thank you for coming. I know you hate the beach.”

“I don’t hate the beach.”

“You strongly dislike the beach.”

“That’s accurate. It’s not that bad, though… you know, with you.”

You cuddle into his side. Usually Spencer would be tentative to think of it that way, but there’s no other word for it. You’re hugging one another like you’re more than you are —though maybe you are more than you are, more than you’ve said aloud, because stuff like this keeps happening. You sniffle without tears against him and he lets out a sigh. It really is hot.

You look pretty against his side. Looking down at you, Spencer could be sick with the wanting of it all, but he takes another deep breath, lets out another sigh, endeared by your knee caps and your thighs and the fine hairs all over you that catch the light.

“Come down to the sea with me?” you ask.

He reaches for his sunglasses in your bag and pushes them onto his face one-handed. He doesn’t like the idea of wet sand on his feet, but he thinks about holding your hand in the cold water and finds himself revitalised regardless. “Let’s go,” he says, earning himself another clumsy kiss against the side of his jaw.

He’s gonna ask to be your boyfriend, he decides. The second you get back to the hotel, he’s gonna ask.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic

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cinnamorollcrybaby · 9 months ago

Note

Loving your JJK men so I'm here to request fics if possible. I'm feeling Nanami, Geto and Megumi mainly, Sukuna for the shits and anyone else you're in the mood for. It doesn't have to be super long either, just sweet supportive men.

You're either on your way to a thing with friends/family or already at an event when your period either starts or takes a turn for the worse (painful enough cramps to cause nausea) and you're asking them to turn back/leave even though you know you agreed to attend.

Period Problems!

Tags: fluff, cursing, period comfort, established relationships, wee bit of crack

An: Thank you! I appreciate the req <3

Incl: Satoru, Suguru, Nanami, Choso, Megumi, Sukuna

SATORU

You kinda let Satoru do all the talking during reunions at Jujutsu Tech. It’s not that you don’t like your former classmates; you do. You just find so much socialization to be kinda exhausting.

Satoru was the opposite however. He’s a natural born extrovert that can talk to other people so casually for hours on end. Socialization doesn’t tire him out at all, so he’s quick to take over conversations for you when he can sense that your social battery is low.

He’s subtle with it: placing his arm slightly in front of you as he steps up, casually inserting himself into the conversation. It feels fluid and not forced at all.

That’s how you two were right now. You were tucked behind his arm, leaning your head against his shoulder. You had been cramping all day long, so you already wasn’t in too good of a mood. The socialization was really the cherry on top.

A torturous wave of cramps hit, nearly making your knees buckle from under you. Your hand tightened around Satoru’s bicep, and you tried to breathe your way through it, not wanting to take him away from all his friends.

Satoru turned his head towards you, and he could immediately notice how pale you looked. “Hey, it was good seeing you though. Take care of the wife and kids.” Your husband smiled at whoever he was talking to before guiding you away from everyone else.

“What’s the matter, sweets? You alright?” He asks softly as he’s extended his infinity out to you so no one can touch you or even get close to you.

“Cramping… hurts..” was all you could manage to get out.

“Let’s get you home, sweets. Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling good?” His large palm rubs at the small of your back as he opens the door for you, allowing you to step out.

“Didn’t wanna ruin your event.” You murmur quietly as tears brim in your eyes. You didn’t want to be seen as an inconvenience to him.

“Hey, heyy… c’mere, sweet girl.” Satoru wraps you up in a tight embrace, petting your hair as you cried into his dress shirt. “My poor baby. What kind of husband would I be if I made my wife who’s in a lot of pain get up and go to something as uncomfortable as a reunion? I don’t even really care about those people anyway. You’re my priority.” He leans down and presses a sweet kiss to the top of your head.

“I feel like I’m gonna throw up.” You murmur quietly, and he steps back away from you.

“Right, let’s get you home. I’ll make some chocolate covered strawberries, and we can watch that reality tv show you really like.” Satoru suggests as he helps you into the passenger seat of his car.

SUGURU

Who said cults couldn’t have bake sales? It brings a sense of community and camaraderie amongst the members. Geto thought you were a literal genius when you came up with the idea.

You had been in charge of planning and organizing the entire bake sale, and today was finally the day. It’s early in the morning, and Geto’s helping the girls in the kitchen bake blueberry muffins so they have enough time to cool before the sale.

You stirred out of your own slumber upon hearing the girls giggling. “Hey now, you two, don’t you wake your mama up. She’s sleeping.” Your husband warns the twins, and they both try to shush each other. The giggling pursues anyway, but you don’t mind. You wouldn’t rather be woken up any other way.

As you slowly eased yourself out of bed, your stomach immediately cramped up, sending shockwaves of pain down your thighs and back at the same time.

Was it really that time of the month already?

Your stained bedsheets said yes. You must’ve started in your sleep. Great.

Upon hearing you rustling around in the bedroom, Suguru walks in, not expecting to find you haphazardly pulling the sheets off yours and his bed.

“I just washed the sheets a couple weeks ago.” Geto said with a curious smile on his face. His head tilts to the side slightly, wondering what you were doing.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Your voice is quiet and full of shame that immediately has Suguru is full-on “fix mode”.

“Hey- what happened, baby?” He asks as he shuts the bedroom door behind him, so the girls can’t come and be nosey.

You sniffle softly and turn to show Geto your poor pajama pants that were now soaked in blood, and he immediately understands.

“Oh, I’m sorry, darling. How are you feeling?” He tenderly asks as he comes and takes the sheets out of your hand. He begins to pull them off for you.

“‘m hurting really bad..” You answer him in a quiet murmur.

“Go take a bath, darling. I got everything else. Don’t worry about it.” He presses a small kiss to the top of your head. “Throw your panties and pants in the hamper. I’ll try to get the stains out.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to be grossed out.”

“Of course I’m sure. I’m a grown man. I can handle anything your body does.” He assures you as he carries the sheets over towards the laundry room.

You soak in the warm bath for quite a while, but the cramps still persist. You anxiously check the time on your phone like a hundred times. The bake sale should be starting soon, so you need to get up and start getting ready.

A knock at the door disturbs your track of thought. “It’s me, darling. Can I come in?” Suguru’s voice sounds from the other side of the door.

“Yeah, come in.” You answer back to him, and Suguru carries in a cup of tea before he shuts the door.

“I’m sorry you’re not feeling well, princess.” He sits down on the floor next to the tub, and he carefully hands you the cup of tea.

“Thank you- I’m just trying to muster up enough strength to get up, so we can make it to the bake sale.” You say as you shift in the bath. The warm water and bubbles lap at your skin.

“Mmm, no need. Just focus on relaxing for right now, and we’ll see about making an appearance later on.”

“What do you mean? What about the girls? They’ll be devastated.”

“I had Manami take them to the sale. They’ll be fine.” He informs you as he pets your hair.

“Are you sure things will be alright? What if…”

“Ah, none of that. Things will be fine. You did a perfect job while planning everything. Our members are not incompetent people. They can handle a small bake sale, my love. I want you to just relax for today. Like I said, we might make a small appearance if you feel up to it later.”

“Sugu, I love you.”

“I love you too, darling.”

NANAMI

“Mmm, no can do. Sorry, it’ll have to be another day.” Nanami speaks into his phone as he’s looking at his calendar.

Ino has been begging to meet his wife for far too long now, so Nanami finally offered for Ino to come to yours and his house for dinner one evening. Planning it has been tough due to the vigorous schedules.

“Maybe it will just have to be next month.” Nanami shrugs his shoulders. He’s really not too bothered by not letting Ino meet you as he really tries not to involve you in his work life.

“Hm? Nanamin, what’s wrong with the 18th? We don’t have anything scheduled that day?” You ask curiously while tilting your head.

Your husband makes a face at you before he quickly taps the mute button on his phone. “Darling, according to your cycle, you’ll probably start your menstrual period that day. I highly doubt you’ll want any visitors over.”

Ah yes, you must’ve forgotten that you married a man who is literally obsessed with you and your happiness.

“That’s if my period comes on the day it’s suppose to. It could be late or early. You never know. Just invite him over. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” You assure him, waving away his concerned gaze.

Yeah, that was a fuckin mistake.

You had worked for the better half of the day preparing Katsudon for everyone to enjoy when Ino and Nanami get off work. You had to take frequent breaks: sitting down or lying down to try to weather yourself through your cramps.

Nanami was right — your period started earlier that morning, and you absolutely did not want company over today. You kept trying to persevere — not wanting to admit that Nanami might know your body better than you do. Also, you weren’t a fan of cancelling plans last minute.

Though, when the kitchen started to feel like it was over a hundred degrees in there, and the room started to spin, you knew you had to call and say something to your husband.

“Hey darling, we’re almost there. Sorry we’re running behind. I had to teach Ino how to tie a tie.” Your husband speaks over the phone, and your heart instantly sinks into your stomach. This poor boy is wearing a tie to come and meet you, but you’re fixing to cancel.

“Nanamin…” You mumble sheepishly over the phone. You feel terrible for having to cancel, but there’s just no way you can power through it.

“Are you alright, darling..?” He asks cautiously. His ability to instantly tell when something was wrong with you was still astonishing to this day.

“You were right… I don’t feel good.”

“Oh darling.. I was right? You started this morning, didn’t you?”

“… yeah.” You reluctantly admit with a small pout. It’s bad enough that you’re cramping terribly right now. Now, you have to admit just how right your husband was.

“Good thing Ino’s not with me, and I never arranged for him to come by tonight.” He says with a small huff of amusement. “I’m getting you one of those cheesecakes you really like. Then, I’ll be home.”

Oh, to be married to the king of domestic love.

“Ken, I love you. Hurry home please.” Your heart is immediately melting in your chest. Marrying him was the best decision of your life.

“I love you more, darling.”

CHOSO

There’s nothing worse than being overcrowded while on your period, and currently, that’s what was exactly happening.

Sitting between Choso and Yuji on a too small couch while Yuji lore dumped about Human Earthworm 1 and 2 was literally a nightmare, but it was even worse since your stomach was cramping up so badly to where you couldn’t even hear the words spilling from Yuji’s mouth.

Immediately, you regret agreeing to hanging out with Yuji today, but you hated seeing your cute boyfriend’s face turn to disappointment when you tell him no.

You assured him that he could hang out with Yuji without you — you didn’t mind sharing him with his little brother at all, but Choso would always say that it’s more fun with you involved.

Thus, you’re squished between the oversized males on the couch, watching the third Human Earthworm movie for like the 5th time while Itadori points out every little easter egg.

Your stomach is cramping so badly — making you feel like you’re either about to throw up or pass out or the secret option of doing both. Your cramps are literally reverberating through your thighs.

You didn’t want to make a big deal out of this, but your heart was starting to pound in your chest. You lean your head back, trying to stop the room from spinning in your head.

“Baby?” Choso’s voice echoes in your ear. Yuji pauses the movie, and they both look at you with a concerned look. Your boyfriend could immediately tell that something was wrong with you.

“Yuu, go get her some water.” Choso instructs, and he sits up on the couch. His hands start to fan over your face, wafting air towards you to help out. “Baby, can you hear me?”

Yuji quickly scrambles from the couch, and he jogs to the kitchen to get you a cold glass of water. Choso and Yuji do not look any alike, but they both have the same caring heart.

“Cho, I feel like ‘m gonna throw up.” Your voice is barely a strained whisper.

“Okay baby, hold on. Hold on for me, pretty girl.” Choso brushes your hair back from your face, and he then quickly sprints towards the bathroom to get the trashcan for you.

Choso returns quickly, and he places the trashcan in your lap. “Here you go, baby.” He whispers softly, and he places his hand gently on your shoulder for moral support. He’s not too great at these things, but he wants you to know that he’s here for you.

“What’s the matter? Are you sick or..?” He asks you, still trying to get to the root of what’s got you so ill all of a sudden.

“Cramping..” You murmur quietly, and Choso instantly feels like a fool. You told him you started your period this morning, but he completely forgot.

“I’m so sorry, baby… Do you still feel like you’re going to throw up?” He asks as his eyes never leave your face. Your head is still tilted back, and your eyes are closed.

“No.. I think it passed for now.” You reply quietly, taking the small moment of reprieve that your ovaries decided to give you.

“C’mere, princess.” Choso mumbles lowly, and he scoops you into his arms bridal style before standing up. “Let’s get you into bed, yeah? I’ll get you some pain medicine and your heating pad.”

“Mmm.. love you, Cho.” Your voice is muffled against his shoulder.

“Hey Yuu, don’t worry about that water, kay? I’m gonna get her to bed. We’ll finish the movie maybe sometime next week.” Choso calls out to his brother that is miraculously still in the kitchen.

Yuji was cowering in the kitchen with his ears covered because he heard you say you were going to throw up, and his emetophobia started acting up.

“Great! See you later!” He shouts as he sprints out the house, getting as far away from there as possible.

MEGUMI

Visiting Gojo in his vacation home was something you’ve been looking forward to for months now. Gojo owned a vacation home up towards the snowy peaks, and he invited you and Megumi to come up there and stay for a week during the winter.

You had planned so many fun activities to do with Megumi like snowboarding, skiing, or building a snowman.

Not to mention the thought of cozying up to your boyfriend in front of a fireplace sounded like exactly what you two needed after these past few stressful weeks.

The only kicker was the morning you two were set to leave, you started your period.

Trying not to panic, you packed a whole box of tampons and pads, and you packed like 15 extra pairs of underwear… just in case.

It would be fine, right? Maybe you and him could just spend more time cozied up rather than being out in the snow. Besides, Megumi didn’t really care what you two did. He was happy with whatever you picked out. As long as you two were together, he’d be fine with whatever activity.

You just had to make it through an eight hour car ride…

By hour two, your entire body is screaming at you. Your lower tummy feels like it’s on fire, and the pain is shooting through your back. No matter how many times you shift, you’re not comfortable.

It’s hot in the car, but then, it’s too cold. You’re so damn uncomfortable that you’re nearly in tears.

After your nth time shifting in your seat, Megumi finally speaks up. “Are you already that antsy? We’ve barely started..”

“No, I…” You wince before slightly doubling over in the passenger side seat. “I’m just cramping a lot.”

“Shit, really? Why didn’t you tell me?” He asks as he glances over at you with a look of concern. He’s well aware of how severe your periods can get sometimes. He’s taken care of you enough times to see exactly how much pain you’re in.

“I thought I could power through.” You sniffle, instantly feeling guilty for putting a damper on the trip.

“Hey, hey..” Megumi reaches over and runs his fingers through your hair. He keeps his other hand on the steering wheel — trying his best to drive safely and comfort you at the same time. “It’s alright. You’re really hurtin’, huh?”

“Mhm…” You quietly hum in agreement, and you lean your head on Megumi’s hand.

Without saying another word, Megumi takes the next exit, and he drives for a minute, ignoring your questions. He then pulls into a fancy looking hotel before putting the car in park.

“Stay in here for just a second, yeah? I’ll be right back.” He presses a quick kiss to your forehead before leaving the car and walking into the hotel lobby.

A few minutes pass before he returns to the car. By the time he’s back, you can already feel a migraine starting to kick in.

“Can you walk, gorgeous?” He asks tenderly as he unbuckles your seatbelt for you,

“Yeah — I can walk..” You reply in a pained voice.

“Alright. Let’s go in here. I got us a room.” He offers his hand, and he helps guide you out of the car before he grabs both of the suitcases.

“What..? What about Gojo?”

“He can wait. Your health is more important. It’s not like his vacation home will disappear over night. We’ll see how you feel about driving some more tomorrow. If not, we’ll turn back around and head home.”

“Are you sure..? I don’t wanna ruin the trip.” You sniffle before rubbing your face. Your stomach starts to cramp up again, nearly making your knees buckle. Megumi’s hand rests on the small of your back, guiding you into the hotel lobby.

“I already told you, gorgeous. I don’t care what we do. I just want to be with you.”

SUKUNA

Sukuna could smell the exact minute your period started. Blame it on him being a curse.

He avoids you like the plague when he knows you’re bleeding because he truly believes that he will only make your pain worse. He knows he’s not the nicest, so he just tries to stay out of your way.

It’s definitely not because he’s terribly afraid of women who can bleed for seven days straight and not die.

“Ryo?” Dammit. You caught him.

“Yes, woman?” He reluctantly turns to look at you. You were wearing an elegant dress that he usually loved to peel off you before completely ravaging you.

“Are we… not doing tithe today..?” You ask with a small frown. You had gotten dressed up for the purpose of addressing yours and Sukuna’s subjects.

“No… I’ll hold tithe next week.” He nods his head. Truthfully, he had concerned himself so much with avoiding you that he had forgotten all about tithe.

“But… you always do it on the first of the month..” You’re nearly in tears. Why was he avoiding you? Did he not want to be seen with you? Was he embarrassed of you now? So many insecure thoughts and high-running emotions.

Sukuna’s literally sweating. What the fuck did he say to make you upset? “Why do you cry, woman? Don’t cry. I didn’t realize tithe was that important to you. We’ll have tithe right now.”

“You don’t love me!” Fat tears are running down your cheeks. Your hormones making you feel like the worst person on planet earth right now.

“Who the fuck said that!?” Now Sukuna’s shouting too. This is a mess. He just wants you to not bleed and to not be sad.

A moment of silence between the two of you allows him to reflect for a moment. He looks at you as you’re just looking up at him with big teary eyes, and he quietly sighs before pulling you into a hug.

“Let’s go do this tithe, and then, you can explain to me what I’ve done to make you feel so down.”

Your mood changed just as fast. Maybe he did really love you! You sat on his lap at he was sitting on his throne. Curse after curse would come up and give whatever they could spare to the king as tithe.

You were sweet to each and every one, making sure to compliment each unique ‘gift’ that was bestowed upon you two. Truthfully, the curses loved having you as a queen, but even they were avoiding you today. They could smell your menstrual period as much as Sukuna could.

If you weren’t so focused on your cramps, you’d be a bummed out because now your subjects didn’t even seem to like you as much.

The king’s second pair of eyes darted towards you as soon as he could hear your breath shifting, but you still wore a smile. He decided not to question it.

But when you started to grip onto the throne and his arm tightly, your face was pale, and you could barely manage to speak, he immediately ordered everyone out.

“Alright, that’s enough. Get the fuck out.” He barked, and curses went scrambling everywhere. Hell, even Uraume took that as a direct order.

“What ails you, human?” He asks as his full attention is on you now. You’re practically a mess in his lap from the pain — feeling like you might throw up or pass out from how bad it hurts.

“Cramps.” You answer Sukuna lowly, and you try your best to breathe through them.

“How do I make them go away?” He asks, spoken like a true man… always wanting to fix everything.

“Sometimes a heating pad helps…” You wince as you can feel nausea bubbling up from how much pain you’re in.

“You said heat?” Sukuna asks as flames coat his hand.

“Not that much heat-!” You whine and shift in his lap before the flames dissipate.

“Make up your mind, woman.” He grumbles before he rests his palm on your lower tummy. His hand was still very warm from the flames, and you instantly ease in his lap.

His eyes stay fixated on you while you rest on his lap quietly, and he ever so carefully starts to rub your stomach. He finds your behavior very much cat-like. Too bad he really didn’t like cats — too unpredictable.

“How do I keep this from coming back?” He questions more to himself than to you.

“Pregnancy.” You murmur to him, half-asleep due to the immense amount of relief you felt.

“Great. I shall get you pregnant then.”

“What.”

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rollinouttahere-writes · 1 month ago

Text

Breaking Point Chapter 4

Whitebeard Pirates x Teen GN Reader

7.2k words

First / Prev

Summary: Akainu realizes he has been duped, Whitebeard has a conversation with the mystery caller, and you are left facing your most dire foe yet. Boredom.

