#but it's now dyed in jet black and i am not getting rid of that | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gamerkitten · 1 year

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✨️TELL ME ABOUT YOUR OCS✨️

Template by @vincentmatthews

♡Name

Jenaè Valentine

♡Nicknames

Jenaè goes by V to everyone she isn't close to. Other than that, she doesn't have any nicknames outside of little terms of endearment from lovers.

♡Age

♡Pronouns

She/Her

♡Sexuality

Bisexual, male leaning

♡Hair Color and style

Jenaè keeps her hair it's natural jet black color and has never dyed it. During her time at Militech, she wore her hair in a sleek ponytail at all times but traded that for blowouts or silk presses when she was picked up by Arasaka and she continues that way until act 3 of the story where she goes for a long mohawk.

♡Eye Color

Her eyes are naturally brown, but she's had purple optics since she was sixteen. They're a deep shade, so the effect is subtle unlees the light hits them just the right way, but they glow a lighter shade of lavender when she's interfacing with programs or taking phone calls.

♡Height

5'7 without heels, around 5'10 in her favorite pair.

♡Body Type

The definition of "Slim-thick" Thanks a mix of family doctors(50%), genetics(25%) and exercise(25%).

T&A with a small waist and loooong legs.

(Also can someone tell me who the artist is for this picture?)

♡Personality

The face she shows the world is one she's perfected; blue-blooded corporate royalty. Beautiful, charming but aloof enough to pique curiosity. Threats hidden behind smiles like bared teeth, unscrupulous enough to actually follow through on them. Sultry enough to inflame passions but coy enough for plausible deniability. Better than you in every way.

And yeah, that is her, partly. She's cunning and ruthless when there's opportunity, but she's also fiercely loyal to the people she decides are hers and ready to bring a painful end to anyone who would harm them.

She's extremely emotional, but is definitely a bottle-that-shit-up type who would rather die than show weakness to an outsider.

She's selfish, petty, and holds a grudge like normal people hold hands, but she isn't cruel. She detests people who just like to throw stones at beggars for sport.

♡Tattoos

None, until Johnny decided to take her body for a joyride. She was mad about it at first, but comes around. Of course, now it's a reminder of how badly she fucked up, but she'd never get it removed.

♡Piercings

Two rings in her right earlobe and one in the left.

♡Any definable features such as: Birthmarks, Scars, Freckles, Beauty Marks, Accent when they talk, Lisp, Natural slurring of words, Walk with a subtle limp, ect.

After the heist, she had a pretty deep gash above her right eye from when she and Jackie had to jump off the side of Kompeki Plaza and she slammed her head on something along the way. Another one on the left side of her head where DeX shot her, but thanks to Vic it's barely noticeable. She doesn't have many others, due to her fighting style and the fact that she used to get them removed.

After Arasaka operates on her, they do her the "favor" of ridding her of all her scars. She hates it, it makes her feel like she isn't her. Cue "Am I me?" spiral.

♡Hobbies

Is shopping a hobby?

Just kidding, but not really lol. Jenaè is a fashion nut, but aside from shopping she also finds fashion history fascinating and owns a few books on the topic.

Her true love, however, is film. Specifically Horror. She has a stockpile of horror BDs and movies that she liked to force Jackie into watching with her. She could never get Jenkins to watch them, despite her begging. When Kerry finds out about this, he makes it his duty to show her some movies that he grew up on. Nightmare on Elm Street is her favorite.

This one is a little morbid to be called a hobby, but Jenae loves going "Scav Hunting". She has a vendetta against the Scavs of Night City, and enjoys venting her frustrations out on them.

♡Gang/Occupation {Mox, Max Tac, etc}

Jenaè isn't affiliated with any of Night City's gangs, but she's always down to lend a hand to Mox. Outside of that, she works with people, not organizations. At least not in an official capacity.

♡Do they smoke?

Yes. Johnny makes fun of her though, because she smokes designer cigs that smell like vanilla or cinnamon.

♡Do they drink? If so, what's their poison of choice?

Absolutely.

Her drink of choice is usually wine, either a Cabernet or Chardonnay. If she's at the Afterlife or Empathy, she'll either get shots of tequila, or the occasional Jackie Welles.

♡What do they usually wear on a normal day?

It depends on who she's seeing and where. If she's doing work in City Center or Westbrook, she dresses well; dresses, slacks and blouses with heels are the name of the game. In Heywood, Watson and Santo, she's relaxed but still polished in slim fit pants, tank tops and jackets paired with a nice pair of boots or sneakers.

When she's in work mode, she goes for her favorite combat turtlenecks under armored coats or ballistic vests, fitted pants and sturdy knee high boots.

♡What do they wear when they "Get dressed up"? And what would be considered a "special occasion" to them {such as an "Oh they're gonna be there so I have to look my best." Or an "It's our anniversary".}

When she dresses up, she gives femme fatal realness. A smokey cat eye and glossy red lips, long dresses in either black, white or wine tones with low necklines and high slits to show off her legs in her 5inch heels. For jewelry, she has a pair of diamond studs and a beautiful tennis bracelet that Jenkins gifted her. Around her neck is a matching diamond choker, worn with a longer simple gold chain with a diamond pendant. No rings, but long stiletto nails painted a dark red.

♡What do they smell like? {For example: they smell like cinnamon flavored liquor, cigarettes, leather, and motor oil.}

Jenaè's favorite perfume has notes of Jasmine and citrus. She's been wearing it since she started working at Arasaka and always gets compliments. There's also the lingering scent of vanilla and cinnamon from her cigarettes

♡How do they walk? Do they sway their hips? Do they walk with a sense of determination? Do they bounce as they walk? Etc.

Jenaè has a tendency to slink especially if there is someone she's trying to entice.

Her posture is impeccable thanks to her mother's insistence on finishing classes, which were just as awful as they sound, and she's perfected her walk to ooze importance.

♡Are they more of an early bird or a night owl?

Night owl. One of the best things about being kicked out of the corporate world is that she can sleep in. The only time she wants to see the sun rise is on the ride home after a night out.

♡If you had to use one word to define them, what word would you use?

Relentless

♡What words or catchphrases do they say that's unique to that character?

Nothing unique to her, but her favorite curse word is Fuck.

♡Favorite Season

Living in California, she's not super invested in the seasons, but her favorite days tend to occur in the early spring when reconciliation park is especially green.

♡Favorite type of weather {Thunderstorms, sunny, etc}

She loves a good thunderstorm, especially when she's watching the storm roll in from her balcony or through the windows while lazing on the couch.

♡Do they have someone they're with relationship-wise? If so, who?

Well, she had Jenkins but...we all know how that went.

While her and Jackie spent time dancing around each other and occasionally falling into bed, they never tried to make it official for one reason or another until the night of the heist. Too late.

So currently, in the post-Devil hellscape that is my canon, she and Goro have pretty much broken up and she's carrying on this failing relationship with River, which is about to implode.

♡Main Ship/Pairings

Jenkins/V(Internal Affairs)

Jackie/V(To This)

Takemura/V(New Tricks)

♡Side Pairings

River/V(I still don't have a ship name for them😭😭)

♡Favorite/Self-indulgent Pairings

Very much Jackie and Jenae. I'm a sucker for friends to lovers and am also a messy bitch.

♡How do they show affection to their loved one?

Jenaè's love language is physical touch and not just sex. She likes to play with their hair, rub they're shoulders when they're tired or stressed or just rest her head on their shoulder or chest.

♡How do they sit in a chair?

She lounges, legs tucked to the side or she sits perfectly upright with her legs crossed either at the knee or ankles. Depends on the audience.

♡How do they sit in a chair {uncomfortable version}

Even if she's uncomfortable, she still does the above. Don't stop dancing lol

♡What do they wear to bed?

Short satin night gowns. She has a set of three in black, red and emerald and a long black robe with fur on the sleeves.

♡How do they usually sleep? {Side sleeper, back, fetal position, backwards, nest sleeper, blanket mountain, etc}

On her stomach, limbs sprawled across the bed if she's alone. If not, she rolls toward whoever's she's sharing with and sleeps on her side.

♡How do they sleep in a place they don't know? (Can't due to anxiety, in small bursts of sleep that are short lived, holding themselves,ect)

Badly. After rescuing Saul, she barely got any sleep and had to crash when she got back into the city.

♡Do they have to have a form of "white noise" in order to sleep? {The sound of a fan, the sound of rain, the sound of a city, etc}

No, not unless you count the ambiance of Night city as white noise.

♡What's a place they go to feel comfortable, that's their "spot" they always go when they're upset?

The Coyote Cojo. She's comfortable there, and knows that Mama Welles won't pry but is there to talk if she needs it.

♡What do they do when they're nervous? {Fidget with jewelry, pick at nails, bite nails/lips, play with knife/zippo lighter, etc}

She crosses her arms in order to stop herself from fidgeting and chews on her bottom lip.

♡What is their "tell" for lying?

The slight smirk and glance to the side, like she's sharing a joke with an invisible audience.(Or Johnny, once he enters the chat.)

♡What is their favorite color?

Black

♡Favorite flower/plant

Roses

♡Favorite sweet of choice

Macaroons and any type of fried dough covered in powdered sugar.

♡Do they have any pets? If so, tell me about them

She rescued Nibbles and later gets two cyber-dobermans.

♡What are their triggers {If they have any}? If so, what calms them down?

Sexual threats trigger her like nothing else. She's had a close call before and even though they didn't get to do what they wanted, it was enough to leave a scar on her psyche. When someone threatens her, she either lashes out or freezes depending on how capable of following through she asses them to be.

Thankfully, working for Arasaka and having her own personal life coach taught her how to deal with her stress responses and panic attacks.

♡If they could visit anywhere in the world, where would they go and why?

She would go to Anartica. She's pretty impressed that people actually live out there, and would love to see it for herself.

♡What is their favorite comfort meal?

Ramen with synth-sirloin and spicy broth

♡Do they have a food they hate?

Caviar. Why is it crunchy????

♡What is their favorite {non-alcoholic} drink?

Cola float

♡What are their plans for the future {if they have any}?

Once she figures out the whole "dying in six months" thing, she'd love to be a fixer. She's good with people and it's not that different from working in counterintelligence. Just safer.

♡What's a song that "fits" them?

♡Give me 5 facts/random bits of information about them

Her mother did everything in her power to make sure that Jenaè would have a leg up on the competition; gene customization before birth, metabolism manipulation, etiquette classes and her own brand of psychological warfare to mold her daughter into the perfect corporate debutante. She would say she succeeded but what she did was mess up a perfectly good human. Look at her, she has anxiety.

Jenaè has an older brother she used to be really close to, but after her firing from Militech their parents ordered him to cut her off and he did. The last time she heard from him was a month after she got back from space to tell her that their mother had passed. She was not invited to the funeral.

She snorts if she laughs too hard. Jackie found this absolutely hilarious.

Unsurprisingly, Jenae desires approval from older male authority figures. She doesn't think she does, but...*gestures at dating history*.

Part of the reason she and River don't work is because his idealism doesn't just annoy her, in her worst moments it pisses her off. She resents him for still being able to assume the best in people, because she can't anymore. She and Judy clashed for similar reasons, but she wasn't as jaded during the story timeline as she is after.

♡Give me their backstory {can be long, or brief.}

Please refer to this post for Jenae's backstory💕

♡Free Space! Give me any sort of extra information about them you'd like to share

Jenaè is actually pretty in tune with her heritage. Her mother's family is from New Orleans and her grandmother loved to cook when she was little and tell her stories. She would die when Jenae was 9.

To this day, Jenae likes to recreate her gumbo recipe when she has the time and ingredients. It's pretty good, even if she has to substitute certain things.

Also, she and Goro swap folktales and it is adorable.

#Cyberpunk 2077 #corpo v #Jenaè Valentine

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awesomerextyphoon · 3 years

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Madripoor Musings

Summary: You’re undercover as Zemo’s Sugar Baby while you’re with the team in Madripoor. You seem to like the position a little too much and Sam gets jealous.

Parings: Sam Wilson x Black Female Reader, slight Zemo x Black Female Reader

Word Count: 1,685

Rating: 18+ / Explicit

Warnings: FATWS Spoilers, Smut, Oral (f receiving), Light Choking, Angst, Semi-Public Smut, Daddy Kink, and Slight Emotional Manipulation

A/N: Ran into another writer’s block so I’m using prompts from this list to get myself out of it. Enjoy!

Back to Masterlist

“So, are we good to go, everyone?”

The four of you were jet-setting in Zemo’s private plane to Madripoor to get info on this new version of super solider serums. Zemo came up with the idea of having Sam go undercover as the West African weapons dealer/smuggler, Smiling Tiger. Bucky returned to his ‘Winter Soldier’ mode and you were to become ‘Miss Erina’, Zemo’s new arm candy/Sugar Baby.

Your backstory was simple: you’ve been with Zemo since before he went to prison living in his many estates and luxurious apartments.

It took some time for everyone to get into character. Sam tried and failed to pull off a Nigerian accent while Bucky kept up his hard glare and glower routine. You and Zemo put on the perfect couple facade with the both of you placing semi-sensual touches on each other’s bodies and showering each other with (sometimes lewd) compliments.

“Oh, thank you for the necklace, Daddy!” you gushed loving the way Sam was fuming. Bucky almost broke his character trying not to snicker.

“Nothing’s too much for you, котёнок/kotyonok (kitten).” Zemo mused as he offered you a coy smirk and leaned in for a kiss.

You giggled as he placed kisses along your jawline, neck, and collarbone.

“We’ll continue this later, киса,” Zemo whispered while winking at Sam.

––––

Madripoor was amazing, to say the least. It was a cyberpunk wet dream with bright lights at various angles and two distinct levels giving off a Black Lagoon/Blade Runner/Ghost in Shell vibe.

It felt like your kind of town.

It’s been like this since the Snap. Your older sister died in a car crash right after Thanos’ victory. Your father and uncle were blipped into the ocean dying instantly. Nowadays, your mother could barely talk to you without crying.

Natasha was dead and Steve fucked off to the 1940s to crush English pussy. Sharon got branded an enemy of the US Government and was forced to run. Some dumbass cracker (you will NEVER acknowledge his name) was given Sam’s rightful shield and mantle of Captain America by the craven, racist US government and had the NERVE to tell you to stay out of his way.

To top it all off, you found out that the US military tortured a man for 30 YEARS in order to ‘make the perfect soldier’.

You were finally in a place that matched how you felt.

“We’re heading into Low Town. Be on your guard, everyone.” Zemo warned as he lifted your chin and kissed you again. He insisted on walking towards your escort.

“Why do I have to wear this again? I look like a pimp!” Sam whined while looking sexy AF in his Ankara (I’m saying it’s Ankara) suit.

“Don’t mind him, Daddy. Sam has no sense of style.” You joked snuggling closer to Zemo.

“We’re not at the club yet.” Sam pointed out, vexed at the way you were clinging onto Zemo.

“We cannot let our guard down, Wilson. Selby has eyes everywhere.”

Sam relented and tried not to look your way. It was tempting due to you wearing an amazing Burgundy Fashion Nova Sugar Free Mini Dress with Black Bow Whoa Pumps. Your curves were out, but not in a shameless manner.

You had class, yet you were a tease.

––––

The ride to Selby’s was nothing short of thrilling.

You were right about the overall aesthetic. Madripoor definitely has the ‘dystopian punk’ feel on lock.

“You look radiant, котёнок.” Zemo cooed as you kissed his neck liking how smiled at Sam and inwardly cackled at Sam’s glower.

–––––

Several men and some women moved to make a pass at you on the way to the club. A few audacious men learned that you were Zemo’s the hard way, Bucky made sure of it.

You had to mask your displeasure at how many people were shooting appreciative glances at Sam.

You just hoped this escapade would end soon.

––––––

Zemo advised everyone to aim straight for the bar wrapping his arm around your waist as he strode into the club. Sam and Bucky followed suit slipping into their Apex and Winter modes respectively.

The bartender licked his lips as he looked you over, “Thought Selby told ya you ain’t welcomed here, Zemo.”

Zemo raised an eyebrow, “I know, but this is important,” he eyed several bouncers making their way towards your group. Their moves did not faze the baron. He simply turned to Bucky and whispered in his ear.

It didn’t take long for Bucky to let loose. You could’ve sworn a couple of people were ready to shit themselves.

–––––

Selby was...interesting. She/They gave off a pretentious ‘I’m always ten steps ahead’ aura with a bit of fake whimsy. She/They wanted to give you to one of her best clients and keep Bucky for herself/themselves (probably for sexual reasons, didn’t want to pry).

The conversation was going well...until Sam’s phone went off.

Insert facepalm.

You’ve told him time and time again to put his phone on silent and get rid of vibrate. Now he was gonna get y’all killed, but you said,” Fuck it!” and shot her/them and the #2.

The group had to book it and you cursed yourself for wearing non-running heels.

