#a rare case in which I LOVE how this turned out
Text
5 hours apart
[spencer reid x reader]
summary: “I miss you. I miss you so much it hurts.” “I don't want you to miss me. It's tearing me apart.” from this prompt list.
pairing: spencer reid x svu!detective!f!reader
w.c: 3.7K
warnings/content: long distance relationship; crying; sadness; discussions of a case related to kidnapping (brief); migraine; this o.s approaches healthy siblings dynamic and some childhood trauma, be aware; discussions about marriage; spencer does not beat the pipe cleaner allegations.
A/N: decided to do a crossover one shot between criminal minds and law and order: svu (my newest obsession)because I love both shows (and nick amaro has older brother vibes) and it fit pretty well. there's like a few Spanish terms that I used and please consider that I did Spanish in high school and had a few classes afterwards, forgive me if I made some misspellings.
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masterpost
cm masterlist
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There are two missed calls on your phonescreen when you turn it on. The heavy load of paperwork you needed to finish plus the migraine that did not leave you alone forced you to turn your phone off during the daytime so you could concentrate on working. Amanda and Fin telling you to go home wasn't as effective as your boss ordering the exact same thing upon seeing your tired state. Thankfully, by the time he did that, you had already finished everything and you happily obliged.
The keychain clinking against the doorknob makes you drop your shoulders in relief. You aren't home but it's close enough. It's been a few months since you have stepped into your brother's place, but it's the same as you remember. Grey couch, the spotless kitchen island that you can see as soon as you walk in, the innumerous pictures of your brother and your niece scattered around the walls.
You throw your dark brown blazer on the loveseat across the room and sit on the couch unceremoniously, pressing play on the latest voice message.
“Hey... It's me. I called you before and it went straight to voicemail, I... I forgot to say something.” You snort, hair falling off of your ponytail as you let it loose down your shoulders. Never have you ever seen your boyfriend forget something. “I'm sorry I couldn't make it. I know I promised and I really wanted to go but the case, it was a serious one, they needed me.” The guilt in his voice breaks a part of you inside. “I-I'm sorry I let you down.” There's a beat, some voices in the background that you can't make out who it is because they're too far away. “I love you and I'll make it up to you, okay? Call me when you can, please.” And the message ends.
You only notice you start crying when a sob echoes through the room and the sound comes from you.
You were never mad at him. Deep down, you expected him to cancel on you because of a case, you knew you would if you were needed. Both if you are not the kind of people who let your people hanging, especially if the reason is work. And that's fine, when you started dating Spencer, that was the first thing you understood, as he did.
Being far away from him is what kills you. You manage to work long-distance. He visits you on his (rare) day-offs, you escape for a few days to Virginia. It works. It's how you do. But there are moments in which you just need him close and it's not like you can drive over to his apartment right away. 5 hours apart does that to a couple. It's not unbearable, but it's painful.
You miss him.
So you dial the number you know by heart, sniffling quietly on your bubble of loneliness in the empty apartment.
You don't know where he is, if he's home, if he's in a completely different timezone. You don't care.
It rings twice before his voice fills up the call. “Hi—Hey, angel.” He sounds frantic. You smile thinking he must have been waiting for your call.
“Hey, Spence,” you respond, folding your knees on the couch. “Are you home? I didn't text first to see if it was a good time to talk, sorry.”
“It's always a good time to talk to you.” He says without hesitantion. “I'm on the motel, packing.”
“Oh, so did the case end okay?”
You can feel the relief through his exhale. “Yes, we found the boy on time. He's finally back with his parents. Home.”
Your mouth twitches, “that's good.” And you make sure to add as you always do, “you saved a life today, I'm proud of you.”
His soft awkward chuckle causes a tearful grin out of you. You can practically see him blushing.
“Thank you. It was... It's a good feeling.”
“Are you happy?”
“Not really.”
You brows furrow slightly. “Why? Did something happen?”
“I miss you,” he says. “I am happy that we saved someone today, of course but... You know, the first person I wanted to tell it to was you. I just— I miss you. So much it hurts.”
You close your eyes as the tears slip one by one down your cheeks, you felt their salty taste. Your chest clenching as you stay silent for what feels like several minutes until Spencer's concerned tone breaks the silence.
“Angel?”
“Please don't miss me. It's tearing me apart.” Your request doesn't quite make sense but you don't have time to think it through before you say it. It just what comes out of your heart.
“Please, don't cry.”
You let out a tearful laugh, attempting to dry your tears foolishly.
“I'm always missing you, sweetheart. I'm sorry but that's inevitable.” He adds, sadly.
“It hurts so fucking much.”
Spencer clears his throat and you know he's either refraining from crying himself or trying to mask it.
“I know. I'm sorry.” He pauses. “I wish I was there.”
You shake your head even though he can't see it. “'s not your fault. It's your job, you can't help it.”
"I hate it that you're crying and I'm not there to comfort you."
"I'm fine," you whisper, sniffling. "Don't worry about me. Today was just... A shitty day, really."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
You hum, fiddling with the soft fabric of the light green hand-knit throw blanket your brother always left on his couch. "Migraine." It's what you say and all he needs to know to wince in the other side of the line.
"Did you take something for it?" Spencer is aware of your frequent migraines and how much they bother you.
"Yeah, it's okay now." You reply even though there's a little painful pang in the back of your back right now.
"Maybe you should try to sleep a little. Did you know that sleeping seven hours every night impacts on your focus, body weight and immune system? Actually, adults aged from sixteen to sixty years should all get at least seven hours sleep every night, but that's almost never happens because of people's usual hectic work schedules-" He sucks in a breathe upon noticing he's rambling non-stop. You laugh and suddenly the harsh grip on your heart diminishes a little. His voice appeasing the momentary heartache you're going through.
"Says you. Who never sleeps, anyway. And work on caffeine 24/7."
"Hey," his tone has a tinge of amusement but he pretends to be offended. "I sleep."
"You do when I'm there. Cause I force you."
"Oh, you're so cruel to me, angel."
Your lips widen into a smirk. "That I am."
The conversation carries on for a while, until you figure out which time it is where he is and immediately orders him to go to sleep because he has an early flight to catch in the morning. He's reluctant, but he eventually lets it go because you need to sleep too and you will talk in the next day again.
Before he hangs up, he asks, the first time he hesitates in the call. "Uh, does- does your brother hate me?"
Your brain takes a few seconds to grasp what he's implying, until you remember what was supposed to happen this weekend. Spencer would come over to your place in New York to meet your brother.
You bite your lip, straightening your legs out on the ouch. "Yeah, about that..."
"He does, doesn't he? I don't blame him, I did screw up-"
"Wait, baby, that's not it. I... I actually didn't tell him." A pause, you curse under your breath. Now he must thing you didn't want him to come. "Spence?"
"Did I pressure to do something you didn't want? I should have asked you if you wanted meet to meet him, right? I think I kind of invited myself over and-"
"Stop." You cut him off. "No, Spencer. You didn't pressure me into anything. I want you two to meet, of course I do. You're one of the most important people to me, but I really forgot. I'm not making up an excuse."
"Alright, yeah. Okay." He says and you hear a door closing and wood creaking. He must be sitting on the bed.
"I love you." You receive the mental image of the scrunch of his nose and the smile he can't help whenever you drop the L bomb out of nowhere. "And you know he doesn't have to approve anything, right? Nick has no say in who I date or not."
"But he's your brother, he's important to you and I would meet him someday anyway because- I, well." Your body shakes with laughter and the phone almost drops from your hand.
"What, are you proposing now, genius? Through the phone, really?"
"Don't make fun of me." Spencer warns playfully.
You take a few seconds to process that he doesn't deny it. You said it as a joke but he didn't even deny it that he thinks about marrying you. God, your chest could combust.
"You think about it?" You ask, shifting your position to bring your knees to your chest. "Us? Someday?"
"You mean getting married to you? Yes. I do. We haven't discussed it yet, but... Yes, I do think about it."
"Mhm."
"Has it ever... crossed your mind?" He's reluctant, shy to ask even. You find it cute as everything Spencer Reid does. Marriage is something that never really crossed your mind, to be honest. You think is nice when people get married and show their love to their loved ones, but your parents' relationship carved a fear deep within your chest and your entire perception of love had to be relearned through the years they separated. One thing that you learned is that no person and no relationship is the same. It's not because your father broke your trust and destroyed a part of your and your brother's childhood that your future partners will do the same. It is easier said than done, but you're coming around to the idea.
"Not before you." You admit quietly.
"Oh."
“Yeah.” You ponder out loud. “It scares me a bit, that I consider spending the rest of my life by your side. Doesn't it scare you?”
“It does,” he replies. “But the idea is nice to think about.”
You smile, letting out a soft breath. “Yeah, it is nice.”
A male voice calls out for him in his end and you know he has to go. You had already taken up much of his time, anyway.
“They want to go to a bar nearby to celebrate.” Spencer explains to you, not sounding too thrilled about the idea.
You snicker, “go have fun, genius. You deserve it. Try to enjoy it even if this is not your usual idea for fun. I love you.”
“I love you more.” Spencer says and laughs at your groan of protest on the other side.
“We're not going to be one of those couples who never hang up because you love me more or no, I love you more, Spencer.”
“I just like to mess with you.” He admits with an edge of amusement to his tone. And damn you miss the smirk you know he's making right now.
“Yeah, I know. Now go, have fun. And have a safe flight tomorrow, text me when you land?”
“Of course, angel. Try to sleep a bit, you need the rest.”
You smile. “Sure. Bye, Spence.”
“Bye, angel.”
An hour or two goes by since your phone call with your boyfriend and manage to cook some dinner and then throw yourself back on the couch while a random show is played on TV. You end up falling asleep and wake up upon hearing the jiggling keys against the door of your brother's apartment, rubbing your eyes in your disoriented sleepy state. Checking your phone, the screen says 11p.m.
Nick stops midway from his way to the couch, where he was probably about to throw himself at. From his tired eyes and hunched over stance, you are able to tell how exhausted he is. “Why are you always here?” Nick throws himself on the floor instead, his head falling against your knees. The tone he used would make you slap him right behind his ear, if you weren't still with your mind in that phone call and a million miles away from New York. “I thought you rented an apartment. Or is it that you just miss me?”
“I don't miss you.” You mumble, voice muffled by the soft fabric of the blanket covering half of your face. “I see you every day, idiot. How can I miss you.”
Nick raises an arm towards your calf and you immediately kick his hand away before it can get to your feet. He chuckles, fluttering his eyes open for the first time since he got home. He glances up at you, who's glaring at him. His smile falls.
“What's wrong?”
You shrug, pulling your knees up to your chest and turning your head towards the TV. You weren't paying attention since the show started, you had no idea what is going on. “I cooked dinner. Left you a plate on the microwave. Go eat, I bet you didn't have a proper meal. You never do.”
“That's not true—”
“Eating burritos isn't a proper meal, Nick.” You groan as he tries to take another look at your face. “Stop it. I'm fine.”
“Yeah, I don't buy it. What happened?” If there's one thing your brother is, that thing is anxious. Nick is a worrier. And he's completely paranoid about knowing what's going on to find a solution before the time runs out. Even if there is no time to run out. He gently tips your chin up, frowning. “Why have you been cryin’?”
You turn your face away from his reach, sitting up on the couch. You take a moment to form your answer and he's anxiously waiting for it, coffee-brown eyes inspecting your matching ones.
You decide to go simple, but it's also the truth. “'s not a good day, that's all.”
He blinks and then the concern opens some space for understanding in his expression. And just like that, he figures out what's been making you upset. You don't doubt that he really knows, since your brother and you always understand each other with a look.
“D'you wanna talk about it?” His usual sarcastic tone gives place to a softer one. The one he uses in moments where his little sister needs her older brother.
You shrug, letting out a sigh before resting your head against the couch, eyes studying the ceiling. “It's nothing, I just... I miss Virginia, that's all.”
Nick hums, nodding. “You mean you miss the skinny kid from the FBI.”
A laugh bubbles out of you unexpectedly, you playfully shove his shoulder as he offers you an unimpressed look.
“Stop being mean to him.”
“Me?” Nick pulls himself up to the sofa, groaning when his joints complain as he stands up. “'m not being mean to anybody.”
“Okay, grandpa.”
“Hey,” he throws a pillow at you, narrowing his eyes threateningly. “you don't get to be mean to me.” You roll your eyes. There he goes playing the older card that just makes him look exactly like an elderly. “Why don't you take a few days off? I can't remember the last time you did that.” Before you can respond to that, he frowns, turning to you as if he just had thought of something. “Or why doesn't the skinny kid come and visit you? It's not that hard.”
“He was gonna to that this weekend.” His raised eyebrow makes you sigh and shake your head. “He had a case last minute, so he couldn't.”
He pauses, munching on his cheek. You question his thoughtful expression.
“What? No jokes now?”
“It's serious then? You and him.”
You blink at him, puzzled by the question. It wasn't what you expected. “W—yes. Why would you ask that?” He had walked up to the kitchen to grab a bite of whatever you had made him and you followed right behind.
“Nothin’,” he says, turning the microwave on and stepping towards the fridge to grab something to drink. “I just never saw you in a serious relationship.”
You pause.
Okay, you had a few flings in your life, it's not like your love life is messy, it is actually pretty simple. You and the people you've previously have relationships (or situationships) enjoyed having fun. You weren't looking for anything serious and when you were... well, your job got in the way. Until Spencer Reid. He's the unexpected occurrence that showed up during a local case to investigate a series of murders in the city of New York and both of your teams worked together. If someone told you before that you would get attached so quickly to someone and consider driving five hours just because you missed them then you would have laughed in their face.
Your brother might actually have a point. He had never seen you in a serious commitment before, he has, however, had the opportunity to try and scare off some of your partners — the ones he accidentally met, at least.
“I don't need to disclosure every aspect of my love life to you, Nicholas.”
You crossed your arms as the corner of his lips lift in a knowing smile. “Stand down, tiger. I just made an observation, no need to get defensive.”
“I'm not.” You say, shifting on your feet, suddenly self-conscious with the whole conversation. It's difficult to talk about someone so important to you to another someone that's important to you. You've never share much about your personal life and inner struggles with anybody, and that has everything to do with the man you call “father” in the biological sense. But Spencer managed to push through these walls and he didn't demeaned you because of your trauma, neither did he treated you as if you were made out of glass, that you could shatter at any given second. He understood you and you understood him, which is why love has always been within your reach in your relationship. It was only a matter of time.
“He's important to you, isn't he?” The microwave beeped but none of you move.
“Yes.” You utter, playing with the ring on your index finger. “I know we don't— we don't talk about these stuff...”
“We can if you want to—”
“No, it's not— That's not it. I mean. You're my brother and we have a good communication but I never felt the need to formally introduce anyone to you because you're family, Nick. You're my only family,” you finally look at him. “If it ever got to the point, one day, where it was worth it for me to do that, then I would. I just thought that I wasn't made for love, you know?”
You see him rushing to disagree with you and probably say you can't think like this and that is not true, so you intervene before, smiling.
“But I know that that is not true, alright? Porque le quiero y sé que él también.” His eyes soften at your claim and you feel like crying again because you miss Spencer and you wish he's there with you. “So yeah, it is serious. And the reason he was going to come visit me was to meet you properly.”
“What?”
“Yes. That was my reaction too.” A fond smile takes over your mouth. “He insisted he wanted to meet you because he knows how important you are to me.”
“Oh.” He is officially caught off guard and it makes you chuckle. That is a rare image you're seeing in front of you. No one catches Nick Amaro off guard. One point to Spencer, I guess. “Well, now I just have to meet this chico who stole my sister's heart.” He's back to his playful persona, lifting a hand to ruffle your hair, and you flip him off. “Let's see if he is all that you claim he is.”
“He's a good guy, asshole.” He hums, munching on his food. “You'll see,” you say with a small grin while you turn back to the living room to lay back on the couch.
“We'll see.” He mumbles from the kitchen, shaking his head when a thought crosses his mind. He can't believe you fell in love, he still sees you as an annoying toddler who wouldn't let him be at school while he was trying to impress his friends because you were too shy to make your own and would cling to him like a lifeline. In all honesty, Nick has always enjoyed your company, it makes him feel grounded. He cares about your well-being and tries to protect you from every bad thing you have to face, but he knows he can't. Sometimes, you gotta face things on your own. And, sometimes, you don't need your older brother to shield you from pain. It's hard for him to accept that, especially after what you both endured through your lives.
You're all grown up now and he has to stand down his overprotective side because you can handle things, he knows you do. Though he'll be there, in the corner, having your back as always. Because that's what brothers do.
Hopefully, this Spencer Reid will pass the test.
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[translation]
Porque le quiero y sé que él también. = because I love him and I know that he does too
chico = boy, kid
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taglist: @lilyviolets ; @whore-for-spencer-reid ; @yeonalie @ninkieminjaj ;
#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid angst#spencer reid fanfiction#criminal minds fanfiction
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Waxing, Waning, My Unraveled Body Beheld By the Moon [Yan!Aventurine x GN!Reader]
The sun is not always shining. But the moon can only shine because of the sun.
A companion piece to Sunrise, Sunset, My Destroyed Body in the Onset. This fic assumes you've read it, so I heavily recommend you read it first before reading this. It'll make more sense if you do.
Ao3
Word count: 15.4k
TW: Implied/referenced noncon, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt, mild gore, violence against reader, choking/strangulation, Stockholm syndrome, Aventurine's Past shows up, EXTREME tonal whiplash due to the beginning (but frankly it's so you can brace yourselves...the calm before the storm), Reader needs a hug, Ratio where are you my man needs therapy NOW, twisted "happy endings" my beloved
Note: This got so out of hand. Aventurine is the most potent brain worm I've had in a while. Poor reader though. They used to be such a cringefail, now they're a poor little meow meow 😔
(Written before 2.2)
You stand on the top of a tower.
It’s a modest and small thing, but every second and breath you’ve taken is in its service. Time is its mortar, and actions are its bricks. It is stable, for you’ve built it straight up; a wide and strong base, with little deviation. If it had a shaky foundation, then you wouldn’t even bother.
You have no plans to construct it into something grandiose and spectacular. It’s best to keep your ambitions realistic, for it is so very easy to use and dispose of those with dreams bigger than themselves and small enough to be crushed in the palms of those atop skyscrapers. Your tower is modest, and you will keep it that way. You will have to become a cog in the machine for that to happen, but you can meagerly control the stability of your cog.
It is cruel that it has to be that way, but you aren’t capable enough to change the way things are done. You might as well make the most out of this.
You know this song and dance, by now. The park is closed at this time of night, but, and it might be your greatest achievement of them all, you found a way to sneak in undetected. Granted, there wasn’t anyone to stop you, but you were always good at being quiet, so rarely are you noticed.
You park your bike, well hidden in the bushes and trees. This is the noisiest part of your visit since the bike is heavy and you can’t suppress your soft grunts as you weasel it into its spot. But it’s worth it. After that, you walk along the trail, and when you’re far enough away, you stop trying to silence your steps and enjoy the sound of your boots falling onto dirt. It’s a soft but firm sound, and it brings you a sense of peace. You hike until you reach it. A little trail to the side; few sets of feet have paved the dirt, and even those who decide to pursue it usually turn back at the impenetrable foliage. But, you know there’s a stop. It’s tucked away, discovered by a much younger and adventurous you. You’re not sure if you found this place because you wanted to pretend to be a fairy princess or a heroic knight who saves the princess, or if you might’ve always been a little bit lonely. Whatever the case, you found this place, and it has since been your reprieve whenever things become too much.
You know the area like the back of your hand, so you turn off your phone’s flashlight as you make your way. It’s a small clearing of forest, but it’s perfect. Bushes and trees surround you in a half-circle from behind, and in front of you is the ledge of a cliff. From here, the sky has a clear view and it is always lovely whenever there’s a sunrise or sunset. Sometimes, when your mind wanders, you wonder how long you’d fall if you tripped over the ledge. But those are just musings you have no intention of acting on.
The moon does not grace you with its shine, but that’s alright. You’re here to see it shine on everything else. You’ll bask in the darkness, and admire the silver sheen on the rest of the world; the world which gets a fraction of the sun, even at night. You settle into your spot against the tree trunk, shaped so it nearly encircles you in its embrace. A silly thought crosses your mind: has this tree loved you? Of course not, but it’s just that: a silly little thought.
You’re not here for any especially soul-crushing reason or anything. It’s the usual: schoolwork ramping up and deadlines creeping up. And the accompanying existentialism of what comes after. It’s just another peaceful night during a stressful time. It will soothe your soul, the comfort within shall ebb and flow, and then it will all fade away when you’ve returned to the world blanketed in the sun’s golden sheen. When it all piles up again, you know you can always come back here: your special place, where you can curl into yourself as much as you want to. And as always, you will fight the urge—so tiny that it’s insignificant but still so omnipresent—to sink your head fully into your stomach and become a mass of unthinking flesh. Becoming smaller and smaller until you aren’t even a speck.
The wind picks up. The cold doesn’t bother you much, but your so human, and instinct propels you into nuzzling into your cotton scarf. It does mean you have to wash it often, but the inconvenience outweighs the comfort it provides. Yes, tonight will be a lovely one, spent doing nothing but staring at the moon from the shadows, alone with your thoughts and nocturnal critters that may tussle in the shrubbery. You hear a series of quick rustles—squirrels, maybe? Two of them, considering the frequency of rustling and the fact that it’s their mating season (well, you’re pretty sure spring is mating season. It could be wrong, but it’s useless trivia anyway, isn’t it? In the back of your mind, you imagine someone berating you). Another rustle plays, and you sigh wistfully. And then—
“…Hello,” A voice, shrewd and low sounds out.
Ink makes your vision go black and the only reason you don’t gasp or scream is because you’ve always froze before you ran. But even if you were a runner, where was there to go? You don’t know who this person is, where they are, why they are in your special place and why they’ve come here like a malicious boy kicking down a toddler’s sand castle or could they be here to prevent you from ever coming back to your special—
You swallow your panic and look for an exit before it forces itself back up. It’s not the first time someone’s noticed you, but you never really had to worry; you could just slip into here, and they’d give up when you couldn’t be found. But this is uncharted territory. More importantly, if anyone else were to know about this place, it would be a ranger. And you aren’t very interested in counting empty donut boxes and coffee cups during a run-of-the-mill interrogation.
Slowly, and as quietly as you can, you make your move. Your hands are clammy, and each step feels like it will cause the earth to crack and you’ll fall into its molten core. You’ll be melted down, and the idea that you may be reforged sends another surge of panic within you. You cannot let a single brick crack.
