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darkbluekies · 1 year

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The cynical playhouse

yandere!doctor OC x GN reader x psychopatic!doctor

Summary: a mad doctor has decided to take you for his sick experiment and your very own yandere, Dr Kry, is not going to let this slide, he'll get his hands dirty to keep what's his.

Warnings: mental torture, physical torture, indication of masturbating, mad doctor, mentions of killing, death, mentions of graphic pictures and screams, nudity (not sexual), killing someone with a crowbar, yandere themes, chains, scalpel, cuts, blood, needles, drugs, gore

Word count: 3.2k

Day 0 — prologue

"I need someone that isn’t very strong minded, someone that will respond to the experiment.”

“The hospital is filled with vulnerable patients.”

“But they’re watched by so many nurses and their families are breathing down their necks. If anyone disappeared, people would notice … I need someone that no one would miss, you know?”

“There’s one actually … one that no one really knows anything about. Their family has never visited and none of the nurses have barely seen them. They could be interesting for your experiment.”

“Who?”

“Dr Kry’s little sweetheart.”

Day 1

You can hear someone whispering in the room. Lazily, you open your eyes to see who Dr Kry is hissing with. In the darkness of the room you can tell that there are two men, but you can’t tell who Dr Kry is. None of them resembles him. You know how his body looks and both of these men look too … old?

“Oh, they’re awake”, an unfamiliar voice chuckles lowly.

“Not for long.”

“What’s going on?” you mumble tiredly as you feel one of the men take your arm in his cold hand.

“Shh, just relax for me. It’ll just sting a little.”

The sharp pain from a needle causes your eyes to pry open and your heart to stop. Your eyes dart down to where the pain originates from and finds that the unfamiliar man is currently injecting you with some kind of substance.

“What are you doing?!” you gasp in pure terror.

“Shh”, the man with the needle says calmly and puts his finger over his mouth, a warning for you to quiet down. “You’ll soon go to sleep, don’t worry.”

You can start to feel how your body starts to go numb, how your eyes want to flutter shut. You fight against the substance, refusing to let your unconscious body fall in the hands of these two strange men.

“Don’t fight it”, the man with the needle says in a comforting yet taunting manner. “Just give in.”

“N-No ..”, you choke out.

Your vision starts to get more and more blurry until it all turns black.

You wake up with your head down on a table. Groggily, you sit up and look around. Quickly, you seem to sober up the second you realize that you’re not in your hospital room anymore. The room you’re in now is an empty, white room with a large mirror to your side. It takes up most of the wall. A security camera is watching you from the corner of the room. You look down at the table you were sleeping on and notice that your hands are cuffed to the white surface.

Your heart accelerates to 100km/h. It’s going to jump out of your chest at any moment.

“W-What’s going on?!” you shout and look around in despair. “Hello?!”

“Don’t panic, my dear”, the voice who told you to give in to the substance says through the speaker under the security camera. “Calm down and listen to me, okay?”

“W-Where am I?”

“You’re in my little … playhouse. We’re going to have a lot of fun here, you and I.”

You shake your head as tears start to form in your eyes. You don’t want to know what his kind of fun is. Panic starts burning in your chest.

“Please let me go”, you start to sob.

“Don’t cry. I only need you for a little while.”

“A-And then what? Will I get to go home?”

“Home? Gosh no! You’d go straight to the police and expose all the fun we had here! My funhouse is exclusive. I can’t let just anyone participate!”

“I don’t want to participate!”

“But you’re here now. I can’t let you go. I can tell you what I’m going to do with you, though. I’m going to test the human’s brain and you’re going to help me. If everything goes well, I’ll get famous!”

You wish that you could wipe your runny nose, but your hands are chained with heavy chains and you’re in no physical state to lift them.

Day 2

Nothing really happened yesterday. You were left alone in the white room. A sound was coming from the loudspeaker. The sound of flies flying around. In the beginning, you tried to find something of a rhythm in it to create somewhat of a melody, but quickly started getting annoyed at the buzz. You had shouted to turn it off and only heard a giggle in the loudspeaker in return. You don’t know how long time had passed, but you’re sure you had to sit and listen to that sound for at last four hours.

Today, however, the man has decided to step it up a notch. The door opens and he walks in with a TV on a rolling table. You refuse to look at him. The TV turns on and you’re forced to see a slideshow of the most grotesque pictures taken at crime scenes — some by the cops and some by the killers themselves. Over the pictures, a distorted melody with occasional screams can be heard. You don’t doubt that the screams are real. This one breaks you down easier than the buzzing you heard yesterday. Even if you look away, you can still hear the sound. You can’t lift up your hands to cover your ears.

“Make it stop!” you plead and feel the tears burn behind your eyelids. “Please!”

No response.

“P-Please, I-I’ll do anything”, you sob, your whole body shaking along. “I’ll do … do anything … please.”

“You were cuter than I thought”, the voice in the loudspeaker says. “So fragile. I get why Dr Kry wants you.”

“Dr Kry? I-Is he involved in this?!”

“No, he’s not. Your little doctor is actually looking for you. I heard that he destroyed a trash can in anger and looked at the security footage yesterday.”

You look up at the security camera.

“Oh, don’t bother”, the voice says. “This camera leads to my own little private collection. I want to save my playtimes so I can rewatch them once you’re dead.”

You sob again.

“Look up, Y/N”, the man says, “and turn your head to your right.”

You do. The only thing you can see is your own image. Your red eyes, the messy hair, your body in the hospital gown and your hands chained to the table. You look horrible.

“That’s right”; the man sighs out in satisfaction — almost a moan. “Looking so ... so fragile. Fuck."

You look down in the realization that this is a one way mirror. He's sitting on the other side of the glass, currently getting off on your fear. You've never felt so exposed before. You can only imagine what he'll do with the footage later on. Shame creeps up on you. Embarrassed to be treated like this, ashamed that you can't do anything to stop it. You're only a pawn in his manic game.

Dr Kry has been running around looking for you for over twenty four hours now. He hasn't rested once, hasn’t eaten once either. The only thing he’s nourished himself with is energy drinks and coffee, but that’s only to keep up his energy so he can look for you. The very thought about sitting down and eating makes him sick. How can he? You're his will to live! If he can't find you … no, he doesn't want to think about that. He is going to find you. He has to.

Yesterday when he walked into your room and found that you weren’t there, he had freaked out. First, the thought that you had snuck down to the cafeteria. Firstly, he had gotten annoyed. Like, hasn’t he made it clear to you not to leave his room without him by your side? He promised himself that he would punish you if he found you munching on a sandwich down at the cafeteria. He’s had to punish you a few times for sneaking out or talking with other patients and doctors and it hurts him so much every time. He doesn’t blame you, never does. You’re a little sweetheart, it's other peoples’ bad influence that makes you act badly. But that’s why Dr Kry is here. He’ll always make sure you never get in trouble.

He couldn’t figure out for the life of him who could have made you sneak out, but he promised himself to make sure they never talk to you again. To his disappointment, the cafeteria was empty. Somehow, he was happy that you weren’t here, it meant that you didn’t betray his trust by walking down here … but he’s disappointed because that meant that you could be anywhere in this large building. Or even outside in the harsh, cruel world. He had asked people if they’d seen you, but he got two answers — both disappointing. They’d either not seen you … or they didn’t know who you are. Dr Kry kicked a trash can on his way to the security room. On the way, he met one of the doctor assistants he never talks to. The man avoided his gaze and switched corridors the second they walked past each other. He watched the security footage … but it was all deleted. There was nothing to see. You were nowhere to be seen!

Dr Kry has been all over the town in search of you. He's been to your parents house (without them noticing), to your friends houses (you’ve only told him about them once, but he remembers so well) and all the possible places you could hide — such as coffee shops and parks. You’re nowhere to be found.

He sinks down in his seat in the car and hides his face into his hands. Where are you? He doesn’t believe that you’ve hid from him anymore. You wouldn’t last this long. If you wanted to give him a scare, you’d hide for an hour or so and then pop out to scare him … you wouldn’t do this. Someone must have taken you.

It hits him. Someone must have seen you. You can’t just have disappeared like that. He thinks harder, enough to make his brain creak. There was no footage from the security cameras from the night you disappeared from the period of two am to three am. Someone must have deleted it.

That assistant. The one he passed by yesterday. It must have been him.

Day 3

“Today, my little doll, we’ll see how your brain reacts to physical pain!”

You don’t answer. Three days have passed and you’ve already lost all hope. Not a single bite of food have you been granted and not a single drop of water. If you don’t get to drink today you’ll die. Somehow you hope that the freak behind the one sided mirror won’t give you any water. You just want to get out of here and if the only way is death … then so be it. You feel like you’re a ghost. None of this is really real, you’re not actually sitting in the chair, your hands aren’t actually chained. You’re just dreaming. You’re not here. You’re not here. You’re not here.

The door opens and the man enters. You can’t look at him, he makes your stomach turn.

“Before we start, I remembered that you need to have something yummy to eat”, he says as if he was talking to a doll or a child. “I brought you mashed potatoes.”

“I don’t want it”, you mumble.

“Open up.”

He holds the spoon with mashed potatoes to your mouth. You keeps your lips together and turn your head away. The man pokes your cheek with the spoon, growing more and more impatient.

“Eat. It.”

You gather enough courage to shake your head.

“Ungrateful little bitch!” he shouts and flips the table over.

You choke back a scream and break out in sobs, squeezing your eyes shut. Your entire body is shaking with terrified sobs. He slaps you with all his might causing your head to swing to the side. Your body would follow if it wasn’t for the fact that you’re chained to the table. You sob more at the fear of this madman than the stinging pain.

“If you don’t behave, I’ll have to finish up our playtime earlier than I want to”, the man whispers and grabs your face between his cold, disgusting hands. “And I want to play with you for a bit more.”

You glare at him through your tears. He picks up a scalpel from his white lab coat and places it over your bare arm. You shake your head desperately, voice no longer working.

“It’s just a test, my little doll”, he whispers. “Everything is for human kind, okay?”

“No!” you manage to shout. “I don’t want it, stop it!”

Too late. He has let the sharp knife-like object over your arm. You let out a loud scream which echoes in the room and makes the man smile.

“So beautiful”, he purrs and lets the bloody scalpel run lazily over your lips. “My own little doll ... I’m going to fucking destroy you.”

The door bursts open and before you can register anything, the man in front of you has been tackled to the floor and beaten to a pulp. You recognize the blonde hair and break out into relieved sobs. The man stands up, blood covering his white lab coat.

“Shh, it’s okay”, he pants as he unlocks your chains. “Don’t cry, I’m here now.”

As soon as your hands are free, you wrap them around his strong neck and bury your head into his shoulder. Dr Kry hates to see the cuts on your body and he hates to feel how you tremble in his arms. He lifts you up and you hook your legs around his waist. With one muscular arm around your waist and one around your shoulders, he carries you out of this horrifying room. A few guards run past him to get the unconscious man.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N”, Dr Kry whispers with tears in his throat as he walks. “I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have left your door unlocked. I’ll never forgive myself. I’ll kill him, I promise. I’ll make sure he never hurts you again. I’ll take care of you better, never let you out of my sight.”

You cry against his shoulder as he takes you back to your room. You cling onto him even tighter. He’s your knight in shining armor, he saved you! You’ll always be in debt to him. Fantastic Dr Kry.

Dr Kry places you down on your bed and starts to look and feel around, to see if you’re really here or if he’s hallucinating. He hasn’t been sleeping for a long time.

“You need to wash yourself”, he says. “You look horrible. I can do it for you.”

You nod. Dr Kry picks you up again and walks into the bathroom. You get placed in the tub before he removes the dirty hospital gown. He’ll burn it — never want to see it again. You sit in the bathtub and hug your legs close to your naked body to hide, wishing to never exist again. Dry Kry wishes that you didn’t hide, you’re so beautiful. He shakes his head. Now’s not the time. He feels the water pouring from the showerhead with one hand as he adjusts the water with the other.

“Bend your head back for me”, he says softly. “I don’t want to pour water into your eyes.”

You bend your head back and he starts to pour the lukewarm water over your hair.

“Is it comfortable?” he asks.

You nod carefully, scared of every single action.

“How did you find me?” you whisper.

“I found the guy that helped your sick capturer. I pulled him into a storage room and forced him to tell me where you were”, Dr Kry says, hatred in his voice.

He won’t say what he threatened the assistant with, but you can only imagine.

“I came just in time”, Dr Kry says. “He was going to hurt you badly, that son of a bitch. I’ll make sure he pays for it, my- …” He cuts himself off, almost giving you a pet name. He clears his throat, embarrassed. “I’ll make him pay.”

“What were you going to say?” you ask quietly.

“Nothing, don’t worry about it.”

You give him the sweetest doe eyes that makes him melt and he can’t do anything else but tell you.

“I was going to call you ‘my little one’”, he says with a shy smile and runs his free hand through your wet hair, the other one continuing to pour water on your scalp.

“I like that”, you whisper and look down.

Dr Kry smiles in relief. God, you’re so fucking cute.

“You are my little one”, he says softly. “My only little one.”

He melts at the sight of your small smile. He’ll never let anyone steal that smile from you again. He’ll never let anyone take you from him again.

“Doctor …”, you whisper weakly as he shampoos your hair.

“Yeah?”

“Please never leave me. He scared me so badly.”

“Never. I’ll always protect you. I’ll lock your door at night and be much, much more careful. I’ll make sure he disappears, okay?”

You nod tiredly. Dr Kry sighs and leans forward to press a promising kiss to your forehead.

After he’s bathed you, he gives you a new hospital gown and tucks you into your bed. You hug the teddy bear and sniffle. Dr Kry glances down at the bruises around your wrists and gets filled with anger once again. He’s going to kill that psychopath. How dare he touch his darling?

As soon as you fall asleep, Dr Kry leaves the room, locking the door behind him. He feels the handle to make sure that it's locked before scurrying away to the security room. He turns off the cameras and grabs a crowbar on his way. This motherfucker is going to die. Normally, Dr Kry doesn't like getting his hands dirty, but this time he's looking forward to it.

He opens the door to the jail cell. The man is sitting on the bench inside with his head in his hands. He looks up and his eyes widen.

"D-Dr Kry, listen, man-", he starts, trembling.

"Quiet", Dr Kry growls. "I don't want to hear a single word from you. I'm going to kill you."

"Y-You can't, the cameras-"

"Your little friend isn't the only one who can manipulate cameras." Dr Kry swings the crowbar around his hand. "No one will know who killed you and I don't think anyone will care either. You're mine to play with now."

The man goes white.

"I'm going to play with you like you played with my darling", Dr Kry says in a warning calmness and takes a step forward. "I'm going to give back for everything you did to them."

"I'll never touch them again, I promise!"

"You bet you won't. They're mine, do you hear that? Only mine. The fact that you thought you had the audacity to touch them is enough for me to kill you. But after what you've done … I'm going to make you suffer." Dr Kry towers over the trembling man. "I'm going to beat you so badly that you can't move, can't think, can't breathe. The dying part will be done by yourself."

"N-No please, I'm sorry!"

Dr Kry swings his crowbar. "Too late."

He closes the door behind him.

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zepskies · 1 year

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Never Say Goodbye - Part 6

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader

Summary: The first time you and Dean sensed each other’s thoughts and feelings, you were just kids. It would take years to realize that you both were bonded for life, and even longer to finally meet. [Soulmate AU] (Rated M for eventual scenes – 18+)

Word Count: 4,800 Warnings: Angst, fluff, and some supernatural shenanigans.

Part 6: Trust Building

After you showered and dressed in a clean shirt and yoga pants, you felt refreshed but still somewhat anxious. You don’t have anything to be nervous about, you tried to remind yourself.

You finally met him. His name is Dean. He seems…nice.

A soft smile grew on your face when you thought of how he’d looked over your injuries in concern. How he’d seemed just as nervous as you, but was familiar in his teasing and gentle when he’d helped you up the stairs.

He seemed to be a decent guy. But so had Danny Schmitt.

That thought made you shudder. Those horrific memories of last night tried to surface, but you stubbornly shoved them down by covering your eyes with your hands and letting out a few deep breaths.

When you’d calmed down, you released your trembling hands. That’s it, you decided. You were going downstairs. You were going to go crazy if you stayed up here in this room.

…Plus, you were getting hungry.

Things were probably going to get awkward fast, but you were up for it. You didn’t want to be rude to your uncle, and you wanted to get know Dean and his brother Sam.

So you carefully descended the stairs, trying not to freeze in place when all three men paused in their conversation to look at you. You gave a little wave.

“How’re you feelin’?” Bobby asked.

“I’m okay.” You joined Sam and Dean on the couch once they made room for you. Bobby sat in a rickety chair across from them, with a coffee table full of old, open books in between. What kind of book club were these guys having?

You shared a small smile with Dean, who seemed to take a brief moment to look you over. You noticed his gaze lingered on your yoga pants. But smoothly his eyes returned to your face. He inhaled and looked curious.

“What’s that, apples?” he asked. You blinked in confusion, until you realized what he meant: your body wash. To be fair, it did have a strong smell.

“Oh, apple spice.” You nodded. “Good guess!”

Dean grinned a little. “It’s nice.”

Sitting on his other side, Sam rested an elbow on the couch’s arm. He hid a smile behind his hand, while Bobby just rolled his eyes.

“All right, well dinner’s on the way,” your uncle said. “Hope you like Chinese.”

You were just about to reply affirmatively when your phone buzzed on the coffee table. With a quick glance, you saw who it was and frowned. Dad.

“That’s been going off non-stop for the past ten minutes,” Dean said.

“Yeah,” you sighed, and went to pick up the phone. “Hi, Dad.”

You felt guilty about taking off from Jody’s house without telling anyone, but in fairness, you’d left her a note. Your dad was stern and quick to reproach you.

“You can’t just take off like that. You had me looking over the whole damn town for you!” said Jack.

Your lips pressed together. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you where I was going, but now you know where I am. I’m safe.”

Jack started to interject, but you cut in before he could start giving you orders.

“Tell Jody I’m sorry, but I’m comfortable here,” you said, glancing up at Bobby, and then at Sam and Dean.

“…Fine. The house should be back to normal in a couple of days. If you leave Bobby’s house for any reason, you call me,” Jack said.

Like you were a child.

“Fine,” you snapped and hung up the phone. Then you looked up at the men, who all looked away as if they hadn’t been listening.

“Sorry,” you added. “My dad’s a bit…overprotective.”

“I mean…can you really blame him right now?” Dean asked. “I get it, you ditched your babysitter. But not for nothing, I’d probably react the same way.”

His face was more serious, devoid of the flirtatious teasing from before. Your hackles started to rise as he took your dad’s side…until you realized that he meant well. Through the connection that bonded your soul with his, what you felt most was his concern for you.

And, he might actually have a point.

You just weren’t willing to acknowledge that just yet.

You tried to get to know Sam more too. You learned that he’d gone to college at Stanford for pre-law, and that he’d planned to be a lawyer. When you asked why he didn’t go for it, he and Dean got quiet.

That’s when the takeout finally came. You sensed it was a sensitive topic, so you didn’t push it.

The four of you ate while Sam and Dean traded off telling childhood stories and motel room antics, most of which made you laugh.

But you became sad when you realized what Dean had told you once was true: he and Sam had been raised on the open road. They hadn’t truly had a home since Dean was five years old, and Sam had been just an infant, after their mother died.

“The house burned down,” Dean explained, but you had a feeling there was more to the story. You sensed it in his guarded emotions—both in his body language and through your bond.

“Nice ring,” he remarked, noting the flash of silver on your right hand. You gave him a closer look and he took the opportunity to take your hand. You tried (and failed) not to blush.

“My mom’s,” you said, your eyes lowering. “She…died when I was around fourteen.”

Dean sighed and released your hand. “I’m sorry.”

You knew he understood how you felt. He’d lost his mom too.

“What about your dad?” you asked.

Sam and Dean shared a brief glance before Dean replied. “He’s still around. He started the family business, so he travels a lot too.”

“I see.” You were very curious to meet their dad. If he was anything like Dean, then that man was sure to be interesting.

After a while more of eating and talking, Bobby wished you goodnight and went up to his room. Sam returned to the living room to set up his sleeping spot on the recliner, leaving you and Dean to clear the dining table and wash the dishes together.

“So your dad’s a cop, huh?” Dean asked.

You nodded. “Yep. Hence the overprotective bit.”

“Is that why you didn’t tell him about our…” Here Dean raised his brows. “Situation?”

You smiled in amusement. “Honestly, yeah. It just…didn’t feel like the right time to tell him about us. When you meet him, you’ll understand.”

“I get it. My dad’s not always a picnic either, but he’s a good man,” Dean said. “Your dad seems to be too.”