_____

Your asses were saved by a guardian sniper, Sharon. You were glad to see her again missing your bi-weekly movie nights and sporadic weekend brunches.

“It’s good to see you, Sharon.” You greeted as you hugged Sharon at the entrance of her High Town pad.

“It’s great to see you, too, even after you’ve destroyed my work.” Sharon lowered her voice while pressing her lips together in frustration and then lust at the sight of Sam’s deliciously thicc upper body.

You couldn’t blame her as you wanted to run your hands and tongue along his planes of muscle.

You listened in on the group’s conversation as you changed clothes seeing Sam’s distress at Sharon and Zemo’s words. They did have a point about how being a hero does ring hollow, but it still hurt to see Sam’s sadness and hurt.

––––––

You found Zemo, bless his heart, dancing like a lost dad on the dance floor and started grinding against him while shooting Sam a sexy pout accentuating your sensually full lips.

Sam, for his part, was trying to look interested talking to a waitress with killer legs. He almost lost it when he put his arms around your waist.

“Let’s see if we can get a reaction out of him,” you whispered wrapping your arms around his neck. He knew that Sam hasn’t been giving it lately.

––––––

Your little stunt lasted for about ten minutes before Sam stomped over grabbing your arm and dragging you into one of Sharon’s ‘private rooms’ after another man got too close to what was his.

“Why did you drag me away like that?!” you shouted secretly turned on by the raging fire in his eyes.

“So you like calling your men ‘Daddy’?” Sam demanded as he backed you into the wall.

“I’m your ‘daddy’ now, vixen.” Sam breathed while lightly dragging his finger up your thighs only to find no panties.

“No panties, huh?” he smirked as he twirled his forefinger around your clit causing you to moan.

“Fuck, I love hearing you moan. Say my name, vixen. Don’t care if Sharon finds out.” Sam murmured against your lips. He effortlessly lifted you in such a way to make you wonder if he got some SS serum. It didn’t hurt that you got to see his muscles bulge underneath his turtleneck as he landed your blessed backside onto one of the tables.

“Eyes on me, kitten,” Sam ordered as he forced open your legs and made his way your slit leaving open-mouthed kisses and love bites in his wake. “You're already soaking for me, baby.” he mused as he gave your slit a long lick.

You could barely keep yourself from moaning.

“Who's your daddy, baby?”

“You are!”

“I’m your ONLY daddy!” Sam shouted and dove in.

You were drowning in ecstasy.

Sam was hitting all the right notes with your pussy. He was always a G at eating you out. Sam swatted your hand away from your mouth, “I want everyone to know who your real daddy is,!”

He kept you on edge for nine excruciating minutes before he finally let you orgasm.

“No time for rest, vixen.” Sam chided as he flipped you on the table ass up with your dress bunched up around your chest,” Are you a good little vixen?” Sam breathed in your ear as he placed kisses along your ear, neck, and collarbone.

“Yes, daddy.”

“You’re damn right I am!” He sheaved himself into you in one swift motion. You moaned in delight at the sensation. He didn’t move no matter how much you begged him, “Tell the world who your daddy is,” he instructed as he slapped your plump ass.

You screamed out his name and Sam started thrusting. He gently wrapped his hand around your neck while demanding you to shout his name. Sam pounded into you at a relentless pace constantly hitting your ‘Cum Dizzy Sector’ turning you into a delightfully orgasmic mess.

Sam was reaching his limit so he played with your clit to make you finish first. You came with what felt like an earth-shattering orgasm with Sam coming with a primal roar not too long afterward.

Both of you were so wrapped up in orgasmic bliss that you didn’t notice Sharon, Zemo, Bucky, and a few other partygoers at the door.

“So, how did go?” Sharon teased as you tried to cover yourself up.

“How much did you see?”

“Hmm,” Sharon hummed while tapping her chin, “Enough for me to close a $19.8M art deal.”

“We’re getting a 10% cut.” Sam barked annoyed with the rest of the group reigning in on his smash time.

“Fine. Get dressed, I got a lead.” Sharon announced while smirking all the way to her quarters.

You smirked at Zemo as you made your way to the exit.

Worth it.

#sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x black!reader #sam wilson imagine #fatws #fatws spoilers #mcu #mcu fanfiction #avengers imagine #marvel fanfiction #mcu smut #smut #baron zemo #baron zemo x reader #sam wilson x female reader #sharon carter #madripoor musings #madripoor

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newtshit · 3 years

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yelena belova, my beloved | black widow movie spoilers!!

yelena belova x fem reader

first post!.. hi! so.. i just watched the black widow movie and fell absolutely in love with yelena, of course.

content warning! ~ mature content, angst, fighting, blood, trauma, fluff, desperation, happy ending, enemies to lovers lesbians,,

*listen to Je te laisserai des mots for a better experience.. hehe*

-----------------------------

a battle between past friends, a war of two soulmates, bloodspill of old bonds.. how much more poetic can this get? you, a widow, quite frankly the most powerful one since the start of the Red Room fallout, and yelena stand in the ruins and ash of a once-buoyant Red Room extension. you don’t know who made the first move; you may never know, as you were both taught to fight strategically and quickly. it was just... too fast to know. you focus on yelena, the beautifully majestic woman in white, as you try to kill her. why?.. you ask yourself.

the horrific instructors and strict mind-controlling agents implanted in your head did not teach you to love. they taught against it, if anything, but you just could not find it in you, any part of you, to not love yelena. maybe it was childish, maybe it was an error... but no matter how much you tried to get rid of her image in your head, for the sake of loyalty to the Red Room, you couldn’t.

the more the fighting goes on, the angrier you become. you become angry at yourself, at the white widow at your throat, and fight harder and harder. your thoughts are jumbled, but you know most clearly yelena’s intentions to use the antidote on you. you long for it, actually; you long for that sweet red tingle on your cheeks... but you can’t challenge your honor and loyalty. you mean something to the Red Room... with a blink of an eye, it mostly came together in your jumbled mind.

the source of your anger, your perseverance to kill your once-closest friend, it all stemmed from the abandonment of yelena; you don’t mean anything to her.

your blade holds still against her neck, yelena kneeling at your feet. you realize now how deep your breaths are, how red your face is, not from heat or loss of stamina, but from your anger.

“why...” you fight out. with your other hand you cup your mouth, struggling to keep the sobs in. you know this is a moment of weakness, but nothing makes sense in your fractured mind and you just.. have to let it out, now that you’re so close to yelena once again.

“why did you betray me, our team? you left... why did you leave?” you say quietly, looking down at the wincing girl. a drop of blood streams down yelenas neck.

the girl leaps up, kicking your blade out of your hand. she sends another kick towards your head, but you block it with a firm fist. you grab the same leg and spin around yelena, twisting her body around until she falls to the hard ground. you still have more fight in you, but you start to see the fight leaving yelena. she knows it, too.

you once again look down at yelena’s beautiful, blood-covered face.

with a foot shoved on yelenas breast, you grab a dagger from one of many sheathes. you kneel down; she sits up, attempting to stab something into your neck. you grab her hand and force it down; she winces. with her other hand, she grabs the nape of your neck firmly. you are now a few inches from her face. you can feel her warm breath on your face, in your nostrils.

almost as your knife hits her stomach, you feel her quick movement from her freeing her hand and moving to the spot of impact. her other hand quickly palms into your chest, causing you to lose your breath. glass shatters, yelena yells out, you choke and gasp for breath... and you see red. you feel red; you breathe red.

your memories and thoughts immediately fix, and you can finally think right once again. you take a deep breath and look up at the sky. closing your eyes, you feel ash fall on your face, you feel each cut and bruise on your body. it’s peaceful... it’s.. sweet. however, the realization of the woman you love dying at your hands overpowers anything you previously felt. you feel no relief anymore, no sweetness, only tears and a tightness deep in your chest.

“no!” you scream out. you reposition yourself and yelena to where you cradle her in your arms. your hands shake around the dagger handle. you want to take it out, undo what you’ve done, but that could cause a slower, more painful death of bleeding out. “Y/N...” she stammers. “i’m so... so sorry.” tears flow from her eyes now. she shuts her eyes, holding her head closer to your chest. “i wish i could have found you sooner...” she says. she wraps her hands around your bloody ones which cover the dagger handle. she holds them for a few moments before you hear the deafening sound of a Red Room jet landing a few feet behind you.

you look behind your back to see cured widows rushing over to you, yelena’s worried parents behind them. you grasp yelena’s body in your arms and stand up, running toward them. “help! please!” the words keep falling from your mouth.

it doesnt feel real; the freedom, your original thoughts... everything seems to happen in slow motion. yelena looks up at you and holds a bloody hand to your cheek. you look down at her bright blue and green eyes. “i’ll get you help, yelena. i won’t let you die.” you say, forcing a pained and comforting smile on your face. “i trust you...” she says, and her hand falls from your face. you hold her closer until you reach the other widows who immediately grab her and start to help.

---

it’s been 4 weeks since you’ve been cured. you now stay in a small New York apartment. you’ve spent the past 4 weeks thinking about yelena, hoping she’s okay.

no one has told you anything; no one has reached out. you have no idea where the other widows from you establishment are... you have no inkling as to where yelena went. the only thing you could imagine happened is she didn’t want to see you. she woke up, and hated you; you hated yourself for the past 4 weeks. with your own thoughts now, it was easy to fall into loneliness and depression.

one afternoon, as you sit and eat an early dinner, there’s a knock on your door. you immediately stand up, grabbing a gun from a compartment under the coffee table. you stealthily step over the door. you stand with your gun against your chest and open the front door. you jump out, gun facing the unknown visitor. it’s yelena.

you drop your gun and your hands go up to her soft, healed face. tears swell in both of your eyes. “Y/N,” she wraps her arms around your waist and pulls you into a hug. you wrap you arms around her head and hold her tight. she pulls away and you pull her into your apartment.

you pull her into a passionate kiss, and she lifts her hands up to cup your cheeks. “I... i missed you... i’m sorry...” you say between kisses. “i love you.” yelena says with a whimper. you tenderly move your hands to her stomach, tears fall from your eyes but you can’t escape yelena’s embrace.. you don’t want to. “i love you, yelena.” you say back.

you both find yourselves on your bed, kissing harder and harder. the room is full of your whimpers and deep breaths. sleeve by sleeve, you take your sweater off, throwing it to the side. you’re on top of yelena, her legs wrapped around your waist. she grabs your hand, hard, and holds it against the collar of her shirt. she whimpers, letting you know her desperation. you wrap an arm under her neck, lift her slightly, and pull her grey tank top off. you pull your lips away to get a better look, and a deep sadness fills your stomach when you see the scar. “oh...” you say, hovering a hand over it, seemingly giving her comfort.

“baby, Y/N, i’m okay. come here.” her thick Russian accent is like music to your ears. she kisses you slowly, gently. “i want you.” she says. you kiss down her neck. you feel her breath flutter into your ear and goosebumps immediately cover your whole body. you let out a sigh. her eyes roll into the back of her head as you grasp at her bra. your hand slips under and around her back, and you unclasp her bra. she takes it off and her hands find the tie of your sweatpants. she unties them, tugging at the seem. you pull them off, leaving yourself only in a sports bra and underwear. her pants come off, too.

---

you wake up with her in your arms. she’s still asleep, facing you. all you can see is her peaceful, goofy smile on her face as she’s asleep. a smile spreads across your face and you run your fingers through her hair and behind her ear. her eyes flutter open and a bigger smile spreads across her face. “hello, love.” she says. her tired, croaky voice sends a wave of comfort through your soul. she stares at you for a few moments, and she brings a hand up to your cheek and rubs her thumb against it. “you mean everything to me.” yelena says.

*READ*

I’m aware that Yelena is possibly ace! I, myself, am demisexual and I mean no offense by writing a sexual scene. That is mostly why i left it off where i did. It’s up to the reader how their night ends :) Thank you!

-newt

#yelena belova #black widow #yelena black widow #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova x you

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whoreforstraykids05 · 2 years

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Red Lights - Hyunjin x Chan x Reader *Smut*

Smut; Treesome; Choking; Daddy

I was entering my best friends house, making my way through the crowd. He decided to throw a Private Listening party for the new Album that was coming this year. The boys had worked really hard to get on top of the Korean charts, with debut single of the album, having more streams than BTS. "Hi Y/N, I'm so glad you were able to make it!" Minho hugged me happily. I smelled that he had already drunken a few glasses and he seemed a little tipsy but still like he could think clearly. "The party is amazing, you did well." I smiled at him. Minho and I have been friends forever. We lost touch when the band was formed but as soon as everything was settled he reached out to me again, now our friendship was better than ever. I have met the other members a few times and immediately fell in love with Hyunjin. His voice was absolutely amazing and his looks were extremely handsome. Just as I was about to fall into a daydream about him, once again, I saw him sitting at the bar that was attached to the kitchen isle. He was wearing a black shirt and black jeans. The only thing colorful about him were his now dyed blonde long hair. When I met him, he had jet black hair and I honestly couldn't say which looked better. He looked handsome in every single way. Which was one of the things I was so attracted to him. He looked up from his with rum filled glass into the room. For a second I thought he winked at me but that must have been imagination, since I wanted it really badly. "You okay?" Felix the third youngest member asked me and smiled innocently. He wasn't even twenty years old and kept his fingers away from the alcohol. "I am, thank you. How are you?" I started a conversation with him, not leaving Hyunjin out of my sight. After a while all of the boys were gathered at Felix and mines table. Seungmin was acting out a situation that happened to him at the supermarket recently when he pushed Hyunjin a little over and he spilled his drink over himself. As the blonde was famous for being a drama queen he didn't hold back and almost fainted overdramatically. "Now I have to go upstairs and change and the listening starts in five minutes." He shouted and rolled his eyes. He turned around to leave when something came to his mind. "I don't even know what to wear, Minho your shirts are way too small for me." "Y/N will come with you. She's a fashion major and knows what looks good. We really don't need you wearing a silly outfit right now." Lee know told him and nodded at me. Confused at the sudden actions I took a second to comprehend what was happening. I would be going upstairs with my crush of almost three years to give him fashion advice. "Y/N!" Hyunjin sighted and pulled me with him. Upstairs we entered Minhos room and I went straight forward into the walk in closet. I had spent several nights at his place, which was why I knew where everything was. "Y/N" Hyunjin whined my name. I felt my cheeks heating up. After some seconds I had the perfect shirt. It was a black basic muscle shirt. To spice things up I grabbed a black leather belt and a leather harness. Grinning I handed the stuff to the boy. Before I could leave the room he had already got rid of his dirty shirt. I couldn't help myself but stare at his toned chest. "Take a picture, it'll last longer" he smirked. Embarrassed I turned around to give him private space. I heard the chains being put on. Suddenly a hand slid along my bare side. I felt Hyunjins presence behind me and widened my eyes in surprise. His soft lips started tracing down my neck, leaving marks everywhere. My back still being pressed into his chest he turned me around. "You alright?" he asked calmly. Without even being able to say anything I just pressed my lips on his, signalizing him not to stop. He pressed my back against the wall and lifted me up gently. He slowly kissed my chest making me groan in surprise. Never in all the years I had known him I thought something like that would ever happen. "I thought I'm just Minhos annoying friend?" I whispered. "You are." He boldly answered. "But now you're going to be a good girl for me." He added smirking. He quickly carried me into the guest room, throwing me onto the bed and crawling above me. His blonde hair hid his face but in this moment I didn't have to see him. The only thing I could see were his beautiful dark brown eyes. As Minho is a very classy person his guest room was in completely black furniture and had Red LED's hidden in the ceiling. The room was tainted in red when Hyunjin opened my dress and threw it away. Kissing down my body, not leaving out once single spot he ripped my black lace panties. His head vanished between my thighs making me throw my head back In pleasure. Soon I felt a familiar knot in my lower stomach. "Jinnie..." I was about to reach my climax when he stopped. I looked at him mad but he just smirked. "Are you mad, princess?" He unbuttoned his pants and his dick sprung out, all red and swollen. "So wet for me?" he uttered. I nodded. He positioned himself above my entrance. Why was he teasing me? It felt like hours. "Tell me what you want." "Goddamnit, Hyunjin!" I shouted. "Use your words, babygirl." I gave him a pleasing look. "I want you to fuck me, Jinnie. I just want to feel you." I replied. Nodding he pushed himself in me. I let out a moan since he I wasn't used to his size. He grabbed my hips to push faster. He started going deeper and heavier with every second. His eyes were squeezed together and I noticed that he was holding back moans. Suddenly someone knocked at the door. Alarmed Hyunjin grabbed the blanket to cover up the both of us when someone entered. "Chris! Get out!" Hyunjin yelled at his bandmate. "Since y'all decided to fuck, I'm gonna join you." He announced. I looked him up and down and noticed that he actually turned me on even more. "Hell now! I'm not going to let you fuck her!" Hyunjin protested. "Come here Chris." I smiled. He just smirked at Hyunjiin and started kissing me. The blonde boy gave me a furious look until I started to massage his member. While Hyunjin continued to push himself into me, I licked Chans tip, which made him groan. He pushed my head further down, making me deepthroat him. I sucked his dick until I felt him twitch in my mouth. He stroked himself a few times before shooting his white liquid on his own belly. "Damn y/N, you're so good." He laughed. I, myself was about to reach my orgasm and soon after Hyunjins thrust became more sloppy until he came inside of me. Him moaning my name pushed me to my climax. Expecting I looked at Chan, which he took as a sign to get rid of his pants completely. "Get on your knees, Y/n. And be quiet for daddy. Don't cum until I allow it. Did you understand?" With big eyes I nodded. Without any warning he pushed himself in. Different than Hyunjin, who was soft and fast Chang was harsh and slow. The leader nailed my hands above my head to the bed. He made my body shake and wanting him even more. "Channie I-" "It's daddy for you. Be a good slut and call me daddy." He interrupted me. Within seconds a cold shiver ran down my spine making my clench my walls. "God, that felt amazing. Do it again!" Bang Chan demanded. "Good girl." He moaned. While he slowly got me to my climax I stroke Hyunjin smirking. His hair was wet against his forehead and I noticed I was sweating as well. The room was filled with our moans. I was overwhelmed by an extreme orgasm, which pushed Chan cum inside me like Hyunjin and seconds later the blonde collapsed next to me as well. Cuddling with the both of them I had to think about what just happened. "Y/n, we both came inside of you." Chan noticed scared. "Don't worry I'm on the pill. And now get up boys it's your party. The listening is over and you weren't here." I responded. While Bang Chan got his clothes and went towards the closet Hyunjin mumbled "Give me a minute". I laid down next to him. "Y/n, I like you a lot and I didn't want this to happen like this at all. I guess I just want you to know that this was more to me than just a simple fuck." He suddenly said. "You like me? Well, I've liked you for more than a year." He looked at me in surprise. "I know this is extremely inappropriate but would you like to be my girlfriend?" he asked grinning. "I would love to Hyunjin." Being the happiest girl alive we made our way downstairs, not telling anyone what had happened, because it only belonged to the three of us.