Warnings: choking, suicidal ideation, brief mentions of anxiety, depression, and self harm, descriptions of past child abuse, invasion of privacy, brief pregnancy mention

I made some major changes to chapter one since the last update, so please make sure to go reread it if you haven't already. Enjoy the extra long chapter lol

tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap

A trench was going to be imprinted upon the deck at this rate. Akainu couldn't stand still. Not when his mind was racing in every direction all at once.

Those pirates are fucking late.

Akainu stops sharply and shouts up to the crow's nest, “Can you still not see them?”

“No, sir! There's no one around for miles!”

His blood may very well be literally boiling. A vein in his forehead throbs uncomfortably, and he can hear a faint sizzling coming from somewhere on his person.

A hesitant, meek voice calls out to him, “The wind is pretty weak today, sir. Maybe they're just running behind because of that?”

“That didn't stop us from getting here on time!” Akainu snaps at the marine. He stomps closer to the man, easily matching his hasty steps back until he is towering over him. “They are damn near five hours late, and you want to blame it on the fucking wind?! What's next? Did they stop at an island because they were hungry, too? What other excuses are you going to make for those things?!”

“I-I-I wasn't trying to excuse them, sir, I promise!” The marine is bent backwards over the railing in a desperate bid to put some distance between them. “It's just- I have a kid at home, too! I know that I would be worried sick if I was in your shoes, so I was trying to say something encouraging!”

Akainu grabs the man's neckerchief and yanks him closer, not caring to notice that he was choking him in the process, “I don't need encouragement, I need those damned pirates to keep their end of their deal and get here already!”

“I'm sorry, sir!” The marine was clawing at the fabric around his neck and wheezing.

Such a pathetic display. Whatever. He wasn't worth the effort of dispatching. Akainu shoves him away, nearly sending him over the railing and into the sea.

The seething Admiral turns to face the bridge, “Return to port, they aren't coming.”

Surprise flashes across the helmsman's face. “Are you sure, Admiral?”

“Positive.” Akainu strides to where his private office is, “The longer we waste time here, the more time they have to scheme. We are returning at once.”

He doesn't wait for a response. His crew knows better than to disappoint him. He can hear a flurry of boots hitting wood as everyone rushes to unfurl the sails and raise anchor.

It's only because he's on a ship that he can't afford to sink that he's able to keep his magma in check. He can feel the flow of it under his skin, just begging to be unleashed. But, alas, he would be stranding himself in the ocean if he did.

He's too fired up to even consider sitting down right now. He rips open the drawer that his transponder snail is in and tunes it to the desired frequency before sending out the call. It rings twice, then the gruff voice of his superior answers.

“Let me guess. They never arrived.” Despite the conversation having only just started, Sengoku already sounded exasperated.

Akainu inhaled deeply in a vague attempt to calm himself. “They didn't. They violated the terms of our agreement.”

“Pirates didn't keep their word? How surprising. Should I tell the papers about this?”

Sarcasm was the last thing that Akainu wanted to put up with right now. His hand tightens around the receiver and he spits out, “This isn't a joking matter. My (Y/N) is still with them, and I haven't been given any proof of life since the initial communication.”

“I'm aware.” The sound of papers being shuffled followed by pen on paper trickles in from his side.

Teeth grind against each other painfully to the point that he should be concerned about cracking a molar, but he can't be bothered to focus on such a thing. “Is that all you have to say? That Emperor is holding a Commodore hostage, and all you can say is that you're aware?”

“An ex-Commodore.” Sengoku says plainly, as if it was nothing of note. Like he just fired a janitor. “I've already taken the liberty of terminating their position and reallocating their unit.”

“You can't be serious. You better not be serious.” The nails on Akainu’s free hand dig into the varnished wood of his desk and smoke begins to rise.

“I am. You were made privy to my stance on this matter beforehand. (Y/N) abandoned post and got themselves captured. That isn't the kind of behavior I want to see in an Ensign, much less a Commodore.” The sound of a pen being dropped can be heard. “And just in case you need to be reminded, my decision still stands on not permitting any action against Whitebeard. A civilian isn't worth that effort or trouble.”

The wood of his desk smolders, then catches to fire. “Do you honestly expect me to do nothing about this? Am I just supposed to leave (Y/N) in the hands of pirates and not do a single fucking thing to retrieve them? Is that genuinely what you are expecting of me?”

A deep sigh can be heard through the receiver. After a bout of silence, Sengoku speaks again, “I understand that this is your child, and that you have a duty to them as a parent. But, you also have a duty to the Marines. You have a duty to not upset the delicate balance between us and the Emperors. There is only room for one of those duties to be your top priority.

“I'm not going to reprimand you for being distressed, but I hope that you will make the correct decisions going forward. You're an excellent Admiral, and I want to help you where I can, but I can't continue covering your ass when you let your desires and impulses control you. You need to be wholly dedicated to the greater good, and let's be honest here, (Y/N) is no longer a part of that category.”

Sengoku allows him time to stew in what was said. To take it all in and try to force himself to come to terms with it. But he can't. This isn't right. You have always been a star soldier. You've given your life to the cause, and now you're getting chewed up and spit out because you were overpowered by a fucking Emperor.

“If it's any consolation,” Sengoku pauses as he carefully chooses his next words, “I anticipate that (Y/N) will be released eventually. Of all the pirate crews that could have abducted them, the Whitebeard pirates are about as tame as one can hope for. They don't have a history of executing hostages. Once they realize they've gotten as much out of this situation as they can, I'm sure (Y/N) will be released without incident.”

Loath as he was to admit it, Sengoku had a point. If a crew like Beast pirates had gotten ahold of you, it would practically be guaranteed that you would die in their custody. The Whitebeard's, as powerful as they were, didn't pose the same risk level. The worst that had ever happened involving them and Marines outside of direct warfare was the occasional conversion, but he knew that you would never fall for such a ruse. You were far too independent and intelligent to be tricked like that.

But even if you were released, that still begged the question, “Will you reinstate (Y/N)’s position once they've been returned?”

“What?” Sengoku sounds completely flabbergasted, “No. Where did you get the idea that I would? I already explained why (Y/N) is no longer fit for the Marines. Were you not listening to a word I said the other day?”

“I heard you, but that doesn't mean that I agreed with it. You aren't being fair. Anyone of their skill level would have lost against those pirates. I know my soldier, and I know that they have what it takes to do good for the Marines. You can't cut their career short before they've even reached their maximum potential.” Akainu exhales sharply and drags his hand down his face, “What would they even do if they weren't a marine? They would have nothing.”

The sound of Sengoku drumming his fingers makes it through the transmission. “(Y/N) is a sharp individual, I know that they would succeed in anything they applied themselves to. I did them and you a favor and labeled them as an honorable discharge. They should have no trouble finding employment elsewhere.”

That answer wasn't good enough. Akainu didn't want you to wander around until you found something else to do to get by. He wanted you to stay in the Marines and do what he knew you were meant to do. This is all so frustrating, he feels like he's talking in circles.

Without thinking, he barks into the receiver, “What's the damn point if they can't even be a marine?”

The drumming coming through the line stops instantly. “Pardon?” He can hear Sengoku's chair creak, followed by a hand slamming down on the desk, “The damn point is that you'll have your kid back alive and well! The point is that you won't be left to wonder what became of them as your mind fills in the blanks with nothing but worst case scenarios! You could stand to be a little more grateful for the fact that you have a very good chance of being able to see your kid again!”

Indistinct words are grumbled under the Fleet Admiral’s breath. He inhales deeply, then lets it out. He speaks clearly and concisely, “I'm done with this conversation. Do not bring this up to me again.” The line went dead.

This didn't feel real. It was like a nightmare. He's worked so hard to get you to where you were, and now Sengoku has callously ripped it all away based purely off assumption. Was his life's work not good enough to be worth fighting for? Was he insinuating that Akainu had raised a useless marine?

Did he have any idea how bad this would make Akainu look?

There's a tug on his hand. His transponder snail is trying to escape the flames encapsulating the desk but is being held back by the receiver still in his grasp.

… It would be inconvenient to have to make a trip just to acquire a new one.

Akainu picks up the snail and drops it onto a nearby shelf. He stares at the burning desk with apathy. Was there anything important in it? Probably not. Some paperwork at most.

Glass cracks and then shatters loudly. His eyes dart over to the source of the noise. A framed photo of you that was taken after your recent promotion to Commodore. Oh, shit! He lurches forward to try and salvage it, but he's too late. The picture singes and curls in his hands as flames consume it.

Your emotionless face distorts, then vanishes as it's reduced to a pile of ash.

—

Everyone had left the room upon Whitebeard's request to do so. Now it was just him, the transponder snail, and whoever was on the other side of this transmission.

Whitebeard situates himself comfortably and speaks in the commanding voice expected of someone of his status, “We're alone now. You can speak.”

There's a beat of silence, then a stern but feminine voice comes through, “Captain Whitebeard. I appreciate you agreeing to speak with me regarding this urgent matter.”

“It isn’t often that someone from Totto Land wants to speak to me. May I know whom I'm speaking to?” He was running all of the voices of Big Mom's children that he knew through his head, but none of them were a match. It could be one of her daughters that he hadn't met before, or maybe his memory simply wasn't as sharp as it used to be.

“You may have heard of me under the alias of Ms. Edmonds. I used to work with various pirates by giving them insider information on the Marines, but I've worked exclusively with Charlotte Linlin for some time now.”

Whitebeard had heard the name floating around several years back. A former disgraced marine turned informant, either out of spite or genuine necessity based on who you asked. The question still stood on why she was so insistent on getting in contact with him, and what exactly his most recent addition to the ship had to do with it.

“Is (Y/N) still aboard your ship?” Her voice had a noticeable tinge of desperation to it.

His arms cross over his chest and he leans back in his chair. “They are. They’re on the deck with my sons as we speak.”

A loud sigh of relief comes from Ms. Edmonds. Seemingly encouraged by his response, she begins speaking at a fast pace, “Whitebeard, I must implore you to not return (Y/N) to Marine custody. I am prepared to pay whatever ransom you deem necessary. Treasure, medicine, I could even connect you with new potential crew members. Just name it, and I will make it happen.”

“I have already decided that (Y/N) won’t be going back to the Marines.”

There’s a brief moment of silence, then a quiet, “Huh?”

“(Y/N) made it clear that they didn’t want to go back. I’m not in the business of forcing people to do things against their will, much less a child.” Whitebeard leaves the explanation vague. Ms. Edmonds hasn’t shown her hand yet, so he has no reason to either. She’s given him no reason to divulge precisely why he’s made the decision that he has. “What I want right now is to know why you are so invested in that child. I take it Big Mom is interested in them?”

A few theories are swirling in his mind, but one was especially prominent. It wouldn't surprise him in the least if Big Mom was interested in getting a turn using you as a bargaining chip. Linlin loved having leverage over others, and she no doubt knew that she could get a lot out of having you in her custody.

If that is the case, she is going to be sorely disappointed. He has zero intention of putting you in harm's way or triggering another attempt. You aren't going anywhere.

There is a lengthy pause as Ms. Edmonds mulls over her next words, and Whitebeard doesn't rush her.

She lets out a deep breath, then finally breaks the silence, “I'm their mother. I'm sure you've heard the… unsavory rumors about me. I was dishonorably discharged when the affair I was having with my superior came to light after I discovered I was pregnant during a medical exam.”

A bitter chuckle comes through the connection, “They raked me over the coals. Called me every name in the book and told me I had no right to my own child. They took (Y/N) from me the second they were born. I've never so much as held them.”

None of this had been what Whitebeard had been anticipating. Her story was extreme, so much so that he was dubious of how honest she was being. Especially since she had yet to give a real name. “Do you have any proof for this story?”

“I do.” Her words are firm and confident, “I managed to snag my file before I was thrown out on my ass. It includes details about everything I described to you. It will be under the name of Portgas D. Louise, and I can send it over to you right now if you will let me.”

Whitebeard wasn’t sure which struck him harder. Her having the same surname as his son, Ace, or the fact that she just admitted to having the Will of D. And if this tale turns out true, that would imply that you do as well. If he had to guess, you didn’t even know this about yourself.

This situation is becoming increasingly complicated by the second. It’s an insane story, but something in him is telling him that it’s true. He concedes, “Yes, I would appreciate it if you could send it to me at your earliest convenience.”

The woman, who he now knows to be Louise, can be heard shouting orders to mail the file to Whitebeard right away. The voice of the other person is too far away to be made out, but he does pick up on the sound of a door opening and closing.

“Thank you so much for being willing to entertain this. If it’s not too much to ask, I have another favor to request from you.” Louise’s voice is tentative as she asks.

“Go ahead.” Whitebeard can about guess what she’s after.

“I need to see my child. It may have been a bit presumptuous, but I have already begun preparations of a ship to make the voyage to get to yours. Can I trust that I will have your continued cooperation and that I’ll be allowed entry onto your ship?”

Whitebeard lets the question hang in the air as he thinks it over. It will likely be a few days before the evidence gets to him, but if Louise is coming all the way from Totto Land, there will be a wide margin of time for him to lose them if the proof proves itself to be illegitimate. He nods to himself and answers, “Yes, you will have our continued cooperation so long as the evidence confirms your story.”

She lets out a loud sigh of relief, as if she’d been holding her breath. “Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“Think nothing of it.” At this point, he had as much of an interest in seeing this woman as she did in seeing her child.

Just as he was planning to end the communication, Louise speaks up again, “... How is (Y/N)? Are they well?” Ah. He had admittedly been hoping to avoid this question. He pauses to try and gather his thoughts, and it doesn’t go unnoticed. Her voice takes on a more urgent tone, “What’s wrong? Are they hurt?”

“Not physically… but I’m not sure that I can say that they are well, either.”

Louise urges him again, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s upsetting.”

That gives her pause, but she presses on, “My life has been upsetting. Tell me what’s going on with (Y/N). I’m their mother, I have the right to know.”

“Very well,” Whitebeard relents. He takes a moment to attempt to find the most delicate way to say what he needed to, but there simply isn’t a nice way of putting it. He’s just going to have to come right out and say it. “When we were still planning on trading (Y/N) for safe passage to and from an island, they became despondent. After they were told that they would be back with their father soon, they went into a panic. They managed to wrestle a knife away from someone… and then they attempted to end their life.”

Silence. He can’t even make out the sound of her breathing anymore. After a few seconds, he hears some shuffling and the flick of a lighter, followed by a long inhale. She exhales shakily, and her voice tremors just as much, “How hurt are they?”

“Ace caught the blade before they could do any damage. They are unharmed, and we have them under a constant watch to ensure it stays that way. (Y/N) is in good hands, I can promise you that much.”

“Ace…” Louise mumbles something under her breath that he can’t quite make out. She clears her voice. “Okay. Thank you for informing me. I need to leave to assist with preparations for our ship. I’ll be in contact with you later.”

He reaches forward to terminate the call, but she interrupts him, “Oh, one more thing. I don’t want you to tell (Y/N) that I’m coming. I don’t know what- if anything- they’ve been told about me. I would prefer to be there to plead my case in person rather than letting them stew in whatever Akainu has told them about me.”

The call comes to an end before he even has a chance to respond. She apparently had a good deal of faith that he would honor that request. Which she wasn’t wrong about. He would. You already had too much on your mind as it stands, he didn’t need to be adding more to your plate. The transponder snail’s eyes shut, and it promptly retreats back into its shell for a much needed nap after the lengthy back and forth.

Whitebeard leans back in his seat to take in everything that he just heard. While he still wanted to see the proof for himself, he already felt certain that Louise was telling the truth about who she was in relation to you. Frankly, the bigger question to him was who she was to Ace.

And what Big Mom was hoping to get out of this.

—

There have been many complicated hurdles in your life. Brutal training sessions, unforgiving missions, merciless foes, but now you’re facing a whole new beast.

Boredom.

Due to how heavily structured your life was as a marine, you were never left wondering what you should do. Everything was already pre-established ahead of time, and there wasn’t a single second that was unaccounted for. So what were you supposed to do when that schedule was ripped away from you?

During those few weeks on the run, you had been away from your usual routine, but you were kept plenty busy with surviving and making sure your path would be an untraceable one. But now? Now you have nothing to do, and it’s driving you crazy!

It’s been two days since your capture by the Whitebeard pirates, and it has been a wild ride.

Marco returned last night with the medication they used you as leverage to get. True to Elise’s word, he did not proceed to immediately drag you back to the Marines. Instead, what followed was a private interrogation between you and him where he asked you all sorts of invasive questions.

At first they were pretty tame. Have you eaten? How much? What has your sleep schedule been like recently? Then it started to get more uncomfortable. Do you have a history with depression? Do you often find yourself feeling anxious?

And then he asked the question that you knew was coming. Are you having any thoughts of self harm or suicide?

All of your answers were short. This wasn’t an exchange that you wanted to entertain. You gave vague answers where you could, and outright lied when you couldn’t. None of this was any of his damn business. And what the hell kinds of questions were these? Do you have a history of depression? As if you could have done everything you did as a marine if you were depressed and anxious. How absurd.

And self harm? Please. Akainu harmed you plenty. Why would you do more than that unless it was to end it all? Of course, you still had the desire to do just that, but there was no opportunity to. These people were watching you constantly.

There was a rotation of nurses that stayed up to watch you as you slept all night. If you wanted to go to the bathroom, someone had to be with you. A humiliating experience, but at least the nurses had the decency to turn their back. You declined to bathe last night because of that whole experience. You did not want to be completely naked around these people. Fuck that noise.

Ever since your release from the confines of the medical gurney, you’ve been hovering around the nurses. You didn’t exactly trust them, but they felt safer to be around than any of the pirates. In an attempt to stave off your boredom, you’ve taken to helping the nursing staff out. Cleaning medical equipment, organizing supplies, washing laundry for the infirmary. It kept you busy last night and into the morning, but they eventually ran out of things for you to do and even went so far as to shoo you out of the infirmary with orders to “relax already”, whatever that meant.

Ah, yes. You’re just going to kick back and chill out around a bunch of savage pirates that hunt your kind for sport. Who wouldn’t do that? What a silly goose you are for your apprehensions!

Much like yesterday, all of the pirates were being weird as all hell. The act they had going on yesterday was still in full swing. They were all pretending to be friendly with you and drag you into their games and hobbies to lower your guard. Thatch tried luring you into the kitchen under the guise of showing you how to make bread. You declined. His division had probably been lying in wait to stab you to death with kitchen knives. You wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. You’d much rather die by your hand than theirs, thank you very much.

The rest of the crew followed suit. Izou tried waving you over when he was making tea. A group of them tried to get you to join them in fishing over the side of the ship. Ace attempted to get you to play a game of cards with him. Admittedly, you had almost agreed to that one just to distract yourself, but you held strong.

Presently, you were sitting against the railing, staring blankly up at the sky while absent-mindedly fiddling with the seastone cuff on your wrist. Marco hadn’t taken it off. Your lackluster response to his questions were probably to thank for that. At least the IV was removed. You’d been anticipating a rush of energy and increased alertness now that there wasn’t a steady stream of presumed sedatives flowing into you, but that had yet to come. You felt just as aloof as you were. You suppose that the seastone exposure was preventing you from fully recovering.

This location choice of yours seemingly had the pirates on edge. You were still being watched closely, that much was obvious. As soon as you approached the taffrail, Namur abruptly declared that he was going for a swim. So killing yourself by diving over the edge was a no-go.

“You look bored.”

There went your peace and solitude. You look over to your left to find a Division Commander looming over you with a smile on his face. It goes to show how desensitized you’ve become that all you felt in response to a clear threat was annoyance.

Swift-Saber Haruta. You’ve seen his face on wanted posters, and you recall him being in the crowd yesterday, but this is your first time interacting with him directly. You aren’t interested in making a good first impression. You scowl at him, “What the hell do you want?”

It does nothing to dissuade him. He laughs and hops up onto the railing, “You sound like Ace when he first got here.”