“I’m not here to hurt you if that’s what you’re thinking,” the voice says, much much much closer now. The words themselves should be of relief to you, but the fact that he’s closer means he knows where you are—in fact when you turn to look behind you, you can see a vague silhouette. Still, the few seconds you took to turn around also made it so that rather than relief and panic nulling each other, somewhat cool relief washed over you. Even if this entire situation is very, very, very weird.
Should you just leave? He could just be lying to you. You weren’t great at figuring out people’s intentions, but you’d think that the most likely one in this situation leaned toward the malicious. However, you didn’t even notice his existence until he spoke. The fact that at the very least, he could weave through mostly undetected. If he could do that, then you think it’s not very likely you can just get away.
You accept that defeat, so you decide to do something a little stupid. You talk to the stranger. In the event he’s a serial killer or something, maybe a conversation will let you get a good enough handle on him that he might just…let you go. Your heart hammers and you want to do nothing but shake, but you will yourself into a blizzard. If you are there, then you might be able to freeze and delay the ink that begins to drip.
“I’m pretty shocked,” you mutter. Your voice is still a bit disconnected, still reeling, “I’ve never met someone here. How’d you find this place? Why’d you come to this place?” You ask these questions, and you won’t mind dying as much if they’re answered.
“Work,” he cryptically says. You just barely pick up on a sardonic lilt.
“So you’re a park ranger,” you deflate, and you nuzzle into your scarf as you brace yourself. But levity is powerful, and you’ll tap into it. “Here to arrest little ol’ me, then? You could’ve waited, at least until the moon started to dip. It’s a pretty solid night, methinks.” Your heart feels a little numb from hammering into your ribs so much.
The ranger hums, “Moon’s the moon. It’s not bad, but the sun’s always pretty nice. But you’re right. It would’ve been better to wait till the sunrise. Alas, my schedule as of late has been a horribly rigid thing. I’m sure you know how it is.”
“Hmph,” you frown. It feels like he’s a cat playing with a mouse. You sigh with defeat, “Oh well. I’m not exactly known for being slippery, so I’m not even going to try and outrun a ranger of all people,” you extend your hand lazily, “Just get the cuffs already,” you decide to pout, to turn the situation around to something more comical and less soul-crushing, “Any longer, and the suspense’ll bury me six feet under. The records might call that cardiac arrest, but I call it embarrassing—the thought of dying like that is a real heartstopper.” Ha, look at you! A true punster, you little rascal. There is no reason for you to defame or attack a guy just doing his job, so if you go down, you’ll at least go down with a slow-witted joke or two. Across from you is a law-abiding Joe, and you are the evil thief mothers warn their children about. Truly, it cannot be more black and white than this, so it’s best for everyone that you don’t make too much of a fuss. See? You are capable of ethics! Or maybe that was more like philosophy? Eh, what’s the difference? You’re still fucked, and you very much want to die.
“Arrest you?” The ranger’s voice teeters toward, um…you think it’s some mix of sarcastic, mocking, and—oh wait, you’d call it ‘teasing.’ “Do you want to be arrested?” He teases, but it feels like the way an owner would talk down to a beloved puppy. You don’t appreciate it.
You frown. “No. Why would I want to be arrested?” You deadpan, “Can you please stop skirting around the issue?” More ink blots your sight, as your palms start to clam with unwanted anticipation. You think they could be gushing with your blood, if this guy keeps dragging your arrest out like this.
The ranger laughs. Laughs. You aren’t sure if you want to join him or shove him off the cliff. Whatever the case, now you know that there is a nonzero chance this ranger has a bit of a sadistic streak. Instinctively, you take a few steps back, as if that could save you from disaster, from plummeting over the edge of your tower.
“…Please tell me you aren’t planning anything…” The words you were thinking of saying suddenly elude you, but you’re already speaking. You have no choice but to see what haphazard replacements you make, “…goofy silly. Or something.”
The ranger clicks his tongue. It seems he’s fully dipped into a playful veneer; whether that’s his true self, or the mask he thinks you’ll best respond to in the way he wants, it nudges you a little further to the edge. You defensively nuzzle into your scarf, trying but failing to calm your nerves. You’ll give yourself one point, though: you thought you’d be more inclined to be screaming or crying. That’s probably because you are technically doing something illegal, so there’s really no one but yourself to blame for this predicament. Really, why do you still come here like this, when you know it’s against the rules? It’s not the first time you’ve asked yourself that question, but it’s certainly the first time it feels sort of tangible.
“‘Goofy silly?’” The words seem all at once perfect and dubious when carried in the ranger’s voice, “Hm…you know what? I do feel like I’m in a ‘goofy silly’ mood!”
Oh. Well, guess you’re double fucked. It was a good life, the clean record, you suppose. But what is life if not change? You’re entering a new era now, hardened criminal you. Crime will be your lifeblood; anything scared shall disintegrate into something depraved at your touch. You’ll do it all: tax evasion, defamation, shoplifting, parking offenses. Society will not be free of your crime sprees—all will fear the Suburban Terror. Karens will cower before you, the neighbors will hate you, the teenagers will prank you, and the children will scream with fear at you. All because the consequences of your actions caught up with you at the behest of the actions of some guy who just so happens to be able to arrest you.
“So, about that arresting,” the ranger continues, “I won’t be doing that!” he peps.
Everything stands in place. “What?”
“I’m not gonna arrest you!”
“W-well, I heard that,” you stammer, “but why? You literally said you’re here for work!”
You can practically sense the ranger’s lighthearted shrug, “I am. And I’m not arresting you. Simple as that!”
Everything feels like it's going too fast and too slowly. Whiplash isn’t good for the soul, in your opinion. “But…but the law…”
“Who said the law needs to be followed?”
“The government and state…” and then something clicks, “Hey, if you’re a park ranger, then aren’t you working for the government? Is this corruption?”
You imagine the ranger smirks. “What is corruption but a tool of the game?”
“What does that have to do with this conversation?” You find yourself deadpanning. “And why aren’t you answering?”
“Life’s a game,” he breezily purrs, “and conversation is a part of life, so really, it has everything to do with this conversation.”
“I think I’d rather go through a physics textbook than deconstruct that sentence,” but you find yourself smiling. The ranger has a good sense of humor, you find. You take a few more steps, no longer teetering on the edge. In the back of your mind, you think that he could just be lowering your guard, but honestly? Maybe you shouldn’t doubt a person’s goodwill, even if it’s technically illegal. Well, you don’t care about what’s illegal and not; if hairless monkeys with godless monkey brains are imperfect, then the things they make are imperfect too. Regardless…you don’t know his face, and he doesn’t know yours either. In other words, you’re both complete strangers. If you ever meet each other, you won’t even recognize each other, won’t ever truly register each other’s existence outside this singular shared moment.
That anonymity, the opportunity to exist without future consequence…it entices you, and you’re drawn into it. Drawn into levity and shedding your superficial guard.
“Careful, you might insult a doctor of physics or two,” the ranger says with an insinuating lilt. Perhaps he knows a physicist or a student suffering with their doctorate thesis. Information that is all at once useful and impeccably useless. “You might just get a piece of chalk lodged in your skull.”
You shrug. “I’m living my best life while they’re stressing over the mechanics of a rat yawning and how that like. Affects the physics of the air or something.”
That gets a soft huff, like he breathed out a laugh, “I say that too, but then he starts going on about quantum mechanics and wormholes…probably a lot more than that, but the stuff’s so incomprehensible I tune out.”
“Your friend sounds…well, like a scientist,” you unceremoniously blurt. “Sure, they’re called nerds, but for good reason. They can talk your ear off, all the while you nod without understanding a single thing…and then they sigh to go talk to someone who actually knows what they’re talking about.”
“‘Talk your ear off’ is a bit of an understatement,” the ranger says, “though I think it’s better to say ‘gives a tongue-lashing.’”
You wince at the image. “Oof. Sorry about that.”
“I’m used to it,” the stranger says. “Besides, I have a quip or two to throw back.”
“Oh.” You aren’t sure how to react. “That…that sucks.”
“‘That sucks?’” his tone isn’t accusatory; it’s curious, with a hint of what you believe is wariness.
It flusters you a bit, for some reason. “W-well,” you stammer, “if you’re used to it, then that means you get, uh, ‘tongue-lashings’ a ton, right? I don’t think people should be getting a ton of tongue-lashings…”
“But what if I do things that deserve a tongue-lashing?”
“Well, then you’d get a tongue-lashing. But, I dunno. I don’t think people should be mean to each other all the time, I guess,” you try, practically rambling, “Maybe it’s just cuz I know I’d just be on the floor in a sobbing heap if someone so much as raised their voice at me…but…but…w-well, you know what I mean!” You raise your hands, making desperate gestures as if you could telepathically communicate with them. Unfortunately, you do not live in a sci-fi with magical reality-bending wizard monk powers, not unless you devote yourself to a singular concept. “There’s always plenty of room for, um. Positive reinforcement, yeah! In fact, let’s practice!” Shit, your cheeks are heating and at this point you’re just incoherently blabbering but now that you’ve started you just can’t stop oh dear Aeons save you— “Uh…you…you follow your heart! By choosing not to arrest me out of…out of principle or, or, or pity…um, well, point is, you have defied the law of your own choosing, which is a pretty uh, gr~eat show of your super strong will! Your beliefs! They say within all delinquents lies a heart of gold, after all! And you know how to be sneak of super! I mean sneak super! I mean super sneak! Urgh, I mean suppppperrrrrrr sneaky. And I bet that’s really nice and I know that’s really cool! It’s a super power on par with that of uh. Uh. An Aeon? Yeah, an Aeon!”
You’ve lost your steam, and now you’re left blinking. The embarrassment flusters you, and now you’re something in between a fish being choked in the hand of a cruel fisherman and a wonderfully eloquent failing car engine. You truly are the epitome of grace and elegance. There was no way the ranger wasn’t at least cringing. Maybe he’d change his mind and just arrest you; after all, how else to fix cringe if not rehabilitate it? Well, if he did arrest you over this, you’d be back to haunt him with like, cheese, or something. You’d jump that hurdle when you got there.
Hm…but you think you kind of wanna crawl into a hole and die…but that expression is too cliche, so instead, you think you wanna crawl into a hole and start a society of mole people. It’ll be like LARPing, except you wouldn’t be role-playing! …Actually, yeah…someone should just kill you right now before you start to laugh and then cry as your embarrassment transitions into self-conscious despair……..that’s how it usually went when you got like this….
It’s a good thing you can’t be seen.
You think the ranger will laugh, stand in baffled silence, mock you, or just walk away, but he chuckles. “Hmmm…you know, I could get used to this; hearing people stumble over their words to compliment me!”
You’re a little dumbfounded, but you’re decent enough at rolling with the punches. You can come up with a headcanon or two on the spot. “Yeah! That’s the spirit! Now that’s what I call some good old-fashioned character development!”
He lets out a soft whistle, “That so? What trope would you say I embody, out of curiosity?”
“Hm…” you tap your chin in thought. You’re in a forest, and there’s a moon, and you get an award-winning idea. “Maybe…hrmmmm…a mysterious vampire, here to whisk the unassuming protagonist away to a forbidden romance, sustaining your very being on their essence…”
“Oh? Am I really that charming even without a face?” He teases.
You laugh. “Well, you are pretty charming, but I was just kidding. I couldn’t just let that opportunity slip away,” your laugh calms into a soft chuckle. “No, I’d say…a mysterious stranger, with a past unearthed and a charming veneer, but beneath it all lay an affable man…who may or may not heed the word of law.” Sure, it’s cheesy, but you don’t care about if he likes cheese or not. You like cheese, and that’s all that matters in this cruel world! If the world doesn’t like that, it can kiss your ass! (You think all of the is while very aware that the world can just as easily kick your ass)
“So…you’re just saying you don’t have a single clue about what my deal is.”
You feel a little offended. In hindsight, maybe you wouldn’t have been great at terrorizing Karens. “I mean, I’ve only known you for like, half an hour. All that I know about right now is that you’re some flavor of anarchist. Probably. Maybe.” But the same applies to him! He knows nothing about you! “But if you’re so confident, then it’s time to prove your mettle!” You point towards him challengingly, even though again, he cannot see you, “You tell me what character trope I am!” (And you briefly realize that you feel light and happy, that your smile is wide)
And at that moment, just at the cusp of truly extraordinary conversation (a claim which may or may not be exaggerated), an annoying thing happens. Your phone vibrates and your screen lights up; your alarm has gone off. Your phone always has the best timing, and you don’t want to scream at it and crush its sorry little body into itty bitty pieces.
“Oh…” you awkwardly exclaim. You’re wearing a light jacket, so the ranger can see the soft glow just as you do. “That’s…yeah, that’s sorta…alarm. Yeah. It’s my alarm. Not me alerting the IPC or the CFSS or something. I…have to go.”
“I see,” the ranger’s voice is light and airy, entirely unaffected. “A shame. I really did enjoy our conversation.” Your mind tells you it’s all empty, but your heart is aching to soar to heights unseen. Because you are only human, those with lone hearts die first.
You want to ignore it so badly, to just converse with this ranger a little bit longer but…but you really can’t. You must abide by it if you want to mitigate your suffering in the morning (re: you’ve run out of energy drinks and coffee at home and it’ll be hell to start your morning without slugging around like a zombie). And just like that, the ranger and your conversation will fizzle away into a distant memory. And you’ll still live, the same as you’ve ever been. And because you’re both strangers, there is no reason to ask each other for anything. Because if you do, then you will both have to live with the consequences of your words. And who knows? Maybe the ranger has only spared you this night because he was in a good mood. Maybe he won’t be so affable the next time you meet.
But there’s something to it. Some allure—no, the same allure of your special place. So you offer something, and you think your face might melt off, with how your cheeks fluster to the point its searing.
“...I come to this place a lot. It’s like…my special little place,” you awkwardly offer. “If…if you were curious about that, er, sorta thing. Yeah. Bye, have a good night.” You stutter awkwardly, stiffly and uncertain. And then you walk away, simultaneously desiring and afraid of hearing what his response to that would be. Of having your fear being validated with rejection.
If there was one moment you could point to that sealed your fate, it wouldn’t have been that conversation by a longshot, nor was it your second, third, tenth, or even your final conversation before he revealed himself to you; it was your offer. After all, people only think fate is immediate whenever it comes to hit them straight in the face. In truth, fate is gradual, of many bricks stacking up into a skyscraper. That offer led you to swim in ink; to traipse into fields of cotton; to weather against frozen infernos; and then finally, to dance in a flowering meadow, your feet raw and bleeding, sanded against the soft blades of poison ivy and oak.
—
He sees you’re on the balcony.
(Only right after when he woke up and felt that you weren’t in his arms and nearly tore apart everything and anything with a scream and that you were gone and had left him like everyone else—)
He’s rather taken aback by this. He was sure you wouldn’t even be able stand come the dawn. But you still unwittingly find ways to surprise him even now. You should really give yourself a pat on the back! Even if it seems like you’re leaning onto the railing for dear life.
The moon covers you in its silken silver sheen. The breeze tussles your hair and makes your robes softly billow. It’s a heart-throbbing serenity, and he finds an iota of respect within him to make his ambush on you gentle. You’ll squeak, pout, insult him, banter, and hiss before you resign and then he can hold you in peace. It’s a predictable song and dance, but he hasn’t tired of it. Seems even he can surprise himself.
(But oh, it’s because it’s something resembling something warm which has become so familiar…and a sturdy rock he can hold onto)
The smile spreads on his face easily (but whenever he’s around you, it’s a little less weighted, a little less about pitiful survival), “Sick of me already?” he adopts his signature lilt, albeit weighed by sleep, as his arms encircle your form. “We’ve only been a couple for a few of months.” You squeak, comically so, and violently flinch as he settles his head in the crook of your neck. Your reaction almost immediately invigorates him, like he’s wide awake in the sun. Your heart rate beats more rapidly, but your tensed muscles relax, just a little. You’ve been practicing, he thinks, to lessen your own burden rather than increase his pleasure. Maybe there’ll come a time when you can mold yourself however you please, and he’ll be none the wiser in your embrace when your hand snakes into his back.
(Don’t do that. Please, he just asks that you melt in his touch, melt right into him and stay—)
He inhales—his chest expanding into your back, and he feels your own breath hitch as if it slices into you—taking in your scent, all at once overwhelming and (newly) customary. A pungent ink comes to burn his nose at first, but underneath it comes moonlit snow, fresh and cool; dancing within a floral and earthy aroma, a dusty cedar scent with wilting flowers; and the afternotes of a decaying musk, passionate and vying for an end. He hums in appreciation, exhaling with contentment. You shudder in disgust because it’s him and you still aren’t used to the way his breath feathers and scratches your skin, over the bits of dried blood speckled over your neck.
“Aw, nuts…” you softly curse, but there’s no surprise to be found. Your words are laced with sleep, but there’s something else to them, he’s noticed. Your words still drip with vitriol (though it’s always been measured with ink, and it makes him purr in delight and it makes him feel even more empty—), but they’ve gotten softer, for lack of a better word. Exhausted, the same way one is when they’ve walked through a blizzard or sandstorm for long enough. How one gets frozen in the bowels of hell’s fires, or how one burns in solitary inferno in the frigid arctic.
And still, you haven’t reached your limit and killed him.
Surprisingly, you turn to face him, and he turns down the urge to lean in and kiss you. For now, at least. He’ll take it when you’ve said your piece.
You probably think yourself expressionless, but there’s a certain way your mouth subconsciously curls in displeasure like you want to scream or vomit your organs. Your eyes can host anything from enraged clarity to dull acceptance. The latter has only appeared a few times, but he anticipates that it will be a common sight as the months pass by. He wipes that look from his mind, and smiles wide as he looks intently into your eyes. The scent of ink burns his sinuses. Right now, your eyes are exhausted, disgusted, and a touch confused; nothing he isn’t used to. His smile goes soft, for he is more than willing to swallow poison you gift him. And as lovers, you’ll have to reciprocate, won’t you?
(Stop. Let him apply thinner to that ink, let him wash it all away and please please stop drowning in it)
“I was sick of you the moment you revealed yourself as the orchestrator.” you bluntly say, as if it’s an obvious fact—and it is—and for a moment he feels like he’s touching ice. You shake your head and sigh, looking back to the moon. You don’t want to discuss the matter, so you move on to another. “I just woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep. It’s nothing personal. Happens all the time.”
“‘All the time?’” He echoes and slides his hand into one of yours, where you lean on your arms against the railing. Your hands have been clamming; gosh, he really was something, to get you so worked up in a matter of minutes! His self-restraint is already on a thread when it comes to you. He gives in and gives you a chaste peck. Your lips slightly pucker with disgust, like you’ve sucked on a rancid lemon. But the kiss was meant to be brief, so that’s not an issue he’s too hung up on in the moment. He’ll just work on it with you, later. He trusts that you’ll cooperate, anyway.
(That you do not immediately hurl in his mere presence is miracle enough. He’ll take what he can get, and work from there. That’s how he got here)
He tilts his head boyishly and gives your cheek a playful pinch, “I mean…lately, you’ve been able to fall asleep without medicine—” your eyes widen and your cheeks flush as you’re caught off guard—but he doesn’t cut open your stomach or slice at your ribs to let your own body be the weapon which kills you—and he’s, his goal is always to win, but that doesn’t mean you have to fight. Right now, he’s merely having a heart-to-heart with you, sweetheart. So he doesn’t bother to point out the red on your cheeks, because he knows you hate it. Knows you understand it on a logical basis but still hate it so, so, so deeply and intricately. He doesn’t mind pushing you, but he would rather not see you bashing your head on the wall, crushing your skull and mind into lumps of grounded flesh, to try and ‘fix’ it. He sees that you’re mentally dismembering yourself when you locate the opening you gave him anyway. He doesn’t really need to try with you sometimes; it’s not an insult, it’s the truth, and he still loves you so very much. “These nighttime stirrings of yours aren’t going to be the norm, you know. If you’re able to fall asleep in my arms once, you can do so twice.”
Your eyes flit through a captivating kaleidoscope of disgust, intrigue, disgust again, pungent ink, and then victorious confusion. You scoff, but you don’t entirely deny what he said. “Waking up in he middle of the night and not falling asleep is a common thing. You shouldn’t misconstrue these sorta things y’know. Makes you seem desperate.”
“‘Desperate?’ Coming from you, should I consider that bonafide or just another desperate act?”
You frown. “I was only desperate because of you. The shit you pulled gave me no other choice.”
“Really?” He smirks, letting out a mocking huff, “You weren’t desperate before that?”
You scoff. “If you’re talking about school, then fine, I guess I was desperate to graduate as soon as possible.”
“Errr,” he mimics a buzzer, “two strikes.”
“Are you just projecting?”
“Make that three.”
“Bruh.” You deadpan. You’re quite amazing to be able to momentarily take yourself out of reality, he muses. “I’m not desperate,” you insist, practically hissing the words.
(He’s a bit jealous)
“If you weren’t desperate, then why’d you blindly befriend someone whose face you didn’t even know?”
“…I don’t know my online friends’ faces,” you weakly respond. You’ve conceded, and all you did was for show. For him or for you or for you both. He’s not sure either.
“Alright,” he pretends to concede, “Putting aside that they could just trace your information and learn everything about you…” his hand strokes your neck, goosebumps blazing in its wake, “They wouldn’t have been able to just…snap your neck, with you none the wiser,” He presses a kiss to your uneven pulse with a soft huff of laughter.
“It’s not like I didn’t think that,” you shoot back, “I figured at the time that if you could sneak up on me like that, then I’d be helpless to your whims.”
“Ah, but then…you offered me something: another night, in your special place, underneath the moon…who’s to say that I wouldn’t have been able to carry out any malicious actions? To continue to gain your trust and then stab you in the back?”
You frown. “Well…I…”
“Cat caught your tongue? Well, as I’ve said, the word you’re looking for is ‘desperate.’”
You swallow, and then you say, meekly, softly, like your voice is about to crack, “…I guess. And in the end, you did stab me in the back.”
He did, it’s true. That same iota of respect emerges, which makes him gently kiss you instead of speaking. Anything he’d say would only dampen your mood. You both may know about how disposable—
(Yet when it comes to you, something unpleasant twists his tongue, whenever he calls you disposable and he can’t truly come to vocalize such a statement)
—the two of you are. Nothing more than dots in the universe, nothing more than pawns in another’s game. The hand that moves him is the IPC, and it’s only natural he’s found a pawn of his own: you. Even if you’re not particularly valuable on the grand chessboard.
[Do you even want them on the chessboard in the first place?]
“I’ll make it up to you,” he promises. But you don’t believe him.
“You can make it up to me by never showing your face to me.” Ice encases his hands, stabbing into him; but it also roots him right at his spot. He is unused to the ice’s painful cold, but for as much as it is a deterrent, ice has a tendency to trap.