#stray kids #straykidssmut #bangchan #christopherbang #hyunjin #smut #jyp

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emotionalcello-makefanfics · 3 years

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Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Batman - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd Characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Tamara Fox, Some OC for cuteness Additional Tags: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Sickfic, Tim Drake is Not Robin, Tim Drake is Not Red Robin, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Crying, so much crying, Love Confessions, Cheesy, God it's so cheesy, Cringe, So sweet so cheesy so angsty that you'll cringe, Tim Drake-centric, some Jason POV tho, A wild X-men appereance, I know they're not the same universe but I'm running out of character and running out of creativity, So yeah X-men characters and vaugly their mansion/orphanage too, Bruce Wayne Bashing, Some things that I don't put down bcs it'll be a spoiler, Smoking, Implied/Referenced Sex, POV from a cat????, The Clichést Cliché that ever Cliché, Cliche Summary:

They meet again on a rooftop after ten years. They're different now, and things are not the same. It's all too late. Chapter 1 sneakpeek

“Don’t jump.”

Sighing exasperatedly, Tim puts down his cigarette-clutching fingers and drags his eyes to the source of the voice. His gelled-back hair loses its hold and a strand of ear-length bangs falls to his vision.

Sadly, without seeing him and just from the voice, Tim knows exactly who this person is. One of the Bat franchise, and it just had to be the Red Hood variation, fucking great. Out of all time, it has to be tonight. The world is playing a joke on him.

Tim is sitting hunched on the rooftop’s edge, wishing he’d have some peace and quiet for once, and of course one of these pestering bats just has to bug him at the worst time. Yet, it’s actually pretty rare for Red Hood to patrol Gotham lately, and Tim curses up a storm in his mind. Out of all the days, it just has to be fucking tonight.

No, Tim is not having it.

“This man has too much to do tomorrow to jump.” Tim looks away, getting a light from his suit.

One hand lighting another one of his death stick, and the other unbuttoning his suit and loosens his tie. After a puff and two, Tim drags in and keeps the smoke in, letting his nerves uncoil. Seems like it doesn’t work that well when the big bad shadow of a vigilante doesn’t move from the corner of his eyes.

“I’m not jumping, go away, I can’t deal with you tonight,” Tim says as he sighs the smoke away to the red polluted sky, thinking the man must be deaf or just not convinced. Maybe the latter, the bats are famous for their tact after all. People say they’re purely human. Seeing Red hood’s physique, maybe this one becomes meta-human at some point.

Tim looks the other way so the vigilante is completely out of his vision, to make a point that he’s not having this conversation. He looks to the city, engulfed by the red sky. It’s bright since this building is at the heart of the city, where the higher caste of Gothamites live and prosper. You can see the border around the bright side of the city where the lights stop dead and darkness begins. The poor side of the city. The gap is ghastly, it’s what makes Gotham what it is.

Tim is not surprised but highly disappointed when he hears shuffling instead, and when he looks at where the tall brick wall of a man, he already sits down next to him. Red Hood keeps a respectable distance though, at least he has that much of a tact.

Red Hood hooks his fingers inside his helmet, does some finger shimmy, and the red shiny mask helmet is off. His face is still covered by a domino mask, his hair looks damp, and his gloved hands rake his jet black hair back. Curls bounce to his forehead, sighing a fog, the only indication that the weather is reaching the end of the year. In turn, Tim felt his cleanly shaved nape chilled.

From inside the leather jacket, the vigilante digs to look for something, and that’s when Tim realized he’s been looking at the cuts on Red Hood’s exposed forearms from the folded sleeves. Very thick and muscled forearms. This guy either lifts all day or a meta-human, not that Tim cares anymore.

“Got a light?” Red says, plush lips smirking.

Tim sighs, guess he has company today. He digs into his suit and throws him his lighter. The masked man inspects it and Tim rolls his eyes. The lighter is a metal one that you flip, and on it engraved ‘From my heart with love, that this one lasts longer, Tam.’

“A sweetheart of yours?” Says the man, the second sentence he speaks, and Tim doesn’t recognize the voice. Deep, gravely, the typical voice of someone that smokes.

Red Hood extends his hand to give back the lighter to Tim instead of throwing it, must’ve thought it’s special.

“Kind of,” Tim says, receiving the lighter.

Red Hood drags in, keeps the smoke in, “Why kind of?” and sighs.

“Never established the relationship.”

“Commitment issues?”

Tim quirks an eyebrow at the man, sitting just as hunched as him. There’s a pillar beside Tim, and he lays his back there, thinking whether or not he should engage in this conversation. Eh, why not right? It’s not like it’s confidential information, and Tim is just so tired of caring about social politics.

“I was too late,” Tim says. It’s not as painful to say now, but lately, Tim has been numb. He’s been numb for years. Tim’s gay, or so he thought. When he began to really love her, she’s gone from him.

“Girl got another guy?” Red Hood teases.

“Girl got dead,” Tim deadpans. The smile dropped from the vigilante’s mouth, and if only he can see his eyes, panic would look funny on the all-powerful Bat. But, no, Tim can see his tell by the tapping hands.

“Ah fuck, sorry.”

Tim chuckles at the spectacle of an awkward vigilante. Maybe this night won’t be so bad after all.

“Relax, I’m not too sad about it now, it was years ago.”

It’s hard to predict Red’s expression with that domino mask that takes his cheekbones and half his forehead, but Tim’s pretty sure the twist on that mouth means his opinion of Tim isn’t good. Well, not that Tim cares.

“How did she die?”

“Wrong place, wrong time,” Tim put the filter on his lips and drags in as deep as he can. Too deep, and Tim coughs hard, once and twice that his vision blurs. Her face comes to vision, the morbidity of her expression tips Tim’s nerves off balance. Tim quickly takes another deep drag, “She was in the Joker’s way.”

At the name, Red Hood snaps his face at Tim. Slowly, languidly, Tim looks back. The vigilante clenched jaw and balled fists look like he’s about to kill somebody. Tim knows that a few years ago Red Hood kidnapped Joker, didn’t kill him, and just vanished before popping up again to have a vendetta against Batman. What a load of drama those bunch.

This also means that Tim knows exactly who this person is. Suddenly the voice registers, the familiar jaw, the soft fucking tone.

He blames it on the nicotine that his heart is calmer than he’d like, his mind still not on overdrive, still plagued with Tam’s face as she died in front of him. He’d breathe smoke instead of oxygen if he could. God he wished he’d breathe smoke from now on. Why does it have to be today? One grace from the universe is that Tim -for some reason- feels amused instead of dread.

“You look like you’re about to kill somebody, Red,” Tim says, can’t help the ease and sass in his voice. Tim lays back hunched, crosses his legs. “I thought you let go of your vendetta against the Joker.”

“Where do you hear that bullshit?” Redhood snaps and Tim can’t help but let go another chuckle.

“People talk, words get around,” Tim says.

“Then they’re far off the truth,” Red hisses before dragging in his cig.

“Yet the Joker still roams.”

“Ain’t my call.”

“Is it the big bat daddy calls?”

Red Hood splutters at the name and Tim smirks evilly at the reaction. “Ew, don’t call him that!”

“I can call that higher-than-thou furry hero wannabe anything I want,” Tim spits bitterly, looking out to the city. Sometimes when he’s really lucky, he’ll catch one of the bats twirling in the sky, and now one of ‘em is sitting beside him, but sadly it’s not the most shocking knowledge he has today. “One of these days it’s going to be my turn.”

“What?”

“Dying in the collision of mad men’s evil master plan you refuse to get rid of.”

“Ck, I don’t like what you’re insinuating.”

“Sorry then, I don’t mean to insinuate anything. This is me telling you loud and clear that you’re all cowards for not killing these maniacs that kill us like ants when you have the power to stop them.” Tim’s voice is even and chill, it did not raise a tone, but it reduces the bulk of a man beside him to still. “Some of us rooted for you when you caught the Joker, and your reputation gives us high hopes that it’ll be the last of him. Then he showed up again.” Tim feels the lighter in his pocket burn, “Then Tam died.”

Tim pumps his lung full of smokes, keeping it in there so that the clawing gloom will die before it takes roots.

“I almost did kill him, Batman stopped me,” the gravel voice says lowly.

Tim feels himself stiffens, now that’s something he doesn’t know. His eyes scan the hunched vigilante, trying to find any sign of a lie, there’s none.

“Shit,” Tim curses, sighing up smoke and quickly takes a deep drag in. “Fuck Batman.”

For the first time, Tim hears Red chuckle, “Yeah, fuck him.”

“Still your family though, right?” Tim says, earning what he thinks is a glare, who would fucking know with that mask. “Why else would you stay in his line?”

Red Hood looks away, not answering.

“Guess I understand. Proving something to someone.”

Red scoffs, “Would you?”

“You know who I am.”

“Yeah, not your story.”

Tim scoffs at the obvious lie, “Look it up. I have better things to do than telling you my backstory that’s a google search away.”

Tim Drake. Son of the CEOs of Drake Industries. Running smoothly since ever he becomes the COO. Yada yada, young and successful, yada yada, has the reputation to chew out the reporters and a resting bitch face, all that shit. Tim doesn’t have the best bedside manners, but when it comes to business, Tim gets things done, and his business partners know to swallow their pride for a potential too stupid to missed just because Tim has fangs.

“I dunno, you’re pretty mysterious in the eye of the media,” Red says.

“Because they’re nosy pricks and not worth my time when they’re asking me about rumors of my flings.”

“They’re not true?”

“What the fuck are you? Does TMZ sent you?”

“Good point, never mind.”

They let the quiet settle in, and Tim isn’t too bothered by the company so much. The red amber eats to his filter. Tim puts out the light and puts the bud back inside the pack while he gets another one. He looks down at his light, which reminded him of Tam. Damn, she was such a good assistant, she’s also his best friend but a damn better assistant. Tim doesn’t let himself think about it.

He lights another, and puffs.

“Shouldn’t you be patroling?” Tim says before he can stop himself.

“Nah, not here to patrol, just some errands.”

“Don’t mind me. I’m not jumping.”

“No, I know that,” Red says, tone softer that Tim narrows his eyes at him.

“Lonely?” Tim teases, putting the filter in his lips while locking eyes to the pair of white lenses.

Red shrugs, “Just wanna kill time with someone that doesn’t wear one of these,” he says, tapping to his domino mask.

Tim hums imagining himself with his family, “Yeah, me too, I’d take a vigilante franchise over family dinner anytime.”

“Aww,” Red surprisingly coos, making Tim flustered.

“Don’t get it twisted, my family sets a pretty low bar for good company.”

“I can say the same, Timmy.”

Tim flinches, “I didn’t say you can call me Timmy.”

“What about friends then?” Red follows up, ignoring him.

“Joker killed my only best friend. Oh god, stop making that face, everyone I know got someone they know killed by the Joker, or Bane, or.... shit just those freaks.”

“Doesn’t make me feel better.”

“I don’t care what you feel.”

“I’m wounded,” Red says in that joking ‘boo-hoo’ voice but it was the last thing to snap Tim’s patience completely. He hates this casual conversation as if nothing happened.

“I’m not jumping, and I know you’re not here just to talk to some random civilian. You know who I am, so say what you wanna say and go,” Tim inhales deeply after the low-toned rant, only to be met with another silence.

They stay quiet for a few whiles again. Smoking the tension away. After Tim’s cig burns halfway, his nerves calmed down. Then he realizes that Red is looking at him. Staring.

“What?” Tim says, sighing smoke.

“Would you kill Joker if you could?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“Killing someone isn’t as easy as it sounds, especially if you did it before.”

“You underestimate my anger then.”

Red Hood goes still for what Tim is insinuating. His phone vibrates in his pocket. Tim gets it and his new assistant reminds him of a flight in an hour and he needs to be ready in half. Tim puts out his cig and pockets it.

As he stands up, he looks down at Red Hood, really looks at him. It reminded Tim of the time has passed. It’s been so long.

“Nothing to say?” Tim asks, he has an underlying tone of ‘last chance.’

“Thanks for the light.”

Tim clenches his jaw and breaths slowly. What did he expect? “You caught me at a bad time but it’s good to meet you again, Jason.”

When Tim walks away, his elbow is grabbed and he’s spun to face Jason in all his bulk. Looming over him with his height.

“You know who I am?” Red says with a threat in his voice that makes Tim wants to laugh.

“Are you really that surprised? Or did you forget me when you fucking died?” Tim smiles bitterly.

Moments passed, eyes on each other, chest to chest. The last time he sees Jason, Tim was staring at these white lenses too, and Jason was still as tall as him. At this close, Tim sees tiny tears that heal pale than the rest of his tan skin, bulked up body looming over him that used to be similar to his. For anyone, Tim had two best friends, Robin and Jason Wayne-Todd, he had known the two are the same. Seems like Jason doesn’t.

Doesn’t matter now. Everything said and done. Too late.

“Say your goodbyes now,” Tim says, because why else would his childhood friend pops back again after a decade of not saying anything after he returned to life. Tim doesn’t realize it’ll hurt this bad though. Missing Tam doesn’t hurt this bad.

Perhaps it was because the scar never healed right, but he still thinks of Jason like a big chunk of him that’s been torn away forcefully, even now.

“I’m sorry,” Jason finally says, low and guilty, as he should be, but it irks Tim to no end.

“I lost you, and when you’re back you didn’t tell me,” Tim says, his voice cracks and he curses it to hell. Red Hood’s been around for years, and Jason never came to Tim to say he’s alive. “If you have nothing else to say, let go of me.”

“I didn’t know that you knew.”

“What?”

“I didn’t know you know I was Robin... Did you know... everyone?”

Tim rolls his eyes, “Yes.” Gloved hands still on his elbow, and white lenses not letting him go. The non-challant face he wears slips off as if oil just slicked between the mask and his skin. His heart picks up a beat. There are layers between their skin, Jason’s thick gloves and Tim’s three-piece suit, but it feels warmer. Burning.

“Damn,” Jason curses under his breath.

It’s just a little thing, but Jason’s silence following that is a nother prick to Tim’s skin.

“Is that all?” Tim dismissed, pulling his arm away, but Jason only holds tighter.

“I didn’t know, okay?” Jason pushes, “And you’re a civilian, you’re not supposed to know Jason Todd is back to the land of the living.”

“A civilian,” Tim mutters under his breath. That’s all he is to Jason? All this time. His chest hurts, Tim knows this is because of Jason’s words instead of anything else. “Get away from me.”

“I’ll see you again,” Jason says before letting go.

Before Tim can say don’t bother, the man puts on his red helmet and grapples away. For a moment Tim can see the shadow of red yellow green flying away.