“Except he doesn’t want me here,” you said. “He’s got this…thing with my uncle. I can’t figure it out.”

Dean seemed to remember something. “Yeah, Bobby was sayin’ something like that. They had a falling out a while back?”

“I think it started when my aunt died,” you admitted. You were seven, and Aunt Karen had been your dad’s younger sister. You didn’t remember her that well, but you had a warm memory of her making pies for every season: pumpkin and apple for fall, blueberry for winter, strawberry and rhubarb for spring, and peach for summer.

“I’ve asked Bobby about it, but he’s not really the sharing type,” you said.

“Yeah, fair enough,” Dean said. It made you look over at him with some curiosity.

Dean was becoming something of an enigma to you. In some ways, he could be incredibly straightforward and kind in how he looked after you and asked about your life. But any time you asked about his family, about his past, about his job, he would pull back from you.

It made you nervous. What the hell is he hiding?

But it also made you determined to find out more. Now that you’d found him, you weren’t going to let him go so easily.

After the table was cleared and the dishes were done, you realized just how tired you were. Even your head was starting to ache.

Dean might’ve heard your thoughts (you had to get better at controlling that), because he looked you over in an assessing way.

“Hey, you should probably get some sleep,” he said. “It’s been a long day, sweetheart.”

Even that small nickname made you blush again. Dean noticed, smiling. You purposefully looked away and called out to his brother.

“Goodnight, Sam.”

He looked up from the book he was reading and smiled at you. “Goodnight. Sleep well.”

You returned his smile before returning your gaze to Dean. He crossed his arms expectantly, a grin playing at his lips. “My turn?”

You uttered a laugh. Gaining some courage, you leaned up on your toes, rested a hand on his shoulder, and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Goodnight, Dean.”

Sweet dreams, you added mentally, then you turned to climb up the stairs.

See you tomorrow, he replied. It made you pause on the stairs and turn back to him with a soft smile.

Then, Dean watched you go up the rest of the way to make sure you were all right. He did his best to clamp down on his mixed emotions, so you wouldn’t sense them. When he turned around, he found Sam wearing a knowing grin.

“What?” Dean asked.

“I just never thought I’d see you like this.”

Dean rolled his eyes and sat on the other end of the couch. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, then rubbed at his face with both hands. Sam sat down next to him and dropped a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m glad, Dean. You deserve this,” he said.

Do I? Dean thought. “You know we’ve got a job to do.”

“…Yeah,” Sam said with a sigh. He was conflicted too. He wanted to give his brother the time and space to enjoy this, to spend time with you, but they still had to find their dad—and the Yellow-Eyed demon that killed Jess, and their mom.

Still, this was important.

“Why don’t you go up and talk to her?” he suggested, nodding up the stairs.

Dean frowned. “She’s going to bed.”

“Even if it’s five minutes,” Sam said. “Don’t waste any more time, Dean. Do something.”

So Dean went up to your room, and he knocked.

You opened the door a few moments later, but you hadn’t changed clothes yet. Sensing more than hearing his anxious thoughts had kept you puttering around the room, straightening things up, brushing your hair, trying to find something to wear for bed. You just didn’t know how to reach out and comfort him, or even if you should.

But you smiled when you saw him.

“Can I help you, sir?” you teased.

“Just for a minute,” he said, once you let him into the room. “You can kick me out whenever.”

You beckoned him to sit with you on the edge of your bed. You and Dean sat in silence for a moment, both of you trying to think of something to say.

“This is hard, isn’t it?” you said. Dean let out a breathy chuckle, his shoulders sagging a bit in relief. He looked over at you.

“Somehow, thought it’d be easier,” he said.

“Okay, let’s just get this out of the way. We’re basically strangers. Let’s stop focusing on the cosmic bond part of it all, and just try to get to know each other,” you suggested.

Dean saw the logic there.

“Sounds good to me,” he said. He reached out and tucked your hair behind your ear, his thumb brushing the side of your face.

A blush dusted your cheeks. “You like doing that.”

“You don’t seem to mind.”

“Not really, no,” you admitted with a smile. Dean returned it, before his expression became more serious again.

“Hey, can you answer something honest for me real quick?” he asked.

“Okay.” Though you wondered where this was going.

“Are you okay?”

You folded your hands in your lap and stared down. “Yeah. I feel fine, Dean. Really.”

“Not what I meant,” he said. You felt his concern through your bond, encouraging you to look up at him.

“I get it if you don’t, but if you need to talk about what happened last night…” He let the thought hang off, giving you the space to decline if you wanted to, or if you weren’t ready. You sensed that he was willing to listen to you, and actually, that he genuinely wanted to know.

Well, that you could believe. He seemed to be the protective type.

You sighed; as much as you didn’t want to think about what happened, flashes of those memories were already resurfacing behind your eyes.

“It happened so fast,” you began. People always said that in the movies, but it was true.

“I got home late. I was…talking with you. As soon as I set my things down in the living room, he grabbed me from behind, dragged me into the kitchen for some reason…” You took a breath. “When I had enough wits about me to start fighting back, that’s when he used my head for basketball practice on the counter.”

Dean was quiet while you spoke. He was trying to keep his darker thoughts from spilling into his connection with you, but that was a feat in itself.

It was a good thing for him that Danny Schmitt was already dead.

“I saw the kitchen knives, but before I knew it I was on the ground,” you continued, though it was difficult to steep yourself in those wild, thrashing moments. Being pinned down, not being able to call for help or reach anything that could help you.

Your hand went to the bruises on your throat. “I couldn’t breathe…then I’m…not sure what happened. Maybe I got some adrenaline-fueled, Hulk Hogan-type strength, because the next thing I knew, I was looking down at Danny’s body. And the kn-knife, somehow I…”

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you started to lose your grip, but Dean reached for your hand, squeezing yours. That, and sensing his supportive presence in your mind, gave you something solid to ground you as you breathed through it.

As was your habit, you twirled your mom’s ring around your finger.

“Danny?” Dean asked.

“Y-Yeah. We went to high school together,” you explained. “He was an idiot then. He got his fingers caught in the automatic stapler. How do you go from that to psycho-killer spree?”

Dean gave you an amused look, but he gave you an honest answer.

“Some people are born bad. Some people do bad things once in a while, and regret it,” he said. “Some people got evil shit on their mind, but don’t got the confidence to actually pull the trigger. Until they do.”

You let out a deep breath as you nodded.

“I just…Dean, I don’t remember grabbing the knife,” you confessed. “But it makes me wonder…what the hell else am I capable of?”

Dean could understand that, better than most. He let you lean into him and drew you close as you finally allowed yourself to let go. You felt bad for dampening his shirt with your tears, but you relished in his comfort and the safety of his arms.

Until both of you shivered. It felt like the room had dropped ten degrees all of a sudden.

Dean got an awfully familiar, suspicious feeling.

“Aw, shit,” he said.

“What?” you asked nervously. Your bedside lamp flickered, and somehow a draft kicked up into the room.

Dean got you to stand up by the elbows and grabbed your hand, heading for the door. It swung closed in your faces, making you gasp.

“Shit,” he repeated.

Your looked up at him in fear. “What the hell’s going on?”

“Whatever happens, just stay close to me.” Dean’s voice was firm, authoritative. It was fair to say you clung to his arm. Maybe that made you the quintessential damsel in distress, but to be fair, you were definitely in distress right about now. You didn’t have a clue what was happening, but Dean seemed to.

Then a strong gust of wind pulled him away from you and threw him into the large wooden dresser across the room. You watched in alarm, but you eventually made yourself move to go and help him.

That’s when a strange mirage glitched and appeared in front of you, startling you. It was a woman, maybe in her late-thirties. She looked familiar, but before you could focus on her face, Dean’s fist swiped through the mirage and made it disappear.

You looked up at him in shock. He was a bit banged up with a couple of scratches on his arm, but he held what looked like the iron handle from one of the dresser drawers he’d smashed into. You touched his arm, and your mind blazed with questions that you were finally able to express.

“Are you okay? What the hell was that? What—”

“All right, for right now just follow my lead, okay?” he said. He grabbed your hand and tried opening the door. It was locked. Damn it.

Sam called from the other side.

“Hey, you guys okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, we’ve got us a ghost,” said Dean.

“What?” you exclaimed. As in Casper?

Dean sighed. “I’ll explain later. Move away from the door, Sammy.”

“Okay, go ahead.”

In one powerful move, Dean kicked through the door and broke the lock. You and Dean escaped the room, but your eyes widened as you pointed behind Sam. “Watch out!”

The woman was there again. Now you could see that she wore a white blouse with small flowers on them, and a long, dark skirt that seemed to glide across the floor. You realized that you recognized the shade of her hair, the shape of her face and features—many of them were similar to your own.

You felt like the air had fled from your lungs, all while your heart constricted painfully. Dean’s head swiveled toward you; he’d picked up on the shift in your emotions through your connection.

“Mom?” you uttered.

A gun shot rang out, making the vision of your mother scream angrily, and then disappear. Behind her was Bobby with a shotgun full of rock salt.

“All right, let’s get downstairs,” he said.

The four of you ran down quick to the ground floor. The lights continued to flicker as you went, and a draft followed you through the living room where the fireplace crackled with life. You watched as Sam went and got cannisters of salt from the kitchen and started drawing a large circle of salt around you all. Meanwhile, Dean grabbed the iron poker from the fireplace.

“Okay, will someone please explain what the fuck is going on already?” you asked. “Why am I seeing my mom?”

And why is she trying to kill us?

Sam and Dean shared a look before the latter sighed and met your wide-eyed stare.

“Like I said, she’s a ghost. Yeah, they’re real. Salt keeps them away, iron fends them off,” he explained. “Temporary fixes though. The only way to get rid of a ghost is to burn its old body’s bones.”

That was a lot of crazy information to absorb in all of thirty seconds. Dean laid his hands on your shoulders to get your attention, and to ground you.

“Where is she buried?” he asked.

“The cemetery,” you said tremulously. “Don’t say you’re gonna dig up my mom, Dean.”

His face twisted in apology. “That’s kinda where this is going, yeah.”

You were a tad bit horrified.

“But wait, you can’t,” you realized. “They buried her ashes.”

Sam, Dean, and Bobby all shared a similar frown. Damn it.

The ghost of your mother, Christine, reappeared just a few feet away and startled a scream out of you. The four of you stood within the salt circle, but that didn’t stop her. Her dark eyes were focused on the men as she created a gust of wind to blow the salt circle away.

Bobby shot off a salt round from his gun and made her disappear for a few seconds. But she was getting tenacious. She reappeared moments later to continue whittling at the salt line.

“Why is she coming after us?” you exclaimed.

“Some spirits don’t pass onto greener pastures if they feel like they’ve got too much to leave behind,” Bobby explained. “After a while, they start to lose their grip on…well, reality.”

“They turn vengeful,” Sam supplied. “Poltergeists, hauntings—”

“But why would she go after me?” you asked. You buried your hands in your hair and closed your eyes. Maybe you could block all of this out and pretend it wasn’t happening. “This can’t be real!”

“Hey,” Dean said. He grabbed your arms just tight enough to break you out of your spiral. You looked up at him with tears in your eyes. “This is real. It’s happening. Somehow your mom’s ghost is tethered to something else, because I think she followed you here.”

“Followed me?”

“From your house,” Dean said. He was leading you somewhere—with his tone and his eyes.

You gasped at as hit you.

The impossible knife stabbing of Danny Schmitt.

You hadn’t been anywhere near the kitchen knives. You’d been pinned down while slowly choking to death. It hadn’t been adrenaline. There really was no way you could’ve reached them.

“She…she killed Danny.”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded. “Trust me, I know, because this is my job.”

“This is what you do for a living?” You were damn near hysterics.

He offered you a helpless grin. “And it don’t even come with health insurance.”

“He’s right, there’s something else keeping her here,” Bobby said. He looked at you. “Do you have anything of hers?”

“No, I—” You’d started toying with your ring before it dawned on you with a gasp. Dean looked down at your hand and came to the same conclusion.

“It’s the ring,” he said. “We need to burn it n—”

Dean couldn’t finish his thought, because Christine reappeared behind him and threw him several feet away. The iron poker in his hand clattered away from him. She turned to Sam and Bobby next.

Before either one could shoot off a salt round, Christine raised a hand, commanding a desk to shove them against a large bookcase. They had to shield their heads as books fell off the shelves and thudded to the ground.

Christine stopped when she turned to you. Instead of attacking, she raised her hand out to you. Your eyes widened.

“Mom?”

She didn’t answer, but she didn’t look at you with the same anger and menace as she had to the men.

“She’s not after you,” Sam said, with a tilt of his head. “She’s trying to protect you.”

He was still stuck with Bobby, while Dean was also pinned against the wall by the force of Christine’s will. He had enough autonomy to raise his head and meet your eyes with urgency.

“Toss the ring in the fireplace,” he told you. “Do it now!”

Your limbs were frozen in place. It was almost like being attacked by Danny; you could see the knives, but you couldn’t make yourself grab one. This time, you didn’t want to.

“I can’t!” You shook your head adamantly.

“I get it,” Dean said. He was struggling to break free of the ghost’s hold, gritting his teeth. “But you need to put your mom to rest. It’s the ring or your life. Throw that thing into Mount Doom!”

You looked up at Christine, and at times you could see through her spirit-like body. She wasn’t really there, nor was she supposed to be here.

Right now you were poor old Mrs. Jenkins, clutching your pearls.

So you ran to the fireplace. But the moment you fell to your knees there, a strong gust of wind blew out the flames. You gasped and turned to see that your mother was there, and she was now angry with you for trying to destroy her.

Frantically you searched for something to keep her away. What you found was Dean’s iron poker.

“That’s it, stick it right through her!” Dean guided you. Inside he was desperate to help you, but he instinctively buried it under the practiced focus of a hunter.

Your hands closed around the iron and you swung it like a baseball bat, making Christine’s spirit dissolve. Sam then called your name and showed you a lighter in his hand. He threw it towards you, but it bounced through your hands and scattered across the floor.

“For God’s sake,” you muttered frantically. You all but dove onto your hands and knees to scramble after the lighter.

“Watch out!” Dean shouted.

With a gasp, you twisted to face Christine again. This time, she commanded a chef’s knife from the kitchen.

“Mom!” you tried. While she heard you, she didn’t acknowledge what she was doing. Her face was twisted with a truly evil expression—one that you’d never seen on your mother when she lived.

The knife turned in mid-air. Then it spiraled toward you.

You instinctively covered your face with your arms and shouted. “Stop, Mom. Please!”

The room was deadly quiet.

Slowly, you realized you were still alive, if breathing heavily. You opened your eyes and lowered your arms a bit. The knife hadn’t pierced you, but it was still hovering in front your face. You remained very still when you looked up at Christine.

Her face revealed her shock. The evil dregs of death had melted away, revealing your mother as she was. As she had been in your fourteen-year-old memory.

Her expression softened into regret and sadness. The knife fell away from you and clattered to the ground. You let out a relieved breath and laid a hand over your wild beating heart.

Then it was Sam, Dean, and Bobby’s turn to feel relieved. Christine released them from her hold, and Sam and Bobby pushed the desk away from them while Dean rolled the kinks out of his neck.

“I’m sorry,” said Christine. Her voice was familiar, and also sounded overlaid with many whispered voices. Tears pooled in your eyes, but your hand closed over the lighter you found at your side.

You toyed with your ring and glanced at Dean. He gave you an encouraging nod.

“Do it, honey,” your mom said.

Shakily, you got to your feet and went back over to the fireplace. You used the lighter to reignite the wood, but once you took the ring off your finger, you hesitated.

A hand rested on your shoulder, and your tearful eyes met Dean’s sympathetic ones.

It’s okay. You can do this, he told you through the soul bond.

With a deep, shuddering breath, you nodded and let go of your mother’s wedding ring. It took a while, but eventually the silver started to melt.

Your mom’s spirit dissipated with a smile on her face.

The aftermath of that night was difficult, to say the least. The guest bedroom you were supposed to sleep in had a broken door, but the guys had helped you get it back on its hinges, more or less. You all agreed to leave cleaning up the house for tomorrow, as there were only a few hours left in the night anyway.

The way you felt…well, there weren’t really words for that. You laid in bed in a worn-out, oversized shirt you found in the damaged dresser. Your body was exhausted in every way. Your mind, however, was wide awake.

So was Dean’s. He stared up at the wall from his place on the couch, downstairs. Through the bond, he could feel the many shifts in your fraught emotions. It was keeping him awake too, mostly out of concern.

He tried to take hold of that thread of energy and send you something reassuring, even if it was just his presence and not his words. Because what could he say, anyway?

He sensed that you accepted the connection. He felt your gratefulness, despite the rest of it.

Do you want to come up here? you asked.

It surprised Dean, but his reaction was…conflicted. After tonight, part of him wanted to keep some distance between you and himself. His job attracted even more supernatural batshit insanity than a vengeful spirit. He didn’t want you to get caught up in that…

But a larger part of Dean couldn’t deny you, either.

I’ll be right there, he said.

Without waking up Sam on the recliner, Dean got off the couch and climbed up the stairs towards your room.

AN: Congrats to @spnexploration for figuring out the impossible stabbing of Danny Schmitt! You guessed it right on your first try. But I hope the clues I left were subtle enough lol.

Now that the reader knows about the supernatural, let's see what she and Dean get up to upstairs...

To keep reading: PART 7

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

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A huge thank you to everyone commenting and reblogging and overall engaging with this story! I didn't think it would end up being this long lol. But there's more to come soon!

If you like this, follow me for more SPN fics (and other fandoms). I'm also on Ao3!

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#dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x soulmate!reader #dean winchester x female!reader #dean x female reader #spn #spn fanfic #spn season 1 #soulmate au #soulmates #sam winchester #bobby singer #john winchester #zepskies writes #zepskies #fluff

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idesofrevolution · 1 year

Text

Never Enough

I wanted so badly to be like him. I’d stare at him from afar every day I commuted home from work. He was tall, he was stacked, he was dark, he was fuckin perfect. Each time I saw those arms, twice the size of my head, I had to stifle til the little moan I knew would escape my lips. I didn’t know his name, I didn’t know anything about him except he must have lived nearby, since he was jogging nearly every day down the main strip. No shirt, beadlets of sweat glistening on that ebony skin, trailing down a set of washboard abs into a soaked pair of black shorts.

He was everything I knew I could never be. Surely a couple roid rages helped him along the way, but there’s something to be said about genetics. He had the genes I wouldn’t ever have. So I would sit there like creepy voyeurist every day and drool over this sweaty lug of a man I’d never met but so heavily admired.

I couldn’t tell you what the catalyst was for my google search that day. Maybe it was the fact I was bored out of my mind at work, or maybe that angst just kept compiling subconsciously until I finally did something about it. Either way, I found myself seeing what could be done about the way I looked, about who I was. A few pages down the line, well past 20 or so, I saw one result which piqued my curiosity.

“MelaSculpt” was the product. The little snippet of description on the search page described a fitness supplement for black men. I didn’t really think as I clicked the page that I would find anything of use to myself. After all, a black man I am not- but male is male right? And health supplements aren’t discriminative to my knowledge. The page for some company named VitaCorp opened quickly, and the page did take me back a bit. A studly mocha skinned man smirked back at me, flexing his vascular biceps while shoving a small orange pill into the foreground.

“MelaSculpt is the newest addition to VitaCorp’s growing list of nutritional supplements, which is aimed at improving the wellness and physique of men of color. Specially balanced for peak performance and quick results, this supplement will help YOU get the body of your dreams.” I scrolled past the ingredients list and disclaimers, much more interested in seeing the before and after photos of previous clients. The results were staggering. One man was easily 300 pounds overweight in his before picture, and after one treatment he was cut, lean, and healthy. Another was the opposite: gangly and paper thin before, ripped and bulked after. I kept swiping the pictures, before realizing the gallery was almost 200 photos. Before I could stop myself I had already purchased the bottle.

The rest of the day went by as normal, the draining, soul sucking grind of a day working had made me forget entirely that I had bought the supplements. So imagine my surprise upon arriving home when I saw a nondescript black package in my mailbox with a bright orange VitaCorp logo on it. It wasn’t possible! I looked, the company was out of Australia, I wasn’t even close. Unless they had a fulfillment center here in town, this couldn’t be it. Though, sure enough, as I ripped the plastic open, the matte black bottle rolled out into the palm of my hand.