“Don’t compare me to some damned pirate.” You scoff at the observation. How insulting.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt your marine pride,” his mocking tone indicated that he was anything but.

That word bothers you, too. You huff and bring your knees to your chest while mumbling, “Don’t call me that…”

“What? Are you not a marine?”

“Not anymore.” Those days were long behind you. Arguably, you never really were a marine. Not in spirit. Not in the way that someone like Garp was. You never had the passion, the drive. You put in the effort, but it was just an obligation to you. A job that you were forced to do under duress of what would happen to you if you dared to underperform.

“Oh?” Haruta inches closer to you on the rail, “You want to elaborate on that?”

“Not at all, thanks.” You lean against the bars of the railing again and close your eyes, hoping that he’ll take the hint and leave.

That doesn’t happen. Haruta lightly nudges you with his leg, “Okay, well if you don’t want to do that, how about sparring?”

“What?” Did you mishear him? Your eyes open, then narrow at him.

“Vista’s usually the one I spar with, but he’s busy, so I was wondering if you wanted to take his place?” He looks to you, and when all you do is stare at him in confusion, he continues, “You don’t have to, I just thought you might want something to do. It’s your call.”

Sparring with a pirate would be a horrible idea. Suicidal, really. Lucky for him, that’s exactly what you are. You feign confliction, then sigh, “Sure, fine. Why not?”

“Great!” Haruta drops down from the railing and holds a hand out to you. You ignore it and stand up on your own. If he’s insulted by the display, he masks it well. He nods his head to the side, “The room we use for sparring is just over there, follow me.”

You trail behind him slowly in an effort to look casual and not like you’re planning to grab the first weapon you can get ahold of and use it on yourself. He doesn’t appear to be monitoring you as closely as the others. If you make it quick, you should be able to succeed.

As soon as you’re inside the sparring room, your mood sours. There are weapons here, but they’re all wood. Fuck. Taking yourself out via bluntforce trauma isn’t technically an impossible feat, but it would be difficult to do quick enough to be effective. You’ll either be stopped before you’re done, or you’ll just knock yourself out and have nothing more than a splitting headache to show for it.

Should you leave? You don’t really want to be here anymore.

“Any preference?” Haruta is standing by a wall lined with wooden swords.

… Well, this does beat being bored. You sigh and join him by the wall, “My specialty is hand to hand combat, but I’m well versed in many weapons.” You grab the nearest sword, one designed to resemble a cutlass. Standard issue for marines. It’s one of the first weapons you learned to use.

“Works for me.” Haruta picks up a wooden sword of his own and walks to the center of the room, “I’ll go easy on you since you’ve still got that cuff on you.”

You scoff, “Don’t you dare. I’m just as capable with this thing on as I am otherwise.” That was a boldfaced lie. You’ve been lethargic ever since it was slapped onto your wrist. But your pride couldn’t handle being seen as weak regardless of whether or not you had what could be considered a valid excuse.

The attempt to talk tough fell flat. Haruta chuckles at your response. “How feisty, you really are like Ace. Are you sure you two aren’t related?”

“Keep talking like that. See where it gets you.” You meet him in the center of the room and raise your sword into a front guard.

Haruta raises his sword, but when he fails to make the first move, you lunge at him and thrust the sword toward his chest. He easily parries and sheds the attack, then advances toward you with a strike of his own. A clean and beautifully executed riposte that has you retreating.

His smile remains, “You’re only making my case for me by talking like that, you know?”

“Shut up.” Such a witty retort. You’re really bringing your A game here. You guard yourself against an onslaught of attacks from your opponent. Much to your chagrin, you can tell that he’s holding back. This slow speed is nowhere near what you’ve heard he’s capable of, yet you find yourself struggling to hold your own regardless.

He shrugs nonchalantly, “What? I like to talk when I’m sparring. Give me something else to focus on if you don’t like the subject.”

You feint an attack to the left, then strike from the right, making him step back and successfully regaining some ground. Sparring has never been a social affair for you, but you’d rather entertain his request than continue being subjected to him spouting off his inane observations and speculations over your heritage.

Conversational skills have never been your forte. What do people usually talk about? The weather? Themselves? You pick the latter and run with it, “How did you end up among pirates? According to your file, you used to be a prince. That’s quite the dramatic career shift.”

Haruta brings his free hand to his face and closes his eyes, “Aww, you’ve been keeping tabs on little old me?” Despite his eyes being shut, he was still expertly deflecting your attacks.

“Don’t flatter yourself. The Marines keep tabs on all pirates, especially when they’re associated with an Emperor.” You charge forward to try and overwhelm him, but he disengages you with a circle parry and sends you stumbling back. Damn it all, he’s making a fool out of you! You grit your teeth and correct your stance, “Are you going to answer my question, or are you going to deflect that, too?”

“Temper, temper!” He laughs and backs off slightly, which only enrages you further. He isn’t taking you seriously at all. “I will answer it, so hold your horses. And straighten your feet while you’re at it, you’re going to trip over them again.”

This fucker. You straighten your feet, furious that he was right about your footwork being off. Your strikes become more aggressive, but your foe remains unphased. “Did you leave to become a criminal out of boredom? Were you too good for your cushy lifestyle?”

“Eh, something like that,” Haruta stands his ground, blocking each attack with a practiced ease, “but it had more to do with my father.”

That answer wasn’t what you had been expecting. “What? Did he make you leave?” That didn’t line up with the file. The king had put in a request to the Marines the day Haruta vanished, so it would seem that he did want the prince around. He wouldn’t have offered up such a handsome reward for his capture otherwise.

Haruta shrugs, “In a sense, I suppose.” He begins countering your attacks again. “He kept saying that I wasn’t doing enough. No matter what I did, he had a problem with it. My sword fighting skills weren’t good enough, my academics weren’t good enough, my etiquette around the other nobles wasn’t good enough, nothing was. So, since I was such a disgrace in his eyes, I did him a favor and left.”

A pang of familiarity thrums through you. Memories of Akainu criticizing, but never complimenting reared their ugly head. You didn’t appreciate the reminder.

He frowns and rolls his eyes exasperatedly, “And you would think that he’d appreciate that, but no! He got mad about that, too. There’s just no pleasing some people, am I right?”

That was painfully true. It made you feel strange to hear such a sentiment from a pirate. Since when were pirates relatable? You shake your head and throw yourself back into the match. You don’t want to dwell on that, “So did Whitebeard immediately pick you up like some sort of posh stray?”

“Ha, no! I was on my own for a while after that. Around a year, I think? I got by as a bounty hunter, and that worked pretty well for me.” He retreats in small steps as he takes your flurry of attacks. “But then I got a little too big for my breeches. I got greedy and thought for sure that I could take on one of these guys. Thatch seemed like easy pickings. I thought, oh, he’s just a chef, how tough can he be?”

Your swords clash again, and he holds strong as you put your full weight into trying to make him budge. He continues speaking as if this wasn’t a strain on him in the slightest, “As it turns out: very tough. He made a fool out of me and had me disarmed and on my ass in a matter of seconds.”

Haruta pivots sharply, and the sudden absence of resistance sends you tumbling forward. Your arms flail as your torso tips forward in a desperate effort to regain balance. It works, and you right yourself and whip around, visibly frazzled. Your combatant chuckles, “I bet I looked a lot like you do right now.”

Bastard. Why must he insist on comparing you to pirates? You scramble to correct your stance. He lets you, which has you feeling more angry than grateful. You were nothing more than a joke to him. You lunge forward and cut down at him, but he easily avoids it with a fade.

“Your story doesn’t make any sense,” you all but snarl at him. “I asked you how you ended up with the Whitebeard’s, and you tell me a tale of trying to kill one of them. You wouldn’t be here if that was true.”

“Come now, do you really think me a liar? You wound me.” Oh, how you wish you could! Calling his previous move a fade had been a mistake on your end, he quickly revealed it to be an empty one when he leapt forward again. You just barely manage to parry it in time. “I’m telling the truth! After my humiliating defeat, pops offered to let me become his son.

“I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Like you said, it didn’t make sense. He just saw me lose a fight spectacularly after trying to take the head of one of his sons, yet he wanted to keep me around? I thought for sure that it was some cruel joke or a plot to finish me off.” Haruta kept yapping carelessly, yet you couldn’t find a single opening. If you could just rip this fucking cuff off, you would be able to make him take you seriously, you’re sure of it!

“I acquiesced, but more so out of a morbid sense of curiosity than anything. For weeks I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. Weeks turned to months, and now I’ve been here for years.”

This story was so baffling that you stopped just to stare at him, “And they just… let you? They were okay with what you did?”

Haruta lightly taps your sword to get you back in the game. Akainu would have taken such an opportunity to show you what exactly happens to someone when they lose focus like that. You’ve got scars for making that mistake around him. Why didn’t this pirate add to your collection of marks?

While you’re floundering in internal confusion, Haruta carries on, entirely unbothered, “I mean, I guess so? One attempt on Thatch was nothing in the grand scheme of things. Ace tried to kill pops like a hundred times, and he’s still here.”

“He fucking what?”

Rather than calling your attention back to the fight, your opponent exploits your shock. Before you can even blink, he hooks his sword around yours and breaks it from your grasp. Your weapon is sent clattering across the floor, and you fall down with it. The thin mat on the floor does little to cushion your fall, but it’s not too bad. Nothing you can’t walk off. Your pride is infinitely more bruised by this than you are.

There’s a gentle tap of cool wood on your sweat dampened neck, “Looks like I won this round.” You glance up and find Haruta grinning down at you. “You aren’t bad, but you could use some more practice. I’m guessing you didn’t keep up with sword fighting much since you prefer hand to hand, right?”

“Something like that…” It was exactly like that. Upon reflection, you’d only ever been shown the basics of other weaponry. Hand to hand combat was the only thing that you ever trained in consistently since that was also what Akainu favored. Your skill level in any weapon that wasn’t yourself simply couldn’t hold a candle to a real master.

A hand is held out to you. Haruta had a relaxed smile on his face as he waited to see what you would do. It was a stark contrast to the rage that would be plastered over Akainu’s face when you collapsed. Akainu would yell at you for the pathetic display. Akainu would kick you across the room if you didn’t get up fast enough, not caring if a rib or two was cracked in the process.

But Haruta wanted to help you to your feet.

You take his hand, and it proves itself to not be a trick. He pulls you into a standing position without incident. That doesn’t prevent you from taking a step back after he does. You aren’t about to be too lax around him.

“That was fun!” Haruta is practically beaming. It’s unclear why. You know damn well that you didn’t pose any real challenge to him. What was a full body workout for you was little more than a warmup for him. “Same time tomorrow?”

He… wants to do this again? He wants to spar with you more? Well, referring to this session as sparring was generous. He no doubt had to have felt as if he had taken on the role of a teacher, and with a very unimpressive student at that.. There was absolutely nothing for him to gain from engaging with you in this way. Yet he wanted to.

“... Sure.” You avert your eyes and pick at your nails. “If I don’t have anything better to do.”

“Excellent! I look forward to it!” Haruta slings an arm over your shoulder and brings you into his side as he makes way for the exit. You’re forced to walk awkwardly alongside him.

What the hell was he doing? You squirm against him, “Knock that off. I can’t walk with you holding onto me like this.”

Rather than relinquishing you, his arm tightens. One of his hands pinches your cheek as he speaks in a taunting tone, “You can’t? Ah, well, I suppose that isn’t too surprising. You could barely walk straight when we were sparring.”

“You asshole-” You flail in his grasp and manage to shove him away. You choose to tell yourself that it was because you overpowered him, and not because he let you.

Haruta laughs at your agitation, no remorse in sight. Piece of shit. How dare he? You storm away from him in a huff, eager to get the hell out of this room and away from him. When you look up at the door, you find it cracked open with several heads peeking through.

Ace, Marco, and Elise are all blatantly spying on you. How long have they been there? How much of that did they see? Your face heats up and you snap at them, “What are you three looking at?! Go away!”

Nonsense. This day was utterly ridiculous!

Taglist: @twotrucksinatree @tigerstarstorm @mu5hro0m @brooks-real @one-piecelover @ratchetprime211 @ithoughtthinks @simpfor2dpeoole @vinillies @selfindulgenceisthekey @deleted-1-800 @weirdothatreads @eravariety @qhevy

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permanentlyfemale · 9 months ago

Text

⚠️ Feminization, Misgendering, Forced detrans kink ahead! ⚠️

Today is a scary day for you. As a trans man, finding the right therapist is far more difficult than it is for most people, especially as you weren’t looking for just a new therapist today. You also need someone to write you a top surgery letter. Although you’ve only been on T for 2 months, barely enough to notice anything besides an increased libido and clit growth, your breasts are by far your biggest source of dysphoria. You often wear two binders when you’re going anywhere, and even then, a sizable bump is visible on your chest. You’re hoping they may become easier to bind with hormones, but you already know that you’ll need surgery regardless.

“Milo Brown?” A masculine voice calls your name from across the room. Glancing up, you see a very attractive man, much taller than you, looking to be in good shape under his professional attire, but not overly muscular. His dark shoulder-length wavy hair and stubble complement his gentle, masculine face and warm brown eyes.

Surprised by the man’s beauty, you stumble on your words as you rise from your seat. “I- uh- I’m here.”

“Great! Let’s get back to my office.” He smiles warmly and gestures for you to follow him out of the waiting room and down a hallway, passing mostly empty offices on the way. This doesn’t seem too odd, as there was construction on the lower floor. Maybe some patients didn’t like the noise and cancelled? Or maybe you’re trying to distract yourself from thinking of the exceedingly attractive man that may soon be your therapist. You’ve considered yourself gay since coming out, but starting hormones has certainly made that attraction all the more apparent.

As he opens his office door, you’re surprised by how casual it is. There’s a long couch next to an armchair, with a clipboard set neatly on top. His desk is to the side, seemingly ignored while clients were present in favor of a more personal layout. Thinking of something to say as you sat on the couch, you spit out “I like your office.”

“Thank you Milo, I spent a lot of time thinking of the anatomy of the room and how to make my clients most at ease. I find this works best.” He smiles at you, his eyes gentle and enticing. “I’m Dr. Sterling, I specialize in support for LGBT and FTM clients. Nice to meet you! Tell me a but about yourself and what brings you here.”

“My name is Milo Brown, I’m 19 years old, and I just started testosterone. I’ve been out as trans for a while but finally got access to hormones and I’m hoping to get top surgery as well, but I need a letter for it. I also just need support with my dysphoria and depression.” You cross your arms over your large chest self-consciously.

“Well, that’s nothing I haven’t heard before. Can you tell me more about your dysphoria regarding your chest?”

Shifting uncomfortably in your chair, you hesitantly proceed. “Every day is awful! They’re the first thing I think about when I wake up and I go to sleep trying not to feel or think about them. They’re so big and heavy that I feel them whenever I move and it makes me so dysphoric. It’s also impossible to make myself flat, so I never pass. As a gay man, it’s so hard to find a man who would want a guy with a body like mine!”

“Oh, Milo, I think that’s very negative thinking. Plenty of men would find you attractive! I thought you were quite beautiful when I saw you myself.”

You’re surprised by his words! That sounded very flirtatious, but maybe he was just trying to boost your ego. Either way, it made the empty space between your legs tingle when he said it. You also didn’t know he was queer, but it definitely makes you more comfortable with him. “Well… that does make me feel better. I still don’t feel comfortable with my chest though.”

“Why don’t we try something? This is an exercise I’ve done with plenty of my transmasuline patients before, and it has always improved their lives and helped with dysphoria. While we do it, I can assess you for top surgery as well! How does that sound?” He smiled at you expectingly.

“Uhhh… yeah, that sounds good. What are we doing?”

“I’m just going to have you answer some questions about your body and dysphoria. This may get uncomfortable, but it’s all part of this process. I’m sure you can trust me, right?”

“Of course!” You answer instinctively.

“Right. First, I want you to take off your shirt and binder.” He instructs casually.

“What!? I thought we were just answering questions. Is that necessary?” You’re again surprised, he wasn’t a surgeon and you had never shown anyone your chest before. You didn’t want to look at it yourself, much less this beautiful man you’re expecting to see regularly!

“I understand this is surprising and uncomfortable, but I want to understand your perspective on your body, as well as assess the size and density for surgery. I need to know this for the letter, and I understand this is very important to you. I’m sorry for the discomfort, Milo.” He looked at you apologetically, his brown eyes sparkling, staring in to your soul and shooting down between your legs.

“I… okay.” What he was saying did make sense, and you would do most anything for this surgery. Resolving to just get this over with, you take off your oversized hoodie and throw it on the couch next to you. Grabbing both binders at once, you exert a herculean force squeezing yourself out, panting as your huge breasts fly out. You blush with embarrassment as a loud clap can be heard from them swinging together.

Dr. Sterling calmly walks closer to you. “Do you know your cup size?”

“Uh… no, sorry.”

“That’s alright, we can measure now.” He smiles warmly and pulls out some measuring tape. Without hesitation, he walks up to you and wraps it around your chest! He first measures your underbust before moving to measure your bust. His hands rest on your breasts as he does so. “Alright… looks like you have J cups.” His hand brushes your nipple as he backs away.

“Mmph!” Involuntarily, you let out a short, feminine moan. Both the dysphoria of knowing your overwhelming cup size and your accidental vocalization leave you embarrassed and blushing harder than ever.

“It doesn’t seem like you’ve experienced any vocal changes from testosterone.” He observes.

“Umm… not yet, no.”

“It also seems like you have quite sensitive nipples?”

“I guess…”

“Well, have you ever considered embracing your breasts?”

“Huh?” You were confused. They made you sad and dysphoric, how could you ever embrace them? He did say whatever he was doing worked for all of his other transmasc patients, but this seemed absurd.

“Your breast are way too big to bind properly. I’ve seen you wearing two binders in here, and that is not healthy. As your therapist, I can’t encourage you to damage your body in such a way, and especially without two binders, you wouldn’t be able to hide them at all anyways. And why go through the trouble of binding if everyone can tell? It might do you some good to just accept your body as it is. It’s not like whether you bind now will affect surgery.”

Unfortunately, everything he was saying made perfect sense. Even when binding, it was very obvious you had breasts. Why go through all the trouble, especially if it was hurting your body? You were dysphoric either way, might as well be more comfortable physically. “I guess… I guess you’re right.”

“Yes… unfortunately it’s also not very possible hormones could reduce them to a bindable size either.”

This devastated you. Even later on testosterone, you would have obvious breasts? How could you expect anyone to take you seriously as a man? You had hoped to begin passing in public soon, and finally begin living comfortably, but you weren’t so sure now. Would it even be safe to live as a non-passing trans man? Why were you going through so much for hormones if there was no hope of passing before surgery anyways? Maybe you should just wait until then for hormones- no one will gender you right as you are now. “Maybe… maybe I should pause testosterone until surgery then.”

“Yes, I can see why. That might be the safest option for you.” He nodded solemnly. “We can practice some exercises to reduce dysphoria until then, if you’d like.” His frown shifted in to a comforting smile.

Still upset, you nodded.

He moved closer and, before you could react, placed one hand on each perky, round breast, grabbing you by the boobs.

Surprised, you squeaked.

“This is just to get you used to your breasts. It often helps most when someone else does it, so you’re more comfortable with other people seeing them.” He gently squeezed and pulled, running his fingers along your supple breasts, warm palms pressing your hard nipples.

“Mmmmmm-! Oooh!” You let out a series of feminine wails as the doctor palms at your breasts. They were so sensitive and they felt so heavy- so wrong on your body- and yet they sent waves of pleasure throughout your curvy figure.

“Are you still going to go by Milo? I mean, you’re stopping T until surgery because you won’t be able to pass. It would be weird to only keep the name and pronouns, especially for strangers.” His hands shifted to thumb at your nipples.