#jaytim #jaytim fanfic #jaytim fanfiction #tim drake fanfiction #jason todd fanfiction #Tim drake fanfic #Jason todd fanfic #Back on that dc angst train baby #emocel's

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90spumkin · 3 years

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Unexpected Switch (Part Six)

Summary: Do things go according to plan as the team pursues to bring the reader’s sister into custody.

A/N: I’M BACK!!! I apologize for not updating for almost a whole month. It has seemed to be one thing after another here lately. Anyways I will be finishing this series with 2 or 3 more updates, but of course I have some steamy things in the works before it ends. I hope you enjoy my mess of writing, and like always I am open for any comments or advice.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Warnings: swearing, criminal minds talk, implied mental health distress

Word Count: , 1660

We had made it back from the crime scene about half hour ago and were all back in the round table room discussing what I had told Spencer, Rossi, and Luke on the way here.

I was pacing the floor listening to the team talk through this new information. “Kid you’re gonna put a hole in the floor if you keep that up.” I stopped my pacing and looked towards Rossi. He was smiling at me and patted the seat next to him. I sat down and leaned my elbows onto the table, exhaustion trying to consume me.

“Okay so according to what y/n told us, Tessa had shown some form of jealousy in every memory that y/n has of her. That would make sense since the killings started about the same time y/n received that award with the ridiculously long name.” Luke stated with a smirk at the end.

“The American Psychological Association International Humanitarian Award is not that long. You’re just lazy.” Tara teased Luke and made us all chuckle, especially at the mocked hurt look Luke gave her.

Emily brought us all back to the serious situation at hand, “Y/n you told Spencer that you might have an idea how to catch her?”

I nodded and gave them a weary smile, “How do you guys feel about overpriced food and screaming children?” I was met with very confused and concerned looks from everyone but Garcia who knew exactly where I was going with this and she looked very amused. “I think we need to make a trip back to Massachusetts.”

--------

We hatched out a plan after the team realized the case wasn’t making me insane. After a “Wheels up in 20” from Emily we all started to part ways to meet at the jet when I was stopped by a hand on my elbow before I could make it halfway out the door.

I stopped and turned towards JJ who looked sheepish at the fact of having any interaction with me. She crossed her arms and proceeded to say, “I just wanted to apologize for how I’ve acted towards you during all of this. I was beyond sure that you were behind all this and couldn’t understand why the team was questioning the original profile. Then when they all started trusting you so easily it made me uneasy. I was wrong though y/n, you’ve been nothing but helpful during all this.” She took a deep breath and relaxed her arms and continued, “I guess what I am trying to say is I hope you will forgive me and us maybe start over?” She said it more like a question more than she probably meant to.

If my mother taught me anything it was to forgive others who made an effort to correct their wrong doings. Besides JJ seemed sincere and had good reasonings behind her actions. I smiled and gave her a nod, “I forgive you JJ. I honestly probably would have acted the same way or worse.”

She barked out a laugh before saying, “Thank goodness because I have been dying to ask you about your wrist tattoo!” I glanced down at my wrist at the constellation that I thought was well hidden, “I would love to tell you the story behind it.”

We linked arms as we continued to talk and laugh as we entered the bullpen. The looks we received from everyone, especially Spencer, was like they were seeing a unicorn befriending a dinosaur. It was quite amusing and only made JJ and I giggle.

-----

It had been a little over 12 hours since we came up with the plan to hopefully catch Tessa and bring her into custody. It was exactly two hours till that plan was going to be put into action and saying I was anxious was an understatement.

We had come to the local police station to tie up some loose ends and get everything in place for later. I was in the process of fixing me a cup of very strong coffee when I must have zoned out because Spencer’s calming voice brought me back to wherever my mind had taken me.

“Are you okay?” Spencer took the coffee pot from my hand where I had frozen just holding it, no coffee had been poured into my cup. I shook my head trying to rid it of the fuzziness that had resided there.

“Yeah-I- umm…”

Spencer poured my coffee and handed it to me, “The abyss?” I took the coffee gratefully and tucked it close to my chest, “Yeah the abyss, well almost. You saved me once again Dr. Reid.”

I gave him a small smile as I took a sip of my coffee and tried to hide a grimace. Police station coffee tastes like shit.

Spencer gave me an award-winning smile as he spoke, “Well I don’t want the 3-year running Corn Festival Queen being lost in her own mind where I can’t reach her now do?” He chuckled as I groaned. “How did you manage to persuade Penelope, the queen of gossip and lack of personal boundaries, not to tell us that detail of your life.”

I sat my coffee down on the counter and started adding an unhealthy amount of sugar to it hoping for a miracle as I spoke, “Well actually Dr. I had to persuade both Penelope and Emily.” Spencer raised an eyebrow intrigued and persisting for me to continue.

“The night she came to Emily’s office with the new information she had brought it up because my mom use to help organize the whole festival. I begged them not to say anything, and Emily said it wasn’t necessarily important for the case at the time.” I finished adding my mountain of sugar to my coffee and stirring it and took a big sip.

Before Spencer could respond Luke called out towards us, “Wow now we have two people who drinks sugar with a dash of coffee.” Matt and Rossi chuckled at his remark.

I looked towards Spencer who just shrugged and said, “I see nothing wrong with making coffee sweet. Especially if you drink it as often as I do.”

I couldn’t help but smile at him, “Coffee is a language of itself.” Spencer’s smile seemed to brighten at this quote, “Jackie Chan.”

----

“Emily if you take one more picture of me, they’re gonna have to arrest me for murder.” I was standing in a dramatically poofy dress with a crown on my head and a ‘Corn Festival Queen’ sash across my chest.

Emily let out a fit of giggles, “You look amazing… and I want these for black mail for later in our beautifully blossoming friendship.”

I just rolled my eyes and tried to grab her phone from her hands. I was beyond unsuccessful. Just as I about had my hands on it, I tripped over the unnecessary ruffles on the bottom of my dress and fell face first into someone’s chest. No not just someone, it was Spencer. He helped steady me and gave me a warm smile. Emily silently slipped out the tent, but not before snapping another picture.

Spencer reached a hand out to fix the rings of curls that had came untucked from their clip, “I like these curls framing your face. It only amplifies your beauty.”

My eyes met his eyes and shy smile graced his face. I couldn’t help but turn my head away when I felt the heat rise to my cheeks. Spencer’s hand that was fixing my curls was now cupping the side of my face bringing me to face him once again.

“You remember the plan, right?” His eyes held so much concern in them that I hesitated before answering. I gave him a reassuring smile and assured him, “Down to the very last vivid detail.”

He smiled at me and ran his thumb across my cheek. Matt poked his head into the tent, “Hey guys it’s go time.” Just as quick as he had appeared, he disappeared. That man has a talent of unknowingly interrupting moments.

Spencer pulled away from me and it took everything in me not to whine at the lack of warmth where his hand had been. His beautiful sharp features where crossed with worry as he said, “Please be careful. And if anything goes wrong, stay calm. I’ll find you. I promise.”

And with that he was gone. I was left with a rapid beating heart and a mind full of haze.

------

I stood on the stage; the fakest smile plastered across my face. I kept darting my eyes around the crowd always making sure I could see a member of the team. I was so focused on the crowd I almost missed the mayor announce the new Corn Festival Queen for me to crown.

The girl bowed her head for me to place the crown, not giving me a chance to see her face. As I placed the crown on her head, I didn’t notice the disturbance in the crowed as the BAU team raced towards me.

Before I knew what was happening the newly crowned Festival Queen stood and gave me smile that could only be described as a snarl as she said, “Hi-a sis.” , and dove towards me with a knife in hand.

I was pulled away just in time, but not before the knife went across my arm causing a searing pain to shoot through it causing me to hiss in pain. I looked up to see Spencer, his arms around me protectively, and Luke holding Tessa down as Tara place the handcuffs securely around her wrists. They pulled her into a standing position and began to state her rights as she kept her eyes on me and a shit eating grin across her face.

I turned towards Spencer who instantly started to inspect my arm. I let out a low chuckle, “Well that wasn’t part of the plan.”

@criminalmindzjunkie @hendersonsshadow @brooklynxnicole @martinafigoli @misschil3

#spencer reid #spencer reid fic #dr. spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #fanficiton

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jooniyah · 4 years

Text

Silver Blades

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Fem Reader ; Yandere Royalty!au

Genre: Angst, Mature

Warnings: Hard Yandere behavior, emotional abuse, dubcon bordering on non-con, violence, degradation and physical abuse, manipulation, profanity, smattering of smut, blood, swords and murder.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and I do not condone any of the actions of the characters in this fiction. This is to be treated as pure fantasy, and should not be misconstrued to be demeaning the idols in any way. If any of the above warnings cause you discomfort, kindly refrain from reading.

This is an incredibly mean yandere, please proceed only if you are not triggered by the warnings. I repeat, please be sure to read all the warnings carefully. Author’s note: I have coined a couple of words to better suit my fiction, please be assured that they are not typographical errors. I am sorry in advance for the ending, and for breaking your heart! Okay, read and get your hearts broken!

Picture credit: YimeiZhu

“Don’t you dare sulk,” your aunt grumbled, adjusting your corset.

“It is the King’s orders and the law of the land. Keep your face pleasant.”

You couldn’t see properly, all those tears blurring your vision. You searched your aunt’s face for any trace of compassion, but there was nothing kind in the eyes that stared back at you.

“You know I have my own children to take care of,” she continued, pulling at the lace, crushing your chest tighter.

You squeezed your eyes shut in pain as the laces bit into your skin. Why were you the Cimarin when there were plenty of other girls in the kingdom? How was it that life always seemed to hand you the worst of luck?

“Wipe that look from your face,” your aunt chided, bustling around to fetch your Tochir, or gifts, meant to be taken with you to the Prince.

The ladies from the village had all gathered in your aunt’s house, bringing sprigs of honeysuckle, carnation, and heather as part of your Tochir. As was customary, they draped your corseted body in yards and yards of silk, sprinkling each layer with a perfume that was made of distilled azaleas.

The smell overpowered you, making you feel giddy and suffocated. Your hair was elaborately braided, complete with tiny flowers set in the twists of your braids.

You looked at yourself in the rusted mirror. You were the prettiest you had ever been. Why then was your heart threatening to burst anytime out of your corseted chest? How convenient for your aunt that the King had chosen you. An orphan. Raised unwillingly under the roof of your mother’s sister.

Your aunt had a way of reminding you often that you were nothing more than a burden to her. How relieved she’d be right now, that her daughters had been spared. It was you that the King had asked for. You, the Cimarin of the Prince. You laughed bitterly at your reflection.

“Born under the unluckiest of stars,” you spat at yourself miserably.

The ladies had fashioned the flower sprigs into a small bouquet for you to carry. It was time to leave. Your aunt was telling you how to behave with the Prince, but your numb mind couldn’t process a word. She pressed a jade medallion, also a part of your Tochir, into your palm, the stone feeling as cold as your frightened heart.

“…. fortunate that I wasn’t asked to provide any dowry,” your aunt was rambling on, her face lighting up, not believing her luck at getting rid of an unwanted encumbrance that had threatened to encroach her daughters’ dowry money.

Your parents hadn’t foreseen dying at thirty-odd years of their lives and had left you penniless when you became an orphan at the tender age of seven. The Royal carriage arrived, drawn by two luxuriously black steeds.

The footman opened the dainty doors, waiting for you to board. Clutching your Tochir, you looked back one last time, heart sinking when you realized that every other woman apart from your aunt had a sympathetic look on her face. With a strangled sob, you turned and climbed into the carriage.

*****

The long ride to the Palace allowed you to bemoan your destiny, tears flowing ceaselessly with each sob that raked your body. The sweat in your palms seeped through your gloves and dampened the stems in the bouquet you held onto for dear life. The smell of heather and azaleas adulterated by the odor of sweat emanating from your gloves seemed to curl around you like wisps of smoke.

Whatever did you do to deserve this? Would your parents have defied the King’s orders had they been alive?

“Why didn’t you take me with you, mama?” were the only words echoing desperately in your head.

You could see the towers of the castle looming in the distance. The Donjon grew bigger in your field of vision as the horses sped with thudding hooves towards the castle. A fresh wave of fear stirred in the pit of your stomach as you sensed the carriage slowing to a halt.

You were frozen in your seat when the liveried footman opened the door and held an arm out to you. A small group of Royal maids had gathered around the carriage. A matronly woman reached in and pulled your arm harshly, with an air of annoyance, as if she were bored with welcoming distraught Cimarins all her life.

When you alighted awkwardly, with the woman’s hand still gripping you tightly, the rest of the maids sprinkled rose water on you, another rite. But the air, to you, was nothing but a smothering fire, finally consuming your wings, burning them to ashes forever.

***** The great halls you were led along were adorned with tasteful decorations, every ornate item polished to perfection, every piece of delicate china gleaming vibrantly. There was not a speck of dust on the glass panes, not a spot on the crisp curtains. So different from the grime-covered attic you were used to sleeping in.

The orderliness scared you, the enormity of the fact that you were going to live in the Palace hitting you hard. Your throat went dry when you were finally led to a chamber, furnished minimally with only a cupboard and a divan.

“You won’t be using this room much,” said the maid who had led you to the room. “You will only use this room to retire in case of illness or menstruation.”

The gravity of her words struck you like cold daggers. Suddenly the room felt like a safe haven you dared not to leave. You hadn’t opened your mouth ever since you arrived, gawking at the intimidating surroundings. The maid looked at you closely, and you thought you sensed a flicker of pity in her eyes.

“The Prince will be ready for you in an hour.” She stopped and stared at you. “Stop looking so forlorn and wear a smile when you meet the Prince. You are here to be with the Prince, whether you like it or not.”

And with that, she turned and left.

***** You had nothing to do except wait to be summoned to the Prince’s chambers. Seated on the divan, you looked down at the silk robes you were wearing. All perfumed up and wrapped elaborately, only to be torn at the hands of the Royal stranger.

The jade medallion was supposed to be the symbol of good luck you brought to the Prince. Where then was the symbol for the bad luck he brought to you? The cold green stone glinted at you as you kept turning it in your palms.

Out of nowhere, a maid materialized and said, “The Prince will see you now.”

You shot up to your feet, blood rushing to your head. Was it time already? Your legs felt like lead as you followed the maid along the long corridors. She stopped before a door and motioned for you to go in.

“You will wait here.”

Without any more instructions, she closed the door behind her. This was a large room, furnished with only a magnificent bed, strewn with rose petals. You had been there only a few minutes when a side door opened.

In walked a young man, dressed in the richest of robes, his eyes never looking once in your direction. He stood and surveyed the bed, his jet-black hair spilling over his eyebrows. His mauve robes contrasted sharply with his fair skin, the light from the windows enhancing the color of his robes and casting a glow on his chiseled face. With a snap of his head, he turned and gazed directly into your eyes.

You stared back spellbound; how could a mortal man be this handsome?

He advanced towards you without a word, eyes locked onto yours. His face had a boyish charm that mesmerized you and rendered you speechless. He stopped directly in front of you, one arm catching hold of your robes.

Losing no time, he pulled the fabric hard, causing you to turn on your heels over and over as he unwound the silk hastily. Irritation clouded his features as the silk kept spilling out without ceasing.

“How many damned layers are there?” he muttered and dug his fingers into the fabric between your breasts and ripped it.

He said nothing as he tore at the silk, finally reaching the corset. Like an angry child tearing at the wrappers of a gift, he butchered the lace, reducing it to shreds. Finally, with a dark joy, he yanked off the corset, drinking up the sight of your body, with his arms suspended in the air, holding the mangled corset.

You instinctively raised your arms to cover your chest, when he gripped you hard.

“Do not dare do anything you aren’t told to.”

His coal-black eyes roamed maniacally all over your body, a frightening grin curling up his lips.

“It is my birthday, and you are the Cimarin my father chose to gift me. He did well.”

His arms curled around your waist as he pulled you snug against his clothed chest.

“Obey me and you will be rewarded,” he sniffed your hair, sighing at the feeling of having his own Cimarin at last.

He was not a boy anymore, he had turned eighteen, and here was a woman picked exclusively to please him. He closed his eyes as he felt the heat of your body against him. He had grown tired of his own hands, he now had another set of hands to caress him. He had never seen a naked woman so close before, he had grown hard as soon as he had set eyes on your rotund breasts.

When he opened his eyes, you were still rigid in his arms. He didn’t enjoy the stricken look on your face.

“Disrobe me,” he ordered, letting go of you.

With shaking hands, you got to work on removing his clothing. He stood still, looking at you as you peeled the robes off his body, revealing broad shoulders and an incredibly taut chest.

You had been indoors most of your life, never having seen a topless man. Your virginity had been the first to satisfy the criteria for a Royal Cimarin. Your hands stopped at his underclothes, unsure of what to do next.

“I don’t recall telling you to stop,” ground out the Prince, impatience contorting his features.