I booked it inside, immediately rushing to my bathroom to examine the contents further. The futuristic font glistened the MelaSculpt name, teasing me as I ripped the plastic ring off the cap and twisted it open. The inside was full of cotton, and after pulling out what seemed like an inordinate amount of it, I saw two large orange pills in the bottom of the bottle. For a moment I was beyond pissed. What kind of rip off scheme did I buy into this time? I grabbed the package, shaking it upside down, hoping for a set of written instructions or a receipt. Luckily, a small card labeled “USER GUIDE” toppled onto the cold tile floor. I picked it up and began to read.

“Thank you for your purchase! We sincerely hope your experience with MelaSculpt enhances your life in every way you might hope. To begin your journey, take a test amount of a 1/4 pill to ascertain tolerance. Do not exceed 2 pills per person in totality.

WARNING: MelaSculpt is designed for use in men of color only. Side effects may include…”

I tossed the card aside, eager to get started. The orange pill glistened in my palm, presegmented into four doses. I broke off the first portion and swallowed it, washing it down with water from the tap. I stood a front the mirror, preparing myself to say goodbye to this corporeal prison and hello to a hunky Adonis like the jogger. It didn’t take long.

It had been merely second before I doubled over. I could hear the bubbling and groaning of my stomach, feeling it gurgle and pulsate. Immediately, I was convinced I was poisoned. Some random website I had found on Google supplied me Arsenic or Ricin… and I was dumb enough to take it. The first burp escaped my mouth, and I could feel instant relief. I stumbled into the bedroom, leaning on the dresser before actually looking down at my midriff. Beneath my shirt, which once was ill fitting and awkward, my stomach seemed to strain against the fabric. I ripped the shirt from my torso, buttons flying off it.

Beneath that cheap polyester were six little bumps vaguely protruding from my former gut. Another belch, and my swollen love handles seemed to collapse in on themselves. I was shocked, no, thrilled to see my waistline shift and bulk as two cumgutters started to balloon out. That was all fine and good, until my head began to spin. Yet another belch. I grasped onto the dresser, trying desperately to balance myself. But just as the world began to warp and blur, I thought I saw the slightest pinpricks of dark skin begin to cascade down my fingertips before it all went black.

I woke up on the ground. My head throbbed with a migraine straight from hell, rubbing my pulsating temples. Light streamed through the blinds, it was the next day for certain. As my throbbing eyes finally began to adjust, the world around me became clearer. Immediately, I saw them. Toes. My toes. BLACK toes. I wriggled my big toe, just to make sure they were in fact mine, before looking down at my hands. They were a dark ebony, tattoos sprinkled on my wrists and up my thick forearms. I scrambled to my feet and looked in the mirror.

What met my gaze were two meaty pecs, cobblestone abs, arms the size of a cantaloupe… a snaking bulge creeping further and further down my shorts. I hadn’t even looked at my face, I was too scared to look. No, scared wasn’t the right word, it was the mounting anticipation of just who I now was. I looked up, and my breath was taken away. My hair was a wild jumble of black curly locks radiating out into an afro. My chiseled jawline had a light stubble, the only two places on my entire body where I had hair. Every single inch of this sculpted, godlike body was smooth, chiseled, and powerful.

Taking a breath, the light scent of sweat emanated from my pits and feet. Just one whiff gave me a head rush as if I’d taken a hit of poppers. I panicked in the moment, refusing to believe this was who I now was. I pulled and prodded my face as if I were wearing a mask, but alas, this was my face. This was real. And a devilish smirk crept onto my face.

————

That was seven months ago. Truthfully, I’d adjusted pretty naturally into being Jabari. After a day or two of no showing at work, when the boss called the apartment I just explained I was the new tenant. I have no idea what happened to the guy before me. I was Jabari Jefferson, I’d just moved to town from Baltimore and was looking for a gig in personal training. The landlord just kinda accepted I was the new tenant, as long as the rent was paid she didn’t really care.

I started to get more comfortable going out in my new body, appreciating the winks and stares of those who passed. That kind of admiration changes a guy, you start to kind of believe it. I found my own new style, I found a gym to work at down the street from the house. I hit up the bars and happily took home any sexy adult I could find. They couldn’t get enough of that subtle, salty funk which seemed to linger around me; that testosterone laden musk which, admittedly got me and my 9 inch cock off after nearly every session on the basketball court. I made a name for myself around the neighborhood for being “that guy.” The one everyone wanted to be, the guy I always dreamed I’d become. That however, leads us to todays events.

The sun was beaming down on me, as I contently shot some hoops before I hit up my date at a bar down the street. The energy I felt every single day. It was so strong and powerful. That virility, that libido, that strength… it was addictive. I plopped down onto the bench, prying my size 13 LeBron 19’s from my damp, socked foot. Taking a not so guilty whiff of that sharp, satisfying scent of a damn good game, just as I did after every hoop sesh. I tossed the sneakers into the bag and pulled out my slides, only for something to roll right out of the bag as I did.

I looked down at my wet feet on the pavement to see the black bottle of MelaSculpt had fallen out of my bag. Truthfully, I’d forgotten where I put it months ago: out of sight, out of mind. But as I looked down at it, that little nagging voice in the back of my head began to pick at me. Those feelings I felt that day, that euphoric rush. The power of my flexing muscles, the taste of my sweat, the touch of my skin… it all came back to me at once.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. That sensation, that lust for power and strength more than ever before is as enticing as it sounds even now. I opened my eyes, and delicately grabbed the bottle. The pill and 3/4 rattled around the bottom of the black container, teasing me even further. I looked down at my glistening muscles, slick with sweat, and imagined just how much more I wanted. It wasn’t enough to be sexy and strong, I had to be the strongest. I had to be the one.

In that moment of irrevocable weakness, I twisted the cap off and swallowed the remainder of the pill I’d used the first time. I didn’t remember the instructions, I didn’t remember the warnings, I remembered that feeling. It was the only thing in my mind as a triple dose made its way down my throat. Just as the first time, I doubled over on the bench, my stomach rumbling audibly to even passersby. I groaned and let out a cacophonous belch, one that even surprised myself. My chest ballooned out almost comically as a cartoon. Veins bulged prominently out of my thinning skin as my necklace burst from the base of my throat, too fragile for the force of my widening neck.

I scampered and stumbled blindly into the locker room, fortunately empty at the time. I let out another cavernous burp, which echoed throughout the room. My thighs bubbled outward in grotesque disproportion to the rest of my musculature. I crawled on the floor toward a shower stall, making it in before just as the time before the world began to spin. I got one final glimpse of my biceps contort and spasm before it all went dark.

I awoke in that shower stall in agony. Every muscle felt stiff and stone like in the cramped stall. I couldn’t even fit my entire body in the stall, my feet stuck out from beneath the door. The smell, it was strong. I enjoyed that savory, delectable scent of masculine musk before, but this was different. The only word I could describe it with is pungent. Like high quality Gorgonzola, and it was pouring out of every crevice of my body. I pushed the stall door open, which nearly came off from the force of my strength.

Getting to my feet, I crept slowly toward the sink, feeling every contraction of every muscle, thinly veiled behind my hairless skin. I got to the mirror. I had tripled in size. Muscles bulged from every direction, built far past the natural threshold I even knew existed. My dreads had all but fallen off, leaving a buzzed hair which exposed veins protruding from even my own scalp. I could feel my heart pumping every single beat, and the blood flowing across my entire body. The power was incomprehensible, it was incredible. It was… far too much for me. I scrambled back to my bag, tossing my favorite sneakers across the room, never to fit my rank size 17 feet ever again.

The bottle seemed tiny in my massive hand, I strained to see the instructions printed on the card I’d left inside. The only thing I could make out was the final words at the bottom of the paper: “Effects permanent. Use with caution.” My heart skipped a beat, I looked at myself in the mirror, a roid-inflated version of the Jabari I had built, nurtured, valued, loved… this wasn’t me. It felt wrong. I looked down at my phone desperately trying to look up the VitaCorp webpage to no avail. I screamed and punched the wall, my fist going straight through the tile and plaster.

My breathing labored, heavy, and hard, I looked down at the bottle again, chucking it into the bin. I looked at myself in the mirror, accepting there in that moment that Jabari was gone. This walking muscle was who I now was. I now had to concoct an entirely new persona yet again. But the only thing I could think of, was how much I wanted what I had lost.

#male transformation #body transformation #original #transformation #jockification #musk #musky #bodybuilder #racial change #racial transformation #basketball #VitaCorp #muscle inflation

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navstuffs · 1 year

Text

saving your babygirl leon kennedy (gn!reader, mention of violence, injuries, whumpee!leon, cursing)

Leon Kennedy felt another punch across his face, his cheek burning. His captors have been trying to get information out of him for minutes, or it could have been hours. He doesn't know. Leon could feel the blood drip into the floor, his arms and legs tied around the chair.

"It is really a pity we have to hurt your pretty face, Mr. Kennedy," One of his captors says, with a fake sad tone.

"Well, I still got other charms like my insane sense of humor and a good smile."

His captors give humorless laughs, one of them approaching him with a knife. Even Leon had to admit that it was a hot and sharp bowie knife.

"Nice knife. Where did you get it?"

"What if we start by ripping off your tongue?" The man with a knife threatens, dangling the blade in front of his face. "Or maybe one of your eyes?"

"I guess I could live without an eye, but the tongue not so much, since a man got eat—" THUD! Another punch, this time directed to Leon's stomach, completely taking all of the air from his lungs.

"Shit..." Leon groans as he curls up in pain, his eyes wandering to the floor with drops of his blood. He wonders how long he could keep those two idiots entertained.

Until the others can escape.

Until you escape, his heart reminds him.

He feels his heart beating fast when one of the men lifts his head, pressing the blade against his cheek and grabbing his chin roughly.

"We decided your tongue. Also, pardon my friend, who doesn't have a medical degree. So hold still."

Shit, shit! If his legs were at least free, maybe he could bump his head against the guy with a knife. He can't even move properly, the ropes are tight, not letting him move. Leon tries to shake his head, but the other goon keeps his head still.

"Oh, please, not the tongue! He can do wonders with it!"

A new voice exclaims from the open door, and a wave of relief washes over Leon. It is you, your eyes glowing with anger in the darkness, a gun in your hands. The guy with a knife charges in your direction, and you waste no time shooting him in his left leg, causing him to drop screaming in pain.

Next, you give a strong kick to the man holding Leon, enough to make him fall to his head on the floor, unconscious or dead. You don't seem to care. You sigh, giving a look of pure hatred and disgust toward both of them. For an instant, Leon thought you would kill him, and deep down, he wants you to do it.

The moment passes, and you dash toward Leon, kneeling before him. It breaks your heart to see Leon like this. You want to blame yourself for allowing Leon to serve as bait, for not getting to him sooner, while you cut the ropes off.

"Sorry, it took me so long. Bastards hid you down here. Are you okay?"

"I am...fine."

Leon feels your hands patting, searching for any sign of injury on the rest of his body. The ropes finally fall, though Leon doesn't get up from the chair. You groan when you realize they only focused on Leon's face.

"Are you sure you are okay, babygirl?"

You gently hold his face in your hands when he doesn't answer. You want Leon to understand he is safe now, his blue eyes looking everywhere except at you. You think you can see tears in his eyes as Leon looks down at your feet.

"Leon, are you okay?"

He sniffles, cleaning any tears that might attempt to fall. You help him stand, although Leon doesn't need to, your eyes focused on him, worried.

"I am alright."

"I can still kill them if you want me to."

"Let's just go. Your babygirl needs you."

"All that you need."

my leon's masterlist

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy fanfics #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy imagines #not 100% happy with this but i hold my babygirl series in high regard #and it was sitting down in my drafts sooo long

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calixcem · 2 months

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Some post Tsc thoughts! spoilers under the cut :)

I have so many annotations in this book. (668 to be exact), so im just grazing the surface of everything with this one sooo part 1 perhaps?

-Kevin and jean. Jeans unrequited crush on kevin. I need to know more about this and I hope Nora delves into the semantics in the next book.

-Also how this relates to Kevin day famously saying it was easier to be straight. I figured this was a common thought among the ravens or at least Riko’s court,but Jean doesn't mention it once throughout the entire book. He brings up his attraction towards men multiple times ,and there was never any denying it. It was just something he accepted, so how did Kevin get the idea that it was easier to be straight and Jean didn't? Did Jean ever think this way and eventually changed it down the line or what?

-Im a sucker for found family and Nora really delivered with this one. Laila,Cat, and Jeremy are making it known to Jean that they’ll always be there and genuinely want to help him. The dynamic between all of them is so tender and I think it’ll be so healing for Jean.

-Also I hope we see more of the floozy squad in the next book!

-I need them to convince Jean to try boba at some point, and i really hope his relationship with food gets better. I really love that he’s cooking with cat and I really hope it develops into one of his hobbies outside of Exy. Let this boy live a little!

-speaking of hobbies: Cat teaching Jean how to ride a motorcycle?? I just feel like it would be beneficial(not to Jeremy’s heart but thats ok)

-This specific moment with cat and jean

she ran down to the tide to rinse it off with childish glee. Jean obediently inspected it when she brought it back, and she tucked it into his breast pocket with a cheerful “For you!”

Small things like this just really show how much they care about him.

- What’s up with Jeremy's family?? I really want to know what happened to where Jeremy “tore them apart” like what was the scandal his freshman year??? It was mentioned briefly but then Jeremy just decided it wasn't worth mentioning again considering all that was going on? The biggest “im fine” in history fr. Also when Cat is telling Jean about everyone’s siblings she mentions how when you go over 4 kids there's bound to be one asshole, but she only listed 4. So did one of his siblings die?? I might be reading too far into this but! Or it could be that one of them cut off all ties to the family after something happened? I don't know but I’m excited to read more about it in the next book!

Jeremy has—three. One sister, two brothers. The older brother’s an absolute tool, but there’s bound to be a jerk or two once you pass four kids.” Jean idly wondered what she’d changed at the last minute and why,

- The constant touches everyone gives Jean to ground him and make him feel loved just makes me so happy.

- also jean constantly touching jeremy’s chin to get his attention??? Hello?

A hand on his chin startled him into looking up. When he met Jean’s eyes, Jean only said, “Focus on what’s important.” “I am,” Jeremy said. Jean opened his mouth, closed it again, and let go of Jeremy without a word. Jeremy snagged his arm when he started to turn away. “Who did this to you?”

This line in particular really hit me.

-just jerejean in general honestly. The way Jeremy genuinely cares about him and wanting to help him heal

You are going to be my success story: Jean Moreau the person, not Jean Moreau of the perfect Court.

“Will you help me?” he asked. “Anything you need.” “A blank check is a dangerous thing to offer.” “Try me,” Jeremy said. “I can afford it.”

-neil. Bro was just being a menace and seeing him from an outsiders pov makes me realize just how unhinged he seems to everyone. But him ordering that hit on Grayson without a second thought? Iconic. As everyone else is saying he dropped by to serve cunt and then left.

-Jean dropping the most poetic line about Neil and Andrew’s relationship and then just not thinking about it ever again is so wild lmao.

Jean noticed how Andrew and Neil moved like they were caught in each other’s gravity, in each other’s space more than they were out of it, cigarette smoke and matching armbands and lingering looks when one fell out of orbit for too long.

-The parallels between Jean and Neil and how they dealt with things. I don't know if you can really call some of them parallels but they are connected in my head bro.

-JEANS SISTER. Oh this shit hurts from the faint memory we get to the end when we find out that she's dead??? Nora you're paying for my therapy oh my god. And when Jean is mourning her the snippet of the memory of stitching up her dress that she’d get caught in the blackberry bushes???? He genuinely loved her and just when he’d be getting to a point to where he’d feel safe enough to try to get in contact with her again to find out his parents sold her off and she died because of it???? Yeah bitch burn your family to the ground. I hope we get more memories with her in them.

#the sunshine court spoilers #the sunshine court #tsc spoilers #tsc #aftg #jeremy knox #jean moreau #neil josten #andrew minyard #laila dermott #cat alvarez #all for the game

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heartfeltcierra · 2 years

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Marco and Ace (Separate) With an Insecure plus sized reader (Female)

Request- Hi, I really liked your hurt-comfort stories. Could you do Ace, Marco or Vista with a female reader who is not conventionally attractive. Maybe someone makes a comment about looks or weight? I read a lot of stories where reader has a "small frame" and it makes me feel sad about my body. If you don't take request ignore this. Thank you :)

AN- This request hit home, as a plus sized person myself I understand the pain of reader having a "small frame". But it does not make you any less worthy of love! I went with Marco and Ace! Thank you for the request and Thank you @seafoamxshayde for helping me edit!

Masterlist

Warnings- Violence, Self Hatred, mentions of knives, light cussing, mentions of insecurities about looks/weight. Angsty with fluffy endings!

Base Story

The atmosphere on the Moby was as lively as ever. The smell of booze laced with Thatch’s top tier food filled the cool night air. You watch as your fellow crew mates dance around with mugs in their hands- singing songs, sometimes their words slurred. A chuckle escaped your lips. It’s times like this you don’t regret becoming a pirate. You walk over to the only open seat on deck, it was at a table filled with newcomers. You don’t really mind, knowing you need to get comfortable with them sooner or later.

You slot yourself between two of the newbies. The men looked at you for a moment but turned their attention back to each other. Your plush thigh accidentally brushed up against the man on your right, he snarled before rolling his eyes. Typical. You know these men dream of hot mermaids or drop dead gorgeous women in general. Everything you are not. If you were, the men around you would be pouring your drinks and flirting you up. But you notice the look in their eyes, it calls out “She is undesirable.” And you feel the rejection burrowing deep within your chest. You try to shake your thoughts, tonight is supposed to be fun right? You attempt to jump into a few conversations but we’re dismissed. Not giving up you turned to the man on your left who slammed his mug against the oak table.

“Man, I have drunk so much I feel like I’m going to die.” He let out a burp and wiped the foam from his mouth. “Too bad if I do. I’ll die without knowing the warm touch of a woman.” An idea popped into your head. You slowly reached out and touched the man's shoulder. The table went quiet as all eyes turned to you.

“There you go. I hope it was everything you ever dreamed of.” You let out a laugh and gave him a playful smack on the back. The man snickered and his eyes caught yours.

“Let me add to my previous statement. I want the touch of a beautiful woman. Am I right, fellas?” Your eyes widened, the men around you started laughing and banging their hands against the table. Your eyes go to your lap. You look at your stomach, how it sticks out. The same stomach you’ve held a knife up to. Wishing you could cut the fat off. Then your eyes travel to your plush thighs. You realize that even you are disgusted by your flawed body. Ugly. Fat. Undesirable. Freak. These words repeat like a mantra in your head. The laughter died down and eyes fell on you yet again. You needed to say something.

“Yeah.” You could only mutter one word. You followed it with a laugh that seemed to satisfy them. Their conversations switched to different things as you sat mortified. You could feel the building pressure in your face. You wanted to cry, you wanted to scream. Every fiber in your body said to get up and go hide in your self loathing.

“Thatch where are you going?” You turn around and see the cook walking towards the kitchen.

“Someone has to wash the dishes.” Thatch stretched his arms out dramatically. “It’s going to be a tough job.”

“Commander Thatch let me do the dishes!” Your voice was shaky, but hopefully he didn’t notice.

“Are you sure? You just got here Y/N, you haven't even eaten yet.” He quirked a brow at you.

“I’m sure. Plus I do a better job than you.” You throw some playful banter to throw him off your trail.

“Okay then.” He returned to the table he was sitting at. Ace, Marco, and pops were also resting there.

Without another word you make a beeline to the kitchen. Tears pooled in your eyes, causing them to blur. Once you got to the safety of the kitchen and made sure you were alone, you came undone. The sobs that left your mouth echoed in the kitchen. You wonder what it is like to be thin and beautiful, to have that power that could make a man turn his head. You wish you were small, you wish you were cute. But you are big. You wish you were a delicate flower in the wind, one who could be easily picked up by a man. But you were a rock that had sunk deep within the ocean. A rock no one wanted or sought after. You are worthless. You were drowning in your mind with an anchor tied around your foot. No one could save you, or so you thought.

Marco The Phoenix

“NO PLEASE COMMANDER!” A man screams out, pulling you from your thoughts. The blood curdling scream came from the deck. You could not help but be curious, so you peek out of the kitchen door. There was a group of men standing in a circle cheering on someone. Hoping to get a better view you walk out towards the railing. A burst of azure fire shoots into the dark sky. Looking down in the middle of the circle you see Marco in his half phoenix form. He had a skull crushing talon gripped around a man's head. You notice the clothes on the man, the realization hits you like lighting. It was the man from the table.

“How dare you.” Marco’s voice booms. You have never seen him this angry before, he was always so calm and collected. Seeing him like this was scary to say the least. “You wanna know something newbie? I can hurt you just as much as I can heal you.” You see blood trickling down the side of the man's head. His body was thrashing around, begging for Marco to let him go.