“Hmmm…how about no?”
“You half-ass…” You groan, tired and defeated. He feels a thread fall. “Seriously, people like you who use others to make promises you can’t and don’t keep are just…well, you know just how much you disgust me.”
(But he admits. He admits that your vitriol is tiring. He admits that he wants to hear you whisper in his ear, the same way he does to you, that he wants you to harbor the same carnal adoration he has for you—that he wants you to tear into him and expose him and then kiss and embrace him and that he wants to feast on you devour you consume you infuse you with his heart and soul so that he knows you’re here and will always be h—)
His jaw expands and closes down. Blood spreads along his tongue like wine, bitter, salty, metallic, and well-aged. You let out a scream of pain, and he only bites harder so that he burns himself into your skin to prove that he has you and that he is hu—
“Ah—ow…ow ow ow owwww—” you hiss, muddied by a sob, “W-why…?” You whimper, “When you already—AH!” His mind is blank, excited by the sweet flesh, only focused on devo—
“S-s-stop! Please!” You beg, and he feels you struggle uselessly, “H-hurts! I-I, what d-did I do to—?! Gh!”
Satisfaction and triumph weave into him. Your screams mean you’re here, means he’s carved himself into you, means he’s indulging in wine.
(But that’s a bit of a leap. He wishes he was as calculated as he makes himself out in front of you when it comes to you)
He pulls away. You breathe laboriously, looking at him with hate and terror, cradling your weeping neck with your hand. You aren’t completely exhausted, but he has made you even wearier if such a thing was possible. “Sorry,” he emptily apologizes, and presses a soft kiss to irritated skin, before moving on to your tears. Blood quickly smears your skin.
You growl, the pain making way for your unfiltered words. “You keep doing it, and it’s always so fucking painful.”
“It doesn’t help with how irresistible you are, sweetheart,” he smiles, and you bristle. “You know it’s because I love you,” he says, to rile you up a little. It helps that he means it.
(So you don’t notice the fact that he was in a hypnotic daze)
“‘Love.’” Your voice shakes. Your eyes are wide, angry, disbelieving, and blank.
“Yep.”
You shake slightly with anger. “Eat shit.” You spit. “Whatever the fuck this is, don’t call it that. Don’t you dare twist that word like that.”
He blinks. It’s not the first time you’ve lashed out over the word or the admission, but he still doesn’t quite know how to answer you. He settles, then, for what he’s always said. “Then what is it?”
“I don’t know. Obsession. Hate. Sadism. Loneliness. Whatever it’s called, it’s one hell of an insatiable beast. All that matters is that it’s hurting me.” You grunt, and bury your face into your hand, sighing blearily. “It’s late. Let’s…let’s not,” you exhale, tired, “Let’s not,” you repeat as if it were all a hopeless prayer. It might be more fitting to see you as a beggar, however. Leave me alone, you beg. Get buried beneath the sands already you Sigo—
“Why don’t you come back to bed?” he softly mutters, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, and presses a kiss to your cheek. The lingering blood on his lips blossoms into a weeping flower, a venomous and invasive species. They can be found throughout your skin, dried and wilting, but they’ll always blossom back. “You can sleep in.” Translation: he’ll still wake you up, but only for a kiss before heading to work. Though you’re still hesitant to exercise any bit of freedom he offers you. To be fair to you, you’re so very well aware of where your freedom and “freedom” lie. One has been crucified, and the other is merely its poorly preserved remains.
His mercy isn’t lost on you, but the hope in your eyes is quickly simmered by your hesitation and dread. You look away and grunt, likely hoping he’ll just shrug and walk away. Or at least delay the inevitable. You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for, you know. So painfully aware of your complete lack of power, so painfully aware that any outright resistance just isn’t worth it; isn’t worth risking the pain you fear so, so, so much. But that doesn’t mean that a reminder is remiss. Hesitation is fatal for the gambler, after all.
He hums and grins. He pulls you back and flips you around so that you lean against the railing, slightly hiked up so the tips of your toes just barely press against the ground. It grants him an unfettered view of your expression, almost comical shock morphing into fear as you register your newfound positions. You may not be entirely dangling over the railings…but you’re still at his mercy. You don’t hold onto his hand for dear life because that’s just what he’s decided. And you don’t want him to pursue that option or even fancy it.
[You mean…you want to point a gun into their heart, again?]
Fortunately, he has other plans. As much as he loves staring into your eyes, it’s the only thing he likes about you. He moves his head against your chest, right against that sweet heart of yours. It misses a beat before it resumes its cacophonous rhythm. “Wha…what?” your mortified tongue manages to get out. “Put…put me down!” He gives a content hum in response, nuzzling further into your heartbeat, tracing patterns into your back with one hand and securing you by the waist with the other. His silence only intensifies the cacophony, but he could never bear to shut down any sound of yours. He chuckles. You shiver. He can see you fight not to struggle, fearing that it would send you plummeting.
“It could be so much worse. You know that, don’t you? You live without chains and in a land where dawn shines, but that’s all my choice.” He finally speaks, when he’s decided you’ve had enough. Sure enough, the sound of screams and crumbling cities joins the cacophony. He pushes so he may discover all of the cacophonies your heart plays. He giggles, to twist the point further, “Relax! You haven’t done anything to warrant that! Yet.” You take a sharp breath. “But you still do things. Small things, but still bad things,” you quiver. “I’ve had a few thoughts. A tattoo,” your heart skips a beat, “of a peacock’s feather, maybe, tickling your thigh, or an ace of spades. Nothing too extravagant. Hm, although,” you’re frozen in place, so he moves his hand up to drift around your chest, clutching your waist tighter, “maybe we can just have my name, somewhere here…or…” he hums, for any and all matters pertaining to you need great care and thought, “....maybe we can just go with them all!” He exclaims.
(What is he doing what is he doing no he knows what he’s doing yes he needs to see and feel and taste your ink he’ll take what he can get but what is he doing why is he doing why why why is he doing but why’s he asking it feels so so so good to be the one towering above)
He resists the urge to look up at your expression. Not yet, he’ll save it for when it’s truly exquisite, for when ink burns up into his skull. “Oh, and now that I think about it, maybe something fancy on your back? Ah, haha, but it can’t be super big. It has to complement you, not overtake you! On that note, a piercing or two. Your ears are a no-brainer, but…” he takes on a teasing lilt, like he’s a boy unsure how to act around his crush, “...where~ else~ do we go? The belly button? That’d be pretty cute! Or…” his hand drifts further along your chest, “here…” he giggles, “that’d be so awfully adorable, wouldn’t it?” Your unease rolls out in waves. His grin widens further, foxlike, silently thanking you for giving him so many openings. “Ah, but doing all of that’s like saying you aren’t enough, isn’t it? I’m sorry for implying that,” he purrs the faux apology, “and maybe those kinds of accessories would get in the way of your full resplendence.” He sighs, similar to the way he does whenever he’s done talking. After a few moments, the cacophony quiets down, the ink merely stings, and you breathe close to steadily. Poor thing. You think he was done? “Clothes, too.” Your heart plunges into the depths. His hand teases dipping into your robes, “Why have a wardrobe when it can’t possibly do you justice?” He clicks his tongue. “That just~ won’t~ do~,” he singsongs, and then transitions into a friendly tone, “and hey! You can just think of it likeeee…going full-on commando!” He feels you seize up with disgust drawn out from the very depths of your soul. “That’d be pretty fun, wouldn’t it?” He laughs, “And comfy. A self-proclaimed couch potato’s dream is to endlessly lounge away the days, right? So, then,” he slightly dips his fingers, featherlight against shadowed skin and bitten gifts, “you really should just spend all day in bed. It’s not like you could go outside anyway. And just think about it—” An image pops into his mind, widening his smile, “Wrapped in my blankets, tangled in silk, entrapped into a web of it…” he slides a hand around your trembling wrist, his thumb rubbing over your thundering pulse, “this would look so beautiful, in red ribbon,” he presses a chaste kiss to your thundering pulse, “your ankles, waist…a mess of them over your chest…” he sighs, but he isn’t a negligible man, drifting his touch to lovingly wrap his hand around your neck, “and that pretty little neck goes without saying. You’ll be just like a little gift and I’d really . And,” he chuckles, “I don’t imagine you’d want to leave, either.” You shudder, tremble, make a sound a cross between disgust and a gasp choking on ink. “Hm, actually, that’s a good question,” And then he finally looks up. He is not disappointed in the slightest. You are choking, and completely pale and the only signs of life on your frozen face are your infrequent blinks and quiet breathing. “Do you want to leave me?” He wonders: what will you do? Say? You both know the answer, but for him to ask it would have you second-guessing yourself on what to say. Should you be honest? Should you give him the answer he wants to be true? Should you merely say that the two of you know that already? Or do you just say nothing, as ink clogs your throat?
[Do you really think you’re playing a game? With them of all people? How do you think they even ended up here in the first place?]
The cacophony of your heart cracks and twists the earth into pieces. You shake like a leaf, slowly but surely devoured by a caterpillar. Soft and innocent at first glance, but it only knows how to feast and gorge itself. Your breath comes out in short gasps, as burning ink drips through them and into your stomach. It forces itself out violently, as your sensitive skin clams up, as it painfully inches out of your skull, to thrust itself out through your eyes.
You’re beautiful.
It’s an honor, he thinks.
(And stand so highly elevated)
Although your terrified silence was anticipated, he doesn’t quite appreciate having a one-sided conversation, sweetheart. It seems you need a bit of encouragement, but he’s more than happy to provide. Regrettably, that means fully raising his head, but at least he won’t have to strain his neck to get a look at your face. He hikes you up, and you shriek in with fear, vaulting to wrap your arms around his shoulders as you struggle in vain to give yourself any semblance of contact with the ground. But the tips of your toes just barely graze the smooth concrete. “Dar~ling~,” he sing songs, “don’t keep me waiting, now.”
He smiles kindly. He takes your left hand into his own, gently rubbing in soothing circles. Your heart beats louder, as you’re forced to rely on him even more. You take in a sharp breath, stifled by a flood of ink. He leans his head down, over that nigh-on unbearably beautiful mark on your neck, placing his lips on it like a fleeting feather brushing past. He looks up into your eyes, blackened and blurred, while his own are rounded and soft. He coos and kisses the few that fall, a delightful flavor of vulnerability flowering on his tongue that he can’t get enough of. He tilts his head when he’s done, his expression lovesick and deviously innocent, and goes caress your cheek, to chain you to place. You stay still so that it doesn’t go from choking to cutting. He gives your hand a maliciously reassuring squeeze.
“I’ve got you,” he reassures, “you’re safe, with me.” The words are heavy and loaded yet he says it like he’s holding you close in the afterglow, whispering sweet nothings that mean everything into your ear. Impressively, a scoff is drawn out of you, yanked out through a sea.
(It reassures him, in some strange way)
You clutch at him harder, almost pulling him flush against you in an effort not to fall. Adorable. You’re still enveloped in ink, so looking up at him, you seem little more than a trembling newborn fawn.
Something dark flickers in your eye; the same dark thing he saw on the luckiest day of his life, as the sun shined so brilliantly on the gun held against your forehead. That dark thing which he didn’t foresee, and hadn’t seen since that day, until now.
You tremble, but you purse your lips, and, as resolutely as you can, give your answer.
“Yes.” And then you lean back. Your feet do not touch the ground.
His instincts are far more trained than yours. Pulling you away and into the room is a simple affair. You whimper in pain, struggling against his hold, but it only takes a slight twist to your wrist, an effortless suggestion, for it to cease.
(It’s his whole body that trembles, but you never seem to notice, when you tremble so much yourself and are so often a prisoner in your own mind)
“My friend,” he says, dropping any semblance of emotion in his voice. You nearly shriek as you’re engulfed in an inferno, hyperventilating in vain as smoke from your own burning body clogs your lungs. You’ve brought this upon yourself, though. Trapped in the fox’s jaw, you have nowhere else to go but right here. He smiles emptily, knowing that it makes you want to die. “Why don’t you come back to bed with me? And we can have a chat.”
(He hides his arm behind his back)
Just before he opens the balcony door, a drop of rain hits his cheek. The clouds obscure the moon, sealing its light shut. The sun will not shine on you two.
—
You aren’t shoved onto the bed, to skid across it like a sea of sharp rocks, or anything like that. That makes it worse, you think. Though, with how heavy your mind is, with how much ink fills it, you could see a blossoming flower and think that doomsday was nigh.
Trapped in his hold, out of endless possibilities, Aventurine elects to merely guide your forms to sit on the edge of the bed. He releases you, but whatever relief you felt was burned away when he slots your hand with his own, the other held behind his back. Like this, you two must look like a normal couple. One that had a fight, but then cooled down enough for them to sit and have a serious conversation; to communicate their feelings to one another, leading to a gentle reconciliation and promises to do better. But Aventurine…you’re sure that he holds a butcher knife, hidden behind his back, in moments like these.
You almost don’t hear him over the pounding in your ears eyes heart and lungs and everything. “Just what were you thinking, acting like that?”
Thinking? Thinking? Why would you tell him that? Actually, thinking? Did you even think? You feel your hand get squeezed like a lion clamping its jaw into a gazelle. “I—I, I…I,” you stammer.
“‘I don’t know?’” and you almost demand for how he was able to guess your answer. He hums and leans in further and further, boring those terrifying eyes right into you; you fear that he’ll bore a hole right through your eyes and fill it with himself. So that even in death, a part of him would always infect you.
Your mind, badly addled, nods.
He hums again, betraying no emotion, “I know what you were thinking. And you will, too. I’m sure the two of us are eager to get back to sleep, so it’s best to cut to the chase.”
“Cut…to the chase?”
“To the takeaway.”
It happens slowly, or quickly, or something, you don’t know you don’t really know at all everything drowns in ink—
He leans toward you, and gently pushes you on your back. You reactively scramble, but it doesn’t take much for him to make your struggle useless—and he wraps his hands around your neck and squeezes. Softly, then firmly, then roughly, then chokingly. He doesn’t butcher you, doesn’t spill your blood, doesn’t dismember you and put you back together, doesn’t meticulously carve himself into your skin, he just simply squeezes. That might’ve been the truly shocking thing about this. But you can’t think about that when you breathe and nothing comes in. You gasp, but it comes out as a silent, dying wheeze. You kick, but it’s useless. You try and pull his hands away. Useless. Useless useless useless everything is useless your future and very being are an endless abyss devoid of hope and life and everything you do have done will do is useless meaningless meaningless meaningless you’re dying you’re going to die you are dead you are hopeless and miserable and scared and dying dying dying dying dying he’s bored of you sick of you hates you he hates you hates you hates you hates you hates you stabbed you in the back choking you choking you you cry cry cry cry cry but your tears are searing ink that burns your flesh you’re burning burning burning burning there is no sunlight or moonlight—
You think and think about everything and nothing. You think about your cotton scarf. You think about your parents. You think about your degree and how useless it’s been. You think about the tiramisu you made earlier, and how it needed to set in the fridge overnight.
But no matter what you think about, or what you stop thinking about, you cannot stop thinking about Aventurine.
It hurts, but you can’t say that. It hurts so much, and you feel that your neck will be sliced off your head. You must look so ugly. You feel your eyes bulge, expand from out of your sockets, just a few seconds away from popping out and hanging by a nerve that could so easily be cut and gushing blood that Aventurine will lap up before throwing your corpse out of the window, to throw the trash out of the house. Your nose uselessly tries to inhale, but all it does is marginally slow the hideous mucus that leaks. Your mouth is equally useless, and it isn’t long until you give up and your tongue ungracefully lolls from your mouth. You feel all at once overwhelmed—the tears from your eyes burn your flesh, your eyes will become weights that shake with every movement, the snot will leave behind anguishing trails of acid, your tongue feels like a dumbbell crushing your face—and floating. You decide to float. You think about your cotton scarf, nuzzling—
You dimly realize you’re nuzzling into the grip that’s killing you.
Your body becomes lead.
Aventurine’s expression betrays nothing. But you feel something shake—your body? It’s surprising because you can hardly even blink, let alone move. It’s mostly around your neck. Maybe it’s the lack of oxygen. Your hands have gone limp, uselessly falling to the side, but you haven’t died yet. Aventurine is still busy killing you, and looking at you like you’re nothing and that he couldn’t care less about your reaction. You don’t want to look at him anymore. You don’t want to die with his face as the last thing you see. You’d rather die looking at the moon. But against his ironclad grip, your head doesn’t move. You struggle, but Aventurine’s face remains. Your mind begins to fill with cotton, and your eyes start to glaze, but it's burned away by a particularly forceful squeeze, which quickly lightens, but the damage has been done.
Your tongue is drying. Your vision spots. Not with black, not with the shade of ink you’ve grown used to, but it spots with light. Sunlight. You’re being cradled in the sunlight. Warm and soft, but you’re wretched out of that false sense of security when your body begins to blaze.
And then he lets you go after what feels like years. Something burning and cold and wonderful enters your nostrils and mouth—air, air, air air air air you need air air air air air—
The air doesn’t come rushing in like you’ve seen described in books. It painfully pumps into you, but it’s vastly preferable to the pain you were experiencing just a few moments ago. Your head slumps, turning to the moon's salvation—but you see only the clouds.
When your lungs stop burning, and your breathing returns to normal, Aventurine gently pulls you up into his lap, where he leans against the headboard. A single arm draped over your waist confines you to his chest. His other hand is out of sight. When he’s sure you aren’t getting away, he takes a breath, and his hidden hand comes to tip your head up.
His eyes all at once resemble an aphotic ocean and a flooding dam. You aren’t sure where it comes from, but you realize that, for this brief moment, he has dropped his facade.
“If you want to die,” he says, quietly, softly, almost vulnerably. You must have brain damage, if this is how he sounds. “this is how it’ll happen. By my hand. By my choice. And trust me when I say it’s infinitely better than anything you could do with your own hands,” he removes his hand from your chin to intertwine it with your own, all at once invasive and sweet, “I promise, (Name).”
Your chest begins to flood with a sob. It comes out wrangled and inhuman, but he only clutches you closer. Strangely, he doesn’t lap up your tears. Like many nights before and to come, you pass out, weighed by the agony of living with a man so obvious and indecipherable.
Your last thought before finally shutting your eyes is that Aventurine won’t be throwing you out anytime soon. You do not celebrate the thought, not entirely, anymore. It’s only much later that you realize why: he finally succeeded in forcing a small part of him into you.
—
When you pass out from complete exhaustion, Aventurine quietly tucks your head deeper into his chest. He thinks about yanking apart his ribcage, forcing you into it, and then pinning you there as he forces it to close. It’s begun to rain outside. It pitter-patters, booming in his ears, and nearly shreds his ears apart.
[But a part of you likes it when you drag them down to your level, right, Kakavasha?]
—
His master swirls a glass of red wine. It may as well have been blood; bought by blood, drank in the wake of blood, and spilled into blood. Kakavasha pursues his lips, to not scream in agony as the wine sears his wound; but it will be okay. He is used to weathering the sun, trudging through heavy sand, with his mouth drier than the environment. He can withstand this searing heat. He’s already withstood iron-hot metal pressed into his skin for minute after agonizing minute, no matter his involuntary cries and tears and pleas to stop.
But that was an exception. The desert has long dried his tears.
Besides, this is a ‘reward.’ For triumphing yet again. For surviving yet again. So the master sees it fit to briefly lavish him in luxury. At least it’s fitting for the occasion, Kakvasha thinks, the wine puddling out like blood. He waits for it to end. He’s already battered and bloody, beaten down, and he doesn’t need his neck chaffed and bleeding. Every yank of his chain evaporates energy he cannot afford to lose, cannot sacrifice or else there won’t be a bet he can emerge lucky from.
And, he admits. He’s a little (no, very) afraid of being brought to the edge between life and death again. He doesn’t want to be chained to the wall again, and have the chain around his neck pulled further and further away—
A sneer that would get him tortured spreads across his face. His face is already forced to the ground, so he’s not too worried.
“My lucky hound,” his master drawls, “stay with me. You did pretty well; it’d be a shame if I had to reevaluate you if you pass out just from this. C’mon, gimme a lil’ bark.”
He wipes his sneer and looks up with a practiced expression: defiant, but sanded down with fear; feisty, but compliant. Just enough fight to entertain, but not enough to be a nuisance. “Alive and kicking,” he grunts. It’s a strange mix of genuine and manufactured, biting back his cries of pain. It took him a bit to figure out what his master liked, but all that matters is that he got there. It’s fine, he tells himself. He doesn’t need to know how much he’s using him, too. “And savoring your gift.” He’s sure it’s the right answer, but the slight tremor indicates the awful anticipation he has for the results. If it isn’t, then everything he’s done to get here would all have been for nothing. He cannot afford to fumble his gamble now.
Luckily (ha!), it was the right answer. He’s given something his master can poke and prod at, and he’s gladly taken it. “I thought I asked you to bark,” he snarls, and the flaming wine ceases. But it’s for a reason, as he soon gets a kick to the stomach. It knocks the air out of him, but if his master were truly offended, he would’ve done much, much worse. Kakavasha coughs, just enough to suggest that he’s sorry and begging for forgiveness, but not enough to seem desperate and begging for a release and to stop stop stop— “Speaking is for humans. Honestly, I don’t even know why you Sigonian hounds were born with mouths. Universe’d be a better place if slaves like you were born with their mouths sewn shut—by the Aeons, do you disgust me!” he scratches before a smirk twists his face, “Though, ‘suppose that would mean I wouldn’t be able to hear the dogs whimper.” A shoe grinds into his stomach. He wants to see Kakavasha’s face then. “So, you gonna bark, or what?”
Kakavasha doesn’t need to act much, this time. His face falls into grim acceptance; the face he made when heat emanated from his neck; the face he made when the doors to his cell closed; the face he made when he saw the sand bury his sister’s body. Although the expression this time isn’t genuine, it’s not quite fabricated, either.
It’s fine. It’s fine. This is but one gamble. Acquiesce to his whims just enough, and then strike.
Soon, wine pools at his feet. But the wine in his master’s hand hasn’t all spilled, yet. Memories flit by in his mind: his master, flaunting his wealth in front of him.
“Humans wear clothes, accessories, and jewelry…dream all you want, but an animal can never become what it’s fated not to be.” His master’s voice echoes.
His limp and cold hand is adorned in rings. His still wrist holsters a beautiful watch and tasteful bangle. Kakvasha takes a sip of the wine. It burns, dripping down his throat. It leaves his tongue rancid and as dry as the desert.
He supposes that’s what it means to be human, then.
—
When you wake up, pain radiates throughout your neck and legs. Absently, your hand goes to your neck to relieve it but meets soft cotton. Gauze. Did he disinfect your wound (brand, that bastard branded me get him out of me I’ll—) when you passed out?