Closing your eyes, you swiftly undid the buttons and pulled the fabric down, your head remaining bent, not daring to look.

“Do not keep me waiting,” he thundered, pushing your shoulders down to kneel before him.

“Please me,” he ordered, closing his eyes, waiting to feel your lips on him.

A whole minute later, he threw his eyes open, rage evident in his burning orbs, only to see you cowering, with no clue on how you were supposed to please him.

Thoroughly peeved, he grabbed your head into position, with a curt “Open your mouth.”

Catching a fistful of your hair, he pushed himself inside your mouth, hissing at the warmth. He threw his head back and groaned, all the while snapping his hips into your face. You tried your best to avoid gagging, holding back the tears threatening to spill out. He became more excited, pinching your nose closed, willing you to take more of him. He forced himself deeper, causing your nose to touch the tufts of hair at his base.

His excitement caused him to climax sooner than he had wished to, and he came in your mouth, causing you to cringe. You hoped he hadn’t noticed, and closed your eyes, waiting for him to remove himself. With a shuddering sigh, he released your mouth and cupped your face tightly, making you wince.

“Never do that again. I’ll let it pass since I’m feeling benevolent today,” he said, eyes boring into you.

You gulped and nodded. There was something in his eyes that screamed danger and you’d rather not be on the receiving end of it. He was astonishingly strong for an eighteen-year-old. The veins in his arms were prominent, bulging with each movement. He could probably snap your neck in no time if he ever felt like it.

“What are you looking at?” he asked, and when he received no answer, he clucked his tongue.

“ Swallow it. Always swallow unless I tell you otherwise.”

You swallowed immediately, and he smiled his arrogant grin again. God, he was enjoying this so much. He wanted to do everything he had ever imagined, try every possible fancy and have his way with you. This, an obedient woman just to satisfy his whims, felt too good to be true.

You were naïve enough to think it was over for the day. Just as you thought he would leave you alone to mend your broken dignity, he bent and picked you up in one fluid motion.

Throwing you on the bed, he leaped over you with the swift agility of a panther stalking its prey. His skin glowed in all its naked glory, muscles flexing as he hovered over you. There was a carnal hunger in his eyes, so palpable that the air felt charged with his want.

Without warning, he sunk his sharp teeth into your breast, making you arch in pain. He didn’t seem to care, as he tried to bite deeper and fit as much of the flesh in his mouth. He closed his eyes, one hand kneading the other breast as he inhaled the soft feminine scent emanating from the swell of your bosom.

As someone whose calloused hands had held only the hard hilts of bloodied swords for so long, he found it hard to comprehend the pliancy of your supple mounds. Wanting to give the same attention to both breasts, he switched sides, gnawing on the other breast with equal vigor. He was growing hard once more, and when he felt ready again, you had two crescents of bite marks on both sides of your chest.

Spreading your legs, he inspected your core, snapping his head to look accusingly at you, stating, “You are not wet for me.”

Though he would never say it out loud, it was a humiliating slap to his ego that his own Cimarin was not wet for him. You didn’t feel privileged that the Prince of the land was providing you his ministrations? Fine. Your arousal didn’t matter to him anyway. You were there for his pleasure, and not the other way around.

His chest twisted in anger, hating you for being apparently unperturbed by him. With a harsh shove, he entered you, hissing at the warmth of your tight walls. The shocked gasp and look of terror on your face appeased him and spurred him to pound into you harder.

“I wasn’t … I wasn’t ready…” you whimpered, choking on your sobs.

Wisps of dark hair fell over his eyes, brushing his eyelashes as he panted out, “Your Highness.” He shrunk his eyes at you, snarling, “You are to address me properly, you ungrateful peasant.”

The words stung you, bringing tears to your eyes.

“It hurts, your Highness,” you mumbled slowly.

“Do I look like I care? You will get used to it,” was his reply.

Something about your teary eyes aroused him, heightening his pleasure. Serves you right for being thankless, he thought. You lay beneath him, watching him tear into you, his exacting hands gripping your hips agonizingly hard. The lack of lubrication made your insides burn. You could do nothing but grit your teeth and bear it.

Your fear had tightened your walls and had made you feel even better for him. His sinful groans chilled you to the bones, heating your cheeks and causing your core to throb. He thrust harder and harder, deep growls rumbling in his chest as your core pulsed around him. His forehead and torso glistened with sweat when he finally reached his high, releasing himself inside you with a feral groan. A huge smirk broke out on his face, and he pulled out of you.

God, you felt a thousand times better than his hands ever did. What a fine day to turn eighteen! He was still blissed out when you scurried to make room for him on the bed. His eyes softened a bit before disgust clouded them.

“You have the audacity to think you can share a bed with the Prince?” he scoffed, rolling off the bed.

The man really knew how to slice you with his words.

“Dress me up,” he commanded, standing upright.

Cheeks burning with shame and embarrassment, you clothed him again. As soon as your fingers finished tying his sash, he abruptly turned on his heel and exited the room without a word, leaving you quivering, naked and humiliated.

***** The days at the Palace were all the same. You had two maids whose job was to dress you up in the best silks of the land for the Prince. You were supposed to be ready to present yourself to the Prince at a moment’s notice.

All-day long, you had nothing to do except wait for him to come back from his princely duties and throw himself at you. He never cared if you liked it or not. He ravaged you whenever he pleased, and deserted you as soon as he got dressed. It was as if you were just a mannequin for him to play with.

But wasn’t it exactly what a Cimarin’s role was? Every Prince had a Cimarin to practice his husbandly duties with, so he could please his bride better. But everyone knew that the real reason was to curb unwanted displays of the Royal heir’s promiscuity with all the maidens of the Kingdom.

The King usually chose a virgin damsel and appointed her as the Prince’s Cimarin. The title probably served to mask the bluntness of other words one would use to refer to such a companion.

You had been granted access to saunter in the Royal gardens, but you had quickly learned that you were looked upon with contempt by the maids. To them, you were nothing but another maid of the Royal household, albeit a titled one. Your title did nothing to hide the fact that you were as disposable as they were.

There were bitter stares directed at you whenever you ventured out of the Prince’s lair. It was even more difficult when you retired five days a month to your little room. No one cared to ask if you wanted anything to soothe the pain, no one brought you a morsel to eat.

Once you hadn’t eaten during the entirety of your exile, only to be greeted back by the Prince sarcastically with “Those bones look good on you.”

***** A whole year rolled by, filled with the Prince’s harsh claiming of your body. His habits of biting and pouncing on you had advanced to whipping and choking. He vented all his anger on you, punishing you for things you hadn’t the least to do with. He simply didn’t care if you were in pain because of him. You were his to destroy.

One day, he returned with a stormy temper, his foot sprained, all thanks to his horse, which had thrown him off the saddle. He shouted for you, his face all stony and seething with anger.

When you rushed to his side, he thrust his foot in your face, saying “Bandage it.”

You ran out to the Royal doctor in your quest for bandages.

As he waited impatiently, it occurred to him that he had come straight to you instead of summoning the doctor to his private chambers. What had brought him to you? Were you, the insignificant peasant, growing on him?

When you returned, he searched your face for anything other than the usual revulsion and fear he had grown accustomed to. He noticed how your fingers trembled, evidently scared to make a mistake and get whipped for it. No, you didn’t even like him, he was sure of that. But why was it that he wanted you to think of him all the time, even if it were out of fear and hatred?

Your face was aligned with his foot, bandaging the sprained ankle as he rested his foot on your bent knee.

“Kiss my foot,” he said, intently staring at you.

You were taken aback by the strange command and blinked in confusion.

“I said, kiss my foot,” he drawled lazily, “Which part of it is unclear to you?”

Not wanting to get punished, you swallowed your pride and pecked the bridge of his foot. T

he Prince leaned back, satisfied. He decided it would be best to remind himself of your station with orders like these. You were not a Princess, surely you didn’t deserve to be treated like one.

When you placed his foot down gingerly, he barked out, “Fetch me the cavalry officer.”

He was always this blunt, leaving you to figure out who or what he wanted, leaving ample room for error, and consequently, painful punishments.

When you ran out to the stables, you found the groom and asked for the cavalry officer on duty during the Prince’s accident. The groom sent you in search of an officer named Jimin.

As you skidded to a halt in front of the said officer, you were stunned into silence. In front of you was a man looking like he had descended straight from the Heavens.

His soft blond hair caught the sunlight and shone, and his grey eyes gleamed like jewels. He was dressed impeccably, the crisp riding uniform tailored to fit his lithe body perfectly, clinging to his toned frame.

Only when he cleared his throat discreetly did you snap out of your trance.

“Yes, miss?” he asked, and you marveled at his mellifluous voice.

“The Prince… He wants you,” you managed to blurt out.

Your cheeks felt hot, your whole body felt like it was on fire. The gallant officer nodded politely, thanking you for the message. He fell into step alongside you, silently walking towards the lair, as you secretly called it.

As you walked with him by your side, you couldn’t stop the buzzing in your ears. Did he know you were the Cimarin? Did he look down upon you like the rest of the Royal servants did? Did he always dress this well?

As you led him to the room, you had the sinking feeling that the officer probably knew what happened inside whenever the Prince frequented this part of his suite. You couldn’t bear to look at him when you presented him to the Prince and curtseyed out of the way.

You could hear Prince Jeon’s deep sonorous voice shouting at the officer for not taking enough care about the steeds, but you found your ears struggling to filter and catch just the cavalryman’s soft measured replies.

After the meeting ended, the blond man saluted his Prince and left the room, gliding out to the hall you were standing in. As he crossed you, his eyes flitted to yours, crinkling into beautiful crescents as he flashed you a gorgeous smile. You blushed furiously, unable to stop yourself from smiling back, the exchange feeling so natural and effortless.

You were still in a happy mood when you went back in, it was so obvious that the Prince raised his eyebrows at you.

“So happy that I’ve sprained my ankle, are you? Do not fret, I shall put my other body parts to good use while my foot recovers.”

The rest of the afternoon, as the Prince pounded into you, the only face you could think of was that of the blond young officer.

*****

One month and sixteen days. It had been that long until you had the chance of seeing the smart cavalry officer again. T

his time too, you were bringing him a message from the Prince. He was probably oblivious to the way his charms were making you mushy, or he might probably think nothing about a creature as lowly as a Cimarin.

Either way, he never lingered near you a moment too long, taking all your breath with him as he marched away. As you stared at his retreating figure, a part of you fantasized about being an average country girl he would meet at inns, someone with an inkling of dignity he could proudly talk to.

With a sigh, you turned back to the lair, it was getting late and God knew what punishment the Prince was brewing for you now. When you reached the room, however, Prince Jeon was nowhere to be seen.

Just as you decided it was a lucky day for you, the Prince’s voice drifted from a nearby room. It was treason to overhear, and you hurried to the windows to shut the voice out when the subject of his talk froze you in place.

“….. that I want another Cimarin,” he was saying.

“What happened to the one you have now? Is she not good enough?” a deeper voice much like the Prince’s asked.

Was it the King? You waited with a beating heart for the Prince to speak again.

“She is satisfactory, your Majesty. But I still wish to have another one.”

The King remained silent for a moment. “Do you want me to get rid of the present one then?”

Your breath caught in your throat. Whatever did ‘get rid of’ mean?

There was a long pause and the Prince replied, “No, your Majesty. She serves me well enough. I was wondering if I could have another Cimarin, in addition to this one. It is not uncommon to have a couple of Cimarins, I believe?”

You closed the window, having heard enough. They were discussing you as if you were a slave, a toy they disposed of after playing with. Your head throbbed, and you had to calm yourself down before the Prince caught you red-faced and became suspicious.

*****

When the Prince returned, he was quite put out. He had wanted to see if he felt the same way he felt about you with any other Cimarin. But the King had not given his word, rather choosing to say he would think about it.

True, having a harem of Cimarins would defeat the purpose of having just one woman to take care of his needs until he got married. But how else would he find out if the feelings were just boyish lust?

He was annoyed at you for putting him in this position. Had you made him a weak man who only thought with his crotch? How was it that the more he tried to distance himself from you, the more he found himself going back to you?

You were seeping through the folds of his brain like poison. But the irony was that he wanted it. He wanted to be poisoned by you. Your eyes, your sweet-smelling hair, the way you bit your lips and scrunched your face when he entered you, it all made him go crazy.

He lay down on the bed and beckoned to you. The rule was to either kneel on the bed or remain standing but to never lie down with him as an equal. Except, of course, he told you explicitly to do so.

Today, however, he wanted your mouth on him, erasing away all those annoying thoughts that buzzed in his head. He caught your hair in his hand, guiding your mouth to his hard member. His moans filled the room as you got to work on him.

Catching hold of your head, he thrust his hips off the bed and hit your throat deep, enjoying the way your throat muscles constricted around him. He couldn’t help forcing his hands on the back of your head to take him deeper, causing you to make those gagging noises that made him go wild.

He looked down at the dark hair that bobbed in his crotch and a thought flickered in his mind. You were so fragile that he could just end your life with a snap of his fingers. What if he choked you to death, stuffed full of him?

His hands left your hair and circled the pulse points on your neck. He could feel your pulse throbbing against his fingertips. Just one hard press and he could break you, break all the insanity you were putting him through.

Right at the moment he started to tighten his hold around your neck, there was a knock on the door. He let go of you, waiting for you to stuff his member back into his underclothes, and dress him up again.

*****

When you opened the door, there was officer Jimin, along with a person who looked more decorated, he was probably a higher authority of the cavalry. They had rolls of parchment in their hands, which they requested the Prince to sign. You went back in as the Prince made his way to the door to reach for the parchment.

Embarrassment crept up your spine, you wished you could melt away instead of letting Jimin see you in the lair, hair disheveled and mouth crusted with come.

But luck had its way, and the bottle of ink into which Prince Jeon dipped his quill slipped and shattered to pieces on the floor, splashing ink all over his feet.

The irate Prince turned back and bellowed, “Hey, you! Come clean this mess.”

You scrambled to wipe the ink, feeling as insignificant as the dust on the floor. The Prince saw an opportunity to humiliate you further and thrust his ink-smeared foot towards you.

Ears burning, you blotted up the ink as well as you could with the end of your robes. You knew he would have a fit if you used the rag to wipe his precious feet. When you were done, he proceeded to nudge his foot into the crook of your hips.

“Pick all the glass.”

You wished the ground would swallow you. Here you were on all fours, picking glass pieces at the feet of three men, one being the man you had never wanted to witness your mortification. As you hurried, the minute shards pierced your palms, drawing blood.

When you bit your lips and raised your head, you saw two soft grey eyes looking at you with concern. The indignity was too much to bear, and you gathered all the shards and fled into the room. The grey eyes followed you, unaware that a pair of cold black eyes were staring at them with dark malice.

***** When the two men turned to leave, the Prince waved one hand at Jimin saying, “Jimin will stay behind.” You instinctively stiffened on hearing it.

Seeing Jimin look at you with such softness had kindled a fire in the Prince’s chest. He had to establish who you belonged to.

“You! You ruined my feet on the pretext of cleaning them. Let me hear you whip yourself ten times,” he yelled from the door.

You hung your head, catching sight of Jimin’s horrified face when you reached for the whip.

As the whip cracked through the air, hitting you and bringing broken gasps of pain, the Prince enjoyed the growing look of dismay on his subordinate’s face.

“Is she counting right?” he asked Jimin lazily. The officer stood motionless, unable to respond. When he was finally excused after the sounds of the whip ceased, he turned and marched away, wiping the tears in his eyes.

Back in the lair, the only words directed to you after Jimin had left were, “Don’t you dare graze me with those shards. I don’t want your blood on me either.”

As much as it had irked him to make you whip yourself, he justified it to himself that it was to keep Jimin from looking at you that way again. He was sure the man knew what you had been really punished for. He would make up for the pain by going easy on you that night. But he had to change his mind because when he reached to touch you, he was annoyed by the way you flinched. Well, if you wouldn’t behave, you quite deserved the whip. That was one load off his chest, sympathy didn’t really suit him.

***** The next day, you were alone in the lair, an official duty had required Prince Jeon to ride far away, on a trip spanning three days. You were considering retiring to your little room when there was a hesitant knock on the door.

You didn’t recognize this knock. It wasn’t the maids, they ignored you when the Prince was away. It couldn’t be the Prince either, he had left early, he was accustomed to throwing the door open without knocking anyway.

You opened the door slowly, catching sight of a breathless Jimin in the foyer. He stood there panting, unsure of himself. Finally, he pulled himself together.

“Miss? I was wondering if I could have a word with you?”

You nodded your head, and he hastily added, “Not here.”

He looked around to see if anyone was watching. “Could you meet me by the rose bushes?”

There was an urgency in his voice and you replied in the affirmative. He left as abruptly as he had come, not turning back once.