Your thoughts were flooded with waves of pleasure shooting from your tits. The importance of this decision didn’t fully register, but what he was saying made sense to you. “You’re right.”

“Good girl.”

“Huhh…”

“People are going to refer to you by what you look like. You know you don’t pass. This is just exposure training, okay?”

“Okay…” You mindlessly agree as he moves his head close to your breast.

“See? You are a good girl.” He starts to suck on your nipple, causing you to throw your head back and wail in pleasure. You don’t know when his own clothes came off, but he’s getting on top of you and pulling your pants off, leaving you in just your boxers with his much larger biologically male body pinning you down, suddenly kissing your lips.

“What… what are you doing now, d-doctor…” he cuts you off as you pant your words out.

“The easiest way to adapt to and accept being seen as a woman is to have sex with a straight man, one who can use you as only male can use female. You need this, Amelia. It’s okay.”

Hearing your deadname makes you cringe with dysphoria. You’ve always felt an aversion towards it, despising the femininity it signaled. You struggle to reconcile your attraction to the doctor and trust in his methods to your current panic. This all felt good and sounded logical but it’s happening too fast to react, and these are all such big decisions, and suddenly he’s pulling your boxers off.

“Your pussy is so perfect. You make such a sexy woman.” He rubs the length of his cock along your clit and hole. The distinction between your pathetic nub and his masculine length is obvious. He gropes your massive jiggling breasts, squeezing them together and lowering his head to kiss and suck your nipples as his dick prods your entrance.

“Doctor Sterling…” You moan his name as his assault on your tits grows heavier. He sloppily makes out with your huge boobs, enjoying every second he can get drowning in your massive breasts.

He momentarily pulls his mouth from your tits. “Yes… fuck, Amelia!” He rams his hard cock all the way inside you, hitting your cervix as he moans your deadname, resuming his assault on your massive wobbling boobs all the while.

You scream and wail, unsure if it’s in pleasure or some mix of dysphoria and grief for your lost ambitions. Whatever male identity you insisted on was currently obstructed by your massive tits and the straight man enjoying them as he pounded in to your soft, tight vagina. Anyone who saw you two would know immediately that this was heterosexual sex- they would never stop to consider you could be anything but a curvy woman being held down and fucked by a handsome man. Suddenly, the doctor’s thrusts sped up. You forgot condoms, and you’re barely on T!

Right as you open your mouth, he interrupts. “I’m gonna cum, Amelia! I’m cumming inside you!” He holds himself against your cervix, comforting you as you begin to scream. “Shhh, good girl, it’s okay.”

You feel his hot cum flood in to your unprotected pussy, tears falling from your eyes. Feeling the sticky cum start to leak out, you manage to speak. “Do… do you have a towel?”

“Uhhh… here!” He grabs your binders and rips them both, turning them in to makeshift towels as he pulls out, along with a flood of cum.

You know you said you wouldn’t bind anymore, but having the option taken away made everything all the more real. You know it was for the best tho. He specializes in helping trans men, and he said this always works. You just have to trust him! As time runs out, you don’t even realize you forgot to finish your top surgery letter.

Still… you couldn’t wait to book your next session.

#detrans kink #detrans me #detransition kink #fakeboy #forced detrans #ftm detrans kink #ftm misgendering #ftmtf kink #ftm correctional therapy #ftmtf cnc #ftmtf breeding #ftmtf nsft

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pucksandpower · 1 year ago

Text

Couples Therapy

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: let’s go to couples therapy and see how long it takes the therapist to realize we don’t know each other

You fidget nervously in the waiting room chair, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. This has to be the most ridiculous first date idea ever …but then again, Lando was never one for convention.

The office door swings open and a smiling middle-aged woman in a cardigan beckons you both inside. “Y/N? Lando? I’m Dr. Ramanujan, please come in.”

Lando shoots you a mischievous grin and you can’t help but return it as you follow the therapist into her office. This is already off to a delightfully silly start.

“So,” Dr. Ramanujan settles into her chair, notepad at the ready. “What brings you two in today?”

You open your mouth but Lando beats you to it. “Well doc, it’s like this — Y/N and I have been together for five years now but things have gotten … sticky, you might say.”

You fight back a surprised laugh at his casual lie. Five years? You met this lunatic ten days ago.

Nodding solemnly, you play along. “Yes, unfortunately some issues have arisen that we haven’t been able to resolve on our own.”

“I see,” the therapist jots something down. “And what would you say is the primary issue troubling your relationship?”

Lando strokes his chin in mock contemplation. “You know, now that I think about it, we really struggle with intimacy.”

You splutter, cheeks flushing red. He did not just go there on a first date!

“We’re very passionate people,” he continues effortlessly. “But I think we both have some hang-ups that stop us from really connecting, you know?”

Clearing your throat, you decide to steer into the skid. “Yes, you could say Lando is quite … insatiable in that area.”

Dr. Ramanujan’s eyebrows shoot up but she simply nods. “I see, I see. And how does that make you feel, Y/N?”

“Honestly?” You shrug helplessly. “Exhausted. The man is completely relentless — it’s like he’s an animal sometimes!”

Lando clutches his chest in feigned offense. “An animal? That’s a bit much, don’t you think darling?”

“Don’t you ‘darling’ me,” you snap, pushing aside your amusement at the increasingly absurd situation. “I’m just calling it like I see it. We’re here for honesty, right?”

“Touché,” Lando turns back to the therapist. “Doc, maybe you could help us find … a compromise of sorts? Because my needs are evidently not being met.”

You scoff loudly. “Not being met? Lando, I let you do that thing with the-”

Mercifully, Dr. Ramanujan interjects before you can continue that train of thought. “Perhaps we could steer our discussion in a more productive direction? Intimacy issues often stem from deeper underlying problems within a relationship. Is there anything else concerning you both?”

Lando ponders this for a moment before snapping his fingers. “You know what? I think a big part of it is that Y/N doesn’t trust me.”

“I don’t trust you?” You echo incredulously. “That’s rich coming from you, Mr. I Flirt With My Teammate Constantly!“

His jaw drops perfectly. “You’re bringing Oscar into this? That’s a low blow, babe.”

“I’m not blind!” You shoot back, doing your best to ignore how silly you both must look. “I see how cozy you two get. Tell me there’s nothing there and I’m a fool!”

“Woah, woah!” Lando holds up his hands defensively. “Oscar and I are just good friends and teammates. Nothing more.”

You cross your arms stubbornly. “If you say so.”

An uncomfortable silence falls over the room. Dr. Ramanujan seems perplexed by your crazy banter.

Finally, she clears her throat. “Right. Well, it sounds like there are some potential trust issues at play here that we should unpack-”

“Oh I’ll unpack it for you, doc!” Lando interjects, real passion entering his voice now. “Y/N is massively, astronomically insecure about our relationship. She questions my faithfulness at every turn!”

You swivel to face him fully, eyes wide. “And why, pray tell, would I possibly be insecure about that?”

“I don’t know!” He throws his hands up in exasperation. “I’ve never given you a single real reason to doubt me!”

“Except for all the pet names and inappropriate touching with Oscar!”

“Those are just friendly gestures!”

“Keep telling yourself that, buddy!”

The two of you are practically shouting at each other now, completely absorbed in your make-believe argument. Somewhere in the back of your mind you feel a bit bad for putting the poor therapist through this, but you’re having far too much fun to stop.

Dr. Ramanujan finally cuts in, raising her palms. “Okay! Okay, let’s all just take a breath, shall we?”

You and Lando freeze mid-rant, remembering where you are. He shoots you a conspiratorial wink and you have to bite your lip to suppress a smile.

“Now,” the therapist continues once the tension has diffused slightly. “Clearly there are some deep-seated resentments and triggers being hit here that we need to unravel. But I think a lot of it comes back to the intimacy and trust issues we were discussing earlier. Y/N, would you say you feel emotionally fulfilled by Lando?”

You ponder this for a moment, drawing out the suspense. Lando watches you with bated breath.

Finally, you sigh deeply. “No doc, I can’t say that I do. And maybe that’s why I’ve been so tempted to stray myself ...”

Lando’s jaw drops perfectly again. “You’ve been tempted to cheat? With who?”

Holding his gaze boldly, you declare: “My yoga instructor, actually.”

“Shane?” He looks like you just slapped him. “But he’s so … so bland!”

You shrug nonchalantly. “What can I say? Opposites attract sometimes.”

Dr. Ramanujan looks like she’s watching a tennis match, unable to get a word in edgewise.

Lando points an accusatory finger at you. “This is unbelievable! You had the audacity to blame me for the intimacy issues earlier when all this time you’ve been lusting after another man?”

“I’m a woman of insatiable needs!” You cry, borrowing his phrasing from earlier. “You said it yourself!”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” He turns desperately back to the therapist. “Please doc, you have to help us!”

She blinks owlishly a few times before finding her voice. “I … I’m not sure I can be of much assistance here.”

Lando clutches at his chest dramatically. “No, don’t say that! Our relationship is hanging by a thread as it is.”

“If it’s even still a relationship,” you mumble darkly, inspecting your nails with affected nonchalance.

“You see?” Lando pleads with the doctor. “This is what I’m dealing with every day! The constant barbs and lack of trust! I’m at my wit’s end.”

Dr. Ramanujan’s eyes dart between the two of you, seeming to deflate a little more after each deranged declaration. She sets her notepad aside with a resigned sigh.

“Listen, you two ...” she begins carefully. “While I appreciate you being upfront about your ...” she pauses, clearly searching for the right word, “unique situation, I’m afraid it goes well beyond my abilities as a therapist.”

You simply blink at her innocently while Lando dissolves into feigned hysterics beside you.

“But you have to help us!” He cries, flinging himself backwards dramatically. “Our relationship is the only thing I have left!”

You can’t help but let out a small giggle at his antics, quickly disguising it as a cough when the therapist shoots you a look. Dr. Ramanujan just shakes her head slowly.

“I’m sorry, but I clearly don’t have the tools or expertise to assist with … whatever this is.” She gestures vaguely between the two of you. “My advice would be to seek a different form of counseling. Or perhaps … separate for a while until you both figure out what you want.”

Lando clutches at his chest, feigning heartbreak. “Separate? Doc, you can’t be serious!”

“I’m afraid I am,” Dr. Ramanujan states firmly, rising from her chair. “This session has become … unproductive, to put it mildly. I think we should call it a day.”

You open your mouth to protest staying in character, but the defeated look on the poor therapist’s face gives you pause. With a sidelong glance at Lando, you decide to put her out of her misery.

Rising from your own seat, you loop your arm through Lando’s and favor the bewildered doctor with your most winning smile.

“You’re probably right, doc. We’ll, uh, take some time and really think things over. Thanks for your … insight today.”

Dr. Ramanujan simply nods, seemingly too drained to even reply as she opens the door and gestures you both through.

The second you’re out in the hallway, you can’t contain your laughter anymore. You dissolve into a fit of giggles, doubling over and clutching at Lando’s arm for support. He joins in instantly, that mischievous grin stretched wide across his face.

“Oh my god,” you gasp between peals of laughter. “Did you see her face when I brought Oscar into it?”

“I thought she was going to kick us out then and there!” Lando howls, wiping away a mirthful tear. “The things we put that poor woman through ...”

You finally manage to regain your composure, still grinning madly at the ridiculousness of it all. Leave it to Lando to come up with a first date idea as wonderfully insane as fake couples therapy.

“We should do something normal for our next date,” you quip, shooting him a sly look. “Like go skydiving or swimming with sharks.”

Lando matches your playful tone, draping an arm around your shoulders as you meander away from the office. “Whatever you say, darling. Just promise me you won’t leave me for one of the skydiving instructors, yeah?”

You pull him closer with a laugh. “No promises, babe.”

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ozzgin · 2 years ago

Note

I love your reader insert stuff!! The yandere yazuka series was vvvv entertaining, I wish I had a big scary gangster to scare away my stalker lol

If you are open to requests, how about Idol!Reader x Yandere!Bodyguard. I love the trope so much, and I'm interested and what you'd do with the idea. No worries if you're not interested tho!

Best wishes

-🌟

I just finished writing it and you've got me punching the air with your prompt. It wasn't really my thing but I'm now sold. Thank you for the trope idea. :’)

Yandere!Bodyguard x Idol!Reader (I)

Short scenario featuring your bodyguard that takes his duty a little too seriously. Not that you’d mind…

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

TW: violence

(Cover from the manga “A girl and her guard dog”)

"Fantastic show tonight!"

The older man guides you in and closes the door behind him. You smile warmly and seat yourself on the sofa. He quickly follows, although at a terribly uncomfortable proximity. His legs are pressed against yours and he extends an arm behind you, pretending to stretch. You shuffle awkwardly and lock your hands in your lap. You can already tell where this is going.

"With your talent, I'm confident we could triple the number of attendants. We just need a bigger venue." He nods at you and taps your thigh with his other free hand as encouragement. You notice the wedding band digging into his skin.

"Alas, let us not waste the evening with business talk. I'm sure a stunning lady like you has better things to do." He laughs at his own compliment and ponders for a minute. "In fact, why don't we have dinner together? I know a great restaurant in the area."

You open your mouth to speak, but are distracted by the sudden, mild pressure on your leg. Somehow, his greasy fingers have wandered further up in the time you listened to his shameless offer. You've been in this career for long enough to guess what such proposals entail. If you say no, best case scenario he presses further, calling you a stuck up bitch and reminding you who has the power in this partnership. Worst case scenario, he leaves the room and the calls and invitations to perform will gradually drop.

Yet your situation is special, benefitting from an additional possibility. A loophole, if you may.

Should you scream? Oh, he always gets so angry when you act scared. It's an immediate trigger. He really has a soft spot for your glistening, frightened eyes. You glance up one final time at the perverted smirk silently disregarding you. If you are to be honest with yourself, you'd very much enjoy seeing it wiped off forever. Why not? You're feeling particularly mean today.

So without hesitation, you release a high pitched yell of help. The door bursts open and the hinges creak. A tall, toned man walks in, and without a word he lunges at the manager, pulling him by the collar of his cheap dress jacket. You hold your cheeks dramatically, and bat your eyelashes at your bodyguard.

"H-he tried to molest me..." you mumble between sobs.

That's all he needs to proceed. Now the real fun begins. You can hear the muffled screams of protest. The bones crack and the flesh bends under his iron fists. Standing before your bodyguard, they all end up looking like ragdolls. Comically limp and weak, folding and breaking with no resistance. It amuses you greatly.

When did it all begin? You can't remember anymore. You were in your early years and this scary looking stranger entered your little backstage room. His explanation was brief and to the point: as your fame increases, so will the threats to your safety. He was appointed as your bodyguard. You couldn't care less, so you just shrugged.

You've always been on the playful side. Not necessarily rude, just some innocent tease and banter wherever it's well received. Seeing him so quiet and stoic, you couldn't help but try to push his buttons: changing in front of him and requiring his assistance, occasionally asking him to pick you up and carry you because you could no longer walk. Naturally you would've stopped at the first complaint, but that's the strange part: no reaction ever came. He went along with everything. You assumed it's part of the job. Celebrities aren't known for their good manners, so hiring someone that loses their temper easily would be a fast ticket to termination.

Then you had your first encounter with one of the unpleasant fans you've been warned about. You could only stare in terror at your bodyguard's feral, unhinged reaction. The unfortunate fan's face was so disfigured, you wondered if anyone could ever manage to fix it back into shape. The bodyguard was panting and you could see the sweat coating his face and chest. You were rather confident there were many other ways to deal with it and this wasn't on the recommended list. Thus you felt compelled to ask the million dollar question:

"You act like a jealous spouse. Do you have a crush on me or something?"

You kind of regretted your audacity towards a man that had just nearly killed someone. But his features softened instantly and he turned to you, wiping his forehead and straightening his collar.

"I suppose so. Is that an issue?"

As you stared ahead, processing his unbothered act, you sensed your cheeks feverishly burning. Uh oh. You hadn't anticipated such a nonchalant confession. You thought back to all the times you stood before him, bare and flirty. Was he merely holding back his urges the entire time? Or was he finally paying you back for all the teasing? Then again, his face didn't betray any hint of humor.

"I've never heard you joke before", you decided to test the waters.

"I'm not. Why would I joke about something like this?" He gazed at you incredulously.

As somber and honest as ever. Well, that would indeed explain why he'd let you get away with the cheeky behavior. The more you considered it, the more entranced you became with the idea of indulging in such a relationship. As a famous idol, you couldn't be seen dating anyone. One rumor of you having a boyfriend and the agency would've had your ass suspended. But no one said anything about messing around with your bodyguard. He has to be with you all the time, so no one would suspect a thing. And you could definitely expand his list of responsibilities. You'd been terribly stressed lately, after all, and an outlet to release your frustrations would be most welcomed. Your bodyguard would never refuse pleasing his beloved.

You chuckled and pulled him towards your dressing room, giddy with excitement. Something about his imposing presence, like a wild animal that had just escaped from the leash, aroused you to no end. You've had your share of crazy fans, but this was the cherry on top.

"Should we leave?"

You're jolted out of your daydreams by his low, rough voice. Ah, you missed the grand finale. Too bad. The bodyguard approaches you, with the shirt wrinkled and the top buttons popped open under the shuffle of his vicious attack. You can feel the knot forming in your stomach.

"Not yet. You know how I get when you act like this..." You pout and look away. "You need to take care of me first."

He grins at your last statement.

"Of course. Is the sofa okay?"

You nod.

"Then let's get you undressed, miss."

Is this what they call a scary dog privilege?

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #female reader #yandere bodyguard #yandere imagine #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #male yandere x reader #yandere original character

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yukioos · 11 days ago

Note

hii may you write katsuki taking care of sick fem!reader?? like she gets the cold after being too long under the rain or something like that 🥹

katsuki takes care of you when you’re sick

you should’ve listened to katsuki.

last night, you were in the rain for a couple of hours doing god knows what, and you came back to the heights alliance soaked, shivering and sniffling with red cheeks and a red nose. even after taking a shower, you headed to bed with a runny nose and an uncomfortable feeling in your throat. after sneezing multiple times and not being able to sleep, you hear a knock at your door.

reluctantly, you stand up from your bed, feeling the cold air hit your bare legs and arms. a small whimper comes from your mouth, and you open the door, standing behind it just to see katsuki glaring down at you tiredly.

“i thought i told you not to go out,” he scolds, “you clearly didn’t listen to me.”

you frown and roll your eyes, then ask, “did i wake you up?” he hesitantly nods, not wanting you to feel guilty, then you mumble, “i think i’m gonna ask if i can skip class today, i don’t wanna get any of the others sick.”

katsuki stares at you for a moment, tapping his slippered foot against the ground before sticking his tongue to his cheek. he finished all of his projects early, and there are no upcoming tests that he’s too worried about. he’s studied, still has the flashcards in his room, and there’s no topic in class that he needs to learn with the teacher.

he sighs, “i’ll stay tomorrow too.” your eyes widen, and before you’re about to interject, you sneeze. he takes the chance to continue with a small grin, “i’ll tell kirishima to give me his notes tomorrow.”

you shake your head and argue, “katsuki, there’s no reason to stay with me, you need to keep learning—“

“if you go around grabbing all those utensils and food in the kitchen, you’ll contaminate everything and everyone will get sick. there’s not much in the fridge and everything’s just ingredients, so i guess that means,” he sighs, “i’m making you food.”

you continue to argue, “no, katsuki, you don’t have to make me food, just go to class in the morning—“

he rolls his eyes and grabs you, carrying you bridal style before throwing you onto your bed and pulling up the blankets to your chin. he puts his fist near your neck, and you whine, kicking your feet. you’re practically trapped.