“Marco, I think that's enough. You’ve beat a lifetime of fear into him.” Thatch tried to reason with the Doctor, but it was no good. You wonder what could have got Marco this riled up?

“Shut it Thatch. I’m only done with him when I say so. I ought to throw your pathetic ass overboard for saying what you said about Y/N-yoi.” Marco removed his Talon only to wrap it around the man's throat. “Now listen up, prick. Y/N may not be beautiful in your worthless eyes, but to me she is the most beautiful woman that ever walked the earth.” That statement made your heart flutter.

“Commander, I'm sorry. Please let me go.” The man pawed at the talon. Marco smirked down at him in triumph. He slowly released the talon, causing the man to gasp out for air.

“So now that we cleared that up.” Marco grabbed the collar of his shirt and brought him close to his face. “I’m not going to kill you so consider it your lucky day. But I recall Y/N went to go do dishes. So you're gonna take her place, got it?”

“Yes Commander Marco.” The man got up and stumbled right back to the ground.

“Good, now hurry before I change my mind.” Marco gave him one last death glance before he ran up the stairs, passing you in at a frantic speed as he busted the kitchen door open.

Your head turned back to the crowd below you. Marco was staring right at you with a gentle smile on his face. He must have known you were there the entire time. Heat rose to your cheeks like a wildfire when your eyes met his. You'd be lying if you said you didn't have a crush on him. But you never acted on it, knowing it would end up in a rejection like they all have. Marco was gorgeous. Tall and strong, yet so gentle. Plus a doctor of all things. Why would he ever want someone like you? The negative thoughts seeped back into your mind. The smile that adorned Marco’s face turned to one of concern. Before you could turn and run away a flash of blue stopped you in your tracks. Marco’s blue wings of fire were spread in front of you before disappearing from his body.

“Hey gorgeous, wanna go talk somewhere more private?” Marco motioned at the sea of eyes below you. The heat found its way back to your cheeks at the attention you were receiving. You nod shyly. Marco placed a hand on the middle of your back and led you to Moby's back deck. You cringe at his hand placement. It was ghosting over the fat you hated so much. You subconsciously pull away from his warm touch. Marco quirked a brow at you as you walked over to the railing.

“Marco, I really appreciate what you did and what you said. But you don’t have to lie to make me feel better.” Your nails digged into the wooden railing as tears of frustration rolled down your chubby cheeks. “It’s really cruel to give someone like me hope you know.” You bite your lip in hopes you don’t let out a sob.

“Lie? Y/N everything I said was the truth.” Marco’s large hand grabbed your shoulder signaling for you to turn around but you couldn't face him.

“SHUT UP.” You were at your breaking point. “Marco you know just as well as I do. I am not attractive. And I’m definitely not someone who you should waste your time fighting for. I mean just look at me. I’m a monster. I’m big, I take up too much space. And I-” You turn to face him. You expect the look of disgust like you're used to seeing. But the eyes that look down on you show something different. They were filled with adoration and sadness. His hands grab the railing on both sides of your body, caging you between him and rails.

“I am looking at you Y/N. But I don’t see a monster. All I see is the woman who I adore more than anything.” He reached his hand to cup your cheek, wiping away the tears in the process . You wanted to retract from his touch, but you craved the soothing feeling they gave. “ I know you don’t see what I see and I know you’ve been told things in the past that make you think what I’m telling you is a lie, but it is not. And if you’d let me, I’d like to prove to you everyday from here on out how much I truly love you. All of you.”

For a moment you just stared at his face. Looking for signs of malicious intent, but there was none. His brown eyes were soft and twinkled with affection. You never thought a man would look at you like this in your lifetime. This was something you’d only experience in a book, but here you were on the back deck of the Moby sharing an intimate moment with the man you had fallen in love with.

“Can I kiss you?” You notice a tint of pink on his cheeks. You shake your head in approval. Marco brought a hand under your chin to tilt it up, his lips connected with yours in a soft, sweet first kiss. The caterpillars you never let grow in your stomach had turned into butterflies. This man really loved you. You are wanted. You are desired. You both pull away and take in much needed air.

“So I take that as a yes?” Marco’s face was fully flushed and you don’t think it’s from the lack of oxygen.

“Of course it’s a yes.” Marco let out a relieved sigh. Your emotions were running wild, you could feel tears trying to start again.

“Hey now, no more tears, pretty girl. Even if they are happy ones. I don’t think my heart can handle it.” He brought his hand up to his heart dramatically causing you to laugh at his antics.

“Okay fine. No more crying. I’d hate to kill the best and only doctor on the ship.” A new found confidence finds its way to you as you reach up and take his hand from his chest, lacing it with yours. His hand grips yours back giving you all the reassurance you need. “We better hurry back to the party. Hopefully there is some food left for us.” Marco’s eyes widened. You and him both know food goes fast on the Moby.

“Oh crap you're right. Now that you mention it I’m starving.” You hear a grumble form in Marco’s stomach.

“I guess almost killing a guy and confessing to me has worked you up an appetite.” You laugh as you begin to walk with Marco hand in hand.

“It did. But I’d do it all over again. Both kicking that bums ass and confessing to you dear.” He brought your hand up and kissed your knuckles. The gesture makes your heart flutter.

The Moby was still lively even after the fight that took place. If anything it was more so. Marco led you to the table with Pops, Ace and Thatch. Pops let out his signature laugh as you and Marco sat down.

“Son, you sure know how to put on a show.” Marco let out a weary chuckle at pops statement.

“Yeah, sorry for the ruckus pops. I just couldn't let that slide-yoi.” His arm reached around you and pulled your body so you were snug against him. “What kind of man would I be if I didn’t stand up for the woman I love.” The men at the table all smiled at Marco’s declaration.

“Look who grew some balls.” Thach stuck his tongue out causing Marco to kick him from underneath the table. “OUCH. Dammit Marco I was just joking. But in all seriousness I’m happy for you both. Dare I say you make a cute couple.” The cook gave a sincere smile.

“I think so too. Tho Y/N may be a little too good for you.” Again Marco kicked, this time it was Ace who fell victim. “Can’t pull that move on me bird brain.”

“Ace I swear I’ll throw you overboard. See how cocky you are then.” Marco stood up from the table and Ace followed . You reached for his purple jacket and pulled him back down to the table laughing your head off.

“Less arguing, more eating and drinking.” Marco smiled down and gave your forehead a soft peck.

“Okay, but only because you're cute.” He sent you a wink that made your stomach do a backflip. “Ace I’ll put your ass whooping on hold for now. With that being said, let’s dig in.” Marco pulled a huge plate of meat towards you and let you pick your piece out first like a true gentleman.

The rest of the night you spent in pure bliss. Not once did you think about your body or how much you disliked how you looked. You ate without any guilt. Your thigh was connected with Marco’s, but he welcomed it. Loving the feeling of your body so close to his. He was proud to call you his, as were you.

Portgas D. Ace

“Pull yourself together Y/N” You bring your hands up to your cheeks. “I did say I’d wash the dishes for Thatch.” You look at the massive pile and you regret it instantly, but it got you away from the table.

You walk over to the sink and turn the hot water on. You pour a hearty amount of dish soap into the flowing water and watch as the bubbles fill the sink. The smell of the lemon dish soap filled your nostrils. It was calming. The handle squeaked as you turned the faucet off. Rolling your sleeves up you got to work immediately. One after another you washed the dishes. Scrub, rinse, repeat, scrub, rinse repeat. You felt like you’ve spent an eternity washing the dishes, but you weren't even halfway through the pile. You let out a sigh as you rest your arms on the sink. Looking down in the water you met with your reflection. You’ve never been one to look in mirrors or anything reflective due to hating what looked back at you. But for whatever reason you were locked on water.

You understand why the man said what he said. How could anyone see beauty in this face in the water? You hated her. You hated you. Tears from your eyes and into the soap water below.

“Dammit.” Your hand clashed your reflection in the water out of frustration.

“Yeah Y/N, show those dishes whose boss!” You yelped in surprise at the voice. You whipped your head around to see the one and only Ace standing with a huge smile on his face.

“Ace, what are you doing here?” Your eyes met him for a moment before you looked away. You hoped he didn’t notice your tears.

“Hey, what's wrong?” You should have known better. Nothing gets past fire fist Ace. He walked closer to you. “You didn’t get hurt did ya?” His eyes studied your body to see if there was any injury.

“No, I’m fine.” You turn back around and go back to doing dishes. Ace walked up beside you, grabbing the dish you had washed out of your hand.

“Here, you wash and I’ll dry.” His wide smile sent a wave of comfort over you.

“Thank you.” The two of you worked in silence. You would occasionally glance over at him, watching his muscles flex as he dried the dishes.

“Like what ya see hmm?” Busted. Yours eyes shot away from the smirking man.

“I umm,” Your words stutter as you lose the grip on the dish you were washing. It sank back into the soapy water.

“I’m just teasing ya Y/N. Look all you want.” Ace bumped his hip into yours playfully. You swayed slightly before side eyeing him. Ace has always been a flirt. The attention he would give you made you feel good, but you know it was all just for fun. Ace could have any woman he wanted. You’ve seen the women that throw themselves at him. You could not compete. A man like Ace deserves a gorgeous woman by his side. Not a fat nobody like you.

“Hey Y/N what's on your mind. You sure look lost in thought over there.” Ace’s velvet voice pulled you from your bleak thinking.

“Nothing.” You hand the next dish over to him.

“Stop lying. You know you can tell me anything.” His hands reach over yours, grabbing some bubbles. You watched as he brought them up to his face. He slapped the bubble on and made what appeared to be a beard. “This is the beard of a trustworthy, sophisticated man.” He made his voice sound deeper than what it was. You couldn’t stop the laughter that erupted from you. Ace smiled happily. “It’s good to see a smile on that pretty face.”

“Haven’t you teased me enough tonight?” You roll your eyes and hand him the last dish.

“Who said I was teas-” Ace cut himself off and started coughing. “Damn I got soap in my mouth, gross.” Ace flung his hat so it hung on his back. He held his tongue out and turned the water on. He stuck his head under the faucet, letting the water drown out the soap taste. You let out a snort at the sight. He turned the water off and brought his head up. Water droplets fell from his dark locks and rolled down his tone chest. “You think that’s funny huh? Well how about this?” Ace shook his head like a dog, making the water shake out and land on you.

“Ace you jerk!” You step back and grab some bubbles from the sink to throw at him.

“Ohh so that’s how you're gonna play. Well then, in that case.” Ace grabbed a huge pile of bubbles and threw them at you. “Take this, BUBBLE FIST.” Ace threw the bubble only for them to float gracefully to the floor.

“That was so lame.” You stuck your tongue out at the pouting man.

“Yeah, I’ll admit it was very lame.” He scratched the back of his head as a blush found its way to his freckled cheeks. “Well that’s enough fun for now. Now will you please tell me what made you cry?” You know he wasn’t going to stop until you fessed up.

“Fine.” You tell him everything that happened. After reliving the incident you started crying again. “But you know what Ace, he wasn’t lying.” Ace watched as you broke down in front of him. His eyes grew darker and darker by the second.

“You stay here. I’m going to take care of this.” Ace bent over and placed a kiss on your forehead before turning around. You watched in shock as the jolly roger on his back flexed with every angry step he took.

“Wait, what?” You snap back into reality and realize what he is about to do. “Wait Ace.” You followed behind him but it was too late. He jumped up on the railing and looked down on the party below.

“Which one of you assholes made my Y/N cry?” Ace yelled out grabbing everyone's attention. Everyone went silent before the man stood up.

“Y/N, you talking about that fatass that sat beside me earlier.” The man stood up, he was obviously drunk considering he was slurring his words. “I meant what I said. What are you gonna do about it punk?” Ace turned around and looked at you.

“Don’t listen to him Y/N. You're gorgeous. Now sit back and enjoy the show.” Ace stretched out his arms and legs. “Hold on to this for me please.” He places his hat on top of your head before jumping off the rails. You watch as his lower half turns into fire. He floats through the air and drops down on the table where the man was, breaking it clean in half.

“What the hell.” The man fell from his seat and onto Moby's wooden deck. Ace towered over him with a look that would make any man tremble in fear.

“You brought this on yourself. This will be a lesson you will never forget.” Ace grabbed the man. “Don’t” Punch “Ever.” Punch. “Talk.” Punch. “About my girl.” Ace landed one last blow on the man.

“Fuck you and that ugly bitch.” One of the man's teeth fell out with a little blood.

“Guess you didn’t learn huh?” Ace grabbed the man's throat. Flames erupt from Ace’s hands. He slung the man back and finished him off with his signature “Fire fist” Sending the man flying over board. You watched the scene unfold slack jawed. The guy deserved it and your glad Ace took care of him, but it was too much.