You close your eyes and try to fall back asleep but to no avail. With a moan, and then a hiss of pain, you roll over on your side. You see a note, a couple of pills, and a glass of water have been placed on your nightstand. With concentrated effort, you sit up and read the note.
Darling, dearest, love of my life, (you’d scoff if it didn’t hurt like hell to even breathe)
A painkiller. One every three hours. I suggest you take it if you want to get through the day comfortably, so please don’t spend your day staring at them in contempt like they’ve killed your dog. Contrary to what you might think, I do care for your comfort. (You feel a jolt of anger through your spine) I’ll try to be back a half hour or so earlier, but if fortune’s on my side, I’ll be back to you a full hour earlier. Wouldn’t that just be amazing? Actually, let me do a coin flip to gauge today’s fortune—oh! Look at that! Seems that it’s an hour. You won’t be lonely for long, I promise. (You frown) Business is wrapping up, so we’re leaving today, but I’ve already packed your bags. Focus on yourself, sweetheart, and get plenty of rest. And before you start overthinking things, I’m not worried at all. You won’t be forgetting anytime soon, and you’re not going anywhere. (You grit your teeth)
Use lots of ice on your neck! It helps a ton. And eat soft foods that go down easy; broth, oatmeal, the works. Now that’s what I call a good excuse to gorge on ice cream; not too much though, you *might* just throw up. And no, you can’t break the windows. Literally. I know you have your impulsive moments, but you’ve gotta be conservative with your energy today. I’ll make sure you are. If not…well, you like guessing games, right? Haha, now I really do have to go. I can’t believe you got me writing such a long letter! Alright, see you later, sweetheart.
Love, Aventurine.
You stare at the signature. Love, Aventurine sounding over and over in your mind, hitting the walls and coming back in a cracking echo. Love—a knife impales you—Aventurine—and you’re eaten alive.
Love, love, love, love, love.
You force yourself to look at the painkillers. You have no reason to believe him, but he doesn’t have any reason to lie to you. You decide not to take them.
Instead, you take a few slow sips of water, letting it coat your throat and tongue thoroughly. Then you force your sore body to the kitchen. You stumble, you trip, but you still make it to the countertop. It’s not complicated. Your mind can’t process complexity in its current state anyway.
It’s simple. You yank a knife from the block and plunge it into your chest, through your ribs, and into your heart. Blood gushes out like a waterfall, glistening like a ruby in the light of the dawn. You grin, pain wobbling your mouth, and swiftly cut open your stomach. Bile creeps up your throat as you gag violently, until you finally retch on the elongated mess of your intestines, unraveling into a bunch. You laugh hysterically when you notice that it looks like a horribly butchered plate of spaghetti—hilarious. It’s all nearly too much to bear, but there’s more work to be done. You’re still thinking; that just won’t do. You raise your knife, the tip shining in the sun and sparkling through your tears, and slam your forehead into it, finally putting an end to your existence.
That’s what should’ve happened. But the knife hasn’t taken that first plunge, yet. You will your arm to rectify the mistake. It shakes harder. And then everything from the night before rushes to your head, and ink clouds everything and everything and—
You can’t do it. Not by your own hand.
You violently throw the knife into the sink and collapse to the ground in a brutal sob.
You never attempt it again.
—
He was wrong about something. Your shattered limit would never end with his demise—it was yours.
(Is he really surprised? Or was he in denial this whole time?)
He’s not sure how to feel, that you’d rather destroy yourself than kill when backed into a corner. But he can at least understand that urge of yours to take someone else down with you; only, that person isn’t him, this time.
The wall you have built crumbles, and he wonders if you care if your destruction ends up killing another unintentionally; if that part of yourself has been killed, or if it has been twisted so you are born anew. But that’s a bit silly. You can destroy yourself, but you won’t ever lose yourself, even if you become fractured. That’s what experience has taught him, and it is both excruciatingly painful and relieving.
You’ve pinned him down. Your eyes are wide and dilated, and that spark of life within them is just nearly dimmed out; and yet, beneath that spark, something awful and alive pulsates. They hold an unabashed focus, yet they also look past him. For a rare moment, he is completely taken aback, and cannot conceal his surprise and dubious, almost hesitant delight. But he drops the hesitation. It’s fatal for him.
(His heart nearly stops. Is he pinned to the ground, or is he looking into a mirror? He almost feels like he’s been turned inside out)
“What. Were. You. Thinking?” It’s your voice, but he can’t help but think it takes on a cadence similar to his own. He can see that awful creature brandish its claws.
As much as he enjoys seeing such a creature, he cannot allow himself to be ripped apart by it. He’ll assert his control, and you’ll back off, the same as it’s always been. But he doesn’t quite mind being pinned down by you, so he’ll allow it for the moment. “You watch me gamble all the time, dearest.” He tilts his head, knowing just how much it pisses you off. “I don’t see how that’s gotten you so worked up—and you’ve been so sweet lately.”
Your jaw trembles, like a dog, he thinks, on the verge of barking and biting an intruder. Yet, a part of him also tells him that isn’t quite right. “You played Russian Roulette.” Drip, drip, sounds the blood of his challenger, but such a sound has been white noise all his life.
He smirks. “Are you jealous?” he teases, “Did you want to kill me, or were you hoping to take the bullet yourself?”
You, ever so slightly, begin to shake. “No,” you respond, without any sense of the word. “Answer my question,” you demand. He’s a little surprised because you so rarely make demands. He can see the beast grind its teeth, gnashing at the mere idea of his flesh, drooling its filth in gluttonous anticipation. But he knows you so, so, so very well. He can smell your fear—but of what? Fear that you might not be able to personally exact vengeance? He’s a little lost, for once. But he’ll know soon enough, he supposes. He continues with his usual demeanor.
“Mmm,” he hums nonchalantly, making you shake in agitation. “Well, I suppose I’m in no position to refuse. It was a good gamble with a good thrill, of course! I thought you knew this.” He knows you don’t believe that entirely, having spent so much time with him. The look in your eyes tells him it was the answer you were expecting. But you still aren’t satisfied. You still haven’t strewn his guts about the floor, to join the foolish challenger.
You do not respond, remaining as still as you can be. He decides to encourage you; you can’t just lead him on like this, you know.
“What’s wrong?” he goads. “Or have you finally come around to just how irresistible I am?”
The blood’s aroma has wafted over. Your eyes glaze impossibly further. The beast breaks its chains.
“I want to hollow out your chest,” you admit. His heart stops, and it’s only through years of practice that his face doesn’t instantly break out in shock. “And burrow into it, so I can listen to your heartbeat and feel the expanse of your lungs pressing into me with your every breath,” you shake, nearly violently, and you take each breath as if it’ll be your last. His own heart begins to beat erratically; he’s excited, he doesn’t know what’ll happen, but whatever it is he needs to have have have it— “I want to breathe in your blood, taste your heart, blood, sustain myself on nothing—” Aventurine feels a thread be pulled apart. “—on nothing but you!” You cry out, leaning in closer as you collapse to your knees and elbows, practically exchanging air. You’ve finally begun to cry, and with it, the beast has come—
No, he thinks. It’s already ripping apart his flesh. Your tears fall onto his face. His heart beats faster and faster; just as fast as when he ran away into those bloody puddles all those years ago.
“If you die…I might just join you, because…there’s really nothing else for me…” you sob, face contorting in a way he finds so breathtakingly pathetic and beautiful. For a moment, your mouth curls down, not maliciously, but with a determined promise. “If you die…I’m pulling the trigger, not some random sap in a casino.”
Oh. You…you remembered. Of course, you did. You never would forget. You couldn’t ever forget. His chest feels numb with how brutally his heart has beaten it.
He feels something cool seep into his pants and legs.
He is well acquainted with the touch of ice. How could he not? The time spent with you feels like a (fragile) eternity, and in it, he has glued himself to you; and you’ve, however unwittingly, froze him in place. Even if he’s always been able to force you into the desert with him, there are still those moments when a nigh unbearable cold seeps down into his bones, threatening to kill him, to preserve his dead body to be dusted ogled at whenever the master of the house needs to showoff their private collection to guests. But he feels it melting. He feels the cold you’ve desperately embraced crackle.
You sob a sound of euphoric despair that has him resisting his every urge to cradle you, and confess the truth; confess your want.
“I love you, Aventurine,” you take in a shuddering gasp.
His heart explodes. It is then he realizes that he, too, has gasped, and is breathing irregularly. That his composure has shattered without his realization.
“I love you…” you cough, no longer able to hold back your breakdown, the volcano of your emotions erupting in a destructive blaze that killed a part of you; the part of you that’d been holding on. Flora and flowers burn, snow becomes hellfire, and any and all life is replaced by a hungering beast desperate to keep itself satiated.
But only Aventurine can satiate it. A blush dusts his cheeks.
“I love you, I love you,” you hiccup and sob, repeating the mantra like a prayer (to a devil in velvet), I love you I love you I love you I love you.” And then you finally collapse on him, a pile of bricks and rubble and dust. You curl into his chest, over his violet heartbeat. “Don’t throw me away…don’t l-leave me…” he immediately secures your waist. It’s a disgusting implication. Why would he do that to you of all people? “I need you,” and his heart soars. A smile finally cracks his face, shattering something deep inside of him.
[No, no, Kakavasha, that’s really quite wrong. You haven’t been whole for a very, very long time.]
And then something brief surfaces in you, a small piece of useless reasoning, “and it’s your f-fault I’m like this…” That’s very true, which is why he needs to take responsibility. Which is why he has to continue keeping you, caring for you, and brutalizing you. The blood has trailed down to his back.
And then you’re back to sobbing, and practically howl, “Please, please Aventurine, tell me you love me and won’t ever let me go!” you beg, and entirely break down into a concentrated sob, distant from reality. You blabber, likely unaware, utterly lovely and incoherent words. The blood has reached his head.
His entire body shudders, rapturing him into a pile of broken flesh. He can’t hold back. He holds you tighter than before. It snaps you out of your daze, your body instinctively flinching away, but his grip doesn’t cease; it can’t cease, because if it does you two may never truly meld with one another. He sits up, positioning you so you straddle and completely rely on him for support. He looks at you. His long-lasting appetite has finally been satiated, but now a new one takes hold of his shaking form, his excitement electric and bloody.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he shudders breathlessly, just barely keeping himself from pouncing, “that was beautiful—you’re beautiful,” he pants, as his hunger grows painful, “how could I refuse such a heartfelt and adorable confession? You’re so perfect. You’re the other side of my coin…”
[Took you long enough.]
“...yes,” he groans, “I’d love to bring you down with me, and to tear you apart if I’m back in that dawnless land.” Because you aren’t leaving him, nor could you survive if he plummets back into that land. But you’re still coming with him because you need him (and so does he).
The dawn shines on the two of you, and finally, he kisses you. You’re too dazed to reciprocate, but you offer no resistance at all. But it’s a (relatively) chaste kiss, as he pulls back to whisper against your lips, wholly reverent. “I knew you were the one,” he confesses, and he sees your blush deepen, your eyes widen, “Thank you, for destroying yourself for me,” he brushes your cheek, “It’s truly an honor, sweetheart.”
You blink, eyes wide with tears, and just as he’s about to caress them away your mouth twitches—almost like you’re glitching as if the very expression was some bug in a game—and then you laugh. And it isn’t crazed, it isn’t weighed by madness, nor does it carry that familiar undertone of despair and fear he’s become so used to hearing from you—it’s warm like the dawn has cut through the rain to shine on him.
It’s that lovely laugh which the sun shines overhead and erases any shadow of doubt:
You’re insane. You’ve frozen over in hell, and have shattered yourself into pieces to melt into it.
If ‘I love you, Aventurine’ was the straw that broke the camel’s back, then your laughter is what made the camel burst and seep into searing, soulless sand.
It makes sense. Only someone destroyed and insane could love Aventurine.
(Kakavasha was dead. His hands are sticky, his chains rusty with blood and his throat burns)
[Is he? Or do you just need him to be dead? No matter how you slice it, I still see that same boy who clung to his Big Sis till the very end.]
But he’s a selfish man. If you give him your love, then he’ll gladly take it.
[Tsk, tsk. A desperate man, Kakavasha.]
But more importantly, there’s a feeling in his heart. It’s the feeling of a peaceful day beneath the scorching sun, of when he wins a game, of when he and his sister were just themselves with each other. All of it coalesces into something he hasn’t felt in—no, something he may have never truly felt until now:
Happiness.
[The closet thing you can call happiness, you mean.]
And is that feeling that has him lift you up, and spin and twirl with you in his arms. It is sheer elation, a hedonism that is so self-serving yet selfless all at once—sheer bliss—that fills him this: this is what he wants to feel. Your laughter is infectious, permeating his body and sapping it of rationality, but he does not try to fight this virus. For he is happy. The corner of his eyes crinkle; he is unused to the feeling.
He laughs and laughs with you. His clothes and shoes are tracking blood. Normally the thought of even rain getting on his clothes disgusts him, but now, all he can think about is basking in this crimson victory. The dawn shines on you both, commemorating your unholy union.
You really are perfect for him, he thinks. Because he must be insane too, when he laughs like a crazed dog—the same dogs he nearly drowned in bloodied water to get away from.
—
You both deserved a treat. He whisked you away to a room—he can deal with the casino room later, call on a few favors—because you deserve his utmost attention, as he does yours. The prospect of your complete attention, entirely unfettered, excites him.
It’s a fine room. The bed is large and soft, the bath is large and pleasant, and the view is utterly breathtaking. But neither of you cares about that. You could be rolling in sewage and shit and you’d still look at him the way he looks at you, still enter demented laughter and twisted joy, still parade under that veneer of love.
He gets his fill, as do you—but you both know neither of you will ever be sated, not when you two can’t be joined together in the ways you want to.
The dawn is rich and bright, shining on the waking and sending the begging crawling away into the shadows. You breathe softly, utterly exhausted. A complete 180 from just a few moments ago, too. Your arms wrap weakly around him, tucking yourself into him snugly. His kisses, imprinted with your blood, create a field of flowers on your face. As does his own. …He makes a note to tip room service extra for the bloodied sheets. There’s a reason he doesn’t dress (as) extravagantly for when he needs to get his hands dirty.
Perhaps after this, he’ll gift you something truly special, he thinks. His earring’s twin has just been gathering dust. And it would be quite romantic to get your ears pierced by him, too. His heart beats at the thought. He’s sure you’ll agree to it if it’s by his hand. Maybe, after this, you’ll wear his gifts of your own accord. Small things, for when you go out, a modest bracelet or watch, a tasteful necklace (of ownership). Nothing overt so as to not draw any thieving eyes, but something to signify to those that know what to look for that you aren’t to be messed with. As for when you’re inside and home…he still remembers how red your face got, and the curses you threw at him. And you’ll finally concede that his taste is actually pretty solid (but, and he will clarify just for you, it's not a sore spot in the slightest! He’s more mature than that).
He feels a bit of pride at your exhaustion (“I…erm…wanna…well, I can d-do some of the work,” you said, flustered and embarrassed by the mere admission. He found it endearing, that you could confess your desire to burrow into him and then stammer when asking him for something. You really did hate the idea of using him, didn’t you?) The remembrance of that moment makes him smile.
(He doesn’t bother dissecting what kind of smile he makes)
However, a single moment is on repeat in his mind. His hand absently drifts to the crook of his neck, weeping but a few minutes ago. Your teeth, sinking in so deeply, intimately, just on the verge of ripping a chunk of his flesh out; you were practically dining on him. It sent him over the edge.
When you pulled away and looked at him, he was again taken aback at what he saw.
Your lips, slightly parted and utterly breathless, speckled with rouge. Your cheeks were red hot with adoration. Your eyes, brimming with love and care and everything he couldn’t believe someone besides his own family could direct toward him.
(But your love is very different from his family’s. They wanted to nourish. You want to devour. But he sees nothing to criticize there—indulge, and he will gladly indulge back, until there’s nothing left of either of you)
But what truly pushes him over the edge, is the smile you give, softly stained in crimson. It is pure and untainted, angelic and sweet, soft and warm like how the dawn kisses his cheek. It is as if this love of yours was born not of a tower’s rubble but of whispered secrets and touches shared in the shadow of moonlight. It’s as if the love you show him now would’ve been what he got if he was a more selfless man (if he were any other man). You both know he does not deserve the love in your eyes—it is the last thing you owe him. Yet you give it to him anyway.
You are utterly insane. And now that he knows what insanity on you looks like,
He wouldn’t have it any other way.
But before he can shut his eyes for an hour or two of respite, there’s something he has to do. He promised many things as you both feasted, but there are two absolute ones he has to reaffirm. Two absolute ones you wanted so badly that you unleashed a frozen inferno.
“I’ll never leave you,” he promises, “And never would. I admit, it stung a bit for you to fear that from me, but…I’ll make it up to you tenfold, sweetheart. I’ll make sure you don’t feel that way ever again,” He kisses your cheek gently. He pictures your response and giggles. “Yeah, I’m being sappy, but you’re,” he boops your nose with each following word, “just~. As~. Guilty~.” You stir, groggily groaning but it’s not enough to rouse you. After a short while, you nuzzle your head further into his neck with a sleepy sigh. Something tells him that even asleep, you’ll somehow know what he’s telling you. Your lips come to rest on the gift you gave him, as if even in sleep you’d rip him apart. His heart flutters. “You’re so sweet…” he exhales with a shudder, “seriously, how do you manage it? Not that I mind, of course…” he plays with a strand of your hair. Candy and clouds and raw flesh burst on his tongue all at once, and he can’t get enough of that flavor of sickly sweet rot. He smiles, a soft and predatory thing, and his lips drift to his favorite spot.
But don’t get him wrong—every part of you is lovely and he would kill to vivisect you if only it didn’t mean killing you and putting you in extreme pain. It’s those two latter thoughts that quell his desire to do so.
(Maybe he would enjoy it, but only for a moment, only for so as long as the euphoria and awe of seeing all of you lasts. If you did die—especially with cries and shrieks of pain—he would sob, curling around your body…and then he would take you with him, so when he goes to that place, you’d be with him on that very first step)
It’s where he first bit you on the luckiest day of his life. It’s bruised and tender, red and ugly and scarred. Renewed countless times, it is beyond repair. Moments ago it held a crimson sheen, but its been smeared throughout your collarbone and shoulder. The way it smears makes it appear like a red mist, like a curling wisp of smoke that dirties clouds and infects rainwater. He brings you impossibly closer, to keep you from becoming red mist. At the same time, should he squeeze just a bit too hard, then away you go into the mist.
(As if to keep you far, far, far away from the rainwater which had swirled with a thick, red mist—to keep you from breathing in it, from having to hide so you didn’t become like the cold bodies which floated beside you)
His lips seemingly slot in with the spot perfectly. It only makes sense. It was today where you’ve melded yourself to him.
(And he’s melded himself to you for a long time. Against his better judgment and sense, he melded himself to you; at the time it was only the idea of you, but it didn’t take long for it to be you.
He sighs in content, but he still has another promise to make.
“We’ll be together, you and I. Two sides of a single coin can face away from each other, but they can’t exist separate from each other. You’re pretty smart, so I’m sure you get it,” yes, he has plenty of faith in you, sweet thing, but he can’t help but ramble, “and it’s because I love you, (Name).” He says it so tenderly, your name, and unexpectedly (or very expectedly) something he thought he’d never feel ever again invades his chest, and it forces itself out, “I love you, I love you,” he thinks his grip has tightened and that his heart has started to race and that he’s shaking but he doesn’t care about that right now and he doesn’t care if he has been losing composure without his notice. “I love you I love you I love you. You have no idea just how much I want to devour you, just how much I want you tethered to me. How much I need you to be unable to live without me. If I’m alive, you’re alive. If I’m dead…you said it yourself. You’ll follow me. It just needs to be by my hand, and you’ll follow me. You won’t have to worry about being alone, being without me. And it’s all because…
I love you.”
He dimly realizes that something salty has trailed to his lips. Are you awake? Or are you having a nightmare? Either way, he moves like he has so many other times, to remind you that he’d be there, even at your most vulnerable. He goes up to kiss your eyes and lick your cheek, but nothing’s there.
Something flutters against his cheek. You’re awake, and he feels something warm and wet travel on his cheek. He’s not sure what he feels, when he looks up to you.
(What does his face look like?)
You blink, eyes bleary with sleep and weighted with content. But tinged with the sleep and contentment, there’s another thing, which makes everything within him burn. Which makes him shake and his heart nearly explodes.
Dimly, he realizes that your destruction didn’t just kill a part of you. He’s buried beneath the fire and rubble, too.
[And it’s lovely.]
And then (at that moment), for some reason (for all the reasons), he buries his head in your chest (into your heart),
To sob in the sunlight, soothed by the hands that unraveled him.
#yandere#yandere hsr#yandere aventurine#destroyed onset#aventurine x reader#yandere aventurine x reader#yandere x you#yandere hsr x reader#tw noncon#tw suicide#next fic is gonna be sitcom esque#the calm before the storm 😉#and also because i need to write the reader being happy in a#not fucked up way LMFAO
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The Animal In Me Loves the Human In You (BuckTommy Omegaverse)
That's such a bad title but I suck at titles. Also sorry for writing Buck and Tommy so OOC
Summary: In which, Tommy gets hurt and Buck goes feral
***
Feral alphas were sadly not a rare occurrence in their line of work. Every month, they came across a case of an alpha going feral, and then they would have to subdue the alpha and make sure they were taken to the nearest alpha care unit. Sometimes Buck and his team were there on time to stop the alpha from hurting anyone but other times, they were as lucky. It both scared and saddened Buck to see other alphas in that state. To think that he is also one bad day away from becoming them terrifies him but to see them not realize the damage they have done until it's too late saddens him too.
Lately, it has become commonplace for alphas to go feral and no one knows why that is. Buck figured there was something in the water. The same water he drank. Shit.
"Tommy! Hey!"
Eddie's voice brought Buck out of his thoughts and all his fears and sadness disappeared when he saw his omega, Tommy.
"Hey, fellas!" Tommy greeted them and his eyes shined when they landed on Buck. "How's it going?"
"What are you doing here?" Buck asked surprised. He resisted the urge to reach out to his omega and pull him in for a hug. But they were working, it wouldn't be right.
"Oh, Lucy and I are here to pick up your patient and transport him," Tommy replied.
"Yeah, I called them," Bobby chimed in. "There are no spaces at the local alpha unit so Jeremy will need to be transported to a facility in Santa Monica."
Buck subtly moved to stand next to Tommy and let their shoulders brush against each other. If he couldn't touch his omega right now then this would have to do.
"Are you okay?" Tommy asked once Lucy started talking to everyone. "I know these cases aren't easy on you."