“i’ll tell the principal we’re staying in the dorms. wake me up when you’re ready for breakfast or lunch.” he softly pats your cheek, “go to bed, you need the energy.”

you give him a soft smile and curl up further into yourself, and he leaves your room, retreating to his. this time, it’s easier to fall asleep.

when you wake up, katsuki’s already in your room, lying at the foot of your bed as he scrolls through his phone. steaming miso soup and water are on your nightstand, and you smile at how kind he’s acting.

once you slowly sit up, katsuki murmurs, “good, you’re awake,” he turns off his phone and looks at you with care, “got some pills for you in case you feel extra shitty today, they might make you sleepy though.”

you nod and drink some water, your throat already feeling a little better. once you try the miso soup, your mouth is salivating for more. katsuki can see the shine in your eyes when you quickly take more bites of the tofu, and within a few minutes, you’re done with the soup. a hum escapes your lips at the warm feeling in your stomach, leaving you satisfied.

“thank you,” you mumble, shyly smiling at him.

his eyes soften, and the corner of his lips slightly twitch, something only you would notice. he stands up and walks over to you, bends down, and places a soft kiss on your forehead.

his hand is on your thigh when he affectionately speaks, “i’m gonna refill your water, stay here and don’t do anything too stupid.”

you nod and he takes your glass, hurrying to fill your water before returning in under a minute. when he returns, he only cracks open your door, not fully closing it because it was just you two. he places your now full glass on the nightstand and climbs into your bed next to you.

you complain, “i’m tired!” and groan.

katsuki dramatically sighs before softly pushing the back of your head to his chest, silently telling you that you can lie on it. a giddy grin spreads across your face, and you wrap your leg and arm around him. it’s a bit odd he’s letting you do all this, especially when you're sick. you’re thankful, nonetheless.

he’s so warm.

katsuki kisses your forehead once again and mumbles something incoherent into your hair, and you cuddle up further into him. he wraps a strong arm around your body, comfortingly securing you against him.

the two of you quickly fall asleep in each other’s warm embrace.

when school is out, the two of you are still passed out with each other, and you don’t hear the shuffling of steps coming up the stairs of the heights alliance. however, jiro and kaminari walk by your room and look at each other in confusion. kaminari quietly opens the door, peeking through to see you and bakugo cuddling?

a gasp comes from his mouth and katsuki’s eyes shoot open immediately. his dark eyes glare at kaminari, whose mouth is still open until it turns into a mischievous smile. he takes out his phone and opens the camera app, panning it to your sleeping form being held by bakugo, who has a scowl on his face.

he considers sending a little explosion towards you, but goes against it. he doesn’t want you to wake up yet. you feel too perfect in his arms.

i love this idea! thank you for requesting this, sorry i got a little off track near the end

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organic-bloodbath · 5 months ago

Note

Could you do a Dae ho fic? Maybe the reader being stuck with thanos' group and isn't treated with much respect (either treated as weak or just eye candy) but dae ho comes in and helps her + shows her care and respect. Thank you <3

Safe with me

Dae-ho x Reader

Summary: As above.

A/N: I want to marry this man right NOW. I'm begging on my knees.

☆☆☆

You had never felt like you belonged anywhere. You had barely any friends and for the few friends you did have, you were only the spare friend.

You knew that you were beautiful. Guys had been flirting with you dozens of times but you knew they only wanted to get into your pants. They only cared about your looks and wouldn't care to get to know you for who you really were. You had gotten used to the fact that nobody truly wanted you, they only wanted to use you for a while and then toss aside.

It was all the same now here, in this game. You always had a hard time to approach new people, complete strangers to you, and waited for someone to speak to you, to take you in. Nobody did on the first day.

When the second game started, the players needed to form a group of five. You were starting to panic. Most of the players already had atleast one partner who they could start finding more players with.

You had nobody. What if you were left alone when everyone had formed their groups and you'd end up in the weakest one who nobody else wanted to have either?

"Señorita, excuse me," a man said behind you, startling you from your thoughts. "Want to join our group?"

Your heart started hammering harder against your chest, a new sprinkle of hope rising. You weren't chosen the last this time after all.

The man speaking had purple hair and was supposedly the 'famous rapper' Thanos who many players had been thirsting over before the first game. Personally, you didn't get the hype. The man next to him was player 124, you didn't know his name, but you could see him looking at you from head to toe, hunger in his eyes and a smirk spreading on his lips.

"Yeah, you'd make a great addition to our team," player 124 said and winked, creeping you out instantly.

What choice did you have anyway? If the game was about strength, atleast you wouldn't have to worry about it as much because you had men in your group.

"Sure, i'll join you," you agreed and followed them.

Before the game started, all the players' legs were linked to each other with chains and you were squeezed between Thanos and player 124, who had introduced himself as Nam-gyu. You felt uncomfortable having both men around you, especially having their arms around your waist. You could tell that it was all intentional and they could have easily kept their hands higher and not so low.

When it was your turn to play, you were so nervous that you failed your attempt three times and was becoming frustrated and soon panicking, the time seemed to be running down faster the more times you failed.

"Focus, sweetheart," Thanos breathed right into your ear. "You can do it."

"Don't you dare to make us die today," Nam-gyu spat which was the complete opposite of helpful. Thanos gave him a look to shut it and let you concentrate but you didn't notice it.

Finally, you succeeded and your group eventually ended up passing the challenge and was let to live for one more day.

☆☆☆

It was time to vote and you gathered into the crowd to wait for your turn like everyone else.

"And you're going to press 'O' now, right?" Nam-Gyu asked. "Because if you don't, there will be consequences."

You were relieved when it was his turn to vote. He left you alone with Thanos, he wasn't much better option, but atleast now there was only one of them eyeing you down. There was still many players before it would be your turn. You took a deep breath in and tried to calm your nerves down.

"Relax," Thanos said and put his arm around your waist, pulling you tightly against him. Almost too tightly. "As long as you keep your blue patch," he pressed the patch with his tattooed finger, a little too deep into your breast, "you have nothing to worry about. Okay, señorita?"

"Yeah, of course," you mumbled and tried to avoid eye contact with him, but he put his free hand on your cheek, making you to look at him in the eyes.

"You're not gonna betray us, you hear me?" Thanos said with a low and threatening voice.

"I'll press 'O'," you promised, trying to sound convincing.

"Good girl," Thanos said and smiled. He turned away from you to look at the scores, the blue was winning but the red wasn't far behind, but didn't let go of you, his hand still gripping your waist a little too low.

When his number was announced, he immediately rushed to the front and didn't hesitate even a second to press the blue button.

"You okay?" a man next to you asked. You turned your head to look at him and saw his concerned look. You had no idea if he had stood there the entire time or just appeared there a second ago.

"Yeah, i'm fine," you mumbled but you knew you didn't sound very convincing.

"I'm going to press 'X'," he admitted.

You furrowed your brows, looking at the blue 'O' on his jacket. "You're going to change your vote?"

"Yep, i'm done with this place and i'd rather go home, no matter how much money i would be able to earn here if i stayed," he explained. "It's not worth putting everyone else's lives in danger."

A small smile found its way on your face but it was gone too soon that he would have noticed.

"If you change your vote too, you're welcome to join my team over there," he said and smiled. "I've seen you with those guys and i don't like them, not one bit."

You did want to get out of there as soon as possible, but Nam-gyu's threats were still lingering hot in your ear.

"I'll think about it," you said quietly.

He would welcome you to his group? You had seen him with a few guys, all older than him, and one small girl who seemed to be pregnant, atleast by the looks of it. Oh, how much you wished to have another girl by your side.

Player 390.

It was now your turn and you walk to the front to stand in front of the two large buttons. In your mind, instead of red X and blue O, you saw two faces instead - player 388 and player 124.

You took a deep, shaky breath in, and pressed the red button. The pink guard offered you a red 'X' patch to attach on your jacket to replace the blue one.

You walked to the red side where all the other people wanting to go home were. You glanced at Thanos and Nam-gyu who were looking at you with a cold stare. You wouldn't feel safe tonight if you wanted to fall asleep. You wouldn't doubt a moment that they wouldn't do anything to you in your sleep.

You found the same guy who had talked with you just a moment before, trusting him to take you in with open arms. He smiled and put his hand on your shoulder, leading you to his friends, the ones who had already voted.

"My name is Dae-ho," the man introduced himself.

"I'm Gi-hun and this is Young-il," an older guy said. You had heard of him being here for the second time and how he had won all his games a few years ago. It was possible to eventually get back home.

"Hi, i'm Y/N," you said. "Thank you for letting me join you."

"Of course," Gi-hun said and smiled.

That night, you weren't able to sleep and only feared that one of your former group members were going to come after you because you had voted to leave and changed sides, even though the 'O' was a clear winner and would have won anyway, no matter which color you pressed. Now there was no going back to them even if you wanted to – and you didn't.

You sat up and hugged your legs, bringing them close to you and tried to comfort yourself when there was nobody else to do that.

"Not able to sleep, hm?" a whisper came behind you and someone tapped your shoulder to get your attention. You hadn't heard anyone approaching your bed and was terrified to turn around and look at this person. You knew it was Nam-gyu.

"Not really," you said, trying to keep your cool and not seem weak.

"You did a big mistake for voting 'X'. I told you there would be consequences."

He grabbed your face with his hand, pressing on your cheeks so hard it started to hurt.

"Oi, leave her alone," another voice came nearby.

"Or what?" Nam-gyu scoffed. "You'll fight me over this bitch?"

"If i have to, i will," Dae-ho challenged Nam-gyu and stood now right in front of him. Nam-gyu had let go off you. "I'd prefer we'd do it elsewhere though, i wouldn't want to wake up all the people here and have guards shoot us both."

Nam-gyu narrowed his eyes and looked for any signs of bluffing on Dae-ho's face, not finding any. He only stood there like a stone statue, the expression on his face not faltering for even a second.

"Whatever, keep that bitch for yourself. She's not worth it," Nam-gyu mumbled and left, intentionally pushing Dae-ho's shoulder with his when he walked by.

Dae-ho ignored it with a mere roll of his eyes until he looked at you.

"You okay?" he said and cupped your face with his hand, brushing your cheek with his finger on the spot where Nam-gyu's fingers had just been, but Dae-ho's touch felt like a feather.

You only nodded your head.

"Good. You don't have to worry about them anymore, you deserve to be respected and treated like a woman is supposed to be treated," Dae-ho said and his words made your stomach to be filled with butterflies.

Men had never treated you very well, you were used to getting treated poorly, and now having someone show you some respect felt strange. Almost too good to be true. You would have thought you were dreaming if it weren't for his touch on your cheek.

"Try to get some sleep," he said and was about to get up, until he sat down again. "Do you want me to stay?"

You raised your eyebrows, not expecting to hear that. Did he want to have a go with you after all? Now?

"I mean, i can sleep on the floor," he hurried to say. "If it would make you feel safer and sleep better. I don't mind to take the floor."

"Would you really do that for me?"

"Of course. I'll go grab my pillow, be back in a second."

☆☆☆

You slept well all the way to the morning when they woke you up to a new day. You would have gladly slept an hour or two more but you forced yourself to get up. You looked over your bed and saw Dae-ho hugging his pillow on the floor, opening his eyes.

How much sleep did he really get? You felt bad for him but you were thankful that he stayed with you.

"Good morning," Dae-ho said with a tired smile.

"Morning," you replied with a yawn.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked.

"I did, yes," you answered. "Thank you, Dae-ho. I hope it wasn't too uncomfortable for you."

"Oh, it's all fine," he said, standing up, stretching his back and legs a little bit. "I've slept in worse places. Now, let's start to get ready for the next game."

☆☆☆

During the Mingle game, you were felt much safer with Dae-ho to protect you than what you would have felt with Nam-gyu. You were sure that if they had to kick someone out, it would have definitely been you.

Dae-ho made sure to hold your hand every round so you wouldn't accidentally get lost and separated from him, seeing how brutally people were pulling and pushing each other to get into rooms first with enough people.

When it came down to two people, Dae-ho immediately ran with you to a free room and when you were inside, he leaned on the door so nobody would come there and kick you out and claim the room for themselves.

When the time ran out and the door was locked, Dae-ho fell down to sit on the floor, his back sliding agains the door until he hit the ground. He was panting loudly, as were you too.

"Tell me that was the last round," you breathed loudly and leaned your head on the wall.

"It must be," he wished.

"I hope the rest of our group found a partner too," you said, worried that some of them were left alone and were shot.

"I'm sure they're fine," Dae-ho said and came to sit next to you, putting his arm around your shoulder and pulling you closer to him.

"What if they didn't find a room? There wasn't room for everyone," you pointed out.

"We'll see them alive on the other side, okay?" Dae-ho assured you, his hand on your cheek, making you to look at him. You hesitantly nodded, taking his word for it. "Right now, let's just be relieved that we found a room too."

"I know, i know," you said and leaned your head on Dae-ho's shoulder, not even thinking about how the act made Dae-ho's heart skip a beat. You just found his presence around you comforting and how safe you felt with him.

"You know, i saw you before the second game started and we were supposed to form groups," he said. "We needed to find more person into ours and i saw you standing in the middle of the room alone."

You furrowed your eyebrows, pulling your head back now to look at him.

"I was about to walk towards you, but those other guys managed to get to you first," he explained.

"Oh," you let out a breath. Dae-ho was quiet for a moment and you didn't know what to say to that.

"I'm sorry i didn't get to you sooner," he apologized. "I hated to see how they treated you."

"It's okay, i'm used to it," you mumbled and gave him a sad smile. He furrowed his eyebrows and lifted your chin with his fingers. His heart broke for your words.

"Listen. No woman should be used to that," Dae-ho said seriously. "Don't ever let a guy treat you like that, okay?"

You looked at him for a moment until nodded, a little unconvinced but the look in his eyes was so sincere it made you feel much calmer than before.

"Thank you, Dae-ho," you said with a shy smile. "You're a really great man."

Then, the doors were unlocked and you were allowed to leave.

Walking out and scanning the area to see who had survived the game, you let out a breath of relief, seeing Gi-hun and the rest of them safe.

You had all survived through one more game.

☆☆☆

"You know, i think Dae-ho really likes you," Jun-hee said to you quietly when you were in the bathroom.

"Oh, he's just being nice to me," you chuckled nervously and turned off the faucet, starting to dry your hands with paper towels.

"Nice?" she chuckled. "If we get out of here alive, he's definitely going to ask you for a date. He looks at you like a lost puppy."

You felt your cheeks warming up and tried to fight the smile appearing on your lips.

"For real?" you asked and felt butterflies in your stomach.

"For real."

☆☆☆

You were sitting with Jun-Hee and chatting together, laughing about something she said to you. You covered your mouth with your hand. Dae-ho wished you would have kept your hand on your lap, so he would have seen your beautiful smile.

He would have wanted to ask you if you'd go out with him when this would all be over, but he was afraid he was moving too fast and scare you away. You had seemed to be uncomfortable around men, even though you had relaxed in his arms during the Mingle game, when it was just the two of us, and let him hold your hand the entire time you were standing on the carousel.

He missed your touch and wanted to take you into his arms again, but he had to respect your space and get closer to you when you seemed comfortable enough around him.

You having fun and looking happy made Dae-ho smile. Suddenly, you looked towards him, and Dae-ho hadn't even realized that he had kept staring at you for such a long time. He quickly turned his head away to look at Gi-hun, who wasn't sitting far from him, starting a short conversation to seem busy.

"Hello," you said, startling Dae-ho. You walked so quietly that he hadn't heard you arriving near him. You sat right next to him.

"Hello," he greeted.

"We'll have to go sleep again soon," you said. Dae-ho hadn't even realised there was only 10 minutes until the lights were going down.

"Oh, it's that late huh," Dae-ho said.

"I don't want to be weird, but..."

"Yes?" he encouraged, when you didn't finish your sentence. You bit your lip, and Dae-ho saw your cheeks turn slightly red.

"Would you mind to sleep with me again tonight?" you asked nervously. "I get it if you don't want to, it's okay but i just-"

"Yes, of course," Dae-ho interrupted you. "I mean, if you want to and feel safer, i'd be happy to." Dae-ho's heart was beating faster and a smile spread on his face. "I'll just grab my pillow and-"

"No," you said and grabbed his wrist, looking at him in the eyes. "I meant, in the bed with me."

Dae-ho's eyes widened.

"Oh," he quietly gasped. "Sure, yeah."

You could see his cheeks turn red and a smile on his lips.

You went towards your bed and both of you laid on it, your head resting on his chest.

"Your heart is beating very fast," you pointed out and turned your head upwards to look at him. "Am i making you uncomfortable?"

"It's the opposite of uncomfortable," he reassured you and brushed his fingers through your hair.

Right then, the lights went out and you were fully clinging on Dae-ho's body, your left leg over his.

"Goodnight, Y/N."

"Goodnight, Dae-ho

#dae ho squid game #dae ho x reader #dae ho imagine #squid game x reader #squid game imagine

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peppermint-toads · 1 year ago

Text

you don’t like doctor’s offices. especially not now. you don’t like the hypnotic hum of the fluorescent lights, the cabinets that’ve been there since the late 80’s, the pamphlets sitting in an acrylic holder telling you that you have options.

options. not anymore. because you’re sitting on the examination table about 16 weeks pregnant, waiting for the doctor.

“the baby looks healthy,” the doctor tells you, barging into the room without a knock. “i’m prescribing zofran for the nausea. the nurse will see you out.”

thank fucking god. you wanted nothing more than to get the fuck out of this place. the best part about these visits was the walk home. they are usually quite pleasant. being pregnant in the summertime has its downfalls, but feeling the breeze in your hair and through your thin dress is your saving grace.

it’s just another bonus that you pass your favorite ice cream shop on the way home. you think you’ll have an affogato today, decaf, of course.

it smells like heaven in the shop, that cool, sweet smell from the coolers. your favorite. this is your saving grace, this affogato will solidify the day as a good one, despite the lingering feeling of doctor on you.

ice cream in hand, it’s finally time to go home. the walk is clearing your head already. you eat a spoonful of vanilla and sigh. maybe you ought to stop by the pharmacy for those meds. on second thought, that can be tomorrow’s task. you’ll be alright.

actually, maybe not. because you see simon riley’s stupid, bulking form walking towards you about a block away. fuck. shit fuck. you should hide. duck into the closest shop before he can come after you. but it’s no hope, you’re looking up and you’ve already made direct eye contact. nausea meds sound so good right now.

may as well keep going forward. it’s not like he’ll notice, anyway. you’re barely showing, but your white dress isn’t doing you any favors right now.

you’ll give a polite smile, duck your head, and all will be well. no stopping, no small talk, no—

simon is physically cornering you to a complete halt in the middle of the sidewalk, and there is nothing you can do about it. maybe if you curl your back in a little bit, the bump won’t be as noticeable.

“what are you doing? stop that.”

he is so gracefully referring to your posture.

“i don’t have time for this simon. i’ve got things to do.”

you walk sideways around him, and he follows.

“where are you coming from?”

you can’t help it. “you lost the right to ask that question when you fell off the face of the planet.”

you hear him grunt behind you and smile. great, no snide comments yet.

“you look different.”

shit. he’s jogging, catching up to you and walking by your side now. the breeze is picking up and you shift uncomfortably. the fabric of your dress is clinging to your stomach.

simon looks down, his intent is to see what you’re eating, but he catches a glimpse of your swollen stomach and freezes. he’s nearly swallowed by all the foot traffic.

“simon?” you feel the loss of him by your side. he’s stood still, strangers bumping into him and jostling his shoulders.

great. now you’re backtracking, when really all you want is to be at home, in bed.

“simon, what’s your problem?”

“you’re pregnant.”

time stops for him. he’s the father, no way he couldn’t be. unless you were cheating on him, which he highly doubts considering your heart is the purest thing he’s ever encountered during his time on this earth.

you let out a long, long sigh. “yeah.”

then you’re swaying, trying to keep upright and simultaneously swallowing down vomit. simon watches as the life drains from your face a bit. his hands are gripping your shoulders to stabilize you. his touch feels nice, warm.