Your knees drop to the floor, causing Ace’s hat to fall beside you. Your vision was turning red and you felt light headed. Why did he kiss me? Why did he refer to me as his girl? Was he just playing with my feelings? Why would he fight over someone as undeserving as me? Your mind raced before you face planted into the floor, losing consciousness.

~~~~A few hours later~~~~

“You dumbass. Why in the hell did you think that was a good idea?” Your eyes open to see Marco scolding Ace who had a very prominent knot on his head.

“You're right I’m sorry. It’s just I couldn't just stand back and let that guy get away for making Y/N cry. Seeing tears falling down her pretty face really struck a nerve in me and I acted on it. I don't regret doing it though.” Neither of the men notice you awake.

“Make sure you take her into consideration next time before diving head first into a fight. You have a lot to learn.” Marco shook his head and looked over at you. A small smile made his way on your face before he motioned Ace in your direction. He turned his body around and ran to your side.

“You're awake!” Ace kneeled beside your bed and took your hand in his.

“How do you feel Y/N?” Marco asked as he brought you a glass of water, you gladly accepted it and gulped it down.

“I feel tired. Other than that I’m fine.” You lift your body off the bed as Ace grabs the empty glass from your hands.

“Good. I diagnose you with being overwhelmed by this idiot.” Marco wacked Ace in the back of the head. “ Sadly for you Y/N there is no cure. My condolences.”

“Oh no, how will I live?” You say dramatically falling back on the bed. You close your eyes and stick your tongue like a dead animal causing both men to laugh.

“I’m sure you will manage. But in all seriousness you’ll be okay. Stay in bed for the next few days and get some rest.” Marco walked towards your bedroom door and turned the handle. “I’ll leave you two alone. If you need me let me know. I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about.” Marco winked and walked out of the room.

“I’m really sorry Y/N. I hope you can forgive me.” Ace’s eyes looked down. He was riddled with guilt and it hurt you to watch.

“It’s okay, I’ll forgive you if you answer a question for me?” Ace nodded, signaling for you to continue. “Well I guess it’s more like two. First, Why did you kiss me? Second, why did you refer to me as your girl?”

“Well, to answer both. I like you. No, if I’m being more honest. I love you Y/N.” Ace smiled as he looked at you. You became aware of his gaze and grabbed a pillow, shielding your stomach from him. “Don’t hide yourself from me.” He reached out and pulled the pillow away from you.

“Ace, I'm not worth your love. You deserve someone pretty.” You lower your head, causing Ace to click his tongue.

“The first part is a lie, but I can fully back that second statement. I know you don’t see yourself as the ideal girl. But in my eyes you are everything I’ve ever wanted and then some. You're sweet, you have the cutest laugh, you're fun to be around and don’t get me started on your hips and as-” You throw a pillow before you could let him finish. “Sorry, I deserved that. But what I’m trying to get at is you are beautiful. I wish you didn’t think so poorly of yourself. I will do whatever it takes to show you just how stunning you are.” Ace cupped your cheek in his hand, rubbing up and down lovingly.

“Ace, what do you mean by that?” Your cheeks heat up under his soft touch.

“Well pretty, what I’m saying is. Do you want to do this fool the honor of calling you his girlfriend?” Was this real? Did Ace really just ask you out?

“Am I dreaming?” You reach your hand out and trace your finger over his freckles.

“Nope, it’s real life. Here let me prove it to you.” Ace leaned over and planted his soft lips on yours. Your hands found their way to his soft hair, gently intertwining your fingers within the dark strands. Ace pulled away and planted little kisses all over your face. The heat in your face from his actions did not go unnoticed, “You look so cute when you're shy.” The smug man winked, causing you to hide your face in a pillow.

“Portgas D. Ace.” You muffled from the pillow. “You are going to be the death of me.”

“No, you're not dying anytime soon. We are going to grow old and wrinkly together whether you like it or not.” Ace stood up from the chair and stretched his body. “Now that sounds good doesn't it?”

“Yeah, yeah it does.” You pull your face from the pillow to peer up at him.

“Good. Now, I think I’ve terrorized you enough for one day.” Ace leaned down and kissed your forehead just like earlier. “I’ll let you get some rest sweet girl.” Ace turned to leave but you reached out and grabbed his hand before he got too far.

“Ace, wait.” He turned and curled a brow at you. “WIll you stay with me, please?” Ace’s expression softened.

“Of course I will. Is it okay If I lay next to you?” You nod and scooch over in the bed, giving Ace some room to lay down. He took his hat off and threw it on your nightstand. You could feel the heat radiate off him as he laid down in the bed. It took everything in you not to reach out for him. You were unaware how hard you were staring at him until he spoke up. “You know you could stare at me all night or.” Ace lifted his arm out to you. “Or you could come closer so I can hold you.”

“But what If I’m too heavy and I-” You hesitated but Ace wrapped a strong arm around your midsection and nestled you into his toned chest.

“You will never be too heavy for me sweet girl.” His lips meet your forehead yet again. “Now get some rest, I’ll be right here when you wake up. Goodnight Y/N, sweet dreams.” You let your tense body relax in his hold. Between the warmth of his body and the feeling of protection being in his strong hold gave you, you fell asleep looking forward to all the nights like this to come.

~~Bonus~~

“Vista move, I can’t see.” Izou whispered while pushing the large man away from the door.

“Young love, such a heartwarming sight.” Vista swooned at the sight of you in Ace’s embrace.

“Cut it out you two you're going to wake them up.” Marco came up from behind and dragged them away from the door.

“Fine.” Izou rolled his eyes and walked away, Vista followed. Marco made sure they left before spying on yours and Ace’s sleeping forms. He hates to admit it, but you are both very adorable.

“They grow up so fast.” He shut the door back before walking to his office. “Damn, I sound like a old man.”

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just-some-random-blogger · 2 years

Text

Want You Dead

Daemon Targaryen x Pirate!Reader | Part 1 2 3

Summary: It was a classic case of being at the wrong place at the wrong time that lead to the Rogue Prince's capture to a ship of pirates. Had it not been for the cunning lady of the ship, he would have been killed. Yet, upon his relief of capture, he told himself it was only right if he captures the very lady that thought to capture him in the first place.

Word Count: 14k+

Warnings: graphic mentions of assault/rape, smut [oral (m receiving), degradation kink, impregnation kink, binding kink, fingering, vaginal penetration], fem!reader, super slow burn (i hate myself for doing this to myself), some made up characters and lore, time skips, bisexual reader, super thirsty reader, super major kinky reader, everyone onboard is her playmate fr, curse words because I'm tired, angst, misogyny, parts with fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: HELLO I MADE A FUCKING SPIN OFF????????? WHY????? IT'S SO LONG I CRASHED THE EDITOR SO MANY TIMES ?????? WHICH IS WHY I AM CUTTING THIS IN HALF OR POSSIBLY MORE T_T I really did not want to do this but tumblr decided for me with the amount of times it refused to cooperate. It's far from done T_T but i hope it's just gonna be two very long chapters. Anyway pls reblog and comment if you so desire me to get that next chapter finished quickly T_T also, if you would like to be tagged pls tell me.

"STOP!"

The 3 pair of ears in the room ring at the sound of the shriek.

He, who was bound on the floor, didn't care for it though, as there was another more pressing matter at hand. He awaited the piercing sensation of a blade to his neck. He realized though that shriek had halted his impending doom as no painful sensation came. He opens his eyes just as a sound of someone galloping over resounded on the wooden floors.

"What are you morons doing?" I demand, turning to the silver haired man on his knees with a sword to his neck. He raised his eyes up at me, then down to the weapon in my own hand.

I hit the sword by his neck away, metal clashing against metal. The blood my blade was still slick in splattered onto man's cheeks in the process.

I make a face at that, crouching down after wiping my weapon on my dress shirt, uncaring if it stains the already stained off-white cloth.

I take in his features-- violet eyes, strong jaw, pointed nose, just as it seems he is taking in mine. I do not fail to catch the fact his pupils linger on the loose ties of my top by my cleavage where a single, largish, encrusted ruby dangled from my neck.

My own eyes travel down to his armor, and it seems we both silently examine the crests we bore. I lick my lips before speaking, "apologies. May I?" I raise a hand to his face.

The man looks at me darkly. I knit my brows, holding in a chuckle at his lack of response, tongue darting out yet again to my lower lip. I pull my hand away. I stand straight then turn to the two men behind me, "did you cut his tongue off?"

For a moment, the two look at each other. The tall, red haired man widens his eyes at the shorter, yet still tall, blonde, mentally asking him if he, indeed, cut off his tongue.

I roll my eyes after a moment passed with no response, "how could you lot forget so quickly? I was literally here with you less than an hour ago, not a whole day!"

I dust off my dirty, leather trousers and stomp my leather boots as I listen to them make excuses.

"It's not me! I caught Gorm hacking at him and I came to help," Ahern replies with his thick Gaelic accent, "I do not ken if he managed to chop his tongue of in the meantime."

I turn to Gorm, placing my hands on my hips, exasperated, "well?"

"I don't remember, if I'm being honest," he replies under his breath, muttering something about drinking too much ale in his Norse mother tongue.

"Fine!" I sigh, turning back to the man on the floor, "shall I check?" I lean down, piping softly, "could you be a dear and just," I bring my thumb by his lower lip, barely ghosting it on his skin, "open your mouth for me? It's truly more for you, if I'm being frank."

For the prolonged while I exchange looks with him, the man seems half compelled to do as I asked out of sheer intrigue. His eyes were still dark, and I yet could tell there was a curious glint behind them, curious and predatory.

"Who's he anyhow? Why can't we kill 'im?" Ahern asks.

Immediately, the prisoner turns away and stares at the large oaf with a look of daggers.

I huff and look over to said oaf, shooting him a similar expression. Ahern's annoyed face, once finding mine, melts into regret.

I roll my eyes, walking towards the discarded weapon on the floor, picking it up, "this is yours, correct?" I turn to our captive, earning silence still.

Ahern answers instead, "that's his alright."

I turn to Ahern, "This is Valyrian steel," I start to explain, turning back to its owner, "and his hair is whiter than your arse cheeks," I hand him the weapon. "He's a Valyrian."

"Hmp," Gorm tilts his head, "I thought he was just old."

I roll my eyes and shake my head, "this is why you should leave the politics to the masters, captain." I turn from Gorm to our prisoner, "and as said master, I say we take him onboard and bring him to our next stop... use him for show."

For a moment, my two shipmates are silent.

"No offence," the ginger rubs his fingers down from his chin to his beard, "but this one would've nearly killed our bright ol' captain if I hadn't stepped in," Ahern says.

"And you would suggest what? We leave him here? We kill him?" I inquired, "you do know that being a Valyrian means he is not only a high born, but a royal, right? And even it were that he is not the most beloved of his line, make no mistake his line will come for whomever made him unable return."

I steal a look from the Valyrian, "we don't even know why he's here, clad in armour."

"Yeah, well no one's gonna know why he ended up missing," Gorm says, yet again making me roll my eyes.

Ahern agrees, "yeah, we've done it once before-"

"Yeah! With that rat and his stupid cunty right hand-"

"And that old geezer! Gods, with the awful beard-"

The two continue to bicker amongst themselves of the exploits we've accomplished, but they all fall deaf to my ears.

"I beg your pardon," I turn to the man who had yet to speak, "they're not very creative and it's impossible for even I to help them with that."

Finally, after a few moments of struggle on the behalf of the captive wanting to break free, we got on board Jocelyn. We had to knock him out and have Ahern carry him over his shoulder to do so though. We tied him up, starboard side, with rope on poles meant for the very job of keeping prisoners.

Right now, I was patiently awaiting his return to consciousness.

I fiddled with my necklace, retracing the emblem on the reflective red rock with my fingers. I was sat by the edge of the ship, watching as the salty waves crashed against the hull.

I couldn't help but break into a smile upon hearing the man behind me curse and groan. It was nearing the sunset now, so he was lucky the sun was not too bright for his newly opened eyes.

I turn from where I sat, and hop in front of him, slightly raising my head to meet his face, as he was taller than I, "so you do have a tongue."

His head shakes as the ship hits a particularly rough wave.

I blink at the bloodied side of his head and purse my lips before telling him, "if you hadn't been so difficult, I wouldn't have had to hit you with my hilt."

He grinds his teeth then clenches his jaw, clearly not in the mood for my shenanigans, evident in his attempts to pierce me with his glare.

I place my hands behind my back and lean forward, "you're bleeding. Just say the word and I'll clean you up," I raise a finger, "and even feed you. Supper is almost ready."

He speaks nothing still.

I narrow my eyes at him, anticipating some sort of bite in his vernacular, since he did hold the looks of someone who basks in chaos.

Gorm especially made it a point to whine about how confrontational and short tempered he had had been, and how they quickly escalated into a fight because of the silver haired man's brazen words. Of course, Gorm omitted mentions of any sort of offence he did to our captive. He didn't have to say anything for me to know he's most definitely guilty of riling the Valyrian up just as much though.

I make an exaggerated expression, "I am afraid I'm being quite serious about asking for your permission before doing anything to you," I lean closer, "before touching you. Consent, to me, is important, for anyone who touches me without it loses their fingers one at a time."

The man's expression is blank, yet I could see a fire building in his violet eyes. I chuckle, excited over his brewing vexation.

Upon the impact of another crash of waves, I bend my knees and rock with the movement to remain upright. My hair flies up to the man's face as a gust of wind accompanies us. I push the strands behind my ears, exposing my collarbones further, practically drawing in the man's gaze to the area. I bite my lower lip as I watch him examine my skin and the necklace laid upon it, "perhaps you'd be more willing to speak of another topic? Shall you prefer to ask me something about myself?"

I move back and sit on the side of the ship again, this time facing him.

He was stretched out like a starfish, arms and legs in thick rope, and I could only imagine how uncomfortable he must be, especially since he was still clad in his armor. Oh, how I wonder, with how good he looks in it, how much better he would look without.

After another moment passed with only silence, I decide to speak instead, "your crest. It is similar to the king's." I think of how badly I want to retrace it with my fingers.

His head wobbles again because of the waves.

"I reckon you could be a prince, considering your attire. It would make sense, considering how much gold Ahern got out of you. But then again," I take a moment before continuing. He seemed exasperated and awfully done with it all. Though he had an air of composure around him, with how he was clenching his fists and possibly curling his toes underneath his shoes, he looked like he was about to snap. I smirk deliciously, thinking of nothing else than a way to make him burst, "perhaps you are just so desperate to pass off as a Targaryen."

"Not as desperate as you are to converse with me," he finally responds, though in High Valyrian.

I purse my lips in a small, thoughtful smile, and cross my arms, "I am not the desperate one on Jocelyn," says I in the same language.

He conceals it well, but I could tell he was not expecting me to understand, let alone respond.

For a moment, the two of us stare each other down. If he could, he probably would have lit me on fire with his gaze by now.

"Supper is here," chirps Aldora, walking towards me with a hot dish of food. She dreamily smiles ear to ear as she hands me a bowl.

I smirk back at the shorter woman as I take the food from her, "thank you, my love."

"May I?" she peers up at me with a longing expression.

"You may," I offer my hand, "but what of our Targaryen scum?" My eyes flick over to the said man as Aldora takes my hand and hops up next to me, "what shall he eat?"

Aldora frowns, seating herself snugly close to me, "he's a Targaryen?" She pulls her lips in disgust as I nod. She then presses her lips in an uninterested pout, "matters not. He is our prisoner and dangles on our mercy."

I click my tongue at that, "now, my love, I taught you better than to leave your bed pets hungry," I retort, hopping off in front of the said Targaryen, managing not to spill a drop of food.

Aldora is offended, "you cannot bed him!" She whines, "you are promised to me tonight."

I chuckle, "I jest, love," I turn back to her and give her a quick flying kiss, "still," I turn back to the man and scoop up some food, "I would enjoy it if he joined."

I bring a spoon up to his lips. His jaw clenches slightly as he looks down on me.

"I WOULD NOT!" Aldora exclaims, jumping down behind me. Swiftly, I turn to her, seeing her cross her arms with teary yet angry eyes. She roughly stomps off, thunder and lightning following her.

I can't help but chuckle in amusement, calling out, "Aldora, my love! Do not be cross!"

Ahern, who Aldora shoved right past, huffs at the contact then bellows out, "it'd do you good to get used to it!" He then turns and makes eye contact with me, "she's got a thirst that not even all seven seas can quench."

After a moment tension, Ahern snaps out of his trance and turns back to the direction of my quarters where Aldora locked herself up in, "last time, she left me for you! Imagine how I felt."

"AT LEAST IT WASN'T FOR A PRISONER!" Aldora screams.

"Aye, and a prisoner one time," Ahern mutters, walking off somewhere else in the ship.

"My arm is starting to tire," I speak to the prisoner.

"Both mine are," he quips back, making me chuckle in excitement over his harsh tone.

I put the spoon down on the bowl and raise a brow, "what would you have me do?" I watch his expression then decide to take a bite of food myself. He reverts back into his silence. A brow of mine quirks up in expectation.

When he does nothing but glare, I lose interest, "right."

I crouch down and place the bowl in front of him, nudging it back in place with my boot when it moved around the floor, "tell me when you're finally interested. Then, I can keep you locked up in my quarters instead of here." I stand up and give him a smile, "til then, Targaryen scum, I must pacify Aldora, lest she threaten to throw herself into the sea again."

The said Targaryen only watches as his unhinged captor walks away and enters her quarters. It was not long until the seas calmed, the sun set, and his, along with everyone else's ears were filled with lewd, loud, and wanton groans and cries of womanly pleasure.

His eye twitches as he looks down at the bowl of food in front of him.

The next day, I am munching an apple in front of the silver haired man, yet again waiting for him to wake up, only this time from his sleep.

Our captain, Gorm, who had been watching me watch the prisoner finally decides to walk over.

"Might I?" he asks me before coming closer. I, who was leaning against the side of the ship reach my hand out to him, and take another bite of my apple, wordlessly allowing him to approach me.

He takes my hand and firmly pulls me against him, wrapping his arm around me, securing them under my breasts. I place my arm over his and I continue to finish the rest of my apple.

Gorm leans against me, bending down to match my height, muttering in his mother tongue against my ears, "I don't understand your intrigue. He is hideous compared to me."

I chuckle as I chew before responding in Norse, "you vikings made sure to steal all the pretty women from their husbands," I lean against his chest and crane my neck up to look at his face, "you're wrongfully boasting about your good looks." I take a moment to examine in his blonde hair, blue eyes, and thick lashes, giving his lips a quick peck, then turning away, taking another bite of my snack, "and, he's not so bad. Much more cunning than you could ever be."

Gorm huffs at that, face sinking to my shoulder, pressing a rough kiss on my skin, "he doesn't know what you like."

I giggle at the ticklish feeling, "and I wager he'll learn much quicker than you ever could."

He is fully offended, and releases me abruptly. He then spits at the Targaryen's direction. Lucky for the latter, it misses his face by a hair and lands in front of him with a disgusting splat sound.

It was in this moment, I realize that man was already awake. I excitedly perk up at the sight of his open eyes, "good morn, Targaryen scum!"

He only looks at me again, completely annoyed, face wound in tension, ready to kill.

I smirk at him, "oh don't be so grumpy. If you must know, you are not special to the title scum," I walk over to him, clarifying as I get on my toes and move back and forth, "I think all monarchs and nobles are such."

He watches me as I take another bite of my apple, "hungry, my pet?" I ask as I move the fruit to his lips.

As if on cue, I hear his stomach growl. I decide to ignore it for his sake, although I am sure the involuntary act his body betrayed him with only added much more to his sour awakening.

I instead explain, "I will not feed you if you do not ask me to, for why should I force you when I know how much more effective it'd be to persuade you," I turn between him and my apple, "especially since I, too, am a master of that craft."

The Targaryen scum does not respond in the manner in which I wanted, "where did you steal that?"

My lips quirk at the accusation as I watch his eyes lock on my ruby necklace, "you think so lowly of me, Targaryen scum. This is the only thing on Jocelyn that is truly mine."

Jocelyn? He huffs, asking again "where are you taking me, insolent wench?"

I huff, rolling my eyes, "boring." I release a sigh, "still, if you must know, we're heading west. It's quite pleasant there in this time of year."

The man seems a bit pacified with my answer and I detest it. I click my tongue, "you are too eager to escape, yet you've no idea whose ship you are aboard."

He tilts his head, "you called that nitwit captain."

I cross my arms and shrug, turning to Gorm for a second then back to him.

"It's his ship," he decides.

I bite my apple, then reply, muffled, "does the captain normally own the ship?"

He quips back with his own question, "does the king own the castle?"

I give him a look, "well, that doesn't matter," I reply, "he's the king."

The Targaryen decides to speak to me again in his native tongue, "my sword holds the strength of his king's army behind it."

I chuckle at that, looking down to his hips, where his sword would have been, had I not locked it up with the rest of my spoils, "I see no sword, nor army behind you at all," I look back up to him and step forward, replying in High Valyrian, "you are nameless to me."

His face contorts at that.

I am awfully excited by this. I swirl my tongue across my lips and chuckle.

"Untie me and I will name myself," he responds.

I can't help but throw my head back in laughter, fully amused by how much weight he puts on the revelation of his mere name. Still, the spark behind his eyes makes my stomach churn deliciously, so I say, "I will untie you, if you swear not to touch me without my approval."

He weighs the seriousness of my words. He does not respond, and I am honestly surprised he did not just lie to me just to get what he wanted. I was not stupid enough to think his silence as agreement, and yet I was so eager to see what he would do, to feel him against me, even though I knew his touch would be nothing but attempts to hurt me as hard as he possibly could. It however set a ripple of excitement down to my core. I quickly decided I was ready to be hurt and began to bring my hands up to his left arm. I quirk a brow up, asking, "may I then?"

He again does not respond, but this time, I say, "I will assume you agreed with me, darling."

It work on untying one of his hands. His arm tenses under my touch.

It does not take long before someone catches me in the act and scolds harshly, "OI! DO NOT UNTIE HIM!"

"Or what, Fredson? You'll kill me? He'll kill me?" I chuckle, "good. I cannot stand your snoring."

"Captain!" someone tattles.

There is a moment of commotion then Gorm, fuming, shouts, "YOU WILL NOT UNTIE HIM!" He begins to storm over from the far end of the ship, "I will cut his arm off if you do!"

Continuing to work on the bind, almost fully untying it, I mutter, mostly to myself, "I don't understand how that is a threat to me."

By the time Gorm manages to get here, it's too late. The Targaryen scum already darted his hand to me and struck me across the face with all his might, or at least what was left of it from being tied up so long. Make no mistake he was still strong though, as I literally went spinning on my heels, seeing stars.