"Nah, I'm good," Buck replied and smiled at him. "Especially now that you're here."
"You're such a sap," Tommy teased and rolled his eyes. "So what do you want for dinner tonight?"
"Y-"
"I am not on the menu," Tommy quickly cut him off and smirked.
"Well, that sucks. If my favorite dish isn't on the menu then how am I supposed to eat?" Buck pouted at him.
"You'll live," Tommy chuckled, shaking his head. "Anyway, we should get going."
"Do you have to? Can't you just stay a little while and watch me be heroic?" Buck pouted at him again.
"If you two are done flirting, can we transport the patient now?" Lucy cut in.
Tommy cleared his throat and nodded. Buck noticed the slight tint of red on his cheeks.
Buck watched Tommy go, and his heart clenched. He felt a hand on his shoulder and saw Eddie giving him a knowing look. "You'll see him later tonight."
"I know, but I just miss him when he's not here with me. I told him to join us instead but he doesn't want to. Says he enjoys flying too much," Buck explained and remorsefully looked at his omega again.
"Come on, let's go. Our job here is done," Bobby told them.
Just as they turned around to leave, Buck heard a scream. He looked back to see Tommy and Lucy trying to hold the feral alpha down. The feral alpha grabbed Tommy's throat and Buck saw red. He growled and ran towards them.
Buck grabbed the other alpha's arm and tried to pull it off Tommy, who was struggling to breathe. When that didn't work, he growled loudly and flashed his eyes at the other alpha, forcing him to cower and let go of Tommy.
Buck kept snarling at him. All he could think was how this alpha tried to hurt his omega. The alpha in him took over and he grabbed the alpha's throat and squeezed instead.
"Buck!" Someone yelled and soon there were hands, trying to pull him away, but Buck didn't budge. He kept squeezing.
"BUCK!" Bobby growled and let his alpha through, flashing his gold eyes at him.
Buck let go of the alpha immediately and backed off, lowering his eyes at the alpha in charge. He immediately went to Tommy's side and checked on him.
"I'm okay, I'm okay," Tommy assured him and tried to smile but failed.
Buck frowned and checked his neck to see bruises there. He immediately wanted to kill the feral alpha again, but by now Hen and Chimney had subdued him and Bobby was keeping himself in between the feral alpha and Buck.
Everything was a blur after that. His entire focus was only on Tommy. He stayed close to his side as Hen looked at him.
"I'm okay," Tommy tried telling Hen but a low growl rumbled in Buck's throat. "Don't you growl at me, Evan," Tommy said, sounding more amused than pissed off.
"The damage isn't too bad," Hen told them. She said something else after that Buck heard nothing. His sole focus was on Tommy.
"Let's go. I'm taking you home," Buck told Tommy.
"We have work to do, Evan. We can't go home," Tommy gently told him.
"I don't care. I am taking you home where I can keep you safe," Buck told him again.
Suddenly someone grabbed Buck's arm and forced him to turn around. "Buck! What the hell were you people doing when that feral alpha attacked my girlfriend?!"
It was Taylor. Buck looked at her hand on his arm and then back at her.
"Get your hand off me before I break it," Buck warned the other alpha.
"You don't scare me, Buck!" Taylor scoffed at him. "You're a pathetic excuse for an alpha. You can't even protect your own omega! How could I possibly expect you to protect mine?"
"Taylor, stop," Lucy tried pulling her alpha back but it was too late.
Buck saw red once again and his alpha took over. The next thing he knew, he lunged at Taylor.
Someone shouted his name and then people were trying to hold him back. But Buck kept growling and snarling, and he only saw Taylor, having a deep urge to kill her.
Buck's only mission at that moment was to kill Taylor and the feral alpha who hurt his omega.
But he was being forced to lie down and was strapped to the gurney as he thrashed about, trying to break free.
"No, no, no, wait! Lemme talk to him before you give him that."
Buck heard Tommy's voice and then his face came into view. He reached out to touch Buck and Buck snarled at him.
"Evan, baby, hey, it's me. Your omega. Your Tommy. You remember me, right?"
How could Buck ever forget him? Buck stopped snarling and just blinked at him instead.
"Yeah, of course you remember me." Tommy smiled at him and Buck suddenly felt a lot calmer.
"Tommy?" His voice sounded small and pathetic to himself.
"Yeah, baby, it's me. I know you were just trying to protect me and I love you for that," Tommy told him in a gentle voice.
Buck's chest stopped heaving and he struggled to push his alpha back. "I'm sorry," he said when he finally won.
"You have nothing to be sorry for. Everyone here understands that you were just looking out for me," Tommy assured him.
"How on Earth did you do that?" Buck heard Chimney ask. "Man, you just calmed down a feral alpha."
"He's not a feral alpha. He's my Evan," Tommy told him before leaning down to kiss Buck. Buck eagerly kissed him back and was freed from the restraints.
Buck sat up on the gurney and pulled Tommy close as he continued to kiss him, not caring who saw them.
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so um. @wooyoungisbaby Isak made inquiries abt whichever way Woosan & orgasm denial, how often it happens, whether Wooyoung ever gets to deny San, and oh boy my brain started buzzing lol! it was too long to answer in the replies, so this is ummm, technically a hard thoughts post i guess? very self-indulgent, very stream-of-consciousness
sex-related Woosan musings ahead, with an obvious warning for orgasm denial, but also mentions of dacryphilia & overstim (and somehow it’s abt 700~ words?! brain why?!?!?)
so yes, in pt1 Wooyoung was on a sex ban and didn’t get to cum until he and San were back from their trip lol.
in my head, San does this kind of thing on occasion, but not too often; he doesn’t overdo it bc that will genuinely upset Woo at some point lol. (also bc it means San doesn’t get to fuck Wooyoung either, and San doesn’t want to go too long without fucking Woo :C in like, a sickeningly tender way :C that man yearns for it :C )
also a ban for an entire week like in pt1 is very rare! the opportunity just presented itself bc they’d be with San’s family for the first few days; San had mixed feelings abt getting it on at his parents house, and Wooyoung got snarky abt it so San was like ‘ok i guess you are getting NOTHING for this WHOLE trip then ¯\_(ツ)_/¯’
(ps: now that reader is also in the mix, there are some fun new levels of potential torture to the concept of putting Woo on a sex ban ✪ ω ✪ )
~
for edging / denying Woo during actual sex; yeah that happens a lot lol — but multiple orgasm overstim is almost just as likely! San loves to change it up; but any given time they have sex, there’s decent odds that either one or the other will happen to Wooyoung… or both if he has the energy >:3
either way, both are real solid methods for San to almost guaranty he’ll have Woo crying before it’s over and what can i say? that man likes his Wooyoung a ruined, teary mess lol
~
as for whether Woo denies San…
well. in pt6 Wooyoung did know that San would let himself get edged all day long ( •̀ ω •́ )✧
for this version of Woosan, that’s actually a rare kink with which they might fully flip the script and have Wooyoung domming San. (they do have sex without rigid d/s roles, but it’s rare for this San to get deeply subby. tragically ( ╥ω╥ ) it will kinda sorta happen in the fic one more time tho uwu)
and usually it happens when San is real stressed or overworked or otherwise having a Bad Time™
(or if Woo is really really really in the mood for it, but in that case he will have to be on his best behaviour first lol)
they’ll really take their time for it and turn it into a ﾟ☆*Moment*☆ﾟ and it’s lowkey kinda soft; Woo will tease San plenty, obv! Woo likes his San just as teary and whiny as San likes his Wooyoung lol
but Woo is also acutely aware that he is in the caretaker role for once, and that the goal is for San to feel good and relaxed afterwards ♡ so much bodyworship, soooooooo much praise and cuddling in the aftercare <- and the praise goes both ways, bc San is so proud and grateful to Woo for taking care of him like that ;;
(and ofc when Woo’s subbing, he will ABSOLUTELY pull an edge on San if he can; just to multitask at being a menace AND give his boyfriend a lil treat hehe)
~
…but to come full circle, i’m not convinced that an attempt to put a sex ban on San would work out so great for Wooyoung asdkjadsjk
honestly i’m on the fence whether San’d immediately shut it down bc being the target of punishment is not his thing — but i could see Woo trying it just to be a brat, OR Woo pulls a stunt like ‘you sex ban me? good luck i sex ban you right back’ lol
which derails into an outright battle of endurance bc these two guys are not just incredibly horny but also stubborn asdkjasdjk. honestly they can’t even hold out for that long bc of aforementioned horny-ness and bc they are whipped for each other, but dear god both of them are so fucking stupidly desperate by the time they cave in and shamelessly hump each other again lol oop — and it does cumulate into a round of the shortest but also the MOST high-strung sex they’ve ever had ✪ ω ✪
(bless you Isak for being an enabler, i hope you got smth out of this ♡)
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𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐅𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 .ೃ࿐
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: after seeing you with play with some young fans you and charles meet on the streets of monaco, charles can't get his mind off having his own. or in which, charles has got a case of the baby fever. 𝐏𝐓. 𝟐 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄!
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: established relationship, fluff, 18+ (minors DNI), unprotected sex (wrap it if u don't want babies), breeding kink (obvi), charles meeting the bare minimum requirement to be a good human (lmao), slight lactation kink, mutual orgasms, handjob, pussy rubbing(?), reader is sensitive as shit, google translated french (my bad to the french speakers), a questionable perversion of having children that always comes with this context, also questionable whether this qualifies as baby fever but yeh
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: charles leclerc x fem!reader
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3k+
𝐀/𝐍: wrote this one when i first started if you can't tell by the mention of pedro and tlou! my absence explained in another post! ♡︎
𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
⋆ •°. 。 .°• ⋆
Charles loved his fans, especially Tifosi. After you, his family and friends, they were the most important people in his lives and constantly motivated him. Most of them were kind and sweet to him and loved and cherished you more than they loved him.
That's why whenever fans asked for photos with you, the both of you or autographs, Charles always accepted. He rarely refused them unless the fans gave off a certain vibe that rubbed him the wrong way; crazed fans or fans who liked you a little bit too much for his liking.
His favourite fans normally, however, were children. It was definitely pressurising to have that many children look up to him but Charles found it rewarding. They were so young and full of dreams that he could help fulfil. They always looked at him wide-eyed with their jaws open as if they had just seen an angel walk by, similarly to how Charles reacted when he had first seen you in the streets of Monaco.
Today was no exception. It was currently the mid-season break and you two were roaming the partially empty streets after having breakfast out, relishing in the privacy of Monaco. Halfway through your walk, you and Charles had bumped into some small fans, literally.
A set of 3-year old twin sisters and a boy who only seemed a year or two older had run to Charles and you yelling 'Charles!' and 'It's Ferrari!'.
Charles instantly was smiling at them, crouching down to talk to them and entertain all their bombarding questions that flew one after the other.
"Is the car really that fast?"
"Can I go in the car?!"
"I hope you win!"
You chuckled softly as Charles answered them with ease. You looked at the parents who also seemed to be equally as excited as their children. "Do you want me to take a photo for you guys?" You inquired softly.
The parents looked at you with wide eyes. "Can you? If it's no bother!" The father fretted, sharing a slightly alarmed expression with his wife.
You shook your head and smiled. "It's not a problem." They held out their phone and you took it into your hands, opening the camera. You hummed as you looked at the group. "Let's do three photos. One with the three angels, one with the parents and one family one?" You asked.
The parents were about to nod when the kids suddenly refused. "Four! We want one with a pretty girl!" One of the sisters yelled out, pointing at you.
Your mouth fell open while your body flushed with slight embarrassment. Charles grinned at you, agreeing with the children profusely. You gave a playful sigh and nodded. The children and parents began to poise for the camera several times and left the last one for you to take a selfie with them.
The parents turned to Charles, inviting him into a conversation as they apologised for the kids running to him all of a sudden.
You could hear Charles say it was fine when you felt a tug at the bottom your dress. You crouched down to the children who now crowded you.
The boy looked at you wide-eyed while the two girls poked your arm and asked "Are you a princess?"
You smiled softly. "I am!" You implored, "How did you know?" You asked in a hushed tone.
The children giggled. "Princesses are always pretty, that's why!" The boy said with red cheeks.
You hummed, pondering over the statement. You brought your hand out to pat the girls' heads and pinch the little boy's chubby cheeks. "That must mean all of you are also princesses and princes, hmm?"
The children cheered in agreement, giggling to themselves before discussing who was the best prince or princesses out of them all.
"I'm the best prince!" One sister said, putting her hands on her hips in determination. Her older brother looked at her almost offended. "How can that be? I'm the best. I'm older."
The other sister looked at her siblings dumbfounded. "Why can't we all be the best?" She sighed.
You grinned at her answer. "You're right! You are all the best. Equally. You know why?" You asked.
Three pair of big eyes looked at you with curiosity swirling within them as they shook their small heads 'no'.
You brought their hands together and held them in your palm. "Because you're siblings. You're family. That's the best."
The kids stared at you blankly, probably trying digest your words as much as they could at that age. The previous sister smiled widely, letting out a deafening yell, running to her mother. "Did you hear that, maman? We're all the best!" She screamed with joy.
You stood from the ground slowly, grinning at all the kids. "I did. We all heard that, ma cherié. It's true!" The mother chorused, giving you a thankful smile.
You smiled in response, shaking your head as if it was nothing. The parents and kids began to say goodbye to you and Charles, although the latter did so rather reluctantly as you walked over to your boyfriend.
You raised a brow at the dazed expression on Charles' face. "Cha? Mon amour, what's going on in that head of yours?" You hooked your arm with his, resting your head on his shoulder.
Charles blinked. "Hmm? Oh, nothing. Just thinking about those kids. Cute, right?" He breathed out, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.
You smiled. "Very," You agreed as the two of you began to walk to Charles' car.
━━━━━━━━━━━
Arriving home, the two of you decided to lounge in your living room, not bothered to do anything else for the day. You had managed to put on the newest episode of 'The Last of Us', eager to find out what was happening next.
You and Charles laid on the couch; your head resting on his chest while he cuddled you from behind. You were intently watching Pedro Pascal after being besieged with edit after edit of him on TikTok. Charles on the other hand wasn't focusing at all.
All he could think about what those kids you and him had met earlier that morning. Specifically, you conversing with them. You hadn't realised since you were so caught up with them, but at one point him and the parents had stopped talking and tuned into your conversation with the kids.
Charles had talked to you about kids before. You both wanted them and although Charles always talked about having three kids specifically, just like him and his brothers, he would leave it up to whatever you wanted because at the end of the day, it was you giving birth, not him. He would prefer to have children when he was slightly a bit more older, you both had more control over his life, and obviously with at least one championship under his belt.
But after today, Charles was prepared to throw that plan away. As lewd as it was, the idea of you getting you pregnant and having a family not only touched his heart, but immorally touched his cock.
Knowing that he would have to ensure that his cum was entirely within you, stuffed into your cervix, and not letting a single drop come out made him feel feral. To make matters worse, you would look like a goddess when pregnant because hell, you were so beautiful now. Round and full with his child because he made sure to fuck you till you were overflowing with his cum. Or when your breasts became heavy and sensitive to his touch, leaking sporadically, giving him the opportunity to clean you up with his mouth.
God, he was an animal. The worst.
"Charles, what are you doing?" Your voice erupted into the air, breaking him out of his deep train of thought.
Charles blinked at your question in confusion before he looked down, seeing his hand traversing under your dress and up your inner thigh. He looked over to your amused eyes peering at him.
"Sorry," He let out with a sigh, rubbing the warm flesh of your thigh softly. "I just... I can't stop thinking about children."
You raised a brow, not seeing the correlation to Charles' wondering hand. "Children?" You iterated, running a hand through his hair.
Charles shut his eyes at your actions, feeling at ease. "Those kids today... make me want our own children. Now. I want to have children now."
Charles peeked his eyes open, looking at your astounded expression with a bit of fear. "What about our plans? What was it? Thirty-three, a championship, lives under control, and then children?" You queried. "I-I'm not mad or anything, Cha. Just curious. Why the change of heart all of sudden?
You had now turned to face Charles, knees on either side of him, straddling his lap as you became fully attentive to him.
Charles played with the tresses of your hair that had fallen past your face before tucking them gently behind your ear. "You would just make such a good mother, mon ange. You're so sweet and kind. You now how to talk to them. God, pregnancy would look so good on you. I can't stop thinking about you pregnant," Charles let out a small moan a thought. "You all round with our child, hormonal, sensitive at my touch."
Charles' fingers brushed over your neck, making you shudder involuntarily. You melted at his words. Charles thought a great deal of you. You weren't opposed to the idea either, in fact all of his words were making you hornier by the minute.
"You know what?" You queried, "I also want to have children. You would make an amazing father, Cha. I know you would," You softly said, pressing a brief kiss to his lips.
Charles pulled away, boring his gaze into you. "Yeah?" He whispered, eyes soft and full of lust and love.
"Yeah," You repeated. "A father of all three," You teased, giving him a small knowing smile.
Charles' eyes darkened slightly at your words. His hands rested on your hips, his half-hard on in his pants turned harder, pressing into your clothed pussy. "Mon amour," He whispered into your ear, making the hairs on your body stand straight. "Should I fuck a baby into you?" He pulled his face back, waiting for your answer.
You sunk your teeth into your bottom lip, relishing in his words. "If you're going to fuck a baby in me, Charles, you better do it right the first time."
Charles groaned, grinning at your words. Staring at you with a fiery gaze, he quickly brought you down into a hungry kiss. His grip on your hips tightened while your hands became entangled in his hair. Another groan fell against your lips when you tugged at his locks.
Your heart slammed against your chest, beating loudly in your ears. Your skin was heated with Charles' touch ravaging all over you; grazing your arms, squeezing your ass only for you to press further into him. Your stomach surged with desire, feeling his clothed cock grind into you. "Fuck," Your swollen lips uttered out, high with an intoxicating buzz circulating your veins.
"Charles, I need–" You began only to be cut off by your own whimper as Charles bucked his hips up into you, setting a pace of stimulation with the tent of his pants and the gritty material of his shorts.
Charles smiled at the sight of your head thrown back and your back arching. "What do you need, ma cherié? Hmm? Tell me and I'll give it to you, my love," He sighed out, feeling his cock ache in its restraints.
"Fuck, j'ai besoin de ta bite, Charles," You murmured, feeling the temperature of your body rise with every passing second. Fuck, I need your cock, Charles.
Charles grinned at your use of French so early on. Normally when you were nearing your climax, you would lose yourself to all the French you knew. "As you wish, princesse," He stated. "Let's get this off, hmm?" He began to slid down the straps of your dress, pressing warm kisses on your shoulder. The sight of your bare breasts made him sigh in content, licking a strip from the base of your neck and down the valley of your breasts.
You felt a shiver crawl up your spine, feeling Charles' hands wander down your back while he pushed the fabric past your ass, hooking his fingers under your the waistband of your panties. You lifted your body up, aiding him in getting rid of your dress and underwear.
You settled back down on Charles' lap, pushing your wet core against his clothed cock. Charles nipped at your neck, dazed at the feeling of your pussy on him. Your hands reached out, rushing to get those shorts and shirt off of him. Pulling his shirt of him, you placed a trail of kisses down his chest. You could feel his lower stomach tense as you neared his waistband. With a grin, impatiently, you took off his shorts and the boxers underneath.
Your stomach churned and pussy throbbed at Charles' red, aching cock springing up, begging to be touched. You flickered your sultry gaze to your boyfriend, reaching over to put your fingers in his mouth.
Charles maintained eye-contact, lubing your fingers generously with his spit before he felt a shudder rip through him when you teasingly pushed your pussy to graze the angry tip of his cock.
"Vous taquinez," Charles uttered out almost with a whine after you removed your fingers. You tease.
"Don't be too sad, mon amour," You breathed out, trailing your wet fingers over his v-line before wrapping them around his cock. Charles sucked in a sharp breath as your hand began move up and down his shaft, mixing his spit and his pre-cum together, giving him a new, unique shine of his own.
"You wanted to see me pregnant, right? Full of your cum. So pregnant that everyone will know in a few months that you fucked me that good," You started, eyes trained on him while you pumped his cock with a tantalising grip. "We need a lot of your cum today. I'm just getting you prepared," You purred.
Charles let out a series of high moans, letting your words wash all over him and mix with his euphoria. His fingers reached out to your wet folds, stroking your heated slip with need. You trembled at his touch, bucking your hip against his fingers, increasing the pace of your hand on his cock.
Both of you moaned loudly while you jerked each other off, breathy sounds bouncing off the walls of your apartment. "Merde," Charles swore, pressing his head further into the couch, hips sensitively bucking into your hand as you brushed the slit of his cock.
He pushed himself, refusing to slack at your pleasure. He rubbed your pussy, groaning at the wet, glistening folds that were coating his fingers. You moaned, feeling a familiar buzzing pool in your stomach. "I need to," Charles panted out, covering your hand with his to stop you, "I need to..." He trailed off once again, pulling you closer to him.
Charles could barely think straight. He didn't know what he was saying or what he was doing. All he knew was that he needed to feel your pussy against his cock.
A guttural whimper escaped your mouth when Charles rubbed his cock against your folds. God, the both of you could get off just like this. He sighed out, eyes clouded with pleasure while he bathed in the warmth of your pussy. He could feel you jerk time to time against him, sensitive from nearing your climax.
You were was a sight to behold. You couldn't control your hips or yourself. You were just so receptive, automatically rubbing your pussy and clit up and down the head of cock. Your head falling back, supported by air while your back arched with lust. Sweat clung to your warmed body and your dry hair was now coated in a light sheen of grease. Face contorted with pleasure and flushed with heat.
"I'm gonna cum, fuck," Charles hissed out, partially angry that he already was about to climax but how could he not at such a view and feeling?
You blinked through your pleasure, remembering how you had gotten into this situation in the first place. You pushed your hips to him, hovering over his cock and sliding down onto him. You whimpered, feeling full with his throbbing cock in you.
Charles groaned, feeling your warm walls clench around him as you began to move your hips up and down. He watched your breasts bounce, making him flicker to that thought of them being full with milk once he got you pregnant. He would be selfish and have a taste of them himself.
Your pussy was a siphon, drawing and pulling his cock even further into you. Charles placed his hands on your hips, pushing you down on his cock to ensure he was balls-deep within you, fully sheathed. The breathy air was now replaced with both of your lewd moans and the sound of your skin slapping and sticking against one another.
"Merde, merde," Charles began to chant, increasing the pace of his hips snapping and rutting into your folds. Your hands fell to his own hands, tightening around them as pleasure bubbled at the pits of your stomach.
"Fuck, Charles. Cum in me, mon amour. Fais de moi une mère. Hmm? Imagine it. I'll be even more sensitive, my tits will be heavy and sore with milk and I'll ask you to massage them... everyone will know what we did," You moaned loudly. Make me a mother.