“i need to get home,” you tell him with a sad smile, pained to be leaving his soft touch behind yet again.

“i’ll walk you.”

you nod. you don’t have the heart to ask him to take his hand off your waist, feels too good. and he’s keeping the world right side up.

it’s only a short distance home, and soon he’s ushering you up the stairs to your flat. you don’t stop him from doing that, either.

you also don’t stop him from pulling your favorite blanket over you after helping you lie down on the couch.

you don’t even get the chance to tell him to leave because you’re just so tired, and his presence makes you feel so safe. you’re falling asleep and quickly. he lets you.

he sits and watches you sleep for the better part of an hour. when you stir, he’s there, staring.

he’s in your lounge chair, chin resting on his folded knuckles.

“i’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell me.”

you’re barely awake and what’s he saying? “huh?” you say stupidly, wiping your eyes of sleep.

“i said,” he swallows, “i’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell me.”

you’re sitting straight up now, definitely more awake now. “i couldn’t have told you. even if i wanted to. you disappeared, simon.

he did. but he doesn’t have the time to explain that now. so, he ignores you.

“how far along are you?”

you tell him. he stands from the chair, sitting down right next to you. he asks if he can feel your stomach. you guess so.

things are getting a little too serious for you now.

“right, well. i had a lovely nap, and i’m feeling much better. thank you for walking me home, but i need to stop by the pharmacy and—”

he interrupts you, tugging your wrist when you try to stand. “i’ll go for you. i’ll do it, please. i’ll do anything you ask me to.

you frown down at him. “simon, there’s no point to this. please just go. it’s just… too late.”

simon’s heart is breaking. he didn’t think it could break anymore than it already has in the last few months.

“let me stay.”

he begs. you think there are tears in his eyes, and if you let them fall you know there’ll be no going back. so you sit with him, you let him kiss you with his hand on your stomach. you let him lay you down on the beat up couch he was always pestering you to replace. you let him pull your dress over your head and kiss his way down your stomach. you let him sink into you slowly and pull your calves up to rest on his shoulders. you let him cum inside of you, again.

you even let him go to the pharmacy for you.

#simon riley x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley fluff #simon riley x pregnant reader

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wynnyfryd · 1 year ago

Text

@messessentialist told me her friend called to rant about spotting an “upsettingly beautiful boy in a tj maxx” and i vomited 1200 words about it, enjoy

—

fic idea: chrissy and eddie work together at tj maxx. one afternoon a guy comes in who’s so hot that it kinda just pisses eddie off? bc like, who does this gorgeous asshole think he is??? coming in here and popping his hip at eddie’s counter, like, does he even know how uncomfortable it is to start chubbin’ up in skinny jeans?? that shit chafes!

so eddie gets all flustered and responds by getting an attitude with the guy because he has zero chill (and also because the dude’s iced coffee is sweating a ring all over eddie’s counter, and so help him if his manager gets on his ass one more time about keeping his station tidy—)

“did you need help finding anything else today?” eddie sneers. “coasters, perhaps?”

upsettingly hot guy looks confused for a second before he follows eddie’s pointed glance at the plastic starbucks cup leaving a cold puddle on the laminate, and then he sneers right back; adjusts the ray bans nestled in his perfect honey brown hair and looks eddie up and down — long, slow, one eyebrow lifting in subtle elitist disapproval.

“what?” he snorts, “hot topic wasn’t hiring?”

oh, fuck you very much!

so eddie’s all ‘nemesis acquired’ and holds the biggest grudge of all time. makes a sworn enemy and a boogeyman out of the guy, turns him into urban legend, starts blaming the Upsettingly Beautiful Man for every little thing that goes wrong in his life — at work, at home, at band practice; no place is safe from the dreaded UBM.

“he’s not a fucking cryptid!” gareth snaps one day at rehearsal, chucking a drumstick at eddie’s head. “just track him down and bone already so you can shut the hell up!”

“wouldn’t he just talk about him more after they have sex?” jeff wonders, to which gareth narrows his eyes and raises his second drumstick as a threat.

meanwhile, eddie’s cute coworker chrissy (who he’s become surprisingly good friends with, to the point of referring to her as his work wife) gets a girlfriend. robin’s sooooo pretty, and soooo nice, and sooooo tall, eddie, did you know how tall she is?

yes, chrissy, he’s supremely aware of a stranger’s five-foot-eight-and-a-half stature now, thank you.

“you have to meet her!” chrissy gushes, bouncing up onto her toes.

eddie hangs another shirt. “you have to chill.”

“hey!” she pouts, pixar princess cute. “you wouldn’t tell the sun to dull its shine, would you?”

“i mean, i would, but i doubt the giant ball of plasma cares what i want.”

“okay, whatever, eeyore.” she rolls her eyes but she physically can’t stop beaming even as she does it, and eddie finds himself melting under it — some sort of radiant area attack coming from the apples of this girl’s cheeks, he swears, because the next thing he knows he’s agreeing to go to rando new girlfriend’s housewarming party this weekend so he can meet her properly.

only he doesn’t get to meet her properly, because when he shows up to the party the two bedroom apartment is packed with people he’s never seen, and it’s loud as fuck in here and he’s sweating through his leather from the six flights of stairs he had to climb to reach the place, so he steps through a sliding door out to the balcony and lo and behold, if it isn’t Upsettingly Beautiful Man looking upsettingly beautiful — positively fucking divine, actually, the last wisps of fuchsia sunset catching the gold streaks in his hair and dotting the tip of his flawless nose. Seriously, does this dude have any flaws? A scar, a birthmark, an unsightly ingrown hair? Eddie can’t even see a single blackhead for fuck’s sake.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer” the dude mutters, turning to look at him, and, “oh, my god, you again?”

“uh.”

“i’ve got a fucking coaster this time,” the guy says, lifting his solo cup and giving it a little shake to point out the cork round sitting underneath it, “so if that’s what you came out here to berate me for, then you’ll have to think of something else.”

“uh,” eddie says again, because he has no idea what brought this on but he’s pretty sure it has shit all to do with him, and pretty boy’s really working himself up now, arms moving in sharp gestures as he paces back and forth on the short balcony.

“not that it even matters if i didn’t have a coaster, because this is my house! i can do what i want with my own fucking stuff in my own fucking apartment, nance, i don’t— uh…”

pretty boy’s face blossoms rose petal red, a heavy blush creeping up his jawline as he catches himself mid rant and folds in on himself, crossing his arms over his chest with a sheepish expression.

eddie’s always had a thing for shepherding.

“i’m listening,” he says, popping a cigarette in his mouth and holding the pack out in offering. “if you care to vent.”

the guy — steve, eddie finds out — tells him all about his controlling ex-girlfriend as they work their way through two cigarettes each, the sun slipping away to reveal a full topaz moon, big and low and close, ripe citrus bending the branch of a tree. nance was a real piece of work by the sounds of it, and eddie feels like an absolute shit for the way he treated steve, who had apparently just gotten dumped the night before they met and had been out shopping for a “please take me back” present.

“like that was ever gonna work,” steve mumbles, ashing over the railing. “pathetic. anyway, sorry i was rude to you that day or whatever.”

“you weren’t.”

“nah, i was.” steve shifts his weight, knocks their shoulders together. “not that you didn’t deserve it.”

“yeahhhh,” eddie agrees, cringing at himself. “sorry.”

“all good. so what’s your story then, huh? who pissed in your cheerios that day?”

eddie blames the alcohol fumes wafting from steve’s cup — a justification that makes perfect sense and would totally hold up in a court of law — for what he says next.

“honestly? you.”

steve’s face is so cartoonishly offended that eddie busts out laughing, eyes crinkling, head thrown back.

“oh, so you’re just an asshole,” steve nods sagely. “first cute guy to flirt with me in six weeks is a lunatic. love that for me.”

“no, i—” eddie laughs, “okay, we’re coming back to how you think i’m cute, but i just meant, uh-”

oh, fuck it. eddie’s never been good at holding his cards close to the chest. more of a 52 pick up kinda guy, historically, and why change now?

“you were so gorgeous it, like, genuinely upset me for a second,” eddie admits, running his tongue over his lip. he stubs out his cigarette; turns to look right at steve. “like, uh, like cuteness aggression or some shit.”

steve mirrors his posture, leaning an elbow on the railing, nearly chest to chest. “so you are crazy,” he smiles.

“that’s correct.” eddie swallows.

steve moves in to close the gap. “good crazy?”

“fun crazy, so i’m told.”

“i’m gonna kiss you if that’s cool.”

“very”

the kiss tastes like ripe citrus

#steddie #steddie headcanons #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #chrissy cunningham #buckingham #enemies to lovers

1K notes · View notes

orphicsun · 4 months ago

Text

–FRENZY: SEVIKA.

“𝐃𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭? 𝐁𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐭—𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬, 𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐛 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝.”

🗡 .ᐟ 𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐊𝐀 / 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

word count: 9.5k

warnings: fem reader, mild descriptions of gore and violence (vampires, town slaughters and mentions of bodies, feeding, etc). mentions of religion and homophobia. set in 1880s, so mentions of traditional stereotypes are included. mentions of character death and grief. stalking and obsessive behavior on reader's part. toxic dynamics and psychological manipulation. major angst with no comfort. if any of these themes make you uncomfortable, do not read!

sexual warnings: masturbation, breathplay, slight hunter/prey kink and dynamic, manhandling, oral sex + fingering + scissoring, mentions of brothels and "whores", mainly reader receiving and sevika giving. (note that many sexual aspects of this are in a ‘dream’, and aren’t actually happening in sevika’s reality.

prologue here.

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐒, 𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃.

“Father forgive me, for I have sinned.” You speak, vocal cords buzzing through your throat and causing an unusual, nervous tilt in your words. Your sweaty hands clasp together, a rosary held tightly between them, and a genuinity in your soul that wants to find itself long-lived. It will not.

“Tell, child.” The priest’s voice is deep, rasped with old age and wrapped around with an accent that informs its listeners of a higher social class. Most priests are. You cannot fully make out the deep valleys underneath his weary eyes, or the length his nose follows to his philtrum. Sight is not necessary in the process, however. The thin screen is purposeful. He faintly nods in encouragement.

You swallow, throat bobbing with the burden of your thoughts.

Since you were but a young girl growing up in a rapidly-paced society, you have always been shown the goodness of the churches throughout England. You are merely poor and given a bad hand in life. England is where you were born, and your mind speaks to you that it will be your resting place. Perhaps your husband will start saving up for a headstone that will go unneeded when you pass to a plague, the fate of your flesh to be scorched in a pile of others who met the same fate. The goodness of the churches keeps you hopeful for honor, though. You see to it that you make your last breath a word of prayer.

With such in mind, you make the visits to St Etheldreda's church. You sit in silence upon a wooden bench in the very front, and you close your eyes. There, your hands join, and you whisper grace underneath your breath.

Religion is nothing short of everything to your spirit. You pray each night before you rest, and you awake in the morning alone, your husband usually already at his forge, and you pray. You pray upon the stale bread you consume for dinner, grateful for even that. You find the stained-glass designs in the windows of churches to be ingrained into the pink of your brain, and you dream of the staircase to heaven, not made of cobblestone or splintered, rotting wood, but instead a staircase of fine glass.

Today, however, you find yourself confessing. Your words spill from your lips in a rush, your nails digging into your own skin.

“Father, I must confess that such wicked visions have plagued me.” You speak fast, your body trembling. “I have ensured that within my own soul, I remain as pure as I can be. I never tell a lie. I never commit the grave sin of adultery. I say my prayers daily–I mean every syllable. Why I am here today is because I have been been.seeing things.”

The priest’s face tightens, and you do not have to make out his eye color to know that the lids so near twitch. In fear or revolution, something you cannot judge him for feeling towards your confession. “As in, evil delusions of sorts?”

“In my dreams, father. I see myself on the streets, like any ordinary day. I smile, and I speak to the shop-keepers. I somehow have the means to purchase fine meats from the slaughterhouse. The day is bright, the sun not yet dipping out of view. However, right before I arrive home, darkness envelops all. The moon is clear, and ‘tis almost beautiful. I am quite confused, but I don’t question. Only a dream, you see. And I look up at the stars, and take steps forward back home, only the air is unscented. And then, just as I open my door, I see them.”

The priest’s eyes nearly widen and spill onto the floor in front of you. He furrows his brows. “My child, who are ‘they’?”

Your eyes line with moisture, and the rosary in your hands is clutched violently. “I did not understand when I just laid eyes upon them in the dream. Their figure was slim, a male’s, I believe. He was utterly carved in perfection in such a way I’d believe to be God’s. However, I did not approach him. Something in my soul warned otherwise. I just stared in awe, father. He was perfect, and I would believe that such a human would be some sort of prodigy.”

“What is the issue, my child? If he was such a creation of God, why come to me?” The priest inquires, leaning forward. He has taken great interest in your words.

“I did not approach him. I didn’t even witness his own approach. It was as if he moved with a momentum that I did not even feel the comfort of his soul, even as he stood in front of me. And I feel a great comfort in every human. And..” You trail off, nearly dropping the rosary. “And then he grabbed me, father. He grabbed me and opened his mouth. He bear fangs between snow white teeth. I could not protest before they sank into me. It was a demon!” You sob, your tears sliding down the roundness of your cheeks.

“Excuse me?!” The priest shouts, the volume causing you to jolt. The rosary clacks onto the ground. You’re a mess of tears and snot, and your mind is pulsing with the memories of the dream whilst the fear of being locked away. Before you can beg for forgiveness, the priest has to calm himself. He sits, letting out a terse sigh. Again, he speaks, his voice hushed, but not meant to calm you. Only to be discreet.

“My child, you cannot speak to anyone about the things you have dreamt of. Not even your husband. The church will handle this.” He assures you quietly, soaking in the sigh of relief that you exhale from your lungs, as if releasing a worry or burden.

“Thank you, father. I shall return to my home now.” You say, standing onto your feet. In just seconds, you leave the small, wooden booth and find yourself simply taking in the interior of the church with an awe you never seem to be used to, surely after a thousand visits. Intricate, colorful pieces of glass conjoin to make multiple paintings that surround you. The sapphire lightens in hue when the biggest, bright star beams its love throughout the glass and into the church’s inner chambers. You only stand outside of the booth, taking in the sight once again. Sights so pretty, so overwhelming to the human eye cannot only be of human intent. Sights like these make you want to pray.

That thought only causes a painful pulse to wrack your brain, however. That thought lets your head fester in disturbance, and you nearly hurl with disgust. All too suddenly have the religious thoughts that your desperate inner faith once dwelled upon cause you so much unease. All too soon do the visions plague your mind. You try to blink it away, and you stare at the stained glass. You love the sight, and yet all your brain makes out is the bloodied red pieces throughout, pieces you once did not notice. It causes sharp pains throughout your eyes to think of anything else in the portrait. You begin to wonder if the red is merely a figment of your imagination, should you be hauled off to the asylum? The dials of time reach hours, at least in your mind. In reality, only 30 seconds are taken from you. You jolt when you feel a hand on your arm, and quickly turn. There, you see your priest’s eyes.

“Oh, and my child..if you see him outside of these dreams of yours, find me. Do not waste a second, or we will all be in grave danger.” He whispers in your ear, an instruction that is almost sharp to the ears. You nod, mind blackened as the priest turns away, leaving you to stare back up at the window. Not a single splash of red is visible to your eyes, neither the corneas, pupils, or the whites.

You feel something wicked in your bloodstream, like the eerie tuning of a violin. It builds you up to terror that should not be unleashed. It is something ancient and almost unheard of, and you only wish to stop it. Why are you chosen for the task, however? All this pressure in wait, and all you can do is head home and hope that you are truly dreaming or next up to be thrown into a mental asylum, for that would be a relief over the visions of bloodshed you’ve been picturing.

Grey-stricken, drab wooden planks outline your home. A humbling sight, but one not uncommon in your majority social class. You are grateful to even have that–others find themselves stuck to the streetways like mice to a rubber trap, sleeping next to the rats who carry all varieties of disease. You find slumber next to your husband, and his patient heat warms the entirety of the bed.

Your husband is the oddity of the century. On the rounder side, his cheeks are soft and blessed. Locks of brown hair just meet the stubble on his jaw, and like all, he is carved in stature. You cannot say he is an attractive man, simply..carved. Perhaps he is carved from the brushes that wetten clay, tracing out imperfections future generations will sell for an annoyingly ridiculous amount of coin. Or maybe even, the man’s pores were once a product of a farmer’s straw inching into a clay not found in the hand’s a professional, but rather the raw, wild kind. Your husband is a soft man, however. Stature does not matter when you can be grateful that he is so respectful. The oddity of a century is a kind man who does not expect more than what he is given.

However, love does not nuzzle its way between the two of you. You have found a delicate peace with your husband. There will be children, you hope. There will be smiles, conversations, and companionship. That does not equate to the lack of passion you feel when you lay a chaste kiss on the fat of his cheeks. There is no room for complaining when you live in an age in which husbands drop like flies, leaving pitiful widows to raise babies all alone.

You enter your home, and the sight before you is one you will not have the mortal time to process.

Those soft, round cheeks against the firm pressure of the unpolished wooden floor. There, he lies still. Your eyes widen like saucers, the whites growing shiny with moisture. Blood does not trickle with the signature of gravity, but rather from the quick, brutal pressure of whatever his poor body endured while you were confessing.

You’d like the reddening floor to blue–the type of blue that lights when the sun casts through the windows of your home, but you know that will not happen. Instead of running outside for help, you step closer. Your husband’s blood pools in a puddle of slow-soaking blood against the volatile wood. Your shoes are coated in the substance, and you drop to your knees, struggling to flip him onto his back.

The stab wounds plastering him aid your nausea, and you nearly double down to the side, retching. Your eyes spill over with salty tears as you stare back at who you hoped to be forever with. Now, what. A lifeless body, and-

And a sight that ceases it all. A horrifying, stomach-wrenching sight, one that should allow you to find the means to rise to your feet and set off for the church in hopes to save your entire town, be a hero for the little English children who should not be buried six feet deep in the dead of wintertime, snow reddened over from two measly piercing on their neck.

There, on your husband’s neck, are two indentations.

Demons are silent, ghastly creatures. You can’t outrun them unless you know that they are present. You shouldn’t have tried to play hero.

𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐍, 𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃. 𝟏𝟖𝟖𝟑.

A woman of any good morals, Sevika is not. Instead, the woman’s heart oozes with a hatred that could, but doesn’t stem from the roots of religion. She hears what the townspeople, crosses on their necks and a good sense of faith think of the demons she corners–the people find it right to utter what are almost culty, crazed chants out words, drinking from vials that seem to make them maddened with faith. Psalms and gospel measures, things that one can only know from the top of their head because they are all over England.

Sevika’s hatred for vampires is kindred with the religious, however. The only difference is, she cannot find it in her soul to pretend to be morally correct. It is almost always the ones who preach at the altar, spewing out the nature of bigotry and condemning the sinners that they themselves are. Do not make the mistake of assuming, though; Sevika doesn’t have a hatred for the religious. Only the ones who cast judgment upon the undeserving. She has a strangely amusing sense of annoyance for the fact that she does more to keep towns at bay than any of the preachers who shout the term ‘blood sucker’ at the top of their lungs.

Vampires, demons, monsters, succubus. It’s all the same veneer of diction for Sevika’s brain. The grooves and cogs all tick to the thought of such a greedy, lustful species existing. A particular demon left her mother lifeless in the middle of nowhere like her life meant nothing. Being raised exclusively by her father and watching the man drink himself to death to cope with the gory loss of his wife left a blossoming hatred in Sevika’s soul, a fire that still burns bright. Ever since, Sevika has never had an affinity for the beasts. In fact, she sees it as a pride to have staked the pulse-lacking hearts of so many of them.