You made sure you were dressed as inconspicuously as possible, and threw a cloak on, before slipping out of the room unnoticed. The rose bushes were in a dark spot of the Royal gardens, and it was secluded enough to provide privacy.

When you reached the bushes, Jimin was already waiting for you, his hands in the pockets of his breeches.

“Miss, I can’t express how sorry I am, it was all my fault yesterday that you had to harm yourself,” he started, his words tumbling out in a rapid torrent.

He extended his palm towards you with a soft “If I may..”

When you gave him your hands, he examined the little cut wounds on your palms.

“I am truly sorry for the suffering I caused you,” he repeated, his eyes now glistening as he took in the welts on your forearm.

Instinctively you pulled the frills on the sleeves to hide them. He didn’t need to see them and feel more guilty. But he had already seen them, his heart bleeding on seeing you trying to put on a brave face for him.

“Please do not worry, officer. I am fine. I really am.”

“Please, call me Jimin. I have to tell you something else, miss” he said.

“Please call me Y/N. No one here even knows my name,” you mumbled.

You wanted to hear your name roll off his tongue, you wanted to hear your name pronounced in his mellow voice.

“Y/N,” he repeated, looking deep into your eyes, “I came to tell you as soon as I heard it. The Prince has requested another Cimarin and the King was just discussing with the minister on whether he should get rid of you.”

This was something you already knew, except for the fact that the King wouldn’t let the Prince have two Cimarins.

“I came to tell you I will do everything in my power to help you if you want to escape,” he continued.

Your eyes widened. So did he care about you, the lowly Cimarin? There was heavy silence before you spoke.

“But wouldn’t that be treason, Jimin?” you asked in a low voice.

He looked torn between his Royal obligation and his need to help you.

“I am prepared to face anything if it ensures your safety,” he replied.

Your heart swelled on seeing his earnest face.

“I think the Prince would not relinquish his hold of me that easily. There is still time. But I thank you sincerely for offering your help.”

He shifted on his feet hesitantly, almost like he wasn’t sure if he should say what he was about to say next. “Can I meet you again? Would you mind coming with me to a certain place tomorrow?”

Your heart fluttered wildly in your chest, and you replied: “I’d love to.”

A relieved smile blossomed on his face, and he gently raised your hand to his lips, placing a chaste kiss on your knuckles. Little did he know of the storm the feeling of his lips was causing inside you.

He waited for you to leave first, promising to call on you the next day. Suddenly after so many days of darkness, it felt like the sun was beginning to rise in your life.

*****

The next day, Jimin was there at your doorstep again, true to his promise.

“I hope you ride?” he asked as he extended his arm to you.

“I’m afraid I don’t,” you replied shyly.

He grinned and patted your arm, saying, “Not to worry, Y/N.”

He smuggled you out of the Royal grounds, taking you to the stables. There was a gorgeous steed swishing its tail, tied to a tree. You pulled the hood of your cloak to hide your face, eyes scanning the surroundings to make sure no one saw you.

Jimin mounted the horse with a graceful jump and held his hand out to you. His strong arms pulled you up in a side-saddle position, to make up for the lack of your riding habit. He galloped off into the woods, holding you in place between his arms, the wind tearing at your hair.

It felt wonderful, as if you were on wings, riding to oblivion, far far away from the horrors of the lair. Behind you, Jimin’s warm chest felt like a wall of safety, resting on your back and spreading tendrils of happiness all over you.

On reaching the heart of the woods, he helped you dismount, and led his horse to water, tying it up securely. When he returned, he was smiling broadly, with no trace of condescendence in his eyes, very unlike the Prince’s.

He led you to the banks of a small rivulet flowing through the woods, laying his robe down for you to sit on. He sat down beside you, saying, “Hold my hand.”

He composed himself for a moment and said: “There is something about you that keeps drawing me to you.”

Blood rose to your cheeks, painting them red as you bent down, trying your best to hide your shy smile. He reached out to lift your chin and found you blushing furiously. He wanted to be sure you liked him too before he made a fool of himself.

“Y/N,” he murmured, searching your eyes. “Do you feel the same way about me?”

This felt too good to be true. Was this a dream? You couldn’t believe your ears.

“Jimin, is this out of pity? Everyone else despises me at the Palace,” you breathed.

He scoffed and shook his head.

“Do you think I care about what they think? And no, this is not out of pity. I offered to help you, yes, but this is something that I’ve been meaning to ask you for quite some time.”

He looked ahead at the water, lost in thought.

“I like you,” you said softly.

At that, his head turned to you, blonde hair dancing over his eyes.

“Did you just say what I thought I heard you say?”

You said nothing, choosing to smile wide instead. He clasped your hand tightly, joy evident on his features.

“But don’t you find me repulsive? I am just the Prince’s…”

He placed a finger on your lips before you could say anymore. “Don’t beat yourself up thinking like that. You did not choose to do it. You were forced to obey a Royal order.”

He squeezed your hand reassuringly, adding, “I would never find you repulsive. It is a promise upon my honor.”

Tears welled in your eyes, as a huge burden was lifted off your shoulders. He genuinely liked you, he didn’t think you were easy prey, nor did he look down on you. Maybe your future wasn’t bleak after all. You nestled closer to him and wrapped his free hand around your shoulder.

Fondness flooded his face as he ruffled your hair. God, he was going to take such good care of you. He had been unable to sleep the whole night on that wretched day, his ears ringing with the cracks of the whip. He shuddered and pulled you closer. He wouldn’t mind if he had to die to protect you from that monster of a Prince.

The whole afternoon passed with comfortable ease, both of you talking and getting to know each other better. It was the first time in months that you breathed freely, laughing at Jimin’s little jokes and marveling at the way his eyes regarded you.

On the ride back to the Palace, he held the reins in one hand, the other arm wrapped around your waist, holding you as if you were a precious treasure to him. That night was the first in months that you slept without any worry about the future. You had a person who loved you with all his heart, Cimarin or not.

*****

The three days Prince Jeon had been away were the ones you treasured the most. They were filled with happiness and laughs, delicate holding of hands and deep talk. The more you talked, the more you fell for Jimin.

You remembered how he had attempted to kiss you; he had been remarkably nervous for a cavalryman who was used to fighting battles. He had cupped your face in his hands, tilting his head to align his lips with yours. Just as his breath had ghosted your lips, you had pulled away. You still remembered the shocked look on his face.

He had begun to stammer his apologies before you had cut him short saying, “I want to kiss you as your woman, and your woman only. Not as the Cimarin.”

You giggled when you recalled how relieved he looked on hearing that. True, he had tried to get a kiss from you at least five times after that, proclaiming that he did not care about sentiments like those. But you had slipped from his arms every time, teasing him, saying it would all be worth the wait.

As you lay on the bed with your eyes closed, a cold voice shook you out of your pleasant reverie.

“What the devil are you grinning about?”

You jumped to your feet in horror, the Prince had returned already. He looked at you with narrowed eyes, which were heavy with fatigue. Without waiting for your reply, he pulled you towards him, collapsing on the bed with his arms wrapped snugly around your waist. He fell asleep within seconds, arms hugging you tight. As you lay there in his embrace, you couldn’t help wishing it were Jimin holding you, not the Prince. You smiled again, even thinking about him made bliss course through your veins.

What were you going to do to hold on to his hand? He was the only bright light in your tunnel of darkness. You looked down at the head resting on your bosom. God forbid the Prince ever found out about Jimin.

***** Weeks later, a rumor wafted through the Royal household, multiplying as it passed each ear and left each mouth. Someone had claimed that they had seen a Palace horse in the woods, carrying a rider and a cloaked woman.

It made your face go pale when your maids talked about it while they were dressing you up for the day. Your heart beat faster, not able to control the fear that threatened to make your lips tremble.

Fortunately, your maids didn’t notice, too busy gossiping away. But the Prince did. He cast one look at your face and raised his eyebrows.

“Don’t tell me it is time for you to retire to your room for the month already. I might have you whipped for making me come this far for nothing.”

You shook your head, not trusting your voice.

“What else is it then?” he huffed.

You weren’t sure if he knew it yet. Palace horses weren’t for romantic trysts, and you knew it would cause serious trouble if the rumor was reported to him.

“It is nothing your Highness,” you replied, crossing your fingers, “I just have a headache.”

To your surprise, he placed his thumbs on your temples, pressing them lightly. His face was impassive, but his touch was unusually gentle.

“Stop squirming,” he said, holding his thumbs in place, keeping your back pressed against his chest. “Better?” he asked, pulling your jaw to face him.

“Y-Yes…” you stammered.

This was unusual and somehow scary. Prince Jeon was actually in deep thought. He had been told of the Palace horse incident that morning, but he hadn’t a clue on who the miscreants were. He decided to call the cavalry officers and investigate, but he didn’t want to send you out into the sun with your headache.

“Get one of the maids, and tell them I summoned officers Shin Ho and Park Jimin,” he murmured to you.

You obediently left and returned when you had sent a maid on the errand. The Prince was pacing the room, his mind preoccupied with the events that had happened the previous night.

His father had sent for him, telling him there was a prospective bride for him from the Kingdom of Huwan. He had provided a portrait of the Princess Leila of Huwan, beautifully rendered in pastels by the Royal artist. Instead of being thrilled, the Prince found himself staring at the portrait in dismay.

The Princess did look captivatingly beautiful, but he felt nothing, she didn’t stir his heart. He had listened to his father talk about all the political ties the union would bring and all the wealth that would reach the Royal coffers.

“This is a wonderful proposal, and I want you to consider this carefully,” the King had told him.

Prince Jeon had been caught off-guard. He hadn’t expected to get married at nineteen, but when it came to issues of Royal unions, it was the King’s word that ultimately prevailed. This was a dilemma and according to him, you were the root cause of it. You had messed with his mind and ruined him. But he couldn’t think of a way to salvage the situation.

Just as all these thoughts were running through his mind, you returned and stood by the bed as was the custom. Damn you. Why hadn’t you been born a Princess? He hated you for placing him in such a knot. He stood observing your lowered head, those eyelashes dusting your cheeks, making you look the picture of innocence. His attention was broken by the sound of footsteps on the foyer, followed by a brisk knock.

You ran to open the door, moving back to the farthest corner of the room after the Prince reached the doorstep.

“Shin Ho,” the Prince began, “It has come to my ears that someone from the Palace had taken a woman to the woods on a Palace steed during my absence. It appears that they were engaged in a liaison, such was the report that reached me.”

As the Prince addressed officer Shin Ho, unadulterated shock registered on Jimin’s face, and he caught sight of you standing behind the Prince, hands covering your mouth to muffle your gasp.

“This kind of behavior is inexcusable; I want you to inquire into this. I want to know which bastard had the nerve to take one of my horses for a dalliance with some woman.”

You found yourself struggling to breathe. An innocent stroll in the woods had been warped into an ugly liaison by wagging tongues. What would happen if someone in the stables remembered that Jimin had taken a horse on the specific day and let it slip to officer Shin Ho? You were shaking in apprehension when Jimin caught your eye and shook his head subtly.

‘Don’t give yourself away,’ his eyes seemed to tell you.

Prince Jeon discussed with the officers for some more time, telling them how the issue was to be handled. When the officers finally took their leave, you were rooted to the spot, not hearing when the Prince called you twice.

“Have you gone deaf?” he hollered, shaking you by the shoulders. “What has gotten into you?”

He was half-distracted by the Princess Leila issue that your shaky limbs and guilt-ridden face didn’t quite register on his usually sharp mind. He wanted to forget everything for some time and get lost inside you. He let go of your shoulders.

“On your knees, take me in your mouth.”

When you dropped down to your knees and obediently started working your mouth on his member, he wondered if he could order Princess Leila to do all the things he made you do to him. He closed his eyes to recall her face from the portrait, but to his surprise, he couldn’t even remember how she looked like. Your face kept flashing, replacing hers on the portrait in his subconscious eye. You had become a threat to his sanity.

***** Exactly one fortnight later, the King summoned Prince Jeon again, asking him for his decision. It was just rhetorical, both of them knew, because the King had already made up his mind and had sent a pigeon to the King of Huwan.

The news somehow broke out and spread through the Palace like wildfire. When your maids arrived the next day, one of them gave you a haughty look before saying, “I am so eager to see how you would perform your duties as the chambermaid, O mighty Cimarin.”

Her mouth stretched into a sneer when you looked at her with bewildered eyes.

“Whatever do you mean?”

She clucked her tongue, whispering: “We are going to have a proper Princess in this household, someone worthy of the Prince’s attention. I can’t wait to see her kick you out of the Palace. Because, my dear, you are nothing but scum.”

“And what do you think you are?” a deep voice boomed behind you, as Prince Jeon stood with his nose flaring.

The maid immediately straightened, muttering incoherent syllables of explanation as the Prince ambled forward, laying a hand on your shoulder.

He leaned in towards her, making her uncomfortable, and looked straight at her eyes hissing, “You are not to step foot inside the Royal grounds. I will have you beheaded if I see you again.” You saw the woman’s countenance turn ashen.

“Your Highness, was she telling the truth?” you asked slowly, after the terrified woman fled the room.

“What was she telling you?” he asked, looking at your reflection in the mirror of the vanity table.

“That you will be having a bride…” your voice trailed off.

His hand left your shoulder as if it had been scalded. So you had come to know about it? He misread the look on your face, assuming you were mocking him. You thought he was too drunk with a Cimarin to marry a Princess? Well, he would prove you wrong.

“Yes, I am.”

He straightened to stand at his full height, as you rose quickly to your feet. He couldn’t decipher the reaction on your face. Were you as annoyed about it as he was? He wanted to make you hurt as much as he was hurting inside.

“Well?” he asked, “What is with that look?”

He cocked his head to the side, saying, “You didn’t expect me to….”

He threw his head back in mirth. “You thought I would marry you?”

He laughed loudly, seeing your face twist in humiliation.

“You are nothing but a concubine” he sneered. “I would never marry a woman like you.”

He saw the way your lips trembled, shame evident on your face. It made him feel better, he did not want to suffer alone, he had to make you suffer with him. When he left your room an hour later, leaving your body ravaged and bitten, he was sure he had broken you, as much as you had broken him.

*****

As the months reduced to weeks, and the weeks flew by in haste, the Prince’s behavior towards you became more and more hysterical. He taunted and jibed at you without the slightest provocation.

He was nervous, unsure of how he would handle his new bride. He released all of his nervous anxiety on you, belittling you and hurting your mind as well as your body.

At long last, the day of the wedding grew nearer, and the King and Queen of Huwan arrived at the capital. The Palace was decorated with the finest of the Kingdom’s artworks. All-day long, the maids polished the silver and china till they sparkled and shone. The whole Palace was buzzing with feverish excitement, caught up in the whirlwind of the Royal wedding.

The Prince, however, didn’t stop visiting you. If anything, he visited more often than he had ever done. He never spoke anything about his impending wedding, choosing to talk about your worthlessness instead. You felt like all the insults he hurled at you were sinking in, threatening to make you believe you were nothing more than a slave destined to die at his feet.

You hadn’t seen Jimin since the day the Prince sent him out to inquire about the misuse of the Palace horse. The only solace you had in these dark times was the memories of those three carefree magical days in the woods.

It was the eve of the wedding, and all the servants of the Royal household had been instructed to gather in the threshold of the Royal Hall to welcome the new bride. You stood at the very back of the line of servants, craning your neck to see what the new Princess looked like.

A few minutes later, a magnificent carriage drew up to the steps, and out stepped the most beautiful woman you had ever seen. Her clothes were made of the loveliest satin, and everything about her features screamed perfection. She had elaborate jet-black curls arranged in ringlets, framing her face and setting off her pale skin perfectly.

The Prince reached out to her, kissing her knuckles and requesting her arm, to which she happily obliged. She glided up the steps, accepting the welcome of the servants with a gentle bow of her head. The Prince was searching for you along the rows and smirked haughtily when he caught your eyes. As they sailed into the specially decorated ballroom, you couldn’t help thinking they looked perfect for each other.

You knew the Prince would always be on the best of his behavior with his bride. Because after all, Royal wives were for soft lovemaking and breeding heirs, while Cimarins were for satisfying animalistic desires.

******

The Royal wedding took place with eminent people from far and wide in attendance.

The Prince had looked his smartest, in a crisp white wedding suit, with gold piping along the shoulders and Royal decorations adorning the breast of his suit. The Princess had glowed in a dreamy white gown, tailored to show off her slender body beautifully.

As the guests retired to the ballroom for toasts, a hand pulled you to a relatively abandoned area of the Palace.

“Y/N,” Jimin whispered, “I almost went mad without seeing you for months.”

His face looked deeply troubled, and he continued, “Come away with me, I shall take you to the farthest land from here, and we shall live as man and wife.”

Your mouth fell open, the prospect of running away numbing you into silence.

When you finally regained control over your voice, you asked, “How can we go away without getting caught? The Royal guards are everywhere. How would we cross the borders of the Kingdom?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Leave all of it to me, I only seek your consent. I shall take care of everything.”