Charles's hips came to a halt, shaking with pleasure while he poured ropes and ropes of his hot cum deep into your walls. He let out staggered moans, feeling you clench around him and take even more of his load. Charles pressed his swollen lips onto your, kissing you dizzy while he thrusted out his high, ensuring his cum was staying within you.
Charles sighed out, pressing his forehead against yours. Realising you were once again on the brink of cumming, with his cock still in you, he brought his fingers to your engorged clit, rubbing the sensitive nub gently yet harshly.
He felt your walls grip him even tighter if possible as you began to convulse in his arms. "Jesus fucking Christ," You sobbed out, waves of your euphoric climax hitting you.
Christ, you were so sensitive, hips jerking up against his fingers, grinding to maximise your stimulation. He couldn't even stop you if he wanted to.
"Merde, ma cherié, cum for me. Yes, just like that," Charles coaxed, groaning as you somehow managed to get more cum out of him.
You let out a final whimper before collapsing onto him, feeling Charles' softening cock drive and push the cum deeper into you. You let out a low moan against his chest.
Charles pushed your chin up with his finger, looking into your eyes. He smiled, pressing a slow, soft kiss to your lips. "You did so well, mon amour," He praised, running a hand through your sweaty hair, getting a better glance of your face.
You gave him a weak smile, peering up at him through your eyelashes. "You think we did a good job?" You queried, voice quiet and tired. "You think we'll have a child soon?"
Charles grinned at you, planting another kiss on the side of your head. "If I didn't, I'll fuck you again and make sure that test has two lines."
𝐏𝐓. 𝟐 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄!
© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑
#f1 x reader#f1 x you#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#formula 1#f1 smut#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc smut#charles leclerc x female reader#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x you#mickyschumacher
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roses are red, violets are blue, lynette is so done with the two of you
lyney x gn!reader
lynette thinks fontaine’s worst kept secret isn’t how neuvillette wears blue underwear or how the hydro archon loves a good drama, no, fontaine’s worst kept secret is lyney’s massive crush on you and how everyone and their grandmother know except you.
comedy, pining lyney, lynette being so done
Lyney’s frowning.
Most people would find it an odd expression on him, used to having him direct dazzling smiles and playful laughter their way. But Lynette isn’t just anyone, and the sight of Lyney frowning is hardly a rare phenomenon within the privacy of their household.
Freminet’s usually Lyney’s choice of victim for whatever nonsense he’s managed to build himself up in that head of his, but Freminet’s busy doing errands and Lynette is unfortunately the only person within vicinity that Lyney trusts with his secret—which isn’t even a secret by this point, people have been making bets on how long it would take you to realize that Lyney’s been pining over you since forever.
Case in point: Lyney frowning over two identical flowers. She doesn’t need to be a mind reader to know that her brother is having a midlife crisis over which flower to give you.
Lynette thinks he should just man up and confess. Preferably within the next week or so, otherwise she’d lose her bet.
“Lynette, which one is more eye-catching, the crimson one,” he holds up the flower in his right hand, then he raises the other one, “or the maroon one?”
Lynette gives him the deadest stare she can muster. “They’re the same color.”
“Oh, sister, have you no taste?” Lyney tuts, pouting at her for a moment before returning to that constipated look as he squinted at the ‘crimson’ and ‘maroon’ flowers. Talk about being delusional.
“(Y/N)’s not gonna care whether the rose is crimson or maroon or red,” she tells him. You’d probably accept a dead flower if it came from Lyney, with that starry-eyed look you always got whenever he so much as glances your way. Lynette’s not one to judge other people’s taste too harshly, but she does wonder what you see in her overdramatic and annoying brother.
Ah, well. They do say love makes people blind. Hopefully not literally though, Lynette’s not looking forward to performing shows alone because Lyney got blinded by his love for you—though if you asked Lynette, she’d tell you it wasn’t love so much as obsession. Only someone insane would spend hours picking out flowers and calling them ‘maroon’ and ‘crimson’. It’s just red.
Lynette squints at him. “And since when were you interested in the meaning of flowers?”
“Well, I suppose you could say I like to dabble in other pursuits.” Lyney gives her a cheeky grin.
“Right…” He’s clearly losing his mind.
“Red roses symbolize true love, though rainbow roses in particular pertain to passion, and…” He trails off, eyes blinking in astonishment. She can practically see the lightbulb appearing on top of his head.
With a flick of his wrists, the ‘crimson’ and ‘maroon’ roses disappear. Lynette watches him warily, wondering what kind of outlandish idea has formed in that head of his.
But he doesn’t elaborate more, only shoots a wink at her and says, “I’ve got a great idea.”
✧
His great idea, as it turns out, is to corner you in an alleyway and make it rain rainbow roses around you as he asked you out on a date, all while Lynette is crouched on the roof, dumping sacks of rainbow roses and vindictively hoping one of them stabs Lyney in the eye. No such luck.
You, as the ever-crazy romantic that you are, are awestruck and amazed by what he’s done instead of weirded out like how a normal person would be. With an eager smile and a twinkle in your eye, you accept the rose in Lyney’s hand and say yes when he asks you to meet him for dinner tomorrow. Lynette wants to barf, but settles for dumping another sack of flowers on top of the two of you.
And if she uses a little bit of anemo to direct a few petals to Lyney’s face? Well, you removing a petal sticking to his cheek and having your fingers linger there for a few moments wasn’t part of the plan (the plan being: embarrass her brother by having him choke on a petal while he’s speaking), but she can’t entirely begrudge the result. Not when Lyney looks like he’s about to have a meltdown with just one touch from you. Good blackmail material right there.
Lynette’s happy that the two of you have finally gotten your heads off your asses and are actually going on a date. Though mostly she’s happy about the amount of mora heading her way soon.
She’ll have to thank Freminet for telling her about the bet about you and Lyney. Maybe she can start a new bet on when the two of you are getting married—probably soon, if the lovestruck look on Lyney’s face is anything to go by. She hopes he won’t be crazy enough to propose on the second date, because you’d certainly be crazy enough to accept if he did.
Oh, well. Lynette will put a bet on one month just in case.
#look i haven’t done the archon quest yet#so i don’t have a good feel yet of their characters#but i’m sticking with this characterization!!#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader#lyney x reader#gn reader#lynette
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“babe i messed up, we gotta go bald.”
“no!” you grab onto the electric buzzer and fight against him, holding gojo back. “wait, let’s think this through!”
“look at my hair, it’s horrible! i can’t go out like this!” your boyfriend whines and though he resists your pull, you know he isn’t putting force behind the gesture.
“you look…” you yank your eyes away from his head, suddenly struggling to look at him. “fine.”
“you paused!”
“it’s fine, gojo!”
“it’s not! if my lover can’t even look at me without laughing, what are my students going to think?” gojo checks himself out in the mirror of your apartment's bathroom, turning his head side to side to observe the lousy slash he had given himself.
“their opinion of you can’t go any lower.” you reassure him. “and it’s fine, really. just, put down that shaver, that’s it, put it down on the counter and i can fix your mess for you.”
gojo gives you a wary look but eventually relaxes his hold. you pick up the shaver and the handle is still warm from his touch. turning it on, you let the hum of the device fill the silence.
after gojo had decided to abandon his glasses for a blindfold, he realised simply letting his hair grow out in whatever direction would not cut it anymore, else he wanted to look ridiculous.
when he complained to you, you absentmindedly told him to get a haircut without thinking of the consequences of your actions. of course gojo wouldn’t just go to a barber, of course gojo would think he could style his own hair and of course gojo would pick the worst haircut, making the first move without another thought. and now, after running the shaver a few centimetres up from the nape of his neck, the both of you realised that he should never be allowed near a electric shaver ever again.
you exhale. "okay, i've got this."
gojo looks at you through the mirror. "don't stress. worst case scenario, i can just buzz everything off."
you stare at him. "i cannot love you if you're bald."
"seriously?"
"what's with the look? would you love me if i was bald?"
gojo doesn't even hesitate. "yes!"
that makes you feel guilty. you don't comment on the topic any more, instead channelling your attention to the shaver in your hands and the white hair above your boyfriend's head.
“hey, don’t ignore me. you wouldn’t love me if i was bald? what’s next, you wouldn’t love me if i was a worm?”
you bite your lip to stop your face from contorting into a grimace. “i’m trying to focus here.”
“and i’m trying to make sure there’s still love in our relationship.” he turns around and looks at you. “do you love me?”
looking at him, a small smile slips through your disgusted expression. your boyfriend was regularly annoying, but there were times when his childish behaviour was more endearing than irritating. this was one of those rare times.
“yeah, i do.” you admit.
“prove it.”
“huh?”
his hand closes around yours, the one holding the buzzer. “i’m going bald.”
“no you’re not!”
“this is my hair, i get to decide what to do with it!”
“gojo!” you quickly reach over and unplug the shaver. “let’s be rational!”
he looks at you with bleary eyes. “i love you.”
“me too, which is why i can’t let you go bald.”
“you’re lying. if you loved me, it wouldn’t matter how much hair i have on my scalp.”
you sigh, rubbing a hand over your face. when you peek through your fingers, gojo is still giving you a wounded look. “okay fine, i would still love you if you went bald. it honestly doesn't matter to me, but is this what you really want?”
“and if i was a worm?”
you look away, busying yourself with tidying your already tidy sink. “are you going bald or not?”
“answer my question.” his hand wraps around yours. “you can’t leave here until you give me a response i can accept.”
you try to shake him off. “i’m not backing down on this, i will not love you if you turned into a worm.”
“i would—”
“no you wouldn’t! how would you kiss me if i was small and slimy?”
he pauses. “i don’t need to kiss you to show my love, it’s just a side benefit.”
“okay, and what about our species difference? what if i find a handsome worm and fall in love with him? he would treat me better since we’re both worms.”
“i would keep you in a cage so that you'd never meet another worm.” he says, completely serious.
“is that what love means to you?”
“i’ll fill the cage with all your favourite things!” he brings your hand up to his cheek and presses against it, littering kisses onto your palm when you don’t react. "it's also to keep you safe! you'd be completely defenseless as a worm."
"well, if you were a worm i wouldn't be able to keep you safe. you're the strongest, if you can't protect yourself then how could i?"
"that's something different. i wouldn’t be the strongest, i would be a worm."
"an unlovable one."
he drops your hand and grabs the electric shaver before you can. "i'm going bald."
you don’t stop him this time. “fine, go ahead. but when you’re hairless i am not taking the blame for this. if you even start to complain to me i will plug both my ears and walk away. that means if your students take photos of you and spread it like the plague, i won't stop them.”
“i knew it.” gojo says after a moment’s silence. “you don’t love me anymore.”
“if there was ever a time that i did.”
“when did you start falling out of love?”
this was slowly getting out of hand. “gojo.”
“when i ate your chcolate? i apologised, what else do you want from me? want me to kneel?”
“gojo!”
“is it because i used your expensive skincare? i was curious because it came in a little pipette thing and i wanted to squeeze it real bad.”
you hiss. “i knew that was you.”
“you seriously believed me when i told you it wasn’t me? we live together and we live alone, who else would it be?”
a humourless chuckle escapes your lips. perhaps gojo detects your intentions before you can act on them with his six eyes, because he freezes, backing up against the edge of your sink.
in his fear, you yank the shaver out of his hand and flick the power switch back on. the buzz fills the air.
“you’re going bald.”
“i was just kidding! i don’t want to be bald!” gojo leaps out of his chair and heads for the door. unfortunately, you grab onto his shirt and pull him back.
when gojo walks out of your bathroom a few hours later, his head is lighter than when he first entered.
sped wrote this so i could post smth it’s so stupid i’m crying
#gojo x reader#jujutsu kaisen#gojo satoru#gojo x you#jjk#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x you#gojo imagine#gojo drabble#gojo fluff
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Hey guys, my friend Ayiko recently got diagnosed with colon cancer and needs help paying for his cancer treatments.
“*grey freeze frame* i’m sure you’re wondering how i got here—and for those of you who don’t know, i’m Ayiko, a 22 year old queer artist and musician. I’ve always been a creative, from theatre to a film major. My dream is to keep creating, to keep telling stories, to keep sharing my art with the world and with your help i’ll be able to continue with what i love, with my passions. On the night of February the 6th, what was thought to be a routine doctor visit for severe stomach pain turned into an in-patient hospital stay. A CT-Scan revealed the source of the pain was from a rare telescoping and entanglement of the intestines, known as Intussusception. After a successful colonoscopy relieved the pain, it also revealed a lump that was removed during the procedure. Further testing by the pathology department discovered that not only was the lump cancerous but there were additional tumors that were inaccessible without open surgery. The cancer had grown into 5cm tumors and had spread to some lymph nodes. On February the 17th i went under the knife(or in this case a laser) for a robotic colectomy to remove the remaining cancer. There was very little risk in it spreading and it was one of the least aggressive cancer of its type(Neuroendocrine Tumor of the Gastrointestinal Tract). After the surgery, i will be unable to lift more than 10 lbs or walk for long periods of time, which has left me unemployed. Now in post-recovery, i gently ask the community to rally behind my family and i as we face the financial burdens of hospital bills. As a first generation immigrant i am also aware of the family back home that my parents have to look after too(in fact my father is going to visit Uganda in less than a week). That’s why we would greatly appreciate donations of any amount, as i continue my recovery and face the possibility of chemotherapy. Just sharing the link can go a long way. Thanks for reading!” -Ayiko @pretty-roach
Currently donations are at 1.2k out of a 20k goal- any & all help is appreciated, please reblog to circulate.
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Riding genshin men, how will they react?
Ft & Neuvillette, Scaramouche, Alhaitham, Lyney, Albedo
Cw: Riding, praise, overall soft, fluffy and short. Might have grammar mistakes, just ignore lol, wrote this in a hurry so might be a mess.
Neuvillette: All pretty, sitting on top of him in his office, raising your hips before slamming them right back down, one of Neuvillette's hands around your waist, helping you ride him, "Mmhpf- I'm coming, I'm... C-Cumming!" You cried out sensitive as you released all over on his cock, you let out a load moan, tightening up around him as you felt him grind you down onto him, not allowing you to calm down as he chased his own orgasm. "I'm sorry, my dear but I need to be quick, the trial is starting soon. Just hold on to me and be quiet." He lowered his head, pressing a kiss on your temple. After your short meeting with Neuvillette, his clothes were...rather messed up and his hair slightly disheveled which the people of Fontaine found strange, it left them what could be the reason?
Scaramouche: This guy would rarely allow you to be on top due to his pride, but this was one of the very rare occasions where he was simply too tired and feeling vulnerable which you of course used to your advantage. Bouncing up and down his cock, the sight was worth it he thought, maybe it wasn't too bad after all?, his hands gripping your hips tightly as his lips find their way into your mouth, biting on your bottom lip to draw blood. "Hah... Turns out, you aren't completely useless." he'd mutter, smirking as he bit on your neck. He wouldn't mind having you ride him more in the future, after all, seeing you bounce up and down, trying so hard to make the both of you finish, was quite adorable...
Alhaitham: After seeing you beg for attention, he had to give in, placing you on his lap, originally only to cockwarm him as he worked but that soon ended up into him slamming your hips against his, lewd sounds filling the room. "Y-Yes, keep going, pretty girl... I can feel you squeezing me, are you close, hm?" He asked, placing a kiss on your cheek, he certainly didn't mind you distracting him, all he wanted was to fill you up and have you ride him like the good girl you are.
Lyney: He enjoyed nothing more than having you ride his cock after a tiring day of acting and making others smile, it was his job, yes, but it sometimes got exhausting and what better way to relax than have you on his cock, all pretty and eager to please him? "Mm, you're doing so good, ma cherie... It feels heavenly." He murmured, drunk on the feeling of your pussy wrapping around his shaft so perfectly, his head buried in the crook of your neck, soft moans and occasional mewls slipping past his lips.
Albedo: He rarely had time, all consumed with his research and experiments but that wouldn't prevent him from making time for his angel. Having you on his lap, either cockwarming or riding him was a regular thing of you two which you both enjoyed, this was no exception. "Are you alright, my love? Getting tired already, hmm? In that case, I'll offer you some assistance since you have been a good girl up till now..." He remarked, smiling lovingly as he pressed a soft kiss on your lips, his focus now shifting on to you instead of his work. Helping you ride him faster, the sweet praises which left his mouth making you cum on the spot, earning an impressed chuckle from Albedo, he would surely note this later, "There you go, angel. Now, be good and rest while I finish this, alright?" He patted your hair, pulling you to rest your head against his chest.
#genshin smut#short imagine#genshin x you#genshin x reader#scaramouche smut#wanderer smut#neuvillette smut#neuvillete x reader#lyney smut#genshin lyney#albedo smut#albedo x you#albedo x reader#genshin wanderer#alhaitham x you#alhaitham smut#genshin impact imagine
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soulmate au part 1
john price x f!reader
wc: 1.2k
unedited, forgive my mistakes.
since you were born, your world has been grey. you never thought anything of it, until at school, they started teaching you colours. the only ones in the room that could see more than just different shades of grey, apart from the teacher, were identical twins.
weird.
you went home and asked your parents.
"we are born missing half of ourselves. we have a fated one, and when you meet them, your world will look the way it was meant to."
oh. but... "in class, there were twins that could see colour. what about them?"
they look surprised for a second until your dad softly explains. "in rare instances, the soulmate bond will be platonic. which makes sense in this case, because twins grow up with a connection regular people like us will never understand."
you nod and lower your gaze to look at your shoes. you wonder if the person meant for you is interested in junie b. jones books like you are.
-
in high school, you crush on this pretty girl— a cheerleader. her hair is long and beautiful, her face is small and round, and she's so kind. just your type.
but no colour stains your vision, so you burrow your emotions deep and mourn the loss of what could've been.
-
in college, one of your friends ask you if you've met your soulmate yet.
"no, not yet," you lament. what she says after freezes the blood in your veins.
"my mom knew someone whose soulmate was already dead before they had even been born," she comments while stabbing a grape tomato with her fork. "it was really tragic, because she'll never know what it's like to know a love that has no equal."
your heart is in your throat, and you find it hard to swallow the food in your mouth.
what if your soulmate is already dead? oh, god. you might just throw up. your friend doesn't seem to notice the change in your demeanor and continues to babble carelessly about how she knew someone that knew someone who's soulmate had turned out to be a murderer.
oh my fucking god.
you quickly run to the bathroom and throw up your lunch.
how cruel is the universe? to have no control over who is meant to be for you.
you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and lean against the stall of the bathroom. you should've known that this soulmate business was too good to be true.
cupping your hands, you rinse the taste of bile out of your mouth before walking back to your friend who stayed in her seat.
"jesus, you look terrible, you alright?" she asks.
running your fingers through your hair, you huff. "i've certainly been better. just got a bit nauseous, nothing serious. maybe it's a stomach bug."
"oooh, you better not be pregnant! what of your dreams of working in the medical field?"
you giggle at her response. "that'd be impossible unless i'm the virgin mary."
she gapes comically then leans in and whispers, "you're lying! don't tell me you haven't dated anyone just because they weren't your soulmate."
you shrug, and keep your eyes fixed on your half-eaten plate of food. "i don't really wanna talk about it, if that's alright with you. besides, you've got bigger things to worry about, like the upcoming exam for mr. richardson."
slapping a hand to her forehead, she exclaims, "oh, shit! i totally forgot! shit!"
you watch her inhale the rest of her salad and toss her trash before waving goodbye and sprinting toward the library.
with a sigh, you look down at your food. grey. lifeless. shaking your head, you pick up your plate and toss it in the bin.
you decide to focus solely on your studies. you have dreams of being a doctor and pining after someone you haven't even met yet would only serve as a distraction.
--
your white coat grazes your calves as you walk toward your new patient. standing outside the room, you pick up the clipboard.
Price, John. 34, Active Military.
he's the head of the task force! god, you've only heard stories of them from the other medics on base who have met them, so to finally come face to face with the man, the myth, the legend? you wipe your clammy hands on the fabric of your scrubs and clear your throat.
be professional, be professional. he's just another patient, it's no big deal.
rapping your knuckles on the door, you wait a second before twisting the knob with a shaky hand. you nervously keep your eyes on the clipboard as you walk in.
"good morning, captain price."
"mornin', doc," he rumbles.
oh, his deep voice just might be the end of you.
"you don't sound all that happy to be here, captain," you tease while flipping through his medical history papers.
he lets out a low chuckle, and you squeeze your thighs together at the sound. delicious.
"nothin' personal, doc. just don't like bein' here, you understand."
lightly laughing at his joke, you finally steel your nerves and look up at him.
only to have your vision bleed in something you don't understand. is that colour? is this what colour looks like?
the clipboard drops, clattering to the floor. john— being the courteous gentleman that he is— quickly kneels to grab it and lifts his head as he hands it to you.
he freezes in place, the clipboard slipping from his hands as he stares at you.
you thickly swallow, and dumbly question, "do you...has your....colour? can you see colour?"
unblinking, john's eyes are fixated on you as he remains silent.
your eyes dart around to take in his features. his brightly-coloured eyes are framed by lines that hint at his age, his strong jaw adorned by a mutton-chop beard. his nose is specked with a beauty mark.
"what colour are your eyes, captain?" you softly ask.
he closes his mouth and takes in a sharp breath. "i've been told they're blue."
"blue," you smile. the eyes of your soulmate are blue.
but then, your delighted smile melts off your face, in horror.
there's a shiny band on his finger. he's married.
john price, your soulmate, is fucking married.
your vision distorts with the tears that threaten to spill and bite your bottom lip to stop it from trembling. it feels like there are shards of glass in your lungs, cutting you open with each quivering breath you take. your pain is red-hot, searing under your skin, flowing through your veins like molten lead.
john knows exactly what you're looking at.
"love—" he starts but you cut him off swiftly.
"don't. you don't owe me anything, captain. uhm, but uh... maybe it's best that we switch your doctors, yeah? conflict of interest, and all that."
you all but run away, away from that room, from him.
how terribly unlucky.
you head towards your office, which is down the hall, and slam the door closed. only then, do you cry, and mourn what should've been.
#call of duty#cod mw2#cod mwii#john price x f reader#john price x reader#john price#captain john price#captain john price x reader#captain price
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Venus Sign Observations- 011
Venus in Leo’s are those girls in hs you think “how early does she get up to get ready?” You rarely ever see this placement have ugly days they are all so well kept & usually smell incredible. The types to wear their hair in really trendy styles, wear designer outfits and perfumes. BIG on luxury. In a relationship they LOVE being shown off and given lots of attention and compliments. they also love when their partner begs for their attention.