Next thing I knew, I was barely conscious yet conscious enough to feel his hot breath against my cheekbone. He had me pressed against him, his arm was around me, choking my neck.

I whine, breathless, bothered, increasingly turned on. I lick my lips and taste blood. I moan after I hear him mutter in High Valyrian, "you are a fool in thinking I would not hurt you."

I barely manage to wheeze out a chuckle, "I wanted you to hurt me."

He does not respond to this as Gorm is barking out multiple long threads of threats, demanding his attention. The rest of the crew is circled around the us, ready to watch whatever is going down next.

The man holding me captive barks, "do you doubt that I could break her neck?"

"No, but think she would enjoy it," Gorm retorts, face contorting.

I choke out a chuckle but it ends with a cough. The blood on my philtrum sprinkles in front of me because of it.

"I may not be bright, but neither are you for thinking you can get anything out of killing her other than yourself getting killed right after," Gorm states.

The Targaryen quickly realizes the rashness of his actions, agreeing internally he was getting nothing out of this. It was especially clear to him or, perhaps the exact opposite of clear, when he was hit from behind, effectively getting knocked out again.

Instantly, my chokehold is freed and I inhale sharply, coughing out in my hasty attempts to catch my breath.

After my lightheadedness faded a bit, I look up and find Aldora to be my savior. With her angry expression, she heaves as she grips a rock, knelt atop of a barrel. She drops the stone to the floor and makes a face at me, "still into him, love?"

I straighten myself up and watch as blood drips form the Targaryen's forehead, "are you doubting me?"

Aldora growls in annoyance and storms off yet again.

I lick what's left of the blood on my lips and turn to Gorm, who is glaring at me in distaste. I tilt my head to the the other light haired man, "unbind him."

"You fucking-"

"We're nearing our destination. We can't possibly leave him tied up, bleeding, and dirty," I retort, "and as you said just now, you are not bright enough to understand most things, so instead of using your head, use your hands to do as I say."

Gorm grips his fists tightly and clenches his jaw. I stare at him, awaiting his compliance. He does just that, albeit begrudgingly, and once he moves, I walk off and mutter, "by the way, tell Ahern it's his turn to be captain now."

When the captive finally woke up after yet another brutalizing, he was met with darkness, or rather, he quickly gathered, a dark prison cell.

"Good, you're awake," I smiled, looking over to him from the other side of the cell where I sat, "again."

The man that was sitting with his arms on his lap when realized he had something on his head.

"It's the last of the ice that hadn't melted yet," I tell him, hand through the wooden bars, holding a wrapped chunk of ice to his skull, "it helps with these injuries. Though since you're supposedly a dragon, perhaps this is uncomfortable for you."

He groans, slowly turning to me.

I pull my hand away, only to bring the ice down to his lap, "once again, you tired my arm."

He turns to the ice and places it back on his head as he moves to stand. I rise too, much quicker than he, then purse my lips in a small smile, "come now. Honor our deal. I should like know what to moan out next time you think to choke me."

He finally stands, his free hand slamming on the bars as he got his footing, "I am a prince of house Targaryen, you mad wench!"

I knit my brows at him, "I'm thinking you might not be as smart as I gave you credit for. I asked for your name, not your title."

"Let me out of this cell and I swear I will spare you to annoy another sorry bloke on your next expedition," he grunts.

I make a sound in thought, half faux-thinking about it, half enjoying how quickly his lips loosened after taking another hit, "I don't like that deal," I decide, instead showing him the elixir I had in hand, "how about you tell me your name and I give you this."

He leans against the bars, looking out at me.

"It's moonshine."

He pulls away, instantly uninterested.

"Mėnulio distira," I mutter, renaming it, or rather calling it for what it is, "it's used now to help women with labor pains, but it was first made-"

"Made to help warriors heal from their battle wounds," he continues, interested again, "where did you get that?"

"You have no sense for bartering, Targaryen scum," I reply to him in his mother tongue.

He discards the melted block he held, and leans both his hands on the bars, peering down at me, "Daemon Targaryen," he starts, "Prince of Dragonstone."

I raise my brows at that, chuckling, "an ambitious title to covet, Daemon."

He words out carefully, as if each syllable that left his was laced in flames, "I am heir to the iron throne."

"Ooooh," I blow out and end with a giggle, "that would have been true had the king not named his daughter, Rhaenyra, successor."

Daemon's face darkens at that. His ears ring upon realizing there was knowledge of this on the ship, and yet nothing of him. He suddenly felt as though he was toyed with.

I coo at him, "find no offence in my lack of knowledge of you, Daemon. -"

"I am your prince!"

"- I only know of this news because it was so exciting that a woman would succeed after a long line of raggedy old fucks."

Daemon seethes with venom, yet a sardonic smirk adorns his lips, "and you think my niece will empower impertinent, common whores like you?"

My jaw tightens at that. I lick my lips, pressing my tongue on my top front teeth, "it's funny how you wish to taint me by calling me a whore, and yet," I release an airy chuckle, "it's men like you that degrade women to be perceived as such. It's your filthy, little cock that is devaluing."

It's his turn to laugh, "you act as if," he steps closer, hands going to his side, "you were not so eagerly lusting after my" he raises his brows, "filthy, little cock moments ago."

I choke on my saliva as I laugh.

Daemon watches me and cannot hold back the curving of his lips.

I slap my hand on my chest as I attempt to catch my breath, "you are the most amusing man I have ever met."

"I am closer to the gods than man," he retorts, "you'd be wise to remember, bitch."

"You know," I raise a hand at him, "out of all the kinks and the thousand ones I have, this is the only one I don't."

The man smirks, leaning down to see my face clearer, "worry not, I'll break it into you."

I smile back at him, raising the vial in my hand, "I like a challenge," then throw the object to him.

He catches it with ease and looks up at me with a calculating gaze.

Before I could tell him anything else though, Gorm comes thundering down towards us, "that bastard better be alive, or else he'll be food for the kraken."

"Gorm!" I chirp, smiling at the blonde man stomping over, "he's well awake, but just to make sure everything goes smoothly during dinner, I gave him the elixir."

"You fucking what?" Gorm does a double take, raising a hand.

Daemon, in this moment, looks at the bottle in his hand and begins to waive his doubts on it.

I shake my head and shrug, "we can't really use him if he's fucked up in the head, now can we?"

Gorm breaks into a fit and releases a string of Norse cusses. I raise my hands in an attempt to calm him. I don't manage to place my palms on his shoulder as he raises his own and fists them, growling in frustration. He darts his hands to the bars and growls, "give me the vial!"

Daemon, at this point, uncorked the vial and downs the liquid in one go.

In that moment, Gorm sighs, releasing all the tension in his body, defeated. "May I?" I mutter as he nods on instinct. I place a hand on his shoulder and smile up at him, "I told you. There's nothing to worry about."

Gorm takes a moment to respond before breaking into a chuckle, "you're too cunning for your own good. What if he dies before we manage to break into Suston's treasury?"

Daemon knits his brows upon hearing that.

"I'm pretty sure he won't cause delay since he's adamant about being a prince and all. It's his death anyway."

"His death?" Daemon repeats, "who's death?"

Gorm looks over to him, as do I, then knits his brows, "what? Was I the one that drank the poison willingly?"

Daemon's eyes quickly dart to me. I turn to Gorm, chuckling, "stop pretending to be witty when you're nervous this dinner will last half a day long."

"Well it could!" he whines and groans simultaneously.

I make a face at that, just as Daemon asks in High Valyrian, "did you fucking feed me poison?"

Gorm looks at him, stupidly and annoyed, "what did he say?"

"He asked me if I fed him poison."

Gorm scoffs, "you drank the poison yourself, Targaryen scum."

Daemon's eyes flicker over to Gorm, tenfold not enjoying how the insult rolled off his tongue. It was poison all along. Daemon shoots me a look, sighing, releasing an angry string of curses, to which I give a soft smile and shrug.

"Calm yourself, pet. As you've overheard you have half a day until it actually does anything. In the meantime, you can help us if you want to get the antidote."

He replies in his native language, "what makes you think I'd be willing to do anything you tell me to do?"

I blink at him and shrug again, "then die."

Gorm begins breaking a sweat, "but you said the King-"

"There'll be no way for the King to know who poisoned him. Unless he gets smart and finds something on this ship distinct enough to bind to us."

"Like your pretty necklace," Daemon notes, eyeing the jewelry around my neck. He leans on the bars.

I look down to my chest and find myself chuckling, "but you said it was stolen."

"But you said it wasn't," he retorts, "regardless, at this point, many have seen you in your flashy accessory." The prince sticks his hand out through the bars and I smile. He is more cunning than what he let on.

I don't hesitate and yank the jewelry off me, throwing it over to him. He again catches the object easily and observes the rock on a golden chain, swearing to himself for the nth time since first seeing it on the piece of jewelry that he's seen it before, and yet he cannot recall where.

"Now that all's fair," I sigh, "I'll let you out of your cage and-"

"Wait, how is all fair?!" Gorm asks, face souring in confusion.

"Gorm!" I sigh, "He just agreed to help us, since he can't do anything anyway. I gave him the necklace so that if we let him die, the king will find a way to find us," I turn to Daemon, "if they manage to find his body."

"But we won't let him die!" Gorm retorts, "he's got too much leverage on us!"

I roll my eyes, exasperated, moving to unlock his cell, "I'll explain it to you when you're older."

"Do not be so comfortable with the idea of riding with her," Ahern says, arms crossed, as he adjusts the straps on the horse Daemon is mounted on.

He, who was on the steed, now clean and in fresh, noble attire, looks down at the man and gives nothing but a blank expression, "don't be so bothered by the idea of me riding her."

Ahern snaps his gaze onto him, "you fucking cunt-"

"Why is he on the horse?" I ask, dropping the skirt I held, giving both men a look of annoyance.

Daemon, in this moment, became acutely aware of the scenery. The ship, Daemon learned was named Jocelyn, was resting in the dock. The sun was setting yet again, creating this warm orange atmosphere. I was no longer in trousers and a dress, instead, I was in a deep red dress, with the neckline dipping teasingly, deliciously low. Usually, my necklace would be the cynosure of my outfit, but it was currently in the Targaryen scum's pocket.

"I am your husband," Daemon recounts that detail of the plans we made, "I would not insult my lady wife by letting her do all the work."

I narrow my eyes, ignoring him, "where is my carriage, Ahern?" I ask the red head, making him avert his gaze elsewhere. He clears his throat and starts, "well..."

"Well?"

"We lost it."

"You lost my fucking carriage?"

Ahern finally turns to me and bursts, "it was Gorm's fault! I've only just been captain today! He said there was an issue in the stables and some thieves came and-"

My sigh cuts him off. Rolling my eyes, I turn to the man propped on the horse, observing the careful look he had, "I should do the work since my husband and my men have no idea what they're doing."

Daemon's lips smirk as he extends his hand out to me, "you need only tell me where to steer my steed."

I stare at him for a long moment, shaking my head as his lips curve deeper, "pull me up, my lord husband."

His stomach ignites at that, twice as much as arms wrapped around him. In fact, his entire body was churning ever since that moment.

When we arrived to our destination, a private banquet held by Magnus of house Suston in his estate, I changed character, holding my head up with grace, practically skating instead of walking.

Daemon could not mask his astonishment of me, though he was trying quite hard to. From the way I unmounted the horse, to how I casually greeted every servant we passed, it was clear to me he was taken aback by how easily I played the part.

And so dramatically, just before we entered the banquet hall, Daemon grabs my arm and pulls me close to him to a stop, "who the in the name of the gods are you?"

I look up at him then to the hand he had on me. Daemon turns to the skin he was holding then releases me. I clench my jaw, clicking my tongue, bringing my hands to his face, "may I, husband?"

He knits his brows, still seemingly unable to understand my need to continuously ask for permission before touching him. Still, his face softens, then he says, "I am yours, wife."

I brush my hands on his cheeks, gently, tracing the curve of his jaw, "I told you as we recounted our plans for tonight on the ship that I was invited as a lady of an esteemed house. Once I put a dress on such as this, I am just that," I pull a smile, "which is why I will not cut your finger off."

Daemon is not satisfied with the answer.

I sigh, pulling my hand away, "I thought perhaps you would have figured out by now, since you have my necklace in your pocket," I begin to walk off, eyes still locked in Daemon's, "I am the heir of house Rubin."

Daemon's jaw loosens at that, that's why the crest looked familiar.

I smirk, knowing well that his shocked expression was due to the fact the very house I was speaking of has not stood for about as long as I have been alive. Or at least, not in any way that counts.

"Lady Rubin!" the man, who was seated at the head of the table exclaims the moment we walk in the banquet hall.

I smile at him, "sir Magnus Suston!"

I walk over to him, forcing back a look of disgust at his eagerness. I stop a few steps early since he took it upon himself to walk over and raise his hand out to me.

Daemon watches as I uncomfortably take his hand. Magnus places a kiss on my skin a second too long that I rip my hand away.

He is unbothered as his eyes dart to the man by my side, "and who might this be?"

I turn over to Daemon, "this, sir Magnus," I turn back to him, "is my prince husband," I pull my smile wider, "of house Targaryen."

Magnus' face falls as he releases a gasp, utterly baffled, "y-your grace! Your majesty!" He breaks into a loud and nervous chuckle, "I was unaware you would be gracing our company tonight. I-I-I am honored by your presence."

Daemon hums, annoyed by his squeaking, "yes. My lady insisted on honoring her visit to your," he looks around the place, "dwelling. Yet it was beneath me to allow my wife visit a man in these hours by herself. Impertinent of you to ask for her presence at this time, don't you agree?"

"Ye-yes, of course," he starts, fidgeting, "I was completely unaware the lady was wed, I-"

"Thought you had a chance with her?" Daemon blurts, raising a brow.

"I- I-" Magnus attempts to start but could not possibly continue with how absolutely petrified he was under the prince's gaze.

The prince turns to me, uncaring of the other person, "shall we sit?"

I give him a smile as he pulls the chair out for me.

Magnus mutters something about us sitting and making ourselves comfortable but it's all incoherent, and his words only become clear once Daemon is sat down next to me, "tis not Marcus, your eminence... but Magnus."

Daemon turns man across him, face completely uninterested and annoyed.

Magnus tugs on his collar with his finger, clarifying, "my name, your grace."

"Does it matter how I refer to a low born?" Daemon asks, leaning against the chair, raising his nose.

I purse my lips at that, turning to my side, crooning out, "my love."

The sound is ineffable and absolutely delicate to Daemon's ears. He was unable to hold in his surprise, nor the chuckles that came after. He clears his throat in an attempt to calm himself, "my apologies, my love," he continues in High Valyrian, "but he's got his head too far up his arse for a peasant, no?"

"He is not a peasant since he now owns a large expanse of land," I retort in the same tongue.

"Well, he won't for much longer anyway," Daemon replies, turning to the empty cups before him. He reverts back to our common language, "will you not serve me wine, Mark?"

Magnus shoots up from his chair, taking a jar of wine and circling over to pour Daemon a cup. He then moves to pour me a drink, but Daemon promptly blocks him, hand covering the cup, "will you not even ask her if she wants wine? She could be with bearing my child for all you know."

I turn to Daemon's enraged look, pressing my thighs together under my skirt before consequently crossing them over each other.

"I- ah," Magnus starts, reeling backward, "apologies my lady, I-"

"She is not your lady," Daemon retorts, face twisting at the man's trembling squeaks. The prince lowers his gaze upon me, expression calming but a fraction, "would you like a glass of wine, my love?"

I break into a smile, "might I just drink from your cup instead?"

He wastes no time. He grabs his cup and hands it over to me. With my lips curved in a smile, I take the object from him, and after taking a sip, handed it back to Daemon, who promptly downed it contents. Upon placing the cup back on the table, he looks over his shoulder, annoyed by the lingering presence, "you stand there and yet we have no food on the table still."

Magnus' eye twitches as he grips the pitcher with much force. He scurries off back to his seat and paces back and forth, unknowing if he should sit or run off somewhere, "my deepest apologies, your grace. Usually my servants do not take this long."

And as if on cue, there is a piercing shriek from the distance.

Magnus gasps, already on edge, completely taken aback by the noise. He stutters, sitting down tensely, "wha-t- what was that?"

Daemon takes his cowardly expression, noticing him shiver. He raises his brows, "is that not one of your help? Are you so stupid to not even know where the sound is coming from?"

Magnus covers his head in fear as there is a loud crashing sound followed by grunts and more shouts. He turns to us, looking for some sort of comfort, but is met by only my stoic gaze and Daemon's vexed one.

All at once then, the banquet hall's doors burst open with a loud sound, and Gorm, followed by the rest of our crew walks in with plates of food. The tall blonde stills when he sees the shriveled up man of the house, "you still haven't killed him yet?"

Magnus grips his chest as he involuntarily stands and screams, "WHO ARE YOU!? What have you done to Helena?!"

Gorm, who was holding an entire pot of what I assume was stew, moves to place the food on the table and draw his sword. Upon doing so, Magnus runs over to the wall in fear. He halts where a sword was mounted. He grabs it and screams, holding it up in his defense, "get out of my house! All of you! GET OUT!"

Gorm walks over to the terrified man, ready to behead him, but he is stopped my Daemon, who quickly stands, "no." The Targaryen turns to him and raises his hand, wordlessly asking for Gorm's weapon.

Gorm looks down on the shorter prince, then scoffs.

"Give it to him, Gorm," I say.

Magnus' breath hitches, seemingly only now realizing what was happening, "you treacherous whore! You brought them here?!"

Daemon turns to Magnus as the latter screams with tears staining his face, "and, what? This is the prince of the realm? You lying piece of-" he is unable to end his words, as he broke into a shriek as Daemon went upon him. Magnus attempts to swing at him, but Daemon quickly knocks the sword out of his hand and promptly ends the squeaks by beheading.

Blood splutters as the body drops to the floor. Daemon makes a disgusted face as he turns back to me. He walks over, handing Gorm his bloody sword. Once he's sat back down, he looks around the room and calls, "where's the fucking food?"

The crew trickle in, laying the food that was prepared by the now dead servants onto the table. Daemon wastes no time in digging in.

I watch as he stuffs his mouth with chicken and say, "you enjoyed that."

"He's a squeaky son of a bitch," he responds in High Valyrian, ripping off a leg of chicken with his hands, placing it on my empty plate.

I look at the food and break into a smile, "thank you."

"Eat up, for I will tire you tonight, wife," he continues in his native tongue, nonchalant, not even looking at me.

I chuckle, propping my hands on the table, ignoring everything else but the eating prince beside me, "I was under the impression you would be leaving the moment we were done."

Daemon swallows the food in his mouth then grabs a piece of cloth on the table, wiping his fingers on it, "I did this much as your lord husband," he turns to me, "might as well claim all that's left of mine."

"I belong to no one, Targaryen scum," I smirk, responding in High Valyrian. He mirrors my expression as I continue, "you will find that your armor and your sword is on the horse we rode on a while ago," I then reach into my top, fingers slipping between my breasts.

Daemon watches my actions intently, hands tightening into a fist.

"All that's left is this," I say, pulling out a vial, "it's a bit warm, having stayed under my breast all night. I hope you don't mind."

He watches as I place the object in front of him, speaking again in his native tongue, "dragons prefer warmth." Daemon stares at the small thing for a moment, then turns back to me, wordlessly examining my face.

After a few moments pass, he brings his hands up, then mutters, in the same language, "may I?"

I nod.

Daemon brushes the back of his hand on my collarbones, making me release a breath at the gentle action. His eyes are stuck on my skin, my own are stuck on his lips. I feel my body burn in warmth as his hands make it to my nape, where his fingers begin to dig into the root of my hair, "you should be more cautions."

I lean against his hand, silently looking at him, as he continues, "House Rubin has fallen decades ago."

The forming smile on my lips falter as he suddenly withdraws from me.

He thinks I'm an imposter. How daft of him.

Still, I cannot help but release an airy chuckle at the look he gives me. I push my shoulders back, "does it matter if a pirate falsifies claims?"

He smirks, then tuts, "oh doe. Any wolf would know you are the very ruby of that house," he brushes the back of his hand on my cheek, making my stomach swirl, "how many souls must have perished to ensure your survival." His hands then move down my neck. He presses his palms flush against my throat, fingers fiddling with my jaw, "and how many more will follow in attempts to covet the very ruby in my hands."

Daemon grows excited, feeling the pulse under his thumb quicken.

Swiftly then, he pulls away then inquires in High Valyrian, "how do I know this won't finish the job?"

Skin still so aware of the feeling of his hand on my neck, I take a moment to realize what he means. I turn to where he was looking and let out a hmp, "how do you know if I even poisoned you truly to begin with?"

Daemon smiles, drawing his hand out again. I anticipated his touch, and yet the tease places it on the table, "you remind me of Caraxes."

"Your dragon?" I ask, just as he moves for the elixir and hands it over to me. He does not speak a word and only stares at me.

I knit my brows, "what? Do you want me to drink it?"

He purses his lips at that, seemingly agreeing.

I raise my brows, taking the object, uncorking it, "and then what? There'll be nothing left for you, moron," I then break into a chuckle, "unless you want me to put it in my mouth and spit it into yours."

Daemon smirks, leaning onto the table as he continues in High Valyrian, "then at least we'll be poisoned together."

I am unable to hold in my laughter, "you're fucking crazy."

Daemon raises his brows.

I stand and step forward, "may I then?"

"So long as I keep getting to touch you," he responds, pushing his chair back. He spreads his legs and rubs his hands on his lap, beckoning me over. I respond my pulling my skirt up and placing a knee on his lap. I bring a hand to his neck and push his head up to me. His hands go to sides and grip tightly on my waist.

I throw my head back, pouring the liquid in my mouth. I close my lips as I lower my head to meet Daemon's. I press my mouth against his, slowly allowing the antidote to trickle onto his tongue. Daemon pulls me down on him and I adjust my legs atop his. He laps his tongue out to my lips, taking in the liquid greedily until there's nothing left but moans in me. It's all very messy as the liquid surely does not all go into his mouth, yet it was so very scrumptious.

"Oh for fuck's sake, get a room," someone calls angrily.

I am abruptly pulled off after this. I barely manage to look at Daemon as he suddenly stands and grabs me, bending down and throwing me over his shoulder.

"They're all fools to think you would not be heard from here," Daemon says, kicking the doors of a room open. It was a great stroke of luck that he found the master bedroom. Not that it mattered, I would let him have me wherever he wanted. And judging by how he threw me onto the bed, I’m certain he thinks the same way.

I sit up on the cushions and watch him as he crawls over to me. His brows quirk at the sight of the blankets, "that squeaky moron has horrible taste."

I waste no time in grabbing his face once he is close enough, placing heated kisses onto his lips. He leans into me, body pressing against mine, hands scratching at the fabric on my back in an attempt to undo my dress.

He pulls away from me so he could work on getting me naked.