Sevika, however, has always had an affinity for women. From an early age, looks of love and a charged curiosity fill her when her gaze meets a gorgeous woman. Her favorites are the ones with the beauty marks dotted on their faces like the top of the letter i, and the ones who tend to run their husbands more than their husbands run them.

Sometimes, shamelessly, Sevika imagines herself in the predicament of becoming a husband. A wife, she is free to roam the option of being. However, a husband is something she can find to be naught in this time. Perhaps a decade or two ago, she shared her previously mentioned hatred with the one that grew its uproots in her from a guilt. A guilt in herself, really. Her father was already a man of poor luck, only what people call “impoverished.” Her old man, when he was still above the six feet mark, was never an understanding one. Should she ever confess her yearning to plant every inch of warmth possessed in her lips onto another woman, she would be the one underground. His death seems to cancel out that guilt, and now it only lies in small increments, small enough that her other hatred, the one that is all too distracting, keeps her from stopping herself when she pictures a strikingly beautiful (and always in the boudoir) woman, and she certainly doesn’t stop herself from the rest of the unholy scenes she creates.

With a soft grunt, her heavy hand makes work of her belt. She does not waste time in undressing down to the fullness of her tan skin, instead opting to impatiently shove the same hand down her pants. She releases steamy huffs, manspread in a brimley cushioned chair. Her thoughts wander to a creation of her own, a mainly faceless girl with freckles plastering soft, velvet-to-the-touch skin. She pictures this woman spread out on the bed and awaiting touch, like she just needs Sevika’s rough, calloused prints over her skin. Sevika’s folds drip as her cunt weeps at her own imagination, and she dips a thick finger into her hole, wishing it instead belonged to this imaginary girl and her perfection.

Never has Sevika been one for patience. With women, she cannot have them, save for the very few harlots that prefer money over the Victorian morale–instead, she’ll soak herself to the brim, like a frothy beer that spills bits of its contents when it is in the hands of a drunken man.

With vampires, it is no different. Sevika does not care for the time of day with them. She will simply hunt with the sharp end of her hand-held wooden weapon, and find them at their weakest. The vampire industry does not need the smartest of the smart, or the men who will wait ages to stake one beast (though Sevika is a wise soul), for they only need the citizens who understand the vulnerabilities that the townspeople who gather in fear, whispering underneath their breaths about soul-stealing demons in hopes they will not flag themselves to be an appetite.

The majority of the population trembles in fear, thinking that vampires are too powerful to be stopped. They see a hunter’s duty as merely impossible. That much is fair, Sevika can hand it to them. She has seen a plethora of newbies rip a new one, figuratively and metaphorically, into an inexperienced hunter when they march into a village with gunfire and the deadly wooden weapon.

A wooden stake is not a vampire’s only weakness, however. That should be a public service announcement.

Vampires are fickle creatures. It is a wonder what entity or higher power stole their spirit, but without it, they contain no empathy. They have no ties to the people, therefore, slaughter with the brinks of emotions and entertainment. Most of all, however, hunger.

Hunger flows through their veins, and they cannot quench it with the means of a bowl of rice or heavy oatmeal. Instead, their hunger lingers. It takes and takes from both them and the rest of the world. It leaves bodies drained dry of blood, and it leaves the vampires to find themselves caught in an insatiable cycle of hunger. Like the strength of even certain human genes, an inevitable addiction. Sevika knows that there should be pity in her heart for the humans who underwent the process of vampirism, but the space reserved in that organ for any sort of empathy towards such evil creatures has been collecting dust since the start of her life.

Sevika drawls an exhausted huff, as if aching for something her thick fingers cannot provide for her. Her body slumps deeper into the chair after an anti-climatic climax, and when she closes her eyes, she pictures a grotesque sight: a vampire’s lifeless body, and another stake to go in her growing collection of stakes that had past been used to puncture town-feared monsters. So, what’s the catch?

It’s your lifeless body that she hopes to find another round of pride in.

Sevika will deny that this is an obsession. She is not obsessed with vampires because hatred does not require obsession. So, what is hatred, if not fueled by the very distinct line between passion and madness? Sevika only sees vampires when she wakes up for breakfast, and in her suppertime routine it is crucial to imagine the way a vampire’s eyes widen with the realization of their impending death.Those sweet 30 seconds of life draining from them like they drain the veins of humans. Damn, didn’t realize vampire hunters are legitimate is what most of them must think.. Sevika often picks apart their thoughts, predicting and guessing based off of the vampire. She attempts to unravel their last concepts of mortality or anything humane before they grow motionless. It does keep her up deep into the night, thinking of what a vampire could possibly think while dying.

Mortals inevitably die and immortals are promised eternity, right? Whenever vampires are created, the concept is like a gift with a thin, cheap ribbon tying it. It’s not tied tight enough to give you any real struggle opening it. The present inside is more of a horrifying statement, a truth that needs to be read aloud to the entirety of the vampire population.

IMMORTALITY ISN’T PROMISED.

To think that a mere woman (a heavy-built, bison one, though) can drive maple into the frozen heart of the immortal is a horrifying thought. It signifies that mortals are not promised forever, and apparently neither are vampires. Sevika says that she isn’t obsessed with vampires and these complicated thoughts that do not get publicity, but she is as truthful as a hyena–the laugh is what deceives you. Behind an older, finely-aged sarcasm and the exasperated-with-life act, Sevika does care. She hates, and with that, it was truly only a matter of time before she spiraled.

So, after that mundane masturbation session, Sevika closed her eyes to think of you.

You have been her latest mission. You are nothing short of purely maddening, and Sevika may find herself losing her patience on this one. You are easily older than many, and you don’t have the same lack of self-awareness many vampires possess. Instead, you flaunt your vulnerabilities in her face like a gotcha. You leave her a trail of dead and injured, and when Sevika tries to track you, she only finds that you’ve created a zig-zag on a map. The very fact that you leave people alive is telling enough. Most vampires are weakened by their hunger, the lack of self control that comes with it. You have been able to mold your hunger into something admittedly existing, but tolerable. Damn you and your old age, is what Sevika finds herself thinking.

Patience, or her lack thereof, has nothing to do with the hunt. She can wait years for the pleasure of hunting you down and staking your cold heart if she is forced to. It doesn’t matter if she has gone half-mad by the end of it and finds herself in an insane asylum; make no mistake, the long chase will be well worth it.

Her technique has always remained the same, though tweaked accordingly. With newly-turned, weaker vampires, Sevika sees the missions as nearly pointless. While new vampires are hungry and have little self control (often being the cause of the infamous town or village slaughters), they also see themselves in a higher state than they actually are. Sevika understands more about vampirism than they do, thus leaving them vulnerable. With only a slight mess-up on a newbie’s part, Sevika has impaled them thoroughly. Not much else to say there.

With mildly aged vampires, a spectrum label that can refer to vampires that had been turned 10 years ago to 200, they can be aggravatingly harder to catch. That is where technique comes into play. Many vampire hunters find themselves in a state of panic, wondering how they can get the upper hand on a vampire that seems to run them in circles.

Well, Sevika has years on her belt, and sticks with what she knows works. Older vampires are a dangerous spectrum–some may find entertainment in the hunt, while others make rare attacks for survival. However, almost always are the attacks fatal. The self control seems to stay limited, and the attacks stay in a small circle. It may be a smaller town or a large city like London, but Sevika can easily predict where they’ll stay. Then, she makes her presence known.

Older vampires are smart enough to keep their eyes out for hunters, but not smart enough to put their pride away and leave. During times like these, the city’s tolls keep track of who enters and leaves. So, Sevika finds herself waiting. Never too long, and her patience stays limited, so she is thankful for that. The vampire she is assigned to will slowly slow down on their attacks to keep attention away from their whereabouts, but that leaves them weakened. Without enough blood, they revert to a lessened self control, and that is what Sevika calls ‘jackpot.’ When the vampire finally caves, and a group of people is left dead in the middle of the street, and a vampire is nearby. A desperate, weakened vampire. One that won’t mind going for the obvious vampire hunter, and that is when Sevika can drive a stake into their heart. Jackpot.

The much older vampires are the ones that Sevika is told to keep cautious for. She previously was never assigned a vampire older than 300 years old. Most hunters aren’t. Vampires that old do not usually show up on the radar, and have an immense amount of self control. Sevika has a begrudging respect for them: the bastards stay out of her way, and they seem to have their own little coven hunters can’t find. It is rare that they ever kill, either. They know just how to drain a human without leaving them completely lifeless, though some may enjoy the act of killing.

You frustrate Sevika, however. She assumes you to be much older, and has been warned to take caution with you. What she cannot understand is why an older vampire is putting a target on her back by sporadically killing. It makes no sense. It feels like you know better, and yet here Sevika is, losing her mind trying to track you down and starve you out while you last longer than any other vampire she has ever dealt with.

There is a part of her, however, a part deep down within her, that feels something she shouldn’t feel. She cannot figure out why her emotions wish to separate you from the rest of the demons she has seen throughout her life. Just glances of you send her heart racing rapidly for reasons more than just fear.

Still, Sevika has made a promise to herself that she intends to keep. One that will drive her to extreme lengths to make well on. She will live to see your corpse in a meaningless pile of other vampires’ corpses, lit up with a match and submerged in the orange flames. She will watch your unreal features fade away. And, of course, she will treasure the bloodied stake that will be driven through your heart.

You cannot comprehend the appeal of love. It seems cruel to your late husband, but even in that medieval town, back when all you had was the church, there was no passion in the love you felt for him. There was only an endearment that died the second you did. Perhaps if you had been killed, truly killed, you would have died caring for him. In heaven, you would have still loved him. Never romantically or sensually, but the love maybe would’ve been there. That ‘what if’ used to keep your mind restless. Your husband, once so lovely, but you were never in love.

You’ve lived long enough to witness the throes of love, however. It is quite the amusing sight to behold–two lovers holding onto each other, clinging to each other’s gowns as if that will save them from inevitable death. They do not have the choice of forever like you contain. Vampires do not seem to fall in love, and that is the biggest sort of irony in this world. Vampires have the possibility of forever, and mortals, the ones who root for love, bask in it, would kill for it, have such a short-lived timespan.

Love does not disgust nor upset you. You find it endearing, in an oddly amusing way. Humans put on rose-tinted lenses, and they see their love in a way that others read about it erotic novels, but everyone surrounding them perceives them only to be another couple. Another mediocre, average couple that will be buried together, but not remembered in history as they believe. Not in the way that Shakespearean love will be remembered.

In all of the centuries you’ve roamed the streets of the world, in your entire timeline of swift endeavors, you have never found yourself urged to feel love. Sexual desire may lay within you; vampires have quite a few natural, human-like urges. Still, you do not have any love-yearning urges. Perhaps it is the hunger, the chase, and the thrilling catch that leaves your stomach feeling full when questioned with the hunger to be kissed with passion and feeling. It’s the years of seeing humans as nothing but prey, and then the years of hiding out, leaving under rare circumstances that cause indifference. You cannot help but wonder if the priests were right. Are you possessed by a creature straight out of hell’s rings? Is that why you have to apply effort to feel empathy that rolls so naturally from the human tongue?

The truth is, you’re tired. You need not to sleep, and your body cannot be drained like a human’s body, not by old age or physical activities. Only the lack of blood can truly wear you out, but you are quite old enough to stay under the radar when it comes to securing a proper source. Older vampires have a tendency to seduce rather than to simply slaughter. They do grow lonely, at least physically, and crave more than cold, meaningless kills. Many of the ancient seduce the people who do not mind being a human blood bag, and their self control limits the threat of death. You’ve had countless blood bags over the years, and you began to grow tired.

Human life has never been valuable to you, not since the moment your eyes opened to the lack of warmth in your own chest. You don’t think of humans as anything but entertainment at times, and years upon years in hiding has made you restless.

You’ve been watching her for a while now, however.

You do not love her, and you don’t find much appeal in a mundane, traditional life in which you live out the marital fantasy. It is rare that you obsess on a human, however. In such a bored state, you will take her unintentional bait. It all began just a few months ago when you entered town under the premise that you would only be feeding and exiting once more.

She was clothed in what the average man would wear–a high-collared shirt paired with a vest not fully buttoned, a jacket tailored just slightly bigger than her frame, and trousers that fell past her ankles. That seemed to confuse you the first time you laid eyes upon her from across the street. It was not typically socially acceptable for a woman to wear masculine attire, so she must have had quite the reputation to have the privilege of dressing as she pleased. Her skin was tanned, and where it was visible marks lay upon it like battle scars. You began to wonder of which battles she had fought. Her hair, dark as oil, was straight and only sought just past her broad shoulders. She had clear muscle on her that most men did not even possess, and that is where your obsession began.

You have always found entertainment in those who don’t quite make sense, though they’re rare sights. Most women wear petticoats and corsets in this century, and their men are off to work in factories. The rich are above it all, their businesses sky-rocketing in a rapidly-growing England. You’ve seen more interesting centuries, that is for sure.

All you know is that you must have her. A vampire does not care for the traditional role of femininity and masculinity, so her being a woman means naught. You will have her eventually, and not by any force. Instead, it’ll be madness. Her own obsession.

You aren’t stupid. You know better than to feed off of humans in such a small area of London. It raises suspicion, and especially when you are not only feeding, but also murdering people when it is simply unnecessary. You have impressive self control, but your hunger seems to precede you just this once. For Sevika, of course.

Soon did your killing spree begin. You did a bit of dabbling behind the scenes to ensure that your Sevika would be assigned to the East End attacks, where you left an impressive count dead. Then, both of your obsessions had taken their roots, only to grow into what will later fester.

You ask yourself what exactly it is you want from Sevika. What drives you to risk yourself for her? It cannot simply be because she doesn’t wear dresses, and it isn’t just boredom. Truth be told, you think about her often. You picture the brash mannerisms, the way her voice sizzles deep, warm like the ashes at the bottom of a fireplace as they collect over time. You adore her from a distance, staring at her birch lips as they wrap around a cigar. There is no love, but hunger. You wish to puncture the inside of her bottom lip and drink up every bit of red that bleeds. You wouldn’t mind being in her bed, either. You will eventually, if she doesn’t succeed in this technique she has of starving you.

It is nearly laughable to think about. One human capable of the deaths of countless vampires. You aren’t too concerned, however. You’re too aware of things she isn’t, keeping her on her toes. As you watch from a distance, you can sense her impending impatience. You lead her in a circle like a dog chasing its own tail, and she is running out of places to look. Where you leave a pile of bodies on the rat-stricken streets of London, she rushes to find the “weakened, desperate vampire” behind it all. Instead, she finds that reports of a similar crime occur miles away.

Perhaps a large role of this fixation is truly instincts. Vampires are above all, the top of the food chain. The need to hunt lives within all living beings, so Sevika may be so vulnerable to be the object of want for someone who could take her life in seconds. Is that what you want, however? It may be something far worse. You want to ruin her, and death would be a mercy. Death would make her out to be a hero, and London would mourn her death with softness in their hearts for the most unfortunate vampire hunter.

You know that what you want may be more painful, and as much as you’ve evolved from a blood thirsty vampire, those thoughts do not scare you. The thought that you could ruin Sevika’s life, have a hold on her soul to possibly compensate for the loss of your own is what drives you.

You wait, and you hunt her down. Only, the prize in mind is not a prideful stake or even of your own devices, her blood. You want her.

What Sevika does not know is that you don’t mind taking more drastic measures–measures involving her.

It is a day of no particular importance, but night creeps upon Sevika, and the nightfall is a different story.

Sevika closes the wooden door behind her with an aching creak, and falls upon the bed. She shifts only slightly, tense muscles from a day’s long work of tracking. She cannot find you except for when the moon’s blanket smothers the Earth in its darkness, as she seems to be seeing you in the corners of her bed chambers or upon the window sill, the shine in your eyes being the main giveaway. She was once grateful to have years of skill under her belt. She can sense a demon in their rotten smell, though yours is intoxicatingly alluring. She hasn’t found it in her will to admit that to herself, however. She knows when you lurk, yet she wishes she could be ignorant to your stalking presence, for there is nothing she can do when you paralyze her to her bedframe in a sense of fear. Her stomach wants to hurl up a day’s meal, and goosebumps lay upon her tan skin, even in 70 degree weather and bundled up in wool. There is a strange thrill in your presence that she cannot admit.

Vampires have been described in numerous ways, assortments of physical attitudes or features. Carmilla is described to seem sickly, avoiding the sun like a Victorian child of her own time. However, many vampires are alluring in their ailments. Sevika used to not see the appeal in her previous victims, for most of her interactions left her bitter in the heart.

You are breath-takingly beautiful in your state of death, however. Your cheeks may be stricken with artificial blush, but it stands out upon the roundings they contain. Your eyes glaze over when you blink in a sense that sends dread to Sevika’s gut, but arousal through her lower stomach. She can only notice the way the roots of your hair lighten in the moonlight, as you are a creature of the night. Your lips, however, are the most stricken by beauty. Sevika could count every line that creates the plush of them, and she wants to imagine the way it would feel to lose her temperature when yours meets her own, draining her of both blood and heat.

Sevika’s body still craves slumber, and she weakly dozes off, and she sees you.

It is in her bedroom still, but the curtains are drawn, as if to keep onlookers from peeking inside. The illusion of intimacy between the two of you that is perverse no matter your attempts. Sevika is sitting in bed, eyes taking in the daylight. Her body is quite restless, so the illusion is lucid, but she still can feel your presence.

“Come out, I know you’re here.” Sevika orders, though it is an almost desperate calling. Her obsession is a mix of hatred for you, to see you suffer as she impales you, and the need to bury herself within your being and feel the same.

In her dreams, you feel immune to her years of resentment towards your species. You stand before her, moving to plant yourself upon her wide lap. You are only clothed in what appears to be a thin nightgown, and Sevika cannot see the curves of your body from the loose material. Nonetheless, her mind wanders.

“What do you take me for, demon? You think I am so lost in my virtues that I will bed a monster?” She speaks lowly in your ear. Despite her biting words, her hands are dying to wrap around your waist.

“You seem content with this, unless I am wrong in my educated guesses. Well, tell me how you actually feel. I may be an abomination, but I am not so much of a monster that I would enjoy using force.” You tease, calling out the obvious way even in this dream, Sevika makes no efforts to complete her mission. You let yourself sink into her frame, burying your face into the crook of her neck. You must refrain from sinking your teeth into her skin. You know better than that, though you don’t mind playing these games with her.

“I don’t know, you tell me.” She retorts, though planting her paws on your hips. Your skin is cold even through your thin gown. She wants to spread her digits and cover more area, but plays an attempt on keeping some dignity. Her next words are a whisper in your ear. “You stalk me like a creep..play these games with me, so obviously seduction, and then expect me to lay down like a common whore. Is that what you take me for? A human blood bag that you can fuck?”

You laugh, and it sounds like velvet to Sevika’s ears. “No, that is not what I take you for. If I wanted a whore, I’d take it up with the brothels. I want you because I like the chase.”

Sevika scoffs, “the chase? You see what you’re doing in my bedroom with me as anything like your ways of tending to that greedy appetite of yours? That is disgusting.”

You shrug, burrowing into her skin. “Life imitates, doesn’t it? Plus, chase isn’t exclusive to vampires. Humans love to play chase. I’ve seen men dressed in coats made of animals, laughing with each other as they slaughter deer for sport.”

“Oh, please! There is a big difference between hunting and vampires brutally killing humans. I’ve seen the aftermath of your own attacks. I shouldn’t even be entertaining you.”

“Then why are you?”

That is a question that Sevika asks herself, even as she holds you in slumber. Instead of confronting the truth head on, she slots her lips against yours in a heated kiss. Your lips pry open her own and devour her restraint. As your chilling flesh mixes within her warmth, she finds herself grabbing you by the waist and flipping you underneath her. You giggle, and your scent fills her brain. Her gut tells her to pull away and run for her life, but her body is screaming to fill you and let you feed into her fixation. She plants her heavy hips between your legs and grinds, moaning alongside you. Your clothes separate you from being entirely wrapped up in each other. Sevika’s clit only feels the slightest friction from the fabric of her pants shifting, but it evokes a craving for more.