He pressed your hands in his, earnest eyes looking determined.

“I shall come with you,” you said, squeezing his hands and nodding your head urgently.

His whole face lit up with elation, all the worry washing away.

“I will come back and take you when I have everything ready,” he promised and left you after kissing your hands.

When you walked back to your lair, there was a ball of fear crushing your chest, making it difficult to breathe.

*****

As you lay on the bed tossing and turning, worrying about Jimin and how you were supposed to escape the Royal guards, there was a heavy rain pouring outside. Everyone had rejoiced that it was a good omen on a wedding night, but to you, the thunder rumbling outside only served to make the night eerier.

Sleep refused to touch your eyelids, and the wind howling outside your window made your worry grow even more pronounced.

Suddenly, the door was thrown open with a crash, and a flash of lightning illuminated the profile of the Prince, standing framed by the doorway. He walked in unsteadily, holding a bottle in his hand, swaying slightly.

The man had been thoroughly intoxicated, the front of his white dressing gown soaked with alcohol. It clung to his body, the white fabric sheer with all the alcohol, showing off his chest with every flash of lightning. He chuckled in a drunken stupor, pulling the sheets and clawing at your legs. You were terrified. This was his wedding night, and what was he doing here, hovering over your legs?

He took another swig from the bottle and threw it away, the glass shattering to pieces as he wiped his mouth with his forearm. There was an ominous smirk on his face now, and he pushed your legs apart as wide as he could.

He would never tell a soul what had really happened in his bedroom a couple hours before. He had watched his bride undress sensually, and had noted how much effort she put into making it appeal to him. He had caressed her breasts, running his fingers over her body. He had peeled all the layers of fabric from her body expecting to grow hard. But he had felt nothing.

Nothing was stirring in his breeches, and to his horror, he had found he was flaccid, his body showing no response to her nakedness. The Royal women were not educated on matters of the bedroom, so she was blissfully unaware of his problem. His cheeks had started burning, he could not allow himself to be humiliated like that.

He had to imagine your scrunched up face and work on his member to get it hard. When he had entered her and started rocking his hips, he had found the lovemaking too slow for him to enjoy. He had always been a man of feral passion with you, and the irritating slowness had made him go crazy. But he had known better than to be harsh with his bride, he would always have to be careful to never let that side of him slip. When he had finally done the deed, he had escaped as soon as she had drifted off to sleep. The mortification had made him go in search of alcohol, and finally, in search of you.

As he pushed into you, he let out a long drawn out moan, almost demonic in nature. He started thrusting like a mad man, trying to prove to himself that he had not lost his masculinity and that he was indeed a man of vigor. You caught sight of his eyes, blown wide, as he rammed into you with all his might.

The lightning made his eyes look predatory, and his snarling teeth made it more frightening. His sounds echoed throughout the room, the bed creaking in harmony with his loud grunts. Finally, when he climaxed, he threw his head back in euphoria. He bit his lip as he emptied himself inside you, deciding he would never let go of you. You were always going to be his Cimarin.

*****

You woke with a start when a fresh peal of thunder sounded outside, to find the Prince draped over you, his tousled hair tickling your chin. You gently nudged him awake.

“Your Highness, it is almost dawn.”

He mumbled sleepily, looking at you in confusion before realization hit him.

“Quick, dress me up,” he commanded urgently.

It would never do for the Prince to be caught sleeping away from his wife on the first dawn of his married life. He bolted through the door as quickly as he could, not looking back at you once. The shattered glass was lying everywhere, and you got to work cleaning it, wondering if this was going to happen every night until you escaped.

***** It was exactly a week later that officer Shin Ho requested an audience with Prince Jeon. He brought a young stable boy with him and had a quick meeting with the Prince. When he left, the Prince was fuming and trembling with anger. He marched straight to the lair, throwing the door open with unusual force. The bed was empty, and you were gone.

“Hold on a little tighter, lamb. I don’t want you to fall,” Jimin said, riding as fast as he could.

He was tearing through the wind, whip cracking in the air as he urged his horse to go faster. The hooves were thudding as loudly as your heart was. This time around, you were seated behind him, clasping his waist in your arms, chest draped on his back. You held on tighter and closed your eyes, praying to every powerful force in the world to deliver you safely from the clutches of the Prince.

You were sure the Prince would have found you were missing by now, and there was a definite possibility that the best riders of the Kingdom had been dispatched to alert the guards at the borders.

You rode on for what seemed like hours until you had to stop to let the horse drink water.

“You feeling alright, love?” Jimin asked, catching stray strands of hair and tucking them behind your ears.

You nodded, collapsing into his chest in a tight hug.

“You will be alright,” he said, kissing the top of your head, patting your back reassuringly.

“Let me ask you something, you once said that you liked me. But, fair maiden, do you love me?”

His eyes twinkled as you peeled yourself from him to look at him indignantly.

“I would not have come this far if I hadn’t loved and trusted you,” you said and hit his chest with balled fists.

He chuckled merrily, catching hold of your small fists with a fond look lighting up his features.

“Let us go then, my love, we shall go far away from all this din and love each other to our heart’s content.”

******

When you resumed riding, it was past midday, you could tell from the short shadows cast on the ground. You had ridden on for a few more hours when you reached a forest.

“We need to cross this if we are to avoid going into the village,” Jimin said, cajoling the horse to trot past the prickly bushes that were overgrown on both sides.

They scratched and jabbed, but you made no complaint, it was nothing compared to what the Prince had done to you ever so often.

Suddenly, your ears caught a sound, which felt like it came from right ahead of you. You strained your ears, patting Jimin slowly to let him know that you had heard something.

“Jimin, I think…” you were saying, when an arrow shot right through the trees, hitting Jimin straight at his chest, causing him to gasp and topple from the horse. Frightened by the sudden movement, the horse reared and bucked, throwing you off before fleeing into the dense forest.

“Jimin! Jimin!’ you cried, kneeling and tapping his face.

Only then did you see the arrow still sticking out from his chest, drawing blood that pooled around him, staining the forest floor. You started wailing, calling his name out like a prayer, trying to keep him conscious.

“Y/N,” he breathed out, coughing, blood spurting from his mouth.

“No no no Jimin, stay with me, don’t leave me” you sobbed, tears flowing and landing on his face.

“Y/N, ” he said again, blood pouring from the sides of his mouth in a steady stream now. His eyes were losing their luster, and his breathing was becoming rugged. He struggled to keep his eyes open and parted his lips to form a whisper.

“Kiss me.”

You bent down urgently to place your lips on his, crashing your mouth on his in desperation. But you were met with no yield, his lips did not move to kiss you back. When you pulled away in confusion to look at him, his eyes had stilled, and a lone tear trickled out of the corner of his eyes.

Your wails filled the air, each powerful sob racking your body as you screamed out, wringing your heart in anguish. There was nothing more for you to do, the only light in your life had been snuffed out. It hurt you like someone had punched a hole in your chest, and pulled your heart through your ribs.

As you kneeled there, your clothes bloodied and Jimin’s head on your lap, the thunder of hooves growing nearer sent vibrations coursing through the ground.

A pair of riding boots dismounted from the horse with a thud, and you heard a disgustingly familiar sing-song voice saying, “Well well, if it isn’t the Kingdom’s whore.”

Your tear-filled eyes made out the blurred figure of the body you knew only too well.

“I could cut you to pieces for betraying me like this, whore!” he said, drawing his sword out and placing it on your shoulder, the blade pressing into the side of your neck.

“But what is the thrill in that?” he pulled his sword back, the blade cutting the skin of your neck and drawing blood.

You remained kneeling on the ground, eyes blank, not moving or uttering anything.

He bent down and bunched your hair in his fist, pulling you up with a harsh tug.

“You will return to the Palace with me, and serve my wife. You will be the chambermaid, and I shall strip you of your honor, I shall enjoy doing so.”

His hold on your hair tightened, and he pulled your face closer, placing a volley of stinging slaps on your cheeks until his hands smarted.

“Lying, scheming ungrateful whore,” he spat out, throwing you over his horse.

You were lying uncomfortably across the horse, head and legs on either side of the animal. From your position, you saw Jimin’s body lying on the ground, face upturned towards the sky, your eyes never leaving his body as the horse trotted farther and farther away from the scene until he became a dot and disappeared from your line of sight.

****** Your hand clutched the small hunting knife you had extracted from Jimin’s robes. Life was no longer worth living, there was no Jimin anymore to love you and protect you. You would rather get beheaded than go live with this monster again, you would not endure his violence any longer. There was no reason to endure him, as you now had no purpose in life. You decided it would be better to be hanged than serve Prince Jeon again.

Clasping the knife tightly, you raised yourself from your awkward position and turned, seeing the surprise on the Prince’s face turn into horror when you sliced the knife through the air, plunging it into his heart with all your might. Both of you fell on the ground, rolling in the dust.

The knife was embedded deeply in his chest and only a part of the hilt jutted out. You screamed like a madwoman, rushing to your feet and climbing over him, swinging your legs on either side of him. You pulled with all your strength, and retrieved the knife, stabbing him again with as much force you could muster. The Prince’s mouth opened and closed several times, straining to clear the blood that was choking his breath.

You didn’t stop screaming as you reached out to clasp your hands around his neck, pressing hard and never letting go. The screams leaving your body turned into powerful sobs, your hands only left his neck when his pulse had stopped throbbing.

His eyes had bulged wide in his fight for air. You let go and rolled off of him, the catharsis hitting you like a wall of bricks. The monster had finally been killed.

***** It was a glorious morning, you could hear the sweet chirping of birds drifting through the air.

You were at peace, all feelings wiped from your mind as you were led through the dark corridors.

The chains on your hands and feet were clanking with each step. The long corridor opened into an arena, where hundreds of people had gathered.

When you were led to the guillotine on the podium, the chains were loosened and your hands were cuffed.

You looked at the sky, which was a beautiful rosy pink. It reminded you of Jimin. You smiled. He always brought a smile on your face.

“Off with her head,” the King bellowed.

You raised your face to the sky one last time.

“I’m coming Jimin, I shall come to you and kiss you, my love,” you whispered, closing your eyes.

#yandere bts #yandere kpop #yandere #yandere jungkook #jk fanfic #yandere jungkook x reader #bts yandere #bts fanfic #bangtan #bangtan fanfic #jeongguk #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook

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direnightshade · 3 years

Text

Broken Patterns

“Where are you working, if you don’t mind my asking?”

The steady tick, tick, tick of the wall mounted clock nearby fills the silence that follows the woman’s statement. I glance around nervously, taking in the sight of the room. The walls are white and the bottom half is trimmed with a molding that I’ve only ever seen in places that are far too expensive for me to afford. Meanwhile, the top half of the walls are covered in a multitude of photos and art, each one framed in mismatched metals. To my left there is a bookshelf that spans the entirety of one wall. It is filled to the brim with books of varying genres.

Oh, how I long for a place such as this some day.

My gaze swings back to the woman with the pinched face and the short, jet black pixie haircut. I swallow thickly and wipe my already clammy palms along the tops of my jean-clad thighs. “I just landed an internship with Simon & Schuster.”

A steady scribble of the tip of her pen can be heard as she scrawls across her piece of paper, humming in acknowledgement, though I am certain the sound is a mere afterthought; one to appease me as if she’s giving off the appearance that she’s listening. “And when did you move to New York?”

“Two years ago, right after I turned eighteen.”

More scribbling follows, and I shift anxiously on the velveteen couch that has been dyed a pretty shade of dark green. Almost immediately, I am pinned to the very spot I sit by the intense gaze of the woman who is meant to be my therapist. There are no words exchanged, but the look that she is giving me seems to say it all: stay still. I sink into myself and remain in place as she has so silently willed me to do.

This is only the beginning of the session, and already, it is unlike anything I would have expected.

“So, tell me,” she says, finally satisfied that she’s written all that she can for the time being, “what brings you into my office?” Her posture has straightened considerably now, and for the first time since I’d stepped foot past the threshold of the room’s door do I feel as if she’s actually listening to what I have to say.

I inhale a shaky breath in hopes that it will steel my resolve, and when I exhale, I begin to tell her everything.

I tell her about the screaming that became a staple in my childhood home; about how it had all been my fault, because of course it was. I had been unable to grasp the simplest things that were being taught to me. It certainly hadn’t been because the expectations that were set so heavily onto my shoulders were so unrealistic that no child at my age could have lived up to them. No. No, of course not. That wasn’t it at all. It was all me. My failings.

I tell her about how I’d taken out all of my pent up anger and aggression out on the dolls that my mother had so lovingly gifted to me; that I’d mutilated them so badly my mother took me to see a child psychologist claiming she thought me to be some future murdering psychopath. Isn’t that hilarious?!

It’s an absurd thought. Truly.

I couldn’t harm a fly…

I tell her about Ben.

He was, I think, the first person I ever thought I loved. I met him, of all the places, on Bow Bridge in Central Park one crisp Autumn morning. I’d been fresh off the train, barely in the city for a full twenty four hours when we’d crossed paths. He’s a painter—a lovely one at that, I’ve always told him as much—and when I’d stumbled across him, he was painting the landscape. I couldn’t help but admire his talents. I think I may have stopped and gawked for far too long and perhaps that is what caught his attention, though I am sure if he was here, he would sing a different tune. He loves to tell people that when he saw me it was if I had walked straight out of one of his paintings; a dream incarnate. The line makes me roll my eyes with disgust now, but back then in the early stages of the relationship, that line would always have me hook, line, and sinker.

But therein lies the problem, you see. I am a sucker for pretty words, for people who can paint me the loveliest picture of a life that I have always wanted but yet to have. And, oh, how he painted that lie well.

Over time the compliments and the affection have waned significantly, and now I fear that it is only I who is trying to give it my all any more. I believe that he is seeing someone else, that the pretty words he once showered down on me are now being put upon another heart, leaving mine to rot.

He checks his phone late at night when he thinks that I am asleep. I can hear the steady tap, tap, tap of his thumbs against the screen and every now and again, I can hear the soft laughter he emits whenever whomever she is responds with some undoubtedly witty remark. Where he once used to be so adamant that we put our phones aside and focus on one another, he now has done a complete one-eighty. We sit on opposite ends of the couch whilst he entertains himself with whatever conversation he is so engrossed in, meanwhile I am left to watch this movie—one that he chose—alone.

I am turning into my mother more and more every day, I realize. I am untrusting and paranoid, always asking him who it is that he’s taking calls from or who he’s texting. He tells me it’s nothing, that it’s just work, but he was never this busy with work before…

Two days ago is when he’d come clean.

My suspicions were not unfounded. He had been seeing someone. Her name is Mina and apparently she is lovely.

There is a brief bout of scribbling of a pen against paper, and when it stops, my therapist lifts her head once more to look at me. “How does that make you feel?”

Like I am a waste, I want to tell her. It makes me feel as if I am nothing; that if the one person on this planet who was meant to love me cannot seem to then perhaps I am, myself, unworthy of such a gift.

My features soften and I allow the corners of my mouth to turn up into a small smile. “I feel fine.”

The woman reaches up to pull her glasses down off of the bridge of her nose, setting the frames atop her notebook. She exhales a sigh and regards me carefully before doling out a reply. “This is a new development for you. Surely you must have some sort of feelings about it.”

“I told you that I’d had my suspicions. I’ve had more than two days to process the inevitable.”

“Having a suspicion and having confirmation are two completely different things. This idea in your mind has since been made real. Doesn’t that hurt you,” she counters.

The smile that had been so carefully put into place falters, and my lips press into a thin line.

It is clear that my therapist is pleased with this non verbal response as she once again resumes her note taking.

“No,” I reply carefully.

“No?”

“No.”

There is a stretch of silence that follows my insistence, and soon enough, she sets the notepad, pen, and her glasses aside and regards me carefully. “What are you doing to cope?”

I barely manage to bite back the snort that nearly bubbled up to the surface. Cope? Since when have I ever coped with anything? I suppose, if we are being technical, what I do is a form of coping, albeit an unhealthy one. I take those feelings, the ones that weigh on my chest so heavily that it feels as if it may very well collapse under the strain, and I compact them until they are so small I can easily store them in a cage that I have built myself. I tuck them away and store the box somewhere deep inside myself, never allowing them to see the light of day so that I never have to deal with the emotional traumas that I have been dealt.

“I work,” I say matter-of-factly, as if the idea of me needing to do anything else is utterly absurd.

She hums and clasps her hands together, setting them atop her lap. “And what have you done for an emotional release? Anything at all? Or are you throwing yourself into work to avoid the situation?”

My jaw clenches at her insistence, though, I don’t know why I would have expected anything else. Perhaps I wasn’t expecting this first session to have become so deep so quickly. “If you’re asking if I’ve cried, the answer is no.”

“And why not?”