I can’t help but laugh at his fervor, “easy, boy, you might hurt yourself.”

I manage to see him clench his jaw before he stands up from the bed and yanks at my corset. He effectively shoves me face down onto the cushion and rips my skirt back so my folded legs were now flat on the surface. He then climbs atop me, groin on my bum, and undoes my laces, ripping it all the way open. Once he’s finished, he digs his nails firmly into my skin in an upward motion, “you will know your place, bitch.”

He moves off me, only to flip me over and climb atop me again. This time around though, he bunches my skirt up and brings his hands in between my thighs, making way for himself in between them.

“I should ruin your pretty little dress, so you won’t be able to use it anymore,” he mutters, pressing his pants on my bare core, earning a moan from me.

I reach my arms out for him as I grunt, “ruin me with your Targaryen seed.”

Daemon brings his hands on either side of my thighs and roughly kneads on my flesh, “you would enjoy that won’t you, little come slut?”

His hands dart to the collar of my dress and he roughly rips it off, causing me to grunt. I shift in my spot, raising my arms, wriggling out of the fabric as he pulls it over my head. For a moment, I am caught in the expanse of my own skirt, then I am fully stripped beneath him. Right after throwing my dress off to the side, my hands work on undoing his breeches, but I am so rudely slapped away.

I give him a pointed look, but it falters after he catches my wrists and pins it over my head with his hands, “I am your prince husband. You are subservient to my mercy.”

His face is close to mine when he says this and so I give an open-mouthed moan, “fuck me good, prince husband, I beg.”

He chuckles. He keeps my wrists under one hand and brings his free one down my face, “so eager,” his palm rests on the side of my neck, “perhaps I shall take you back with me and wife you in Dragonstone.”

Taking this moment of tenderness to my advantage, I attempt to free my hands under his. However, I find that I underestimated his strength. His one hand on my wrists pull my limbs upward, making me whine. He clicks his tongue, “you don’t like that?” Daemon’s other hand runs firmly down from my neck to my core where he then rubs on my soaking folds, “you would prefer to be my come whore, hmm? Such a lowly dream”

He hisses, as do I, when he pushes two fingers in me, “your cunt belongs to me now. You will not be able to have anyone else’s cock but mine.”

I chuckle at his words, “you’re a lot of talk for someone so opposed to the idea of me undressing him.”

Daemon’s eyes darken. He shoves himself off me and kneels, “undress me, then, whore.”

I take in his looks, his expectant gaze, the hardened length beneath his trousers, and yet I cross my arms, “no.”

“No?” he repeats harshly, although there was no trace of anger in his voice. It was in fact of excitement.

“I will not submit to a man who perceives me to be a lesser version of him.”

“Ah,” he chuckles, removing his shirt by himself, “I remember your distaste for this, my dear ruby,” he throws his shirt aside and I lick my lips at the sight of his toned chest, “you are right not to enjoy these words when they came out of the mouths of all the trolls that fucked you before me.

“But like I said,” he grabs my hand from my chest, continuing in High Valyrian, “I’ll break it into you.” He pulls me up, bringing my palms to his waist, “strip me, while you still can.”

I sit up, fingers digging into his garment, replying in his language as I lick my lips, “or else what, Targaryen scum?”

“Or else you won’t be able to do anything with your hands at all.”

I groan at the thought, feeling my stomach roll. My hands then dart up to his face and I heatedly kiss him, savoring the taste of his tongue. My fingers travel back down, fiddling with the string of his clothes. I take a moment to nibble on his lower lip before I pull away and lie back down with my arms over my chest again, “do your worst.”

“You insufferable minx,” he quips proceeding then to climb off the bed. For a moment, I am confused and a little concerned, but then I see him rip at the tassel of the drapes, carelessly bringing the window’s cover to the floor. He winds the rope in his hand as he draws closer to me, “turn over.”

I bite my lips and cross my legs, “no.”

Daemon laughs, darting for my ankle, yanking me towards him, “turn over, my pretty little whore.”

“Fuck you,” I retort.

He wastes no time and roughly grabs me, flipping me over himself. My body is buzzing at the feeling of his rough hands on my bum.

“Not at this rate, you’re not,” Daemon replies, hands grabbing my arms, forcing them behind me, tying them with the rope still attached to the curtain that was dangling near the bed helplessly. He then pulls my hips up, bringing me on my knees. My face pressed on the bed as he climbs behind me and fiddles with my heat, “so deviant for no reason,” he notes in his language.

His fingers tease my entrance, and my voice betrays me because of it, “you—enjoy it.”

He laughs again, pumping two digits in and out of me, “not as much as you.”

Daemon feasts on the lewd sounds, absolutely basking in the slickness dripping from his fingers. He positions his free hand on my hip, digging his nails in my flesh roughly. He focuses on my heat around his fingers and quickly eases in an orgasm. I let out a pained grunt when he withdraws before I could come though. Although I was expecting it from him, I still bark in anger, “Targaryen scum.”

He tuts, rubbing my back, “come now…” he teases, “you didn’t expect to be rewarded for your insolence.”

“I can fuck myself better with my fingers."

Daemon laughs, “I’m sure from now on you’ll imagine they were mine.” He then brings his wet fingers to my mouth, wanting me to lick them clean. For the most part, I do, but he yelps when I bite down. I lick my lips after he pulls away, smirking in victory.

He grabs me by the hair, pulling me all the way until I'm upright. I whine in pain, yet feeling my body burn in excitement. He mutters hotly against my ear, “let’s put that mouth of yours to good use.”

He shoves me down and I hear him work on his pants. I roll over, grunting as with my arms still bound behind me. I chuckle, “who’s eager now?”

Daemon’s length springs free. The idea of him burying himself in me makes my breath hitch. He discards his pants to the side, “you won’t be so verbose after I burn my seed down your throat.”

I stick my tongue out and giggle.

In all his strength, he rearranges me like a doll. He gets me on my knees and sits in front of me, wordlessly commanding me to do his bidding. I obey and take him in my mouth eagerly. His hand is controlling the bobbing of my head and I feel utterly pleased with myself upon hearing his satisfied grunts. After relishing in his profanities, I begin to constrict him in my teeth.

He whines, “less teeth, viper.”

I use more teeth.

His grip on my hair tightens but his arm movement still.

I begin to laugh, but he’s so big that I can’t, so I begin to choke.

Daemon revels in the feeling for a moment, pushing himself deeper into my mouth before ripping me off him, allowing me to catch my breath. I heave as he brings my ruined face up to meet him eye to eye. His other hand grips my jaw, “if you will not obey, I will come in your cunt and leave you bound and unsatisfied.”

I lick my lips, head banging at the pain he was eliciting from all the hair pulling, “you would risk leaving a baby dragon inside me?”

I smirk at him, whining as he pulls my head back slowly. It seems I hit a chord as Daemon’s face is unreadable. Suddenly, he releases his grip and shoves me down. He claws at my legs then presses my knees to my breast. All at once, I am a loud moaning mess as he enters me without another word and beats into me without a break of pace.

The sound of skin hammering against each other is overpowered by my screams of pleasure. If I had known that what it took to get him going, I would have lead with that.

Daemon pistons himself in an angle so sweet that I can feel a fire so hot build in my belly. His lips are latched on my neck, sucking, biting, licking. Overly sensitive already, it doesn't take long until I uncoil beneath him and his brutality.

I am reeling, absolutely spent, utterly boneless beneath him, loosing my breath all over again.

He does not relent however, and I whine in a mix of both pain and pleasure at his lack of courtesy for me to come down from my high. I quake beneath him, repeating his name like a prayer, unsure if I wanted him to stop or keep fucking me raw.

My throat begins to burn at my obscene sounds that left my lips. I barely manage to hear him as he speaks to me

“They say a pleasured wife brings forth a male heir,” Daemon jaggedly mumbles, “will you be a dutiful lady wife and spawn me a son?”

My head is spinning at his words. Too keen on chasing this rebuilding high however, I spew out words in the heat of moment, “yes. Fuck yes. Burn your seed into me. Put a child in me, Daemon.”

“Good girl,” he praises, kissing my jaw, “your cunt is so eager for me, wife, do you feel it?”

My only response is my filthy groans.

My eyes are flooded by tears when I finally come around him for the second time. Daemon wastes no time and follows. He digs himself balls deep into me, shooting out every bit of himself inside. The feeling is so hot, I could barely feel my legs around him nor how my toes curl.

I relish in the feeling of his weight on top me. My arms behind me hurt twice as much as I remember I cannot even touch him.

“You will not move an inch, slut,” he mutters after catching his breath. He pulls away from me and I whine at the action, not enjoying the emptiness that came after. I watch him as he goes about the room and collects his clothes. He begins to dress himself and I stupidly look at him as he mutters, “if you do not fall with child, I will consider it treason.”

Once he is clothed, he walks over to me and turns to my legs. He pushes them together. I squeak when he digs his hands on my leaking core and presses a kiss on my belly, “you’re wasting my seed.”

With that, he gives me one last look and walks away.

Many moons had passed since then. It was almost as long as the years since the prince has been away from his home.

Daemon decided not to recount this encounter with pirates to a single soul, not even to Lord Corlys, who was enraged by his absence and began to believe he had forsaken him in their battle in The Stepstones. He played off his lack of appearance as with vague reasons of failed outsourcing, already irritated by the idea of people gossiping about how he was captured by a bunch of slow witted pirates had he told him the truth. Corlys obviously did not buy it, but he had no time to press on about the matter as the issue with the Crab Feeder was more imminent.

Daemon wonders what became of his captor after killing that Suston man. He would look at the ruby necklace he kept on him from time to time, wondering when he could use it to his capture his captor in return. He had yet to also make use of the fact the pirate claimed to be a Rubin, a house that was dissolved during the height of a war in their region. That, and he was owed a son.

"You look deep in thought, uncle," Rhaenyra notes walking over to him. Daemon had his feet up in the table and his back slumped on the chair as he chewed on some grapes.

He responds to the princess in High Valyrian, "I'm merely enjoying my time back home."

Rhaenyra chuckles, walking closer, "I did not know you were fond of this place."

Daemon watches as she sits down next to him and asks, "tell me about your adventures in the Stepstones."

He shakes his head, "what is there to tell but the fact there was blood and loss, before our eventual victory."

"Come now," she smirks leaning in, "they sing your name great praises and even gave you a title, yet you cannot think to tell me much more than that?"

"War is not a dazzling story, princess," he turns to her, giving a smirk, "you would be wise to be a benevolent Queen."

Rhaenyra rolls her eyes and shakes her head, muttering in her native speech, "the irony of my uncle telling me this."

"But you enjoy my irony, don't you, my niece," Daemon chuckles in response in the same tongue, bringing his hand to her head, ruffling her hair playfully.

She swats at his hand and shoves Daemon off with narrowed eyes, "well if you will not speak to me of your battles, tell me then if it is true you had an encounter with pirates."

Rhaenyra watches his face grows stoic as he mutters, "they were all pirate, girl."

"No," she shakes her head, "I overheard the servants speak about you dealing with a crew who had women onboard. They say you were turned away after asking them for help."

Daemon straightens up as he laughs, not even taking a moment to wonder how anyone even knew this, "more like I turned from them after they'd forced help out of me."

"So it's true, then!" her voice goes a pitch higher in excitement, "you had encounters with women pirates."

Daemon takes her expression in, "does that please you, Rhaenyra?"

"I think it's exciting to know there are fearsome individuals out there who bleed every month just as I."

Daemon blows out a breath that bubbles out into a fit of chuckles. He grabs a few more grapes, eating some, throwing one at his companion, "you're all fucking mad."

Rhaenyra narrows her eyes at her uncle yet again, "you mean all women? We're all mad?"

"Yes," he stands, smoothing out his pants, "but then again if I bled every month I think I would be so as well."

"My Prince," a voice calls, and Daemon turns to the guard who interrupt the laugh he was sharing with his niece, "Lord Corlys has requested your presence."

Daemon's mood does a total 180, "he is aware I am not entertaining anyone."

"My apologies your grace, but he insisted that it was urgent. He says it's about House Rubin."

Rhaenyra watches his uncle's face shift. Daemon's mood does yet another 180 and promptly decided to answer to the call.

He quickly regards his niece and heads off right after.

"Lord Corlys," Daemon nods upon entering his chambers, "you have news for me."

"Nothing that either of us don't already know," says Corlys, arms crossed as he stood by the table where the necklace Daemon had lent him was laid out, "the house of Rubin and all its heirs died during a skirmish, leaving their wealth and land ripe for the pickings of whoever stake their claim."

The prince nods, eyes going to the necklace on the table, "and what of this?"

"I've had a jeweler inspect it and he said he knew exactly who designed this and who had it commissioned."

Corlys and Daemon turn to each other as the former says, "it was made in the north by the request of the Lannisters as a gift for the Rubins."

"And yet I found it on the neck of a pirate," Daemon smirks, picking the ruby necklace up.

"It is not surprising, considering house Rubin was most definitely looted after its fall. They were also situated close to sea folk. Our houses once joined hands in the expeditions of the sea. Hearing of their demise was a sad day even for us."

Funny, Daemon thinks.

"Now, tell me what this has to do with the pirate ship that robbed 2 more of my ships blind."

Daemon's lips quirk, "that makes 14," he releases a chuckle, much to Corlys' annoyance. "What if I told you, Lord Corlys, that capturing the captain of that pirate crew could not only grant you satisfaction but could reignite your alliance with the house of Rubin."

Lord Corlys shakes his head, "and why would I want an alliance with a dead house?"

"Perhaps since it was that house that robbed your countless ships blind."

Corlys does not follow. Daemon raised his brows, "the captain is the remaining heir. Why snuff out the last of its remains when you could built it up and use it as an extension of your power. Your men have seen the might of Jocelyn first hand, did they not?"

For a moment, Corlys wonders who Jocelyn is, until he remembers that was the name of the ship. "What makes you think this Rubin-turned-pirate would swear fealty to me?" he raises a brow.

"Willingly? Perhaps not," Daemon smirks, "but is it not so much more fun to break it in?"

"That is not their captain," Daemon speaks.

Corlys instantly gives the order to execute the man with a simple hand gesture. "Yes," he responds, "yet it seems like they're not running out of captains any time soon as each time we capture someone who knows anything about that ship, Jocelyn, they claim to be the captain. Still, that fucking ship is still lurking the sea."

Daemon's lips curve upward, "perhaps they were captain for a while."

The other white haired man knits his brows, "what?"

The prince ignores this, "your error is in assuming their captain would be an ugly man."

"Are you saying the captain is a beautiful woman?"

"I'm saying the captain of the ship is the remaining heir of the house Rubin," he retorts, "you ought to be more careful of how quickly you kill your captives."

Corlys narrows his eyes at this, "does it matter if we restore this supposed 'true heir' when no one would be the wiser if I hailed a stable boy as a Rubin."

"It matters if you want an alliance with a fiery strategist who managed to steal from your ship, not once, but 18 times now, was it-- in broad daylight, or--" Daemon turns to the dead body that was being dragged out, "you want one with a smelly imbecile that's walking dead weight."

"Then what do you suggest I do, my prince," he asks, voice growing irritated.

"Nothing more," Daemon nods, "I'll do it myself."

"Targaryen scum," I smile, voice genuinely excited upon seeing the face of the man walking over to me. "You got a haircut," I say baring the blood on my teeth as I smile, "I am impressed to tell you that it suits you, even though I prefer long hair."

Daemon takes in my appearance, eyes raking over the blood that was on my face and clothes. He turns over to one of the guards, barking, "did you do this to her?"

The guard quickly shakes his head, "n-no, your grace. But I was told she did attack and injure multiple men."

Daemon's anger is calmed after this, though his face makes no change, "leave us."

Once it was only him, I, and the chains on the wall that I was bound to, he steps forward, licking his lips as he brings his hands up to my face, "may I?"

I look up at him, lips curving into a smile, "you may."

Daemon pushes back the hair that was stuck on my skin with sweat, tucking it behind my ears. He then begins in High Valyrian, "you could not resist me, could you?"

I lean against his hand as he places both of them on my cheeks. I pout, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Daemon chuckles, fingers gently pulling away from my face, "did you not hear about my presence in the Stepstones and purposefully hijacked those Velaryon ships..." he hums, "perhaps out of spite?"

I screw my eyes shut as I break into a hearty laugh, "out of spite over what, pray tell?"

"Leaving you tied up in bed," he mutters, placing his hands behind his back.

"And I am bound now as we speak, yet I share laughter with you," I raise my brows, "must a pirate really explain their motive for stealing?"

"Perhaps not," Daemon responds, turning down to my belly. He presses a hand on it, "how has your womb been?"

I chuckle, "it seems your seed is defective," I narrow my eyes, "there was so much of it in me, and yet nothing came forth from it."

He grabs my face with both hands again, "worry not. I will wife you up again soon enough."

Upon his mention, I recall a detail I learned that angered me. I clench my jaw, replying in High Valyrian, "perhaps it was precisely because you had an actual lady wife at the time that your own seed was against your wishes to get me pregnant."

Daemon chuckles, pulling his hands away, "jealous?"

"No." I respond, "I pity your bride that you treated so poorly."

The prince rolls his eyes, "oh, don't worry, my dear ruby, for the ugly beast has since been relieved of her duties upon her trip to the underworld."

"Fucking Targaryen scum."

Daemon watches my expression grow dark then chuckles, "are you not excited to perform your duties to me?"

"That's why you had my crew gutted?" I bark back, "were you to stupid that you not have tried to get me yourself?"

"It was not my failed attempts to capture the captain, but Corlys Velaryon. He did not take kindly to the fact you stole a handsome sum from him, which is why he made sport of killing Jocelyn's crew."

"Well, he's got the captain now," I say.

Daemon nods, "Indeed, she is here."

"Whatever he wants, I'll do, so long as you spare my remaining crew."

For a moment, Daemon is a bit disappointed by the admittance to defeat, however he understands soon enough.

"There's not much of us left," I mumble, "Aldora, Ahern, Gorm, Fredson, Charles, Th--" I cut myself off as my throat begins to tighten. "There's not point in fighting if we all end up dead."

"Smart," Daemon nods, "Lord Corlys will be delighted to know this." He then begins to walk off, "in the meantime, pay your dues here until I come for you."

I let out a soft chuckle, replying to him in his mother tongue, "petty scum."

"Targaryen scum," Demon corrects before walking out.

I hadn't expected him to come so soon that night, but then again, if I recall, I did have him out of his chains after sunset.

"Miss me already?" I ask in a teasing tone in High Valyrian, "will you lock me with your dragon next?"

It was a bit too dark for me to make out the figure coming closer, but there was something very off with him. There was something about the slowness and suspicious manner in which he stalked over, apart from the hood he was wearing.

I figured then Daemon would not act like this at all. So it begs the question, why would a guard have to come here dressed like that?

My heart began to quicken as I began to think of what this man's motives were. Still, unwilling to accept the worst, I spoke out in the Prince's language, falsely hoping it was him pulling a twisted joke, "is this your way of getting back at me?"

"What kind of demon language is that supposed to be, you cunt?" the man growls, darting forward, heaving heavily in front of me. He grabs my face, and I see him along with the cut he had going down his cheek to his lips, "remember me, bitch?"

I merely look at him as he forces my jaw open with the intensity of his grip on me.

"You're not so tough now that you're under the Prince's thumb," he seethes, hands coming down my neck, choking me, "since you scarred my face, you whore," one of his hands leaves my throat to go down to my thighs, "I'll make you regret the day you drew your blade."

My wrists and ankles were bound but that did not make me cease my attempts to fight back, though futile. And even though he was choking me, I made it a point to still scream, not caring if he asphyxiates me in the process. Better that than to be docile.

He was basks in my failed attempts to fight him off as he rips my top open and forces my trousers down.

Prince Daemon did not want Lord Corlys to join him on his way to the prison cell today for he so wanted all the attention to himself, especially since he couldn't speak in the privacy of High Valyrian, since Corlys could speak it.

And so together, begrudgingly, the two were making their way to the cell. Daemon had a spring in his step. He was so excited that even before entering the prison, he called out in the other language, "rise and shine, beautiful."

Lord Corlys averted his eyes from the guard who was unlocking the door, giving the prince a questioning look. He truly didn't think much of it however, knowing the prince's irritating nature.

Honestly, Daemon was half expecting an answer, an annoyed retort, and so he received none, he pressed his lips together in disappointment. He added once the door was open, "not in the mood to tease today?"

Corlys walks in first, face dropping in shock at the sight before him.

For but a moment, Daemon feels a rush of possessiveness, thinking Corlys must have been enchanted. He thinks of how he would easily cut off his hand if he so laid a finger on you. However, his own anger dissipated, then doubled upon his entrance to the cell.

I look at the two men, wondering how they were related to distract from how exposed I was. My assaulter did not possibly think to cover my chest nor pull my pants up. There was also a burning feeling between my thighs that I could not bare to look at. Anything other than thinking of how my flesh was surely torn was welcomed.

The prince is beyond livid. The lord beside him appears to be disturbed as well.

"Did you have your men do this to her?!" Daemon barks, turning to Corlys, raising an accusing finger as he pressed so close to him in anger that their chests slammed against the other's.

Corlys throws him an incredulous and angry look, shoving him off, "why would I when you were so clear on making sure the lady came here in one piece?!"

He heaves heavily, ready to attack Corlys, but the sound of my uncontained whine makes him avert his attention to me. Daemon then walks over to me instead, raising his hand out, but the sentiment is so uninvited that I bark out even through my hoarse and broken voice. It was so loud I even surprised myself, "DON'T YOU FUCKING TOUCH ME!"

Daemon halts in his tracks before he could go near. His hand drops, tightly turning into a fist, he mutters, "unshackle her."

Corlys does not do anything.

"UNSHAKLE HER NOW!" Daemon shouts, turning to the door, where a guard quickly came running in. The moment the guard nears however, the prince shouts again, "STOP."

The guard freezes, turning over to him with a look of confusion and anxiousness.

"Give me the keys," he demands, pulling the man over to him by his shoulder, then extending his hand out to him. The guard wastes no time in handing the prince the object. Right after, Daemon walks over to me, carefully as if his whole life depended on it. His fingers work on the lock without touching my skin.

Corlys watches as he does this.

The moment one of my arms were free, I crumple, dangling on the other arm that was still bound. Daemon looks down on me as I muffle the whine that comes as I force myself to stand. He quickly moves to the other side, undoing the lock, then crouches down, working on the bounds on my ankles. Once he is done, he rises in front of me, expression hard.

I look up at him before pulling up my pants that were left by my ankles then covered my breasts with what remained of my ragged shirt. He looks like his mind is running with a thousand different things and yet he cannot even bring himself to speak one word to me.