“You want this, vampire? Fine. I’ll fuck you..” Sevika mutters after breaking away from your lips, leaning down to taste the frigid layer of skin covering your collarbone.

“What happened to chasing,” you gasp out with a soft, pleased smile across your face. You cup her face as she lavishes attention on the junction between your neck and shoulder, stroking over her warm skin with your thumb. It has been possibly a century since you’ve felt a human’s warmth besides when in the process of feeding off of them.

“I’m too damn impatient, and I know you only want one thing.” Sevika’s tongue traces a heated line up your neck and back to your lips to shut you up.

Well, two things.

You take turns invading each other’s mouths, your tongue swirling over hers and her lips sealing over your bottom, giving it a soft tug. Your hips shift upwards for friction, and Sevika has to pin you down to keep you in place.

“So squirmish, you know. I didn’t think vampires had such sensitive nerve endings.” Sevika teases, her voice a low rasp in your ear.

“We’re not numb, Sev.” Your eyes roll, but drift back into an expression of pleasure when Sevika sits up to slip every layer of clothing from her body.

You take her in all at once. Prideful scars cover her torso, and her nipples stand stiff, perhaps her body in arousal or from the room temperature. Sevika looks like a sculpture animated before your eyes, the outline of her muscles visible as she approaches your body once more. You feel her weight press against yours, and Sevika practically rips your gown off.

Lips trail down your body, and Sevika’s head is overwhelmed–sensationalized. She worships your cold skin with open-mouthed kisses, her tongue trailing down your stomach. When her lips meet the edge of your cotton panties, two fingers hook underneath the waistband and give a tug. Her eyes glance up towards yours. You nod.

“None of that, baby. C’mon, I know you can’t be that shy if you’ve been stalking me for months. Tell me what you want.” Sevika speaks loud enough so that you can hear her, but the tone is still undeniably intimate.

“Fuck me.” You moan, running your fingers through her hair.

“Ordering me around?” Sevika taunts you by slipping your panties down to your knees, but leaves your pussy untouched.

“I could snap you in half, so yes.” You reply, and the lack of humor in your tone makes Sevika do a double take.

“Fair..” she admittingly mutters, and soon has your panties tossed in the corner of the dark room. Her mouth trails kisses up your inner thighs, her tongue suddenly sliding up your slit to part your folds.

Sevika hasn’t had the taste of a woman in a long while; shaky breaths, soft tugs to her hair, and whines remind her of what it feels like to be lost in what she appreciates most. For just a while, she laps up your arousal and buries her mouth between your soft thighs, forgetting about the resentment she typically holds over vampires.

Sevika’s mouth encloses over your clit and softly sucks at it, making your back rise. Quick, needy licks turn into sensual swirling over your most sensitive spots. Strong, firm arms wrap around your thighs and hold them open as she devours. She slips two fingers into your tight hole, stretching you with motions that make you whine.

“I need you so fucking bad, I wanna cum.” You plead, bucking up into Sevika’s mouth. The more you squirm, the more intense her actions become, as if to punish you. Your clit is overwhelmed with her doting, and your poor g-spot is being abused by her rough fingers.

Sevika’s favorite part of touching you is that she doesn’t have to hold back. Years upon years of hunting under her belt. She tracks your species down and revels in the chase. She knows of their strength, and no woman she has ever bent over in a brothel could ever take what you can. She knows that should scare her; she is left vulnerable with your distinction in physical attributes, but her mind is fogging over. Is Sevika, in some twisted way, in the likes of a vampire? Chaining your species and taking pride in the slaughter. The lines between her own mortality and the iciness of your undead skin is blurred.

In a way, the chase is what unfortunately connects Sevika to you. Courtship culture and the thrill of chasing who you adore has always been prevalent in the era Sevika lives, but is there some darker side to it? Your ultimate goal is not to love Sevika, but to be entertained. Satisfied.

Sevika is ripped from her thoughts when she feels you pull her face back from between your legs. “I came..You were quite stuck in your own head, didn’t wanna bother you.”

Sevika’s brain fogs over with lust once more as she stares at your naked body, and you let out a surprised yelp as she forces yours legs apart, slotting herself between your legs. You can feel her pussy shift against yours in uncoordinated, needy movements.

Her hand wraps around your throat, and her breath hits your ear as she grinds. “You get off on this, huh? I could impale you while you cum, and you’d just be another story of mine to brag with.” She whispers, words cruel. They still make you incredibly soaked, though her hand can’t choke you even if she wishes to take the breath from your lungs.

“You wouldn’t..” you mumble back, fingers clutching at the muscle in her arm. You can feel Sevika’s clit prod yours as she moves, and the sloppier both of your pussies grow, the louder the room gets. Both squelching and her ragged breaths envelop everything your sensitive ears pick up.

“You don’t think someone who has most likely slaughtered as many vampires as you’ve met would stake a vampire?” She gets rougher with you as she speaks, her fingers tightening around your throat as her pussy grinds onto yours.

You place your hands on her tits as she fucks you, giving soft squeezes to enjoy her responsive moans. “Can’t you talk to me in a filthy way, and not like you wish to hunt me?”

“Vampires appreciate dirty talk. Noted.” Sevika huffs out sarcastically, though her pants betray how caught up in your pussy she truly is. “You want me to tell you how good your pussy feels sliding against mine? Or that I can see the way your thighs shake? You’re more vulnerable than you let on.”

“Mhmm..” you whine, burying your face into her neck. Sevika gets too caught up in the moment to care about how the action seems. “I don’t want you to stop until I cum for you.”

“Fuck.” Sevika grunts, her pussy moving frantically on yours. “Gonna cum all over this pretty cunt.”

Both of you cum together with soft moans and short breaths. Your eyes nearly roll at the intense feeling rolling through you like a wave. Sevika doesn’t stop to give you any mercy, making you ride out every moment of intense pleasure. Your releases mix together in the most intimate way. You can feel her breath against your skin as you come down. Her hand loosens, dropping from your throat.

Sevika collapses on top of you breathlessly, not minding as you nuzzle your nose into her neck. The scent of sex is simply background to the sudden whiff of her pulse. You can hear it rush through her veins, and you aren’t feeling quite satisfied. Your lips plant kisses all over her neck, almost as a sort of apology. Sevika huffs out what was meant to be more of a scoff, but becomes something insinuating vulnerability.

I’m sorry, Sevika. You deserved better than this, you know? You only had a life with dreams like mine. Human feelings. A soul, rather brash, but a soul nonetheless. I’m sorry to take that from you.

Kisses become one harsh bite into her pulse, and Sevika struggles from above. The strength she previously used to please leaves her body as your teeth impale her. She can’t fight against your strength even if life depends on it. Your lips are desperate and messy, smearing her own crimson across the area of her neck, pulling back to watch as it trickles from two piercings. You lap up at the waterfall and alternate back to draining her body.

Sevika has to question if death is a merciful cause, specifically in this moment. She spent her entire life focused on a hatred that she pathetically threw away for you. For many, death can be a conclusion of the final act, and a way to leave behind your struggles. In a time where the majority finds themselves at the hands of a large city, surrounded by rules and dead-end jobs, Sevika simply never sees it that way. She has a goal in life. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. The fight is longer in her hands, however. Her life slips second by second, and she finds herself wondering why. Why you’re draining her dry of every pint, when you have such self control to not? Her final thoughts are filled with bile, the ugly head of rage. The very realization that she told herself she’d never trust a cold-blooded demon, and yet, she laid in bed with one like it was nothing. All the while, you mindlessly take the final drops of blood from her body.

Sevika once thought that the act of feeding would be intimate with you. In her recent, previous daydreams, she imagined your kisses over her skin, and the way you would utter filth to her. Now, it feels like a nightmare she cannot escape from. You do not let up, even as she feels the life slipping from her body. You take all, and Sevika’s last will fades as she grows motionless.

With an abrupt jolt, Sevika’s eyes meet the ceiling. Reality creeps back into her, but she does not feel right in the body or mind. She cannot feel her own soul breathe life into her corpse, like an inanimate puppet. Her mind scours for thoughts, counting her fingers and pinching her arm to ensure her consciousness. Her hand slides up her neck, rubbing over the smooth, vulnerable expanse to check for punctures. Her worries are sated, and relief flows through her veins when she feels nothing. She feels nothing.

Only a dream, Sev. It was only a vivid lucid dream. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real, right?.....Right..?

However, as she reaches for her heart, she feels naught. The place in which Sevika feels the ache of life and the rapid, rabbit thumping of blood is empty. She feels nothing. The realization strikes her down, and relief turns into a deadly mix of dread and panic.

“You…Where are you?” She calls out from her window, voice raw with a frantic rage. The night, in return, provides a silence.

“I’m not fucking around, where are you hiding? This isn’t funny. You ruined my life. You know damn well you didn’t have to do that.” She cries out her window, hoping to hear at least a laugh. The stars hide their fires, and they cloak you underneath the shadows of the moon.

In the dead of night, Sevika slumps against the wall of her bedroom. She stares up, hope quickly fading back into a long-lived rage. The revenge that was stirred up within a young girl, a young girl who had to learn the world in the likes of her father, is brought forth once more.

Sevika will not seek slumber; sleep will elude her entire eternity. Yet, you are brought back to mind. No longer bare in the body and wanting, cheeks flushed and your eyes half-lidded. Not a lifeless corpse up in flames, either. No, she seeks the imagery of a demon, the sights and rage a human cannot process in a lifetime.

Slumped is her, but the next day will be anew. Death does not change her fickle stance on patience. She does not know where in the world you blend within, nor where to scour for you. She will find you, however.

𝐄𝐍𝐃.

#sevika #sevika x reader #sevika x fem!reader #sevika arcane #arcane sevika #sevika x you #sevika x y/n #sevika smut #arcane #arcane x reader #lesbian #wlw

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dangerousstrawberryshark · 6 months ago

Text

Daddy's Boy

��🇸Pairing(s)🇺🇸→ Step Dad Ari Levinson x Step Son reader ⚠CW⚠→ top Ari Levinson, bottom male reader, feminization, reader’s ass is called boypussy, edging, possessive Ari, Ari calls you his boywife, gay, gay-sex, cheating, infidelity, anal sex, anal fingering, thigh fucking, and cross-dressing. Ari makes his fantasy come true and confesses that he always wanted you. 🇺🇸Rating🇺🇸→ Explicit 🇺🇸Requested🇺🇸→ Yes

🇺🇸Word Count🇺🇸→ 1.9k

🇺🇸Summary🇺🇸→ You were caught by your stepdad, Ari Levinson, cross-dressing. The only condition for Ari not to tell on you was for him to fuck you while wearing the dress.

Read before continuing: IF YOU ARE YOUNGER THAN 18 OR ANY OF THE WARNINGS MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE, DO NOT CONTINUE READING!

You secretly wore women’s clothing, whether it was underwear, leggings, dresses, or typical everyday clothes. You felt more comfortable wearing them, and you always thought you looked hot in the mirror. You often secretly buy feminine clothes or try on your mother’s.

You never told your mother about your cross-dressing, and you definitely didn’t tell your stepdad, Ari Levinson. You feared how both your parents might react, especially Ari.

Ari Levinson was, excuse the cringe word, an alpha man. He was tall, standing at 6’0 "(182 cm), and muscular. With his chiseled body, as if the Greek God sculpted him themselves, and his bulging biceps, you can see why your mother fell in love with him. He was also very hairy, with bushy facial hair and a hairy chest, especially his happy trail that led down.

Whenever you cross-dress, you usually lock your door. Your mother didn’t care but Ari, on the other hand, did. He would say that you didn’t have to lock your door or that you could trust him. He would stand close to you, his rough hands grazing against your hips. He was weird at times.

You never understood why he acted like that but you never questioned it.

XXX

Today was going to be a great day, you felt it. Your mother and Ari were both on separate business trips for two weeks. You were finally home alone after a long time, and you decided to use the time to try on the clothes you bought.

Ari was told the mission was called off and told to return home. He groans in annoyance at the waste of time but at least he gets to go home, especially since he gets to see you, his precious stepson.

He knows he shouldn’t but he couldn’t help himself. He was practically obsessed with you ever since his wife, your mother, introduced you to him. He often touches himself to thoughts of you, using your boxers to jerk off, and other nefarious thoughts. He also prevented any man from ever having a relationship with you because of his mindset that you belong to him.

When he entered the house, he couldn’t hear the usual sounds of you playing games, laughing, or snoring. His loud footsteps rang as he walked towards the master bedroom, seeing that the door was cracked open.

Looking in, Ari’s jaw dropped as he saw you wearing revealing clothes. Tight leggings that hugged your luscious ass and thighs and a small skirt that barely covered anything. Ari’s cock jumps with excitement as he watches you twirl around and check yourself out. He was rubbing his bulge, burly hand rubbing over the tightening fabric, letting out quiet groans.

You were blissfully unaware of Ari’s presence until two hands grabbed your hips. Already knowing who it was, you started panicking. “I-it not what it looks! It's… uhh.” You stuttered as you tried to explain, but there was no way you could change what was really happening. Your blabbering stopped when you felt something large and thick grinding against your ass.

“There’s no need for that, baby. It's quite obvious what’s going on here.” Ari said in a deep husky voice as his burly hands roamed your lower body before moving to the upper body. He groans as he grinds his bulge against your perky ass. You could feel him breathing down your neck.

“If you don’t want your mother to find out, you’ll do what I say.”

XXX

Your heart was beating rapidly and your breathing quickened. You were in the kitchen, making a simple meal for you and Ari. Following Ari’s order, you wore a skirt with no boxers and a shirt. The cold air was brushing against your bare ass and somewhat erect cock. There should be no reason why you’re getting turned on, but you were.

Suddenly, you felt those same hands grab onto your hips, the same erection now grinding against your bare ass. You could now feel how big it was and it felt intimidating. “I always imagined you as this.” Ari's husky voice said as he leaned down into your ear. He started pressing small kisses around your nape and licking long stripes.

For some reason, it felt oddly domestic—something that is often between two lovers. You’ve never been in a relationship before, but now you can see the appeal: having someone to wake up to, someone to show you affection, and other special things. You started melting into Ari’s embrace, becoming vulnerable under his touch…

“I knew you cross-dressed. It was quite obvious, I’m surprised your mother didn’t find out. I’m not complaining though since I have you like this. My boywife…” Ari purrs as he unzips and pulls down both pieces of his garments. You can feel your stepdad's large cock pushing in between your thighs. Ari gasps from the warmth and softness of your thighs wrapping around his cock.

Your breathing quickens with soft moans leaving your mouth. Ari started thrusting slowly, his large cock fucking your thighs. The area around you and Ari was hot, the sensation of sex making you feel like you were floating. The kitchen was filled with a combination of moans and groans. “Should’ve gone with you… you should’ve been with me! Not your mom… should’ve made you my stay-at-home boywife.”

You could feel your face burning from what Ari said. You didn’t know Ari thought about that or even about you like that. Ari pulled you by the chin and pressed his lips against yours. Both of you melted into the kiss as the older man’s grip tightened, his thrust slowing down before pulling out.

“You taste so good, just as I imagined.” the older man says, pulling back to breathe before continuing. Using his strength, he manhandled you and brought you over to the kitchen counter. Your mind was shutting down from Ari’s actions. The sensation was euphoric; his scruffy beard scratched your chin and his soft lips and dominant tongue found its way into your mouth.

Ari pulled back causing you to whine. “No need to whine. I’ll give you something much better.” The older man says as he lathers his fingers with saliva. After determining his fingers were wet enough, he slowly started pushing them toward the tight ring of muscle. You gasped as you felt Ari’s thick finger circling your hole before pressing inside.

“A-Ari!” You cried as your ass started clenching around the intrude. Ari groans from his fingers being sucked deeper into your velvety depths as adrenaline rushes through your veins, causing you to grasp onto Ari for support.

“It's okay, baby. I need you to breathe for me. That’s it, such a good boy.” Ari praises you, feeling your body calming down and becoming less tense. He pushed his fingers deeper till your rim touched the base of his digits. When Ari called you a good boy, you felt your body melt into him from the praise, your smaller body pressed against Ari’s much larger and hairy body.

Your hands roam the older man’s chest, marveling at how muscular the older man was. You could see the skin twitch from your touches while Ari groans.

Your cock has been neglected and Ari decided to give it the attention it needed. Using his other free hand, he wraps it around and starts stroking it. It was then Ari found the sweet spot and his fingers repeatedly touching your prostate. The house was filled with your moans from too much stimulation; your aching cock being stroked and your ass being stretched open with your stepdad’s thick fingers abusing your prostate.

“D-daddy… Need more.” You whined and whimpered as you began riding his fingers. Ari grins before pulling his fingers out and replacing them with something much bigger. You were confused until you felt something large and thick ram its way into your ass–breaching the ring of muscle as it pushed itself to the hilt and the cockhead pressed against your prostate.

“You feel so good wrapped around me… f-fuck… so tight for me. I could be inside you the whole day.” Ari growls as he aggressively thrusts into your tight hole. The echoes of skin-on-skin slapping and loud squelching rang through the house–maybe even next door because the walls were so thin.

You instinctively wrapped your legs around the older man’s waist, pulling him closer and feeling his cock go deeper inside you. With Ari’s aggressive thrusts and his cock hitting the prostate, you couldn’t process anything that was going on, not even what Ari said next. “You don’t know how much effort I’ve gone to… To make sure you were untouched so I could be the one to… fucking hell… whisk you away.” Ari groans as he pulls you closer to him. His thrusts were getting sloppier signaling his climax.

Even though you were basically fucked dumb, you still understood, to some extent. Any man that you ever talked to or contacted suddenly no longer wanted to continue. All of them ran away and you went to your precious parents, especially your stepdad, for comfort.

Despite Ari confessing to ruining your love life, you weren’t mad at him. A loud voice in your head told you to accept this man as your own, pushing aside the fact that he was married to your mother. “Gonna cum… cum with me,” Ari growls as he starts stroking your cock intensely.

You could feel the older man’s cock twitching inside, his heavy balls tightening as cum was pumping through the epididymis. Ari grabbed your head and pulled you towards his lips. At that same time, he gives one final thrust. Your cock was doing the same thing, it was throbbing badly as it was about to explode.

Your body went boneless. Your aching cock spurts its load all over yours and Ari’s hairy chest. The older man lets out a low groan–his cock pumping thick cum deep inside, filling your stomach with an unfamiliar warmth. Ari pulled back before giving small kisses on your cheeks and forehead.

“Good boy. You’re perfect,” Ari says, pulling his softening cock out of your abused and puckered hole. A loud pop echoed as thick globs of cum oozed out, the counter and cabinets beneath painted white.

After a few minutes in silence beside the quiet pants, reality set in. You had sex with your mother's husband of ten years, your stepdad. It feels so wrong but right at the same time. While you were having an internal crisis, Ari grabbed some paper towels and started cleaning you.

“Don’t feel ashamed. Your mother isn’t as fateful either. Once the divorce is finalized, I’m taking you with me.”

THE END

A/n: Hello, my strawberries! I hope this is good and congratulations on making it to 2025! Very special thanks to my proofreader @sagethegaywitch

Taglist: @buckyshusband0 @geminiflanagan69 @wolf-knights @sluttyhusband @zamfam4272 @ghostking4m @furiousflowercreation @spnfanboy777

#x male reader #male reader #male reader insert #male reader imagine #smut #chris evans #chris evans x male reader #chris evans imagine #x male reader smut #ari levinson imagine #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x male reader #chris evans characters #chris evans character fanfiction #chris evans fic #chris evans fanfiction #gay #bottom male reader #x bottom male reader

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