I am growing more and more irritated by the second. I could, if I so wished, put an end to this right now. I could get up and end the session, thank her for her time and walk right out of the door. Or, the pen sitting beside her on the end table would push straight into her eye socket rather nicely, I reckon…

No. No, I rid myself of that thought and exhale an audible sigh.

“Because what is the point? Crying doesn’t fix the relationship. He’s made his choice.”

“Crying can be a good release for us. It’s very cathartic.”

“I’m not wasting my tears on someone who didn’t have the decency to leave the relationship before giving a part of themselves to someone else.”

The irony is not lost on me that eleven years later I find myself in another office in a different part of the city with tears freely spilling down onto my cheeks as I reach for the tissue that is offered to me. When one isn’t enough, I am gifted the entire box.

It feels as if I am crying out years and years of repressed emotion, and I fear—as my body wracks with sob after sob—that the tears will be never ending. This therapist, who I have already decided is miles above the one I’d seen when I was twenty, sits and waits patiently for me to let it all out. She has been nothing short of supportive and I feel relief.

Earlier this week I had requested that Charlie jot down the number for his therapist’s office so that I may make an appointment of my own. Though he, too, has been more than happy to listen to me when I vent my frustrations or cry on his shoulder when things become a little too overwhelming for me, I have come to realize that perhaps it is not fair of me to unload so much onto him when he is still dealing with so much himself. And what’s more, is that I have realized that I have begun to fall into an old pattern.

Rather than fully dealing with the emotional upset he has caused with his trysts, I have once again begun to tamp down and repress my negative emotions in favor of pretending that all's right with the world. Not only do I not want to shut myself down and risk ruining this relationship, I also do not believe my tactics to be in the best interest of Little b. So, if nothing else, I will do this for them.

When the tears finally subside, and I have once again managed to pull myself together, I take a moment to dab a clean tissue against the underside of my eyes. Just as I am inhaling another shaky breath, my therapist—who is not the same woman that Charlie shares his allotted time with—poses a question.

“Have you discussed your feelings with him?”

I sniffle and ball up the tissue in my hand as it comes to rest in my lap. “We had a long, long discussion after things calmed down. He knows that I was—am—unhappy with his choices.”

There is a soft sigh emitted when she shifts in her seat and crosses her legs. One hand rests on her knee whilst the other keeps her chin propped up as her elbow sets on the arm of the chair she’s currently seated in. “You told me that he’s admitted to opening up to someone emotionally when he felt he couldn’t do that with you and that this seems to be the root of your dispiritedness. I’d like to talk about that.”

I wouldn’t, I think to myself almost immediately.

But, this is why I am here, after all. I need to discuss the things that I wish to bury. Only then do I have any real chance of repairing the damaged, unhealthy parts of myself. If we, as a family, have any real shot at moving forward, then I must face this head on regardless of how much I want nothing more than to run the other way.

And yet…

I am struggling.

“Do you still worry that this may be an issue?”

My head hangs forward, and I close my eyes tightly to ward off the onslaught of tears that once again threaten to force their way out. There is a slight tremor that starts in my chin and works its way to my bottom lip. I hate this, this feeling of being rendered speechless, of being weak and vulnerable. I hate that, once again, I have given someone else the power to crush me so.

I nod wordlessly, the motion so slight that it would have been missed had she not been paying careful attention.

“Has he done anything to make you think that it is?”

Another stretch of silence follows her words, and this time, I find myself shaking my head. No, no he hasn’t.

And yet…

I am afraid.

And…

My therapist says my name to grab my attention, and when I finally lift my head to look at her, it is with tearfully blurred vision. “If he has not done anything to make you think that it is, then tell me about the steps he has taken to attempt to alleviate those fears.”

I inhale a shaky breath and begin to list off everything from deleting the long list of contacts in his phone to quitting his job at the theater. When the subject of the move to Los Angeles is brought up, I am asked that one question that haunted my thoughts mere days ago.

What do I want?

How do I feel?

“I…” My lips press together as I trail off, and I work my jaw as I take a moment to think. “I want to leave. I think the move will be good for both of us, and not just because this means that Charlie can see Henry more regularly now.” While I speak, I lift a hand to dab away the last remaining tears from my eyes, finally feeling more confident in this turn of conversation. “You know, when I first moved here, I loved this city so much that I resolved to stay here until I turned old and grey.”

There is a small smile that forms when I speak, and I huff out soft laughter. But as I shake my head, the smile begins to wane. “But now… After everything that’s transpired over the last month… This city that brought me so much joy just feels so oppressive now. Some of the places I used to love to venture to have been tainted by the awful confessions that he’s bestowed upon me. What I want is to leave. But most importantly, what I want is for this to work...”

By the time that my session concludes, I am feeling infinitely better than when I’d initially walked through the front door. For the first time in all the times that I have tried—or was forced to try—therapy, I am leaving a session with tools that I feel will be useful in aiding my own emotional recovery from everything that I have dealt with in life. For the first time in my life, I will attempt to cope with the emotions that I feel in a healthy way. I feel, for the first time in a long, long time, like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

When I make my way out of the building, I am surprised to find Charlie waiting for me just outside. There is a fleeting look of concern that flashes across his face when he takes in my red-rimmed eyes, but just as quickly as the look emerges, it dissipates entirely when a broad smile stretches across my face. “You came all the way out here to get me,” I ask, the pleasant surprise evident in my voice.

“Wanted to make sure your first session went well,” he says just as he reaches out for me once I’m near enough.

A soft hum is emitted when his hands settle on my waist to draw me in closer, and I lift my arms to wrap them loosely around his neck. I tip my head back slightly to look up at him, taking a moment to soak in his features before I speak. “You were nervous.”

He huffs in automatic response, his gaze darting to the side momentarily. “Absolutely not.”

If it is possible for my smile to widen any further, then it certainly does so. “It’s okay,” I say, fingers raking through the hair at the nape of Charlie’s neck whilst he continues to hold me close, safe and out of the way from any passersby. “We’re okay. It went great. Probably the best session I’ve ever had. Now I know why you’ve chosen that office.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

We smile at one another, and for the first time in over a month, I truly feel as if everything will be alright.

#B+C #B+C+b #personal au #cw: pregnancy #cw: infidelity #cw: angst #iamakiller

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aghost-writer · 4 years

Text

Love Me...

Chapter 1

Ethereal

In the 20th Ward at the coffee shop, Anteiku, three friends sat down together.

Hideyoshi Nagachika was dying with laughter and banging his hand on the table. (Y/N) was giggling softly beside her friend, Ken Kaneki.

“It’s not that funny”, Kaneki defended himself.

He lifted up his coffee.

“You can’t take her to a bookstore on the first date. Isn’t that right, (Y/N)?”, Hide spoke.

(Y/N) smiled.

“I would not mind having a first date in a bookstore. That is if, I could manage to get a date. “

Kaneki blushed and looked away from (Y/N). Hide shot Kaneki a semi-dark look for looking at (Y/N).

The three friends were completely oblivious to the ears listening to them.

“See, (Y/N) thinks it’s a good idea”, Kaneki spoke to Hide.

Hide chuckled, “don’t do it. Trust me. She’ll think your lame. “

(Y/N) playfully hit Hide from across the table. Hide laughed and smiled at her.

“Hide. Be nice to Kaneki. As for you, Kaneki, do whatever you want. If you want to take her to the bookstore, take her to the bookstore.”, (Y/N) said as she turned her full attention to Kaneki.

“I’ll take her to Big Girl for hamburgers”, Kaneki said with a blush.

Hide started snorting and banging his hand on the table. (Y/N) smiled and softly shook her head.

Kaneki seriously said, “I’m being serious. Quit laughing. (Y/N)‘s not laughing at me.”

“I know. That is what makes it funny”, Hide snorted,” you can’t take her to a place called Big Girl”.

Kaneki blushed and turned towards (Y/N). The young girl smiled at Kaneki as she took a sip of her coffee. Kaneki blushed even harder. He could image how (Y/N)’s lips would taste. Oh. Who was he kidding? She was way out of his league. She would never want him. Kaneki hoped that the date he was planning would help get (Y/N) out of his mind. Though he knew deep down that he could never forget (Y/N).

“Hide. Be nice to Kaneki”, (Y/N) chided.

“What makes you an expert? Where would you take a date”, Kaneki said begrudgingly.

“I would take (Y/- I mean that’s easy. I’d see what the girl was in to and then pick a place that I think she would enjoy. “

Hide prayed that neither of them - especially (Y/N)- caught his screw up. He could not have her find out about his crush on her yet. Even if she looked like an angel. Hides eyes looked over (Y/N)’s form. He watched as she sat down her cup of coffee. He wandered how her hand would feel in his own hand. Her hand would be ethereal.

“Such as..” Kaneki brought Hides train of thought to a halt.

“You know girly places.”, Hide stuttered.

Kaneki countered, “you don’t have a clue, do you? (Y/N) where would you like to go on a date?”

(Y/N) faced Kaneki.

“So bold Kaneki”, she teased.

Kaneki’s face went into flames.

The cafe seemed to quiet down as if they were waiting for her answer.

(Y/N) thought for a moment.

“I don’t know where I would go. As long as I am with someone I like.”

(Y/N) blush. Her shyness taking hold of her. (Y/N) buried herself in her seat.

She was just so adorable.

“If I did,” Hide spoke up. “I wouldn’t be here looking at your ugly mug, Kaneki. I would be with a hot chick right now. “

“Named (Y/N),” Hide thought.

Kaneki nodded as he turned his attention to the television.

“You got a good point”, Kaneki said not really paying attention anymore.

(Y/N) and Hide turned to see what Kaneki was looking at.

On the television, there was a news report about a ghoul attack.

“They’re hitting close to home… (Y/N), one of us should walk you home from now on”, Hide said seriously.

Kaneki nodded his agreement.

(Y/N) frantically shook her head.

“No! I mean. I don’t want to be a bother to either of you.”, (Y/N) spoke shyly.

Kaneki said adamantly, “you’ll never be a bother to me, (Y/N). I’ll walk you home anytime.”

Kaneki blushed once he saw (Y/N)’s own blushing face. They turned away from each other while blushing. How could he say something like that? He must have made her uncomfortable.

Hides eyes narrowed at Kaneki. Best friend or no. (Y/N) was his. Only his. Well... if push came to shove, Hide could always get rid of Kaneki. He glanced at (Y/N). He would just have to make sure (Y/N) would be fine without Kaneki. After all, she was his and only his.

Hide was quick to turn the conversation back to Kaneki.

“So who is she?”

“Huh?”

Kaneki snapped his attention back to Hide.

“Which one of the girls in here is your special lady friend?”, Hide teased.

“(Y/-“, Kaneki started to say before Hide interrupted him.

“Is that her?”

Hide indicated towards the purple haired waiter.

“No”, Kaneki said flustered.

As if. The purple haired waiter doesn’t hold a candle towards (Y/N). (Y/N) was perfect. No one could compare to her.

“But she is pretty cute. I would not mind going on a date with her”, (Y/N) said blushing.

Both of the boys shot the purple haired waiter a glare.

Hide called the waiter over for a drink so he could be a closer look at his enemy.

Kaneki shot a glare towards Hide for calling that thing over to steal (Y/N).

The purple haired waiter started her path over to the table.

(Y/N)’s blush deepened.

“Hide”, she whined.

Hide's mind went into the gutter. Oh god. He wanted to hear her whine his name over and over again when they were together in the most intimate way.

Kaneki frowned a little before replacing it so (Y/N) couldn’t see anything. He wanted (Y/N) to whine his name. Not Hides.

The group of friends order their coffees.

“What is your name,” Hide innocently asked.

He needed to know so he could figure out who she was and how to get rid of her.

“Hide!”, Kaneki explained.

(Y/N) was busy blushing, but she did lean in to hear the answer.

“I’m Touka Kirishima”, the purple haired waiter shyly responded.

“I’m (Y/N). It’s nice to meet you too”, (Y/N) was quick to answer.

She gave Touka a closed eye smile.

Touka blushed and looked down at her pad. Such a beautiful woman. Touka looked back up.

(Y/N) was still smiling at her, but now, she had her eyes opened.

Touka blush deepened.

Hide jumped in.

“Let me cut to the chase. Are you seeing anyone?”

(Y/N) stood up causing Kaneki to stand up as well.

“Hide, cut it out. Don’t make her uncomfortable.”

Touka blushed and ran away.

Hide didn’t like the blush that Touka had on her face. He glanced back at (Y/N). He found her determined look on her face cute. So cute and all mine!

“Hide. You can’t do that to people. It’s rude”, (Y/N) berated him.

Sorry (Y/N). But I need to know so I can protect you. Hide sat back down.

The other two followed suit and sat down.

“Man what a hottie”, Hide said to lighten the mood.

“If you get (Y/N) and I kicked out, I’ll never forgive”, Kaneki chastised.

“Kaneki is right, Hide. I like this place. Kaneki, what were you saying about the girl you liked ”, She back Kaneki up before turning towards him.

You are the girl I like.

“This is the only place I see her.”, Kaneki enlightened her.

The bell chimed and (Y/N) looked towards the door. She couldn’t help it. Her and her sense of curiosity always made her look at who came into the cafe.

A beautiful purple haired woman in a dress entered the shop.

(Y/N) could help but stare at the beautiful woman.

Kaneki followed (Y/N)’s haze. He gasped.

“That’s her”, Kaneki spoke up.

Hide turned towards the door to see the woman.

Touka shoots the purple haired beauty woman a look.

The woman walks past the table. As she does so, her gaze finds her darling. She smirked. Her beautiful darling was here. Now all she had to do was get those annoying pests away from her (Y/N). She had been watching the beautiful darling for months now. She wasn’t going to let some humans take her precious darling from her. Not now. Not ever. She watches her darling as she sits down. She is careful about not being seen by her darling as she looks at her (Y/N).

“You don’t have a chance”, Hide said towards Kaneki.

Hide stretched.

“Now that (Y/N) and I have seen you lovesick, (Y/N) and I have blackmail for days. (Y/N) and I are going to jet ”, he continued.

Hide places enough money down for his and (Y/N)’s coffee.

“Don’t worry about it (Y/N). I have you covered.”, Hide said.

“Are you sure? I’ll pay you back”, (Y/N) offered.

“Don’t worry about it”, Hide smirked.

Hide would love if you could pay him back. Maybe with you on your knees.

Sweet (Y/N) had no clue what was going on in Hide’s head.

“What? You’re leaving? Both of you? You don’t have to leave”, Kaneki stuttered.

He didn’t want (Y/N) to leave his side. Ever.

(Y/N) and Hide stood up. (Y/N) offered Kaneki a smile.

“See you later Touka”, Hide said.

“Goodbye Kaneki”, (Y/N) said.

She rubbed Kaneki’s hair.

Kaneki blushed.

Hide was waiting for her by the door.

(Y/N) waves goodbye to Touka.

“See you, Touka. I hope to see you again”, (Y/N) spoked.

Touka waved back.

“Come back and see me”, Touka said as (Y/N) and Hide walked out of the cafe.

Touka’s words didn’t go unnoticed especially by the other purple haired woman.

The purple haired woman glared at Touka. Stupid, insolent ghoul. She’ll eat that bitch for even talking to her darling.

Kaneki opened his book. He tried to focus solely on his book and get (Y/N) out of his mind. But he couldn’t no matter how hard he tried. (Y/N) filled his mind. His eyes shifted over to the purple haired woman. Maybe she could get (Y/N) out of his mind. It was unlikely that would happen though.

The purple haired woman could feel Kaneki’s gaze on her. She smirked towards herself. Now all she had to do was bait him and she could get rid of him. Then he would no longer mess with her darling. She pulled out a book. It was “Egg of the Black Goat”. She could care less about the book, but it was one of her darlings favorites so she would read it. Plus it was the perfect way to lure Kaneki into her. She glanced at Kaneki and caught him looking at her.

Kaneki blushed and looked away. Kaneki glanced back at her.

She smiled at him. She then buried herself into the book.

Kaneki steeled his nerves before going over to her.

She smirked. She would get her way and then finally, she could be with her darling.

Soon….

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Chapter cover was made by vasiadiadein!

#yandere tokyo ghoul x reader #tokyo ghoul x reader #yandere touka kirishima #tokyo ghoul #yandere tokyo ghoul #yandere ken kaneki #yandere #yandere hide #yandere x reader #yandere rize #yandere yamori #will add more tags

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vanchlo · 4 years

Text

The Assistant / Chapter Twenty-Three, “Bleeding Heart”

hello hello. i’m so sorry that i’m an awful person and i haven’t written in a bahillion years. life has been wack and i fell out of writing for awhile. instead of doing homework like a good human being - yay! - i found this chapter i had started and i finished it. it’s not as long as usual, i know, but i did that on purpose and you’ll see why ;) ;) ;) ;) i hope i can write some more soon and stick with this. i’m unreliable i know and i’m terribly sorry. college and work