I croak out, hoarse and tired, "now you know why I don't like being touched without consent, Targaryen scum."

Daemon's jaw clenches. His anger multiplies at the notion this has happened once before.

"Lady Rubin," the other man in the room speaks, walking forward.

I turn to him, lips curving in a farce of a smile, "Lord Velaryon." I swallow roughly before muttering, "you, too, were convinced over my characterization yet you have not even seen me in action."

The man looks at me for a moment, examining my expression. He steps forward, untying his cloak, handing it over to me, "will you be able to walk over to the ward to the seen by a maester?"

I look at his extended hand and feel my smile fade, tears building in the corner of my eyes, "of course." I raise my hand to his cloak, gently pushing it away, "lead the way, my lord."

He watches me and withdraws his hand before nodding and tying his cloak back on, "I'm afraid the way there includes an unavoidable flight of many stairs."

"I was not defeated last night, nor will I be defeated by mere steps."

Lord Corlys seems to appreciate my response, and so he turns to prince Daemon, speaking in High Valyrian, "You were right about her fire. She's different from the rest of her crew."

"Thank you, my lord," I reply in the same language, making the man turn to me in slight shock, "I would have appreciated the compliment more had it been directed towards me."

With this, Corlys turns to me, shocked, but impressed. He then shifts where he stood and motioned to the door, then walking off.

I clench my jaw before taking a step. I falter in my actions and am unable to withhold a pained grunt as I do so. It enrages me. I heave heavily. The incident of last night replays in my head uninvited. I will the tears forming in my eyes back where they came and I force through the pain with each step I make.

By the time I make it out of the cell, I see Corlys there, waiting for me. I draw closer to him and it is then I hear a voice behind me, "I will destroy whoever did this to you."

I turn over my shoulder, expecting to see Daemon, but I find no one. When I do manage to spot him, he is already far off in the other side of the hallway.

"The prince was keen on bring you to me," Corlys starts, extending his hand to the direction we needed to travel, "his personal motives are now more apparent to me after seeing how he reacted to you." He begins to walk slowly and I follow after him.

He continues in High Valyrian, "he insisted that instilling you in House Rubin and re-forging an alliance with you as its head will be more beneficial than beheading the captain of ship Jocelyn, who stole ten thousands worth of goods from my vessels."

"It's clear to me the prince does what he wants all the time, but that does not equate to him always getting away with it," I retort, taking a moment to continue, lest I let out a pained whimper, "whether his influence on you will allow me to keep my head or not, all I ask is that you no longer harm whoever's left of my crew. They were only following my orders."

Corlys watches me as I limp in my short strides, then raises a brow, "following the order merits the same punishment of whoever gave it." He places his hands behind him, "they also lied when they confessed to be the captain when they were clearly not."

"I did not ask them to do so."

"A lie is a lie," he says, "Prince Daemon however said that you allowed your crew to take turns giving the order, being the captain for a time."

I clench my jaw, turning to my feet, "they were all born without... it was my way of giving them a taste of power."

I turn to Corlys, but I instantly regret it, for his gaze upon me was most scrutinizing. I turn away just as he tells, "I knew him, the man who you claim to be your father. Estephan Rubin. I would like to say we were friends years ago when he was still alive."

I rub my eyes that were watering in pain.

He continues, "I knew of his four sons and how each of them died in battle, though I repent of not remembering their names. However, my memory does not fail me enough not to know about Rubin having a daughter."

"That makes two of you." I press my lips, turning back to him, "I was told my father died well before I was born. My mother died of child birth."

"Who raised you then?"

"The remaining servants of my house, Agnes, Douglas. They married each other and had children of their own. For a while, I acted like I was their eldest child, but then some lords found out about the origin of birth, and then they--" I shudder, unable to bear the pain of the memory on top of the physical pain I was feeling now. I turn back to my feet, "I was 13 when I ran away and lived off of whatever I could pickpocket."

"Who taught you how to speak this language then?" he asks in High Valyrian.

"You tend to get around when the world is out to get you," I respond, hand coming up to my chest, "what remained of my house, my ruby necklace, it bore the crest of Rubin. I realized all I had to do was be shameless enough when wearing it and people would be willing to do whatever you want."

I turn to Corlys when he halts in his tracks.

"Keep your head then, Lady Rubin," he says, "go forth with your banner, not as a pirate, but as the last of house Rubin and bring me back all twice the amount of which you stole. I swear then I will spare your crew."

I nod, "consider it done," I reply in his mother tongue, extending my hand out to him. He shakes it firmly, beginning to talk about his plans for me as we continue our travel to the maester's room.

#house of the dragon fanfic #hotd fanfic #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon targaryen slow burn #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x you #daemon fanfic #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen smut #daemon smut #im dead

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a1sh1teruu · 1 year

Text

the chains that bind ; j.wy

synopsis: catching jung wooyoung was a hard job, but keeping him in place was even harder.

contains: ghoul!wooyoung, ccg!reader, f!reader, profanities, smut (warnings under the cut!), some yandere behavior, possessive wooyoung, mentions of fwb, choking (non-sexual), mentions of weapons, breaking inside of reader's home, manipulation, please lmk if i missed anything!

wc: 3,5k

note: this was originally meant for the @/underworldnet's halloween event lol but here i am now 🕺i highk don't like it but i gotta do what i gotta do. this is the type of fic i've never really written(??) but it was a rollercoaster ride.

part 01 | part 02

smut warnings: double penetration, oral (m receiving??), fingering (f receiving), tentacle/kagune fucking, dubcon(?? i mean he manipulates her kinda), choking (sexual), hair pulling, degradation, pet names (princess), overstimulation, restraining(??), spanking, lmk if i missed anything!

“Done fucking Jongho?” Wooyoung’s bitter voice cut through the air from between the electric metal bars, pulling your attention.You and Jongho were close friends, with a few benefits here and there. He paid for your lunch and later on you were riding his dick, delivering the pleasure you two were craving. This has been going on for months now, and a special someone noticed it, giving him a bitter taste in his mouth.

You looked at him with an unreadable expression, holding eye contact with the ghoul. “I can smell him on you,” he felt his back burning, his kagune threatening to pierce through his scarred skin. You scoffed, turning around to write something into his file. “Whore,” he mumbled under his breath.

“I heard that.”

“Why do you even sleep with him?” he asked with a bite in his tone. “I don’t know what you like about him.”

Turning around, you asked, “Jung Wooyoung, are you jealous? Because I don’t get why you keep talking to me about whether I sleep with Jongho or not. What we had going on is in the past, and the men I sleep with now are none of your business.” Wooyoung didn’t let a single tone fall out of his mouth, but his expression told you enough, he wasn’t pleased with your behavior one bit.

You didn’t realize that you'd stepped closer to the metal bars while you talked, until Wooyoung grabbed you by the collar of your uniform, pulling you towards him, your nose just a hair’s breadth away from the electric bars. “It’s all of my business when I know that I fuck you better than anyone,” he hissed against your lips, one of his kagunes springing out of his back and wrapping around your neck. You felt hot, your mouth falling slack as the sticky, wet limb tightened around your throat. “Fuck, (Y/N),” the blonde ghoul groaned, feeling his pants tighten, “let me out of this cage.”

Suddenly the door flung open and you felt two strong hands grab you by the shoulders and pull you off the ghoul. As soon as your neck got freed from his grasp, you gasped and clung onto Jongho. “Are you okay?” his soft voice filled your ears, putting you at ease. You nodded, tear stained cheek squished against his hard chest. “Come on, let’s go.”

Thankfully it was the end of your shift, so Jongho and you could go home undisturbed. The cold October air was biting at your reddened cheeks while you walked down the street with Jongho by your side. Your thick uniforms were doing little to nothing at keeping you warm. “I can’t wait for our new winter uniforms to arrive,” you sighed as you rubbed your gloved hands together, the thin material creating some type of friction. Jongho just hummed and looked around at all the Halloween decorations in the shops. Halloween was already in a day and everyone was running around to buy the sweets they could give the kids who would come to ring their door bell. “I still have to buy sweets, oh my god.” You grabbed Jongho’s warm hand with yours and dragged him into the nearest store.

The moment you stepped foot into your apartment, Jongho had you pressed against the door, slotting his lips against yours. Both of you were pulling and pushing at each other’s clothes. Jongho let his lips wander downward, kissing and licking all over your neck. You gasped as you felt him sucking a mark onto your collarbone.

Jongho grabbed your hand and pulled you towards your bedroom. With each step you took, you let a piece of your uniform fall onto the carpeted floor, Jongho’s clothes joining yours.

With a soft hand on your back, he pressed you down onto the bed, cheek falling against your soft comforter. “Jongho,” you whine, voice slightly muffled and back arching as his hand wanders upwards, grasping the back of your neck.

The night passed with soft moans and whispers exchanged between you and Jongho, tangled in the sheets.

In the morning, the soft rays of sunlight shone onto your face, waking you up from your sweet slumber. You could hear Jongho’s soft snores next to you, his built back turned to you. Turning around, you draped your arm over the man’s shoulder, slightly pulling him into your naked chest. His eyes fluttered open as he felt your warm hand on his shoulder, leaning into your touch. “Good morning,” you hummed into his ear, laying a soft kiss on the shell of his ear. All you got was a nod from the man, mind still hazy from sleep. “I’ll take a quick shower and prepare breakfast, yeah?”

After eating and cleaning up, Jongho got ready to go to his own home, bidding you a great day with a kiss on the cheek. Closing and locking the door behind yourself, you made your way to your living room, taking the sweets you bought yesterday. With a bowl at your side, you started preparing the sweets so it would be easier for the kids to take them when they would ring your door tonight.

And when the late evening finally hit and the sky turned dark, the kids started running around the city, calling trick or treat everywhere. A wide smile painted your face when you opened the door to the small kids holding out their cute little buckets, in hopes of getting handfuls of sweets. “Trick or treat!” The kids all yelled in unison, all wearing various costumes.

“Oh, did you guys scare me!” You gasped, holding your hand to your chest in mock fear. Grabbing the sweets you had prepared earlier, you threw two into each bucket. “Now go scare the others,” you shooed them off with a smile on your face.

Just as you were about to close the door behind the kids, a foot suddenly lodged itself in the doorframe. The smile on your face fell, instead being replaced by an expression of pure shock. “Trick or treat.” His cocky smirk made you shiver, and before you could smash it into his face again, he had already shoved you back inside, door closed and locked behind him. With stuttering breaths, you quickly ran into your bedroom, pulling the drawer open. You took the gun that was laying in it and pointed it to the ghoul who was hot on your heels.

“Don’t move,” you warned, looking into his dark eyes. The low chuckle that left his chest made your skin crawl. “Or I’ll shoot.”

“Oh, come on, you always have to kill the fun, right?” he said, a mocking tone in his words. “I just want to play with you.” In between his words, he tested the waters by slightly stepping closer, which didn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Wooyoung.”

“Okay, okay, I won’t come any closer.” The ghoul lifted his hands and stepped backwards. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat as you two stood in tense silence. But Wooyoung had other plans. He wanted to go under your skin, take you off-guard. He asked, “How was Jongho today? Did he make you cum? Doesn’t look like it, seeing how tense you are.” He could hear your heartbeat quicken. “Give me one more chance, (Y/N), and I’ll give you the best night of your life.” The anger that built up in him as soon as he got a whiff of that disgusting smell when he opened the door was indescribable.

You took a cautious step back as you noticed the change in his demeanor, shoulders tense and eyes dark, the slight red of his iris peeking from under the brown. Suddenly, one Wooyoung’s kagunes shot out of his back, one of the tentacle-like limbs wrapping itself around your wrist, making the gun drop into Wooyoung’s hand. “Fuck you and that dude Jongho,” he seethed against your face, now only mere inches away from you. “You are a whore, a slut. Going around and fucking men who aren’t me.” Your breath hitched as you tried to pull your wrist out of his grasp, to no avail. One of his tentacles wrapped around your ankles hoisting you up. A groan ripped itself out of your chest as you fell into your bed, Wooyoung climbing on top of you. “Fuck you,” he groaned as he took both of your hands in his and pinned them above your head. “Come on, let me show you, huh? Let me make you feel good, yeah?” The sudden change of pitch in his voice made a shiver run through your spine as he whined into your neck, letting his sharp teeth graze your skin. He could feel his pants tighten when he heard your breath pick up, struggling to hold back the urge to grind his growing hard-on into you.

“Wooyoung,” you whispered, struggling to get out of the ghoul’s grasp. A choked gasp left your lungs as you felt him nip at the soft skin of your neck. “Wooyoung, please,” you whined, tears brimming at the corners of your eyes.

The blonde let one of his hands travel down your arm to your neck, grabbing it, but not squeezing it. “Yeah?” he asked, breath fanning against your lips. Wooyoung knew just how to push your buttons and make you yearn for him, and it scared you. He laid a soft kiss at the corner of your lips, making you chase his lips unconsciously. “Tell me, (Y/N). What do you want?” He asked, voice deeper and eyes darker than usual. Your eyes moved away from Wooyoung’s intense gaze, making him tut at you, a smug smirk stretched on his lips. “Ah, ah, ah, princess, look at me when I talk to you.” You felt the hand that was on your neck grab your chin and make you look at him.

It was working. He knew it. You knew it.

“Wooyoung, please,” you whined, pulling at his thick sweater. A choked sob raked through your chest as you felt Wooyoung’s fingers close around your neck. “I want it, Wooyoung, please.” The tears that had gathered around your eyes started spilling, wetting your hairline.

“What do you want? Tell me, precious,” he mumbled, laying a soft kiss onto your forehead.

“You,” you gasped when he let go of your throat, “you, I want you, Wooyoung!” Suddenly, all four tentacles shot out and pinned both your arms and legs to the mattress, a startled squeak leaving your lips. The way Wooyoung kissed you made you lose your breath, you had never received such passion from him. It didn’t take a heartbeat for you to kiss him back with as much passion. All feelings of guilt left your senses as you felt Wooyoung grind into you, feeling his hard-on pressing into you. His sharp teeth grazed your lower lip, softly biting into the skin and breaking the skin ever so slightly, causing your breath to hitch. “Woo,” you whined into his lips, a smirk stretching onto them as he sat up, hips slotted against yours. .

His hands found the hem of your flimsy shirt, pushing the it up to your chin, Wooyoung’s eyes widening at the sight. “Since when did you have your nipple pierced?” he whispered, thumb swiping over the warm metal on your right nipple.

“A few months ago–” your answer got cut short by a high pitched moan when Wooyoung pinched your nipple, hard.

“And you didn’t even show me,” he pouted, letting go of your nipple and lowering his face towards it. “You really should’ve told me about it, I love it.” With that, he took your right nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the metal. The shiver that ran through your body shook you to the core, a choked whine tumbling from your lips. When Wooyoung parted from your pierced nipple, he blew onto it, the cold blow of his breath cooling off the piercing, slick with his spit, pulling a sharp hiss out of you. “I bet Jongho really liked it, didn’t he?” You knew that he asked it out of spite.

Of course he knew that Jongho would love it. “H-he told me to– ah!” A loud slap echoed through the small room. There was now a big, red mark of Wooyoung’s hand on your right tit, the stinging pain spreading through your whole body.

The ghoul’s rough hand grabbed your face, pulling you up to face him. Hands still bound by his kagune. “I will make sure he never lays a fucking hand on your body,” he seethed against your lips and let you fall on the bed again. His hands gripped your hips, flipping you onto your stomach, his appendages assisting in turning you over. “I will ruin you,” he whispered against the shell of your ear, “I will ruin you so bad, you won't ever be needing dick from another man.” A loud gasp ripped out of you as Wooyoung ripped your shorts and immediately cupped your cunt. “Fuck, no panties? (Y/N), you are spoiling me,” he groaned loudly, letting his finger trace soft circles around your clit. His free hand snaked around your hips to pull them up so your back would be nice and bent for him. “And already so wet.” You let out a drawn-out moan as he put pressure onto your clit. “Gonna take me like the good slut you are, yeah? Gonna get you nice and open first.”

Wooyoung pushed one of his fingers inside of you and started fingering you open, the glide of his fingers comfortable due to your arousal. “Wooyoungie—” you whined into your hand, squirming, looking at him from over your shoulder, wanting more from him. “More,” how could he say no to that face?

With a sigh, he pushed a second finger inside of your cunt, curving them the way you like it the most. It scared you, it really did, the way he still knows how to pleasure you the best way possible. Not long after, a third finger followed the other two, making you whine loudly and clench around him. His thumb found your neglected clit and started rubbing it in slow circles. You shoved your face into your pillows, silencing your moans and cries for the ghoul. A startled yelp left your lips as Wooyoung’s free hand grabbed your hair and yanked your head up. “I wanna hear ‘em,” he whispered into your ear, making goosebumps rise on your heated skin. A sharp gasp was ripped from your lungs when you felt Wooyoung’s fingers prod against your g-spot, hips twitching and writhing in pleasure. While you were drowning in pleasure, you didn’t notice one of the ghoul’s kagunes slither up your spine and poke at your lower lip. Letting your jaw fall slack, you welcomed the warm limb into your mouth. “Fuck,” Wooyoung whispered as he continued to finger your cunt. “You wanna cum, princess? Wanna cum on my finger while you choke around me?” You moaned around the limb as your thighs started shaking. “Come on, do it.”

As soon as the words left Wooyoung’s lips, your orgasm came crashing onto you. The limb in your mouth continued to fuck your throat as Wooyoung fingered you through your orgasm. Tears were freely running down your cheeks as overstimulation burned your skin, Wooyoung’s touch igniting a fire in you.

Wooyoung suddenly pulled away from you, the warmth of his body leaving you. It didn’t take long for Wooyoung to be back, completely undressed and a vice grip on your hips. You could already feel the flesh of your hips burn with the strength Wooyoung was grabbing onto you, making sure that bruises would be left behind. His touch made you feel impatient, hips pressing against his, feeling the hard cock you’ve all but missed. “Wooyoungie,” you whined, “please, I need you– ah!” A red handprint started blooming on the round of your ass as Wooyoung soothed the sore spot. Your breath hitched when four appendages slid over your torso and lifted you up, pressing your back against Wooyoung’s chest. You held your breath when Wooyoung’s cock pressed against your weeping hole, pressing in just enough so his tip would enter you and with one swift motion he was balls deep inside you. Sighing, you held onto his forearms that were holding you against him and started rocking back and forth. “Please,” you whined, “please, Wooyoung.” Getting the memo, Wooyoung started fucking into you, hips slapping against your ass, causing a lewd slapping sounds to echo through the room.

“Fuck,” he groaned, lowering you so your face was buried into the pillows and your ass was up for Wooyoung to do as he pleases. He let both of his hands fall onto the fat of your ass and spread your cheeks apart to reveal your ass to his eyes. He let a fat glob of spit onto your ass, eyes following the trail it leaves while running down to where he and you are connected, when suddenly an idea came to his mind. “Keep still,” he said, concentrating on the kagune that was prodding on your rim. Wooyoung immediately noticed the way you tensed up, running a soothing hand up and down your back. “Relax, princess, it won’t hurt.” Suddenly you felt a warm sensation run down the back of your thighs, it felt slick. The moment the thin appendage entered your ass, all air leaving your lungs. The stretch burned but it still felt pleasurable. Wooyoung couldn’t rip his eyes from how your holes swallowed him whole, his dick twitching in your cunt while his kagune was unmoving in your ass. He was making you adjust before he made any moves.

While Wooyoung was caught in a trance, you were starting to get impatient, letting moans fall from your swollen lips as you tried to move your hips to get the stimulation you needed. “Want me to move?” he asked, a smirk crawling onto his features.

“Yes, Wooyoung, please move!”

The sudden jerk of his hips made you see stars as your breath got knocked out of your lungs, a drawn-out moan falling from your lips as his kagune started moving back and forth inside of you. As Wooyoung kept fucking your cunt like it belonged to him– which it did– his breath hitched when he saw the creamy ring of pleasure and arousal form around his cock. Your breath got heavier when Wooyoung’s movements sped up, another one of the warm appendages slithering up your back and into your mouth and the fourth one pressed itself onto your clit, softly vibrating. All of the stimulation caused your knees to give out and almost fall flat onto your mattress for the nth time this night, but Wooyoung was quick enough to catch your hips in his hands and hold you upward.

“Huh, what’s wrong, princess?” Wooyoung’s voice was teasing when he heard you babble around the appendage that was fucking your mouth. “You have to be clear for me to understand.” When your walls squeezed around him, he let out a loud moan, hips twitching as he was nearing his climax. “Are you gonna cum for me?” He asked breathlessly, voice a lot whinier than before. “Wanna show me how it’s done?” The kagune that was pressing into your clit started massaging it in tight circles. And with that, you welcomed the white, hot pleasure of your orgasm, walls milking Wooyoung’s cock as he came too and painted your walls.

Your moans of pleasure turned into moans of pain and overstimulation when he didn’t stop fucking into you, a gasp falling from your lips as his kagune left your mouth. The kagune, slick with your spit, wrapped around your neck and lifted you so your back was pressed against Wooyoung’s chest, again. “Wooyoung, it’s too much, please–” your pleading fell onto deaf ears as Wooyoung’s fingers replaced the thin limb that was around your swollen clit not too long ago. And in no time, you felt your climax build up again. “I’m gonna cum,” you cried, tears trailing down your wet cheeks. Your orgasm was an arms-length away when the ghoul’s teeth lodged into the skin of your shoulder, breaking the skin, causing a painful burn to surge through your body. This pulled a cry filled with pain and pleasure out of your throat as you came for another time on Wooyoung’s cock, the creamy arousal running down your thighs and onto Wooyoung’s balls.

When both of you came down from your highs, the ghoul let his jaw fall slack against your shoulder, his tongue lapping on the blood as you silently cried in his grasp. “Shh, I got you,” he whispered, his thumb drawing circles into your warm skin. “It won’t hurt anymore,” he kissed the spot, feeling you relax into his touch. “Let me clean you up, yeah?” He softly laid you down and went to the bathroom, getting a clean towel and wetting it with warm water. The rest of the night was spent with you in the arms of the ghoul while he was whispering sweet nothings into your ear. His fingers never left the fresh mark he gave you. His, you were his.

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