Venus in Libras are really easy to impress lol, all you really have to be is semi attractive. My libra Venus friend every time we go out would be like “OMG THAT GUY IS SOOO CUTE” but say that about 15 other guys that day😂 the women can be VERY obsessed with the opposite sex. They are such flirty people.
Venus in Taurus gives conventional housewife vibes lol. They are into classic feminine hobbies such as sewing, cooking, making jewelry/ clothes, art. If you marry a women with this placement you hit the jackpot.
Venus in Scorpio men tend to be cheaters. Everyone talks about their loyalty but they are only really loyal once they feel they’ve truly found their soulmate (in most cases are rare cuz they’re picky) a lot get bored of their relationships once the passion dies (similar to Aries Venus). They tend to prefer emotionally complex women to keep them on their toes.
Venus in Aquarius’s tend to look really good with circle frame glasses. They pull it off soo well. Also if you have this placement and are looking for new fashion ideas. Look up cyberpunk/Dystopian aesthetic. Y’all would look amazing in that type of style.
Most Venus in Virgos I meet are not big on the physical aspect of love. It takes them SOOO long to open up physically. This causes a lot to get friend zoned. They express their love very differently from most Venus signs which can cause some confusion in their relationships. They are big on acts of service & the intellectual side of love.
Venus in Aries usually always makes the first move when liking someone ( man or woman) they can jump into relationships fast just for it to end just as quick. They really date for the excitement and fun of having a new crush. But once that it becomes deeper than a crush and gets serious most usually back out. Also they can get turned on my arguing. When things become dull they will normally create some issue to keep the sparks alive. To more sensitive signs this can be very draining.
Venus in Geminis are very hard to pin down. I notice their feeling for their partners never seem quite genuine? I notice even in relationships they try to seek out attention from other people. They need a lot of mental stimulation to keep their full attention on one person. And if they’re partner fails to stimulate them they’ll find someone else who can. It’s very rare they catch true feelings for someone but when they do they’re surprisingly loyal.
Venus in Pisces kinda irritate me lol. The men are always talking to different women. They are big on following their heart, but if their hearts tells them to talk to five girls they would😭 it’s very rare to see the men of this placement settle with one woman. The women of this placement I notice are amazing lovers but tend to give it to usually terrible neglectful partners:( I’ve seen women with their placements bust their ass for men that barely give them the time of day.. y’all deserve a lot better than that.
Sagittarius Venus’s tend to date people who are a different ethnicity as them or date from foreign countries. They have a deep appreciation for culture and traveling. So they may also travel with their partner a lot. This is imo the most loyal Sagittarius placement. I’ve seen people be in relationships for years with this placement.
Cancer Venus’s are extremely sweet and nurturing in a relationship. Gives Mommy vibes 🥺. The types to bring you home cooked meals get your bath water running. A lot a notice tend to be very submissive/vanilla. They require a lot of emotional attention and babying even themselves. They types to prefer at home dates compared to traveling or going out.
Capricorn Venus tends to take partnerships like it’s a job (similar to Virgo Venus) they see attending to their partners needs more like a duty which is why they can appear cold in their affections even though they mean well. Emotionally it can be harder to connect with this sign but once they trust you they’ll show you a very sensual romantic side they’ve been hiding. They mostly express love through gift giving. These partners give some of the best most expensive gifts. Just know you’ll be taken good care of if this placement loves you 👌🏽
Venus in Scorpios look AMAZING in black. Any dark aesthetic look great on them. And they may prefer partners with a darker aesthetic as well
Venus in Aries women tend to feel more comfortable having male friends than other women. Usually we’re tomboys growing up
Libra Venus’s are usually really good at makeup or look amazing with a full face of makeup.
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Kinknuary Day 2: Praise Kink
Pairing: IVE Jang Wonyoung x Male Reader
Word Count: 3,760
[Kinknuary Masterlist]
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Sophisticated and classy—that’s one of the few words to describe this girl that has been on your nerves since probably day one. You hate her attitude and so is the luck every time you’re with her as everything seems to fall out of place, maybe in the worst-case scenario, you guess.
Well, in all honesty, you don’t hate the princess. You never did.
It’s just all about jealousy and distraught with your own confidence that whenever she steps in, it crumbles like paper—easily defeated and turned into a ball of nothingness.
Well, everything changed within a singular snap of a finger (it’s figurative, of course) and you feel light-headed just being here, with her, holding her soft hands as she reassures you. She wasn’t even going to try anything that’ll exhaust such a plethora of energy because she knows herself how her charisma and visuals can make a man fall in love with her, not to mention rejecting dozens of men trying to ignite the love in heart but failed miserably.
But here you are, being the biggest irony of Wonyoung’s definition of love… or is it?
“Come on, oppa, we even have two hours left! Please, just stay…”
You can’t and you don’t want to. She can meet you anytime around the day or even in the whole week but you know she ain’t going to give up so easily, knowing she’s not going to stop until she gets what she wants. She wanted you to stay but your job is done here, you’ve taught her well, she pays the price and you’re going to leave her. Simple, yet her charms allure you but you fight yourself against it.
“I said what I said, Wonyoung, okay? I can’t—”
“You can't what, hm?” Wonyoung thuds her foot on the floor, frustrated upon your own actions of leaving her. She grabs your wrists, pulling it with maybe all of her strength (you can’t really tell it because on how easy it is outpower her, your muscular arms against her thin figure doesn’t make it a challenge) and then pouting right after, wanting you to stay and not leave her at this moment, at least.
Well, you can’t just let herself win all the time like she was always used to. You want to see the defeat on her sparkling orbs full of anticipation and her hope being lost—
“Then leave! I don’t need you anymore, oppa! Don’t touch me ever again!”
And there she goes with her reverse psychological attempts of gaslighting and never ceases to make you feel the sudden urge of being dead inside, unable to think clearly and having struggles within deciding the most beneficial one, for you, of course.
Here’s the thing: you don’t want her yet you like her—it’s a win-win situation and why should you overthink yourself about this? It’s like you’re going to lose a lot from this or gain a lot yet you know how cranky and bratty Wonyoung can get and it’s the greatest bane of your existence. Seeing Wonyoung becoming a nuisance and ill-tempered unlocks your irascible self and you hate her for that (and thank god, it happens pretty rarely).
You wanted to fight your urges but you don’t want this to escalate further, knowing how selfish Wonyoung can be and how she won’t adjust even in the tiniest bit.
God, this girl—you muttered upon yourself as it was laced with venom, cursed and damned about meeting this not-so-angelic girl. You can’t resist your temptation either—staying with Wonyoung probably will end in both ways, hoping it’ll be good or better.
“Okay, tch—” You quickly rushed your way onto the couch, sitting on it and earning a loud thud which made Wonyoung gasp at your harsh actions of the possible damage on the furniture but you didn’t care. “There, happy, hm, Wony?”
Her earlier stern and helpless countenance was now replaced with joy and satisfaction, knowing you chose to stay (and it’s like you have a choice because it’s impossible whenever she’s near).
“Hah, yey! You’re definitely the best, oppa!” Wonyoung sat beside you and rested her head onto your shoulder, signaling the delight that she’s feeling knowing that she’s with you and you choose what’s best for her. “I know you can’t resist me, oppa.”
“Heck yeah I can't cause you’re gonna go nuts if I reject you.”
“What did you say?” Wonyoung pouts yet the glare in her eyes are evident, and so is the distaste that she feels after hearing such unacceptable cacophony. You know that she didn’t mind it, not even the slightest so you just brushed it off with a single “Nothing, Wonyoung.” and all things went normal yet an uncanny feeling in the can be felt—no, it's just Wonyoung on her knees, in front of you—
“What are you doing, Wonyoung?”
You don't feel so good about this and have this nerve of an unwanted vice happening anytime soon. You knew this would come and you shouldn't have given in to her wants yet the other side of you is full of anticipation as your primal desires are slowly taking over you.
“Don't be so oblivious, oppa. Let me return the favor of everything you've done earlier.” You didn't deserve such a thing, even though you're not new to this—well, also thanks to her, she took your virginity away—you still don't need this favorable return. You just helped her study and tutored her but why would this be the return? Isn't such a simple soul like you enough for a gift?
You can't turn back now; you're only going to move forward and it's just only going to get better from here.
“But why, Wony? I don't deserve such—”
“Shut it, oppa—” Wonyoung tugs your pants as those perfect, dainty fingers scramble on unbuckling your belt and loosening up the clothed defenses that protects the desired grand prize. “—now would you let your little Wony reward you, daddy?”
Of course, the pet name—it turns you on so much that now, you can't contain anything but let your animalistic desires out. You can't stop her because it's too late and in fact, you want this and you're an absolute hypocrite if you don't.
Things went like a flash—it felt like everything felt too fast as time sped up like a rocket but you didn't care because you wanted her, utterly.
With the last clothed defense on your iron wall, it collapses down to your ankles as it was proven worthless now, your hardening member is now within the sight of her refulgent orbs—god, it just feels better, doesn't it? You're maybe in heaven but the devil is just beside you and the oxymoron never failed to be in its own party.
With the draw of her nails onto your leaking slit, it draws pain and pits gasoline of the fire—pain associated with pleasure and not close to drawing blood.
“Oh god, Wonyoung—we don't really need to d-do this…”
“Oh stop it, daddy. I know you wanted this and let your little girl pleasure you for the time being—” Wonyoung places her lips onto your swollen head, giving it a small peck that makes you shudder, your mouth escaping beautiful moans that fuels the primal lust and ego of Wonyoung.
She seems to be the one that likes her ego getting petted and you're here to absolutely do it.
“Such a good g-girl for daddy, Wonyoung. So skilled and so good—you're definitely loving the taste of my cock don't you, hm?”
You're getting cocky and you know Wonyoung is loving this despite the utter brattiness and hypocrisy running down her mind.
“Gah—you know y-your cock is something I can't r-resist, daddy…”
She continues her moderate bobs as your base is now getting wet with her drool that is now starting to drip all over your sensitive head and her chin. She's in her own league and in an absolute masterclass when it comes to dick-sucking—such lips made like a cocksleeve is truly the one to be treasured as it perfectly hugs around your shaft like it was molded around it, her pleasurable suction being the cherry on top.
Her cheeks hollow in every thrust she does with her talented mouth, and you're no stranger to tell her how great she's been blowing you and it only has been a minute—and god, she's making your brain go haywire.
You stroke her hair and caress her cheeks, letting her know how great she is in terms of sucking you off. “Keep doing that, baby. This cock is all for you, princess. So, so, good—god, fuck!”
And it is incredibly off the charts—the corkscrew motions of her fingers, the dance of her tongue filled with enamore and the overstimulating suction is just, nearly, too much to handle.
No one can top off her skills as she's just a professional in this—every second sending you weak, on your knees as every technique known to enervate your defenses is being presented right now and you can't think of anything articulate except the fact that Wonyoung's mouth is exerting too much effort as it's getting near the promised land—
“Just like—that—baby, ah! So fucking good—god, how are you so incredibly talented in possibly anything?”
Stroke her ego and she definitely loves it—her pupils dilating everytime you commend her is one strong piece of evidence. It's true even though it may seem like you're playing with her and it's crazy to think about it. She may be the jack-of-all-trades when it comes to everything but it’s definitely not even close with that in accordance to her selfish and diabolical attitude—it’s contradicting but you guess it’s just the fact that she always wanted to be treated like a princess and her sophisticated life explains about it.
Well as much as you’d wanna do the opposite, it’s going to be completely questionable if you’ll degrade the superior job she’s doing between your legs. A flick of her tongue nears you onto that finish line as well as the dexterity of her slender fingers—it doesn’t help at all, considering you still want to savor and cherish every second of Wonyoung’s masterclass, the inevitable can’t be stopped as the growing sensation in your loins is ready to unload everything inside her heavenly mouth.
“Your mouth Wony—”
Her pace is ridiculous, unmatched han any other as her warm cavern glides onto your shaft like a loose speedster, in a hot pursuit—
“—it’s too good—”
Her silken plumpness made to unleash the profanities inside you, unshackling them and bringing them to their endgame but—
Pop.
“B-but why’d you stop? I’m so close, Wony!”
You vent out the little frustration towards Wonyoung as your high suddenly became on the lowest point, subsided even before you’ve truly noticed it. Wonyoung just pouts at you adorably, apologizing for what she's done and god, the saliva dripping down to her chin and all around your cock is just a sight to see. It was feeling so damn good until she played with you but you’re not furious about it because she’s maybe wanting something and probably—this last bit is what you’re hoping for—having multiple things in store for you, for later.
She’s only getting started and it’s only going to get better than this.
Her quivering plump lips, her disheveled hair, her beautiful façade—every inch of her perfect is such a sight for a nice canvas to be painted on but it is what it is.
“Want you in my pussy now, daddy. God—I really love your cock, so much I just can’t get enough of it.”
Yes, it’s like her favorite candy she’s ready to brag about and it’s addicting. Ever since you’ve slept with her, it became a whole different story being with her as you always envisioned the nastiest things with her whenever you think about her and it’s clouded your mind ever since. Well, now, you have a lot of things to fulfill with her and the blowjob earlier was just the beginning of a show that’s bound to happen.
“I can’t get enough of your mind-boggling blowjobs too, Wony. You make me feel—” You switch places with her, pinning her down slowly onto the couch, your face now inching closer and closer towards her. “—great and that’s what I like about this.”
Without any foreplay, you capture her lips off-guard as you make the most passionate kiss possible that’ll make her feel butterflies in her stomach. Its saccharine taste makes it insatiable, wanting more of her yet a hot half a minute of this flustering moment is enough for the both of you to exchange breaths.
“Like the taste of you, daddy? ‘Cause I do—like, a lot.” Your face was puzzled after Wonyoung said that, also confused and unsure on what to imply as you playfully retorted against her. “I mean, your lips really made everything insatiable. Just can't get enough of you honestly…”
You continue the intimacy, fueling the lust inside you by dominating her with your tongue as she eagerly reciprocates, the kiss getting too heated but Wonyoung taps your shoulder, signaling you to detach away from her lips. You don’t know why exactly she wants this to be over but with Wonyoung’s enlightenment of the climax, your mind has been cleared and awakened, and so are your primal desires.
“As much as I want to kiss you, daddy, my pussy’s been wet since I’ve sucked you off—so p-please, daddy—hng!”
And who are you to reject it? You want to pound her tight cunt as much as you wanted her today and there’s no one to stop you right now, and neither is she. With the best of both worlds, you elevated the anticipating climax yet a brighter idea will make this session a wilder ride.
“Let’s take this to the bedroom, princess—would pound your tight, perfect pussy so hard that you’re only going to think about me only.”
And there and there, everything went off the cliff, up to the highest paramount of events…
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“Too good, daddy!” Your fingers up her delicious cunt never fails to earn the most heavenly whimpers escaping Wonyoung’s mouth, let alone fueling the lust inside you as your slit leaks precum just from the sight of her tight cunt squelching and clenching around your digits.
“It’s only going to get better from here, princess—” A harsh spank resonates around the puny room as the dissonance of her orchestrated moans makes your hardened length throb in need, unable to control anything. “—because I’m going to treat you like a princess but fuck you like how you deserve it.”
“W-wha—what d-did I deserve, daddy?”
“A rough one, Wony. Since you’ve done a great job at the start…”
As the heat in the air is still ignited, you take the last bit of teasing with your digits and hard spanks as you’re lost for words once you’ve plunged your length inside her. It never gets old and she’s still as suffocatingly tight as ever, not to mention with even the slightest of movement and her pussy responses with the tightest clench possible. Gripping her hips for a small leverage, you thrust in her slowly as you ensue a few kisses onto the nape of her neck, earning such moans that just makes you want to build up the pace even more.
“Ahh, daddy—it’s so good! You’re s-stretching me—ahh—so w-well…”
“And you take me so well, Wony. Your pussy is literally made for me to be hammered, hm?” You quicken the pace, just withdrawing with only the tip inside and then slamming back in, filling her up to the hilt. She mewls in every thrust you do, further arousing you as she grips onto the sheets as a leverage on the harsh acts you’re doing on her tight cunt. Adding some spanks in every oscillation of your hips, you notice how it clenches every time you do it and you’re loving every second of it—loving how helpless and lewd your princess has become is truly a sight to behold.
“You’re so good at taking my huge cock, princess…” Your brush off her silky-smooth hair off her shoulders as you pepper her neck and back with kisses that further makes the act hotter than what could it be. You trace the curvature of her waist down to her slender thighs that probably run for days and god, why does a princess have to be this perfect? Down every last feature Wonyoung has is in its absolute flawless state and you can’t help but be in awe as you in every ram you do inside her clenching heat is the praise of her faultless figure.
“Good god, Wony—down to your beautiful face up to your pussy, you’re just so fucking perfect aren’t you?”
“Gah, daddy! Fuck me harder please!”
A spank as the retaliation of her hostile takeover of lust has won, and you, the dominative one will orchestrate things onto your own accord, not hers.
“Wonyoung, you’re lucky I can fuck this good because no one can and you’re mine—every perfectly tight hole in your body is mine to use, do you understand?” Between thrusts you spat her with venomous yet genuine words, but she could only cry in pleasure as your thrusts are just too much for her to think of something articulate enough of a response so, it only took her ten seconds to come up with something— “Yes, d-daddy—ahh!”
Such rampant actions never cease to make someone scream in delight and it’s every man's dream to be in this position. Kiss, spank, thrust and repeat, it goes around in circles and you’re not going to stop it because you’re in a state of do-or-die (figuratively, of course) because in any second now, you can feel yourself getting on your high and so is Wonyoung’s, her pussy creaming all over your enraged length is enough of an evidence.
“Wonyoung—fuck! You’re so tight and so good!”
“Daddy I’m going to c-cum—gahh, so s-soon! Please!”
That’s the green light to bring another onslaught of thrusts with no-return, hammering her cunt like it’s rent due alongside grabbing her hair for her heavenly moans to be unshackled (and if you’re wondering, her arms gave out two minutes earlier because of too much pleasure as she rested her hair onto the mattress, muffling her moans in which, you didn’t really like). With the obviously lewd moans (almost screams) of Wonyoung and the repetitive clenching of her tight heat, you know that she’s about to get off so you gave her the final set of the harshest thrusts possible to mankind as it was too enough and all are let out.
You pull out of her gripping pussy as she squirts all over the bedsheets, your cock and even to your toned abdomen. You finger her repetitively in a deft pace that she cries in a wanton need and that even fuels you further into abomination.
“You good, Wony?”
“Y-yes, daddy—unload it a-all in my pussy—” Her shining orbs pleads you onto her desires, wanting you to fulfill it. Her pupils dilate once again, anticipating on a good note with you— “—please…”
“I’m dying to cum inside this perfect pussy of yours, Wonyoung.”
Pinning her down onto the bed (not so harshly), you tease her pussy with your swollen cockhead for a bit, in which earns the finest moans escaping her lips and so are the needy whimpers. Without any time to waste, you plunge into her dripping core once again but this time, the penetration is crazingly-deep, achieving the sensation of a lifetime that makes you feel butterflies. You command her to place both of her legs onto your shoulders, wanting to achieve the deepest penetration possible as she did and god, that felt way better than earlier and it’s too heavenly to be true.
“Ahh—daddy—I—gahh, so so good and d-deep! Fuck me h-hard—cum i-inside me—gahh, please!”
The desperation in her eyes says it all. Even with the messed-up makeup, tears and her disheveled hair all over the place, it’s not even a challenge to sense how needy she is for you and your seed to be deposited inside her. Now bringing the thrusts that surpasses the harshness of your actions earlier, and making Wonyoung the most raucous she’s ever been—all in the experience on the paramount of delight as everything seems to be at that moment, just a step away from your both desired promised lands. You weren’t far off of your high and Wonyoung can sense it through your eyes as she helps out, fucking herself onto your length as you chase your high, grabbing her waist and hips harshly as the leverage with your relentless pursuit onto her pussy.
“I’m going to cum, Wonyoung! So fucking close in this perfect cunt of yours—fuck!”
And you break, everything loose as you bury your length inside her, balls-deep as you unload everything you’ve got and your moans and Wonyoung’s blessed the entire room as it reverberated all over. With your last groan and the hard grip of her hips, your orgasm finally subsided as it was an euphoric one—it was so euphoric that you almost passed out but it wasn’t really close. Wonyoung on the other hand, laid down flat on the bed, enervated from the steamy sex session yet she smiles widely, knowing that your load is inside her pussy as the warmth of it elicits the sultriest of moans.
“Thank you, daddy—hah… For this load… Hah, I love i-it…”
That changed your demeanor from a stern, dominative one to softer, warmhearted as you blush because of her, feeling so grateful and thankful for this moment as the earlier omnipotence of power now subsided, back to your old self.
“Thank you too, Wonyoung—you took me so well… hah, that was exhausting…”
“Yeah, I know, oppa…” She brushes her fingers all over your chest, tracing it slowly as she looks at you endearingly, her eyes telling you how much she loved this moment, disregarding the fact of the pain that she felt—she liked it because it turned her on even more—from all of your harshness and spanking. She’s genuine about it and you could tell it without her even uttering a single word.
“We should clean up, oppa, actually.”
“Yeah, oh no, I think you need some new set of sheets after this.”
“You’re the one to blame here, oppa! You made me squirt so hard!!”
And the bratty, sophisticated Wonyoung is back and here we go again, back from the despair and being the bugbear she is…
#kinknuary 2024#ive smut#jang wonyoung smut#wonyoung smut#ive x male reader#jang wonyoung x male reader#wonyoung x male reader
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(minors dni & ageless blogs dni /// inspired by this post and brainworms with @petrichorium)
"dear?" neuvillette asks. you're sprawled out on his chaise lounge, reading today's issue of the steambird. you're distracted.
"yes?"
"what exactly does it mean if you're 'wet'?"
you smile at him sweetly from across his office, "... come again?"
he looks overwhelmingly serious. though he does, occasionally, toss a joke or two into his daily conversations, it's rare. you know the look he wears when he does so. and in this moment? he looks completely sincere.
"if you are wet, the meaning, please. i believe you should know?"
"i-i mean," you laugh. "neuvillette, love, dearest— are you... being entirely serious?"
"yes."
"ah, alright." your lover is the current incarnation of the hydro draconic primordial, but regardless. "to be damp. moist. covered in liquid, probably water?"
neuvillette brow scrunches. then relaxes after a moment and he shakes his head. the soft, curved horns that curl into his hair tremble with the motion. he smiles and shakes his head, shutting the book he'd be paging through. you catch a glimpse of the cover and— oh.
everything comes together.
"A Seaman's Conquest: The River's Maiden and Jewel" is the latest erotic novel by the quietly-famed 'Épée Honnête'. you recognized the cheesy art on the novel, and the flourishing text. you've read one or two of the author's works, but in the quiet and private of your own home. stashed atop each other in your nightstand, with a seldom-used vial soft oil. their prose is a... bit over the top. but they're also a sensation.
you have to wonder how and why neuvillette, of all people, is reading the book (and by your brief look, seems to be about half-way through it.) it is not the kind of thing he'd pick up himself— you've never seen neuvillette reading anything other than case files and evidence prior. yet apparently he's been ripping into erotica. right under your nose.
which explains his question.
"o-oh!" you swallow. "you mean wet like—"
"yes."
you squeeze your thighs together.
much to your initial surprise, neuvillette had incredibly limited experience when it came to bodily pleasure. intimacy in and of itself is something that he clearly yearns for, but perhaps does not know how to convey. you're not sure if neuvillette, in all his stature, could ever truly be bumbling, but he gets close to it with physicality.
he's careful. an incredibly fast learner but bent on taking his time, being thorough— meaning that most of your physical encounters are kissing under both of your lips are bruised and slick. you know that neuvillette feels aroused in those moments; the hard press of his clothed cock nudged up to you is proof of it. and you're turned on in those moments— horribly. you've soaked through your panties on more than one occasion. he makes you so— wet.
"wet is like... female arousal." you say simply, steeling yourself. you'll jump him otherwise.
"it this makes you... wet? is this like perspiration?"
"no, no. not at all. not really." you shake your head with a laugh. "it's like. slick? f-from my insides. it's lubrication for intercourse, to be entirely clinical about it."
"... but it's indicative of arousal?"
"entirely." you nod, trying to focus on the case file in front of you. your eyes have skimmed the same line three times.
neuvillette pauses and your hear a flutter of pages before his 'A Seaman's Conquest' closes once more, "have i made you wet before?"
you swallow. get ahold of yourself.
"yes. frequently."
"hm." neuvillette hums and his chair creaks as he sits back. he picks up his silver goblet and swirls it. the gem on it's side refracts the warm glow of the office light, dragging your gaze to his.
he's looking at you— hungry. perhaps something else. something insatiable.
"i want to know more." he tells you. rises. walk toward you with the defined click of his heeled boots on the hardwood fo the floor. "i feel as if i was missing something important without this knowledge. and there's more to be understood."
"well, ask away. i'm an open book." you tell him, craning your neck to meet his eyes.
"may i make a request?"
"of course."
"i..." neuvillette swallows around his words. you drag him onto the lounge with you and lean into his shoulder. moral support and all.
"it's fine if you don't know quite what to ask. or what you want." you assure him. you'll eat up anything he gives you, really.
"i know exactly what i want, it's a matter of phrasing."
"oh, yeah?" you wonder if he's nervous about you not understanding his desires. or if he's worried about being too blunt or forward.
you tilt your head back until neuvillette coaxes you down into his lap. his hand, gloved hand, smooths down your jaw. his fingertips trail down your neck, pressing into your curves and divots. bones and flesh alike. it's exploratory.
neuvillette touch slips down your collar, to bare skin. you shudder. "i'm curious."
"y-yeah? seems like you are."
he laughs, gentle and under his breath. his palm cups your cheek, soothing and kind. with a tilt of his head:
"i'd like to make you wet with my touch, and then taste you."
he says it hushed; it's just meant for you and you alone to hear. the intention of it makes you feel crazy, out of your skin. the look he's pinning you with. the ability he wields while being entirely sincere is going to undo you.
you swallow, a little sound sticking in the back of your throat. you squeeze your thighs together and close your eyes, "neuvillette, you're killing me here."
"am i?" there's a hint of a tease in his voice. you want to coax out more of it. you try and bury your face in his hip, but he doesn’t let you. he drag your chin straight and holds his thumb over the swell of your bottom lip.
"yes, y-you are." you mean to sound firm about it. but it comes out as a whine.
"so precious." he says softly, adoring. his thumb presses in into your mouth and runs along your teeth, into your gums. "would you like if i tasted you too?"
"fuck, neuvillette—" your words get muffled as his fingers press into your mouth further. he presses down on your tongue, the scent of clean leather and his gentle personal cologne almost suffocate it. you welcome it.
"is that a yes?"
you try to reply, but your words don't come out— his fault— so you only nod. perhaps too enthusiastically, but neuvillette doesn't seem to mind. his lips curl into a gentle smile, and he strokes over your cheeks. his only hand trails lower, finding home on your inner thigh.
"are you wet now?"
"'pworably—"
"cute." he says again. he still looks hungry. like he's going to eat you alive. there's an appetite in him, even if he doesn't know what it fully is or what to do with it. it seems, it really seems, like he's learning it. "may i find out—?"
"Monsieur Neuvillette!" The sharp crack of knocking on the door interrupts him as he leers over you. It's Laith, on the Seven— "the court time is within a half hour. do you require an escort?"
his grip on your thigh tightens. almost to point of hurting, but in the best way. you know you're wet now.
"no, laith, i will be alright on my own. i will be departing shortly."
"the prosecution's attorney sent over some last minute evidence files and requested i deliver them as well." the knob of the door starts to shift and you almost bolt up and away. neuvillette places his spit-covered hand on your chest to brace you down.
"i do not require the documents at this time. have them prepared for me at the opera epiclese."
the knob slips back into place, "of course, Monsieur. i'll see that they're delivered."
steps echo away from the door and you exhale a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding, "awful timing."
"unfortunate." neuvillette sighs. "truly unfortunate."
his duty is paramount. you know this as he helps you to stand and as he straightens your close. he's being more dutiful about it than he could be, given his next court time is so close. you relish it.
"... are you wet?"
"right now?" you feel sticky in a way that's a bit cold now. you press your forehead to his lips in a quiet beg for a steadying kiss. he relents easily and gives it to you. "yes. you have that effect on me."
neuvillette takes a steadying breath and squeezes around your shoulders, "i apologize for the timing of things, but—"
"i know." you tell him. "it's okay. besides, i have fingers and some toys at home. you've given me new material to work with."
"... you think about me when you're pleasuring yourself?" he blinks at you, eyes wide. you can't help but smirk.
"consistently." you nod and beam at him. "often. basically every time. i haven't even seen your cock but my mind's eye has come up with some creative theories and visual concepts."
that gets him to blush, a high, pearly pink that's almost purple. it fades into his hairline.
"this is going to be a particularly difficult court session."
"i can only imagine. is it my fault?"
"only partially." neuvillette assures you with no bite. "perhaps blame wriothesley for that book he lent me. he insisted i read it and get back to him for a review."
"huh."
you could lose it. really. wriothesley is a bastard. you should punch him. or kiss him— except you've grown from those days and you haven't seen that busted-lip smile of his in years. nice to know he's still doing you favors. you should send him an edible arrangement.
"and myself, too. thoughts to entertain at home, and not at the office."
"perhaps, perhaps." you tell him. you don't mind. you brush your lips to his cheek.
"would you visit me, after court?" who knows when that will be. you don't really care. you have a key, afterall.
"of course." you'll have tea prepared. perhaps sex education flashcards. maybe. or you'll break out the lacey slip that's been seldom-touched since purchase and surprise him. who knows. the world's your oyster.
and as you walk with neuvillette out of the palais mermonia and see him off on one of the aquabuses, you catch it in him again. in the almost-longing gaze he sends you as he departs, you see it. something awakening. old and new all at once in him. directed at you. he's famished. or, perhaps—
thirsty.
#lore writes#water tasting master neuvillette's finds his new favorite drink :3cc#neuvillette x reader#neuvillette x you#neuvillette reader insert#drabbles#ANYWAYS#clorinde is Épée Honnête btw :3ccc#slightly virginal inquisitive kind neuvillette#MEOOW
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I Want My Kids to Have Your Eyes
Levi x Reader (fluff, sfw)
what a bold thing to say to your captain.
Moonlight hung over the hill like a comforting blanket as you both reclined an arm’s length apart on the soft grass beneath, bodies sinking into the earth. The day had been relentless, a gruelling mission that tested every ounce of strength. Now, in the quiet aftermath, you two found solace gazing upward at the summit’s view, shimmering like scattered diamonds against the canvas of the night sky.
The shared stillness remained comfortable, before you posed a soft interruption to the quietude, "Captain, do you ever think about your future?"
Levi's eyes briefly left the constellations above, attention shifting to you. "Yes, it usually ranges from the next second to the next few months. Which area of land outside the walls to explore, how defensive operations should alter for the next month, which day certain intelligen-”
“Captain-” You interrupted, then hesitated, the vulnerability of the topic making your heart race. "I meant a peaceful future, like having a family, kids?"
Levi's brow furrowed slightly. The thought of it was unfamiliar, impossible. "In this war? That’s far-fetched," he remarked, gaze returning to the stars.
A subtle smile grew on your lips as scenarios played at the back of your mind. "I know, of course, but don’t you ever imagine it? A life after the war, a future where Titans are just stories we tell our children." Levi's expression softened, a fleeting hint of wistfulness in his eyes.
"Like sometimes I think if I had children, I’d take them to play by the oceans, make adorable lunch sets," you continued, "how beautiful they would look if they had your eyes…" Embarrassment started flushing up as you realised you rambled on way too far.
His eyes widened imperceptibly, caught completely off guard by your comment.
"WAIT, that didn’t come out right. I didn’t mean having them with YOU, of course... definitely not…" You trailed off, a splash of pink painfully obvious on your cheeks. Get yourself together y/n, what on earth are you saying to your captain?
“Ouch.” A flicker of disappointment crossed his features. Levi cleared his throat, seemingly caught in the unexpected turn of the conversation. "Well aren’t you very in objection to that idea." he snickered, hiding a trace of sorrow beneath his face.
“Nevermind, I’m sorry, please forget what I said." You apologised in the tense atmosphere.
But Levi didn't dismiss it. Instead, his mind seemingly remained lost in contemplation. "How will your children have my eyes, if they don't have my genetics?" Determined to disprove your faulty reasoning.
You chuckled nervously, "I just mean I hope they’ll be a pretty colour, and delicate shape, like yours."
Levi displayed a rare vulnerability in his expression. He had never given thought to the aesthetic of his eyes; they were simply a part of him, a feature he never considered noteworthy. This was the first time he had received a compliment about them, and it left him momentarily speechless.
"At this rate, my most optimistic guesstimate is that I’ll be slaying titans till I’m 60." You broke the awkwardness joking, "in that case I might not be able to have kids, doubt any man would still take my crinkled self on a date anyway."
"Why not?" Levi replied seriously, his voice a soft echo in the tranquil night. "I won't be even a tiny bit surprised if you're still this beautiful at 85."
A blood-bathed blush adorned your complexion, stomach filling with butterflies and warmth, brain connections zapping around - wondering if he really thought that way, or,
“you’re just saying that.”
Levi sighed, “in all your years of knowing me, when have I ever felt obliged to tell a white lie, Comrade?”
"Right…” You muttered, with all sorts of thoughts doing laps beneath your skull, trying to continue the conversation as level-headed as possible. “Perhaps I'll meet my first love at 99,” a giggle escaping your breath as you joked.
Unexpectedly, Levi's response carried a weight that belied the casual banter. "Well. I think people can be in love without being in a formal relationship. You could easily have your first love now."
Your gaze laid upon his side profile, slightly puzzled by his logic, "but how can you be in love with someone without holding hands, saying mushy things, and all that?"
His head turned towards you, a moment of silence filling the air with eyes drilling into yours, revealing a sincerity that tugged at your heart. "I definitely can."
#aot#aot fanfiction#aot x reader#attack on titan#captain levi#levi ackerman#levi aot#levi attack on titan#levi heichou#levi x reader#levi x y/n#levi fluff#levi angst#levi#snk levi#levi x you#snk x reader#snk fanfiction#snk#snk fanart#snk anime#levi smut#levi edit#levi fic#snk smut#snk final season#aot smut#aot fanart#anime fanfic#anime fanfiction
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congratulations on reaching 2k 🫶💕
For the event, I was wondering if you could do option one with reader being hit on right in front of them? With shanks, Sanji, zoro and if possible Nami <3
Hehe I love your writing so much!!
Hii thank you! And thank you for the request :)
Characters: gn reader x Shanks, Sanji, Zoro, Nami
Cw: creepy bar guys who can't take a hint
Total word count: 730
Take a Hint
Shanks
Shanks’s reaction really depends on the kind of mood he’s in.
Sometimes, you both go into a bar in a competitive mind, trying to see who can get more free drinks throughout the night.
He enjoys watching guys trying to flirt with you. Plus, free booze is free booze. It’s funny how they never seem to ask if you’re there with someone before they buy you a round.
But sometimes it really rubs him the wrong way (especially when he’s in the middle of a conversation with you and someone interrupts him to talk to you).
He usually says some snarky comment like “If you’re going to buy one for my friend here, you should probably buy one for me, considering we’re together.”
He doesn’t ever start a fight, but he will finish them. And he will always take up for you if someone says something rude to you or tries to put their hands on you.
Sanji
People rarely get the chance to try and flirt with you because Sanji is literally all over you 24/7. He wants everyone to know that he belongs to you.
However, there are some brave (and foolish) souls that sometimes try while he’s got his back turned or he steps away from a moment.
The moment he is back, he immediately steps between you and the man who’s trying to shoot his shot. “Is this guy bothering you?” he’ll ask.
He’ll turn back to the guy, his curly brows furrowed in anger. “Unless you want to get your ass kicked, buddy, you might want to move along.”
Afterward the flirter leaves, Sanji will fawn over you, asking if the man hurt you or did anything that made you uncomfortable. He won't relax until he knows for sure you’re okay.
Zoro
Zoro knows you can handle yourself. And besides, it’s amusing to watch.
He lets you handle the situation. Most of the guys take rejections pretty well, but there are a few stubborn ones who insist on buying you a drink even after you’ve turned them down. So you accept a drink.
When you accept, Zoro’s focus on you usually sharpens slightly. He watches carefully for any passes this guy might try to make on you. If you show even an ounce of discomfort, Zoro’s hand is resting on his blade, just in case.
Your eyes meet his, and he’ll mouth “You okay?”. If yes, he’ll leave you be. But if it’s no, he’ll take action.
He’ll position himself between you and the man, taking a nice long drink of the alcohol the guy bought you. Then he’ll plant a kiss firmly on your lips and smirk at you, ignoring the fussing happening from the other man.
“Listen man,” he’ll say, resting his hand on his blade as he turns to him. “I think you need to learn what rejection is. So why don’t you just buzz off, and leave us alone to enjoy this fine alcohol?”
If it leads to a fight, that’s fine. Zoro has never minded fighting for your honor before. And he’s never lost a bar fight.
Nami
Listen, Nami is no stranger to people flirting with her. And neither are you.
Plus, free things are always better. Which is why you two set up a system.
If a guy starts flirting with you and can’t take a hint, well, he’s basically just inviting in some unfortunate circumstances.
So you let him buy you a drink. Maybe two, if you’re feeling crazy. You keep him distracted, telling him stories about your life.
Of course he thinks you need saving by a big strong man or whatever he imagines he is. He has no clue you could knock him out in about 3 seconds flat. But you just smile and listen to his clearly made-up stories.
Meanwhile, Nami is absolutely robbing him blind. It’s actually hilarious to watch. She starts out with his wallet, but she slowly gets more confident as he gets more drunk. She steals his necklace, watch, even his rings. She’s truly amazing at thievery; you can’t help but be in awe at her skill.
At the end of the night, he goes to pay his tab, and you and Nami quietly slip out together hand-in-hand, serenaded by the screams of panic from that dreadful man.
#one piece#one piece imagine#one piece scenario#one piece x reader#one piece x you#zoro#roronoa zoro#zoro x reader#zoro x y/n#shanks#red haired shanks#shanks x reader#shanks x y/n#sanji#vinsmoke sanji#sanji x reader#sanji x y/n#nami#nami x reader#nami x y/n#cozage#✧˚shanks✧˚#✧˚sanji✧˚#✧˚zoro✧˚#✧˚nami✧˚
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Only Friends
Pairing: Gender Neutral!Reader x Spencer Reid
Description: You and Spencer are best friends who act like anything but.
Content/Warnings: Oblivious mutual pining, kissing, lap sitting, teasing friends, cute little love confession at the end.
Word Count: 1.3K
Anon Request: hiii oki req (if u want pls take ur time) i think this is prob OOC butttttt spence + reader being in love and they don’t even realize it but they still kiss/ cuddle when they hang out and stuff and just say “we’re really close is all” “best friends kiss!” and stuff..
Navigation || Criminal Minds Masterlist || Request
🏷️ @kr-1-sta @iluvreid @nervousmoongiver @multifandom-on-the-side @ferrjulie
Affection in friendships aren’t always the same. Some friends hugged, some friends rarely talked yet maintained a healthy friendship, some friends even showed the smallest bit of intimacy due to their comfortability.
You and Spencer were just a tad different. You two would cuddle, share brief pecks on the lips, as well as sometimes shower together whenever you were in a rush on a case and got a brief break.
It wasn’t anything inherently romantic or sexual, just something that came easy. The team was highly convinced you both had a secret relationship. Which was fair enough, however no matter how many explanations, they never seemed to be enough.
Tonight the team was having a small watch party for a new show at Penelope’s apartment. She’d been so desperate for the team to have something like a show they watched together, or special games to play together. Nobody could really say no.
You had arrived with a handful of snacks just an hour prior, helping one of your favorite coworkers set up her apartment for the night ahead. As expected, it turned from you helping to the bubbly blonde interrogating you over the aspect of a potential relationship.
“We aren’t dating, Pen.” Your head shook as you were filling a bowl with pretzels, taking it to the table in order to place it in the available space surrounded by other snacks. “I saw you guys kiss before you left the office yesterday! What kind of friends kiss each other on the lips?? If this is normal, we need to make Derek aware because I am missing out.” Penelope huffed out of frustration. “Mark my words, I will get to the bottom of this. When I find out that you are secretly dating, I will bring all of the hurt!” The blonde held up her fist while narrowing her eyes in your direction.
By the grace of all things holy, it wasn’t long until the team had slowly begun to show up. There were no more interrogations, not yet anyway. As everyone was piling up on the couch, there was very limited room for you as you walked out of the kitchen. “Fuck.” You groaned, arms crossed. “I am not sitting on the floor!”
“You can sit with me.” Spencer spoke up from his spot at the far end of the couch, his shoulders shrugging as his hand patted his thighs to offer you the spot in his lap. “Come on! This is a family friendly show! None of that.” Emily groaned, which had you rolling your eyes as you were heading over to sit yourself on your best friend’s lap.
“It’s not a big deal.” You protested her dramatics while your body was leaning into Spencer’s chest, your body snuggling closer to his as the show began at its scheduled time. However instead of enjoying the programme, you were too busy ignoring all the curious stares from your friends. “Come on!” You huffed while pushing yourself to sit up. “What is the big deal? You’re all staring like we are animals in a zoo.” In all honesty, you were annoyed with the way people stared. You were friends, doing platonic things.
“Look. Kid, I hate to say it but you two are definitely a little too close for what friends should be. What kind of friends do you know that kiss each other? And yes, I know, they are pecks. I’m just saying.” Derek put his hands up as he broke the silence.
“It’s not a crime to have a crush on one another or to date one another.” JJ added soon after while letting her shoulders shrug. “We aren’t dating though.” Spencer confirmed everything you’ve been preaching while looking at the group in confusion. “Spencer, you haven’t eaten any snacks tonight because all of our hands have been in the bowl. It makes no sense to me that you’d kiss her considering the mouth has like a bajillion germs.” Penelope added.
“Well, the mouth has over a billion different germs and we don’t know the exact amount.” He corrected as he looked up at you for help. “I assumed we were normal?” He spoke up while you nodded in agreement. “I thought we were, too.” You huffed while leaning against his chest.
“It’s not even the hugging, kissing, and lap sitting. You guys just look so head over heels from an outside perspective. I mean, you hang out together all the time, you always room together, plus you guys go out on dates. You may not look at it that way but come on. You are both profilers. How do you not pick up on how you feel about one another?” Emily asked while frowning softly.
The more they were talking and giving actual points, the more you were thinking over the course of your friendship with Spencer. You’d always been close, even after your first initial meeting when you joined the team. You could remember how shocked the team was because the typically quiet and socially awkward genius was the first one to welcome you. You’d managed to become close friends over the course of two weeks. The first time Spencer even hugged you was after a case where he’d been put in harm's way. He came to you for comfort. You.
The first time you started your pecks on the lips, it was due to a complete accident when you tried to kiss his cheek but his head turned to face you. It just seemed.. Right. No matter how flustered you both were or how you felt butterflies in your belly, you just dismissed it. You being lost in thought was concerning enough for Spencer. “Hey. Do you wanna step outside?” His voice pulled you out of your thoughts, your head nodding. “Yeah, please head out with me.”
He helped you to your feet before his hand was gently holding yours, leading you out of the room.
“How much do you wanna bet that they are gonna actually kiss out there?” Aaron spoke up after being silent a majority of the night, the team turning to the unit chief who normally wouldn’t have inserted himself. “I’ll take those odds,” Derek smirked while getting his wallet.
Out in the hallway, you had your arms crossed as you looked away from Spencer. “I know that we are best friends and I promise you’ve done absolutely nothing wrong. I just really want you to tell me one thing,” You spoke while turning your head back to face him. “Did you ever, at any point, have feelings for me? Be honest.”
The words had Spencer’s face bright red, his hand nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, I’ve always thought you were amazing.” He spoke while offering a shy smile. “I just didn’t want things to get weird. I like our friendship and the relationship that we have isn’t something that could be ruined. Dating friends can get messy and.. I don’t wanna live a life without you in it. I can’t even fathom a reality where you aren’t here.” He responded.
“So you did?”
“Y-yeah. I just didn’t want-”
Your hands were gripping his upper arms while you were gently shaking him. “Why didn’t you say anything?!” You asked while staring at him with wide eyes. “I’ve always been fond of you!” You added, his surprised look making you laugh softly. “God. How are we profilers?”
“You know, I’m not so sure. I think we are rusty.” Spencer responded, a little chuckle leaving his lips. “So.. Is there a chance? You know.. Us?” He asked softly while you nodded. “I do think there’s a good chance.” You responded while Spencer sighed in relief. “So it won’t be weird if I do this.”
“Do what?”
His hands were gently cupping your cheeks, taking every opportunity to press his lips against yours, much different than you were both used to but it carried the same feeling as all the little pecks have all this time. It was right. Like you were meant to be together.
“I’m pretty sure they are running bets. Do we tell them we kissed or pretend like nothing happened?”
“I want Derek to lose his money in that scenario, so let’s not tell them yet.” Spencer chuckled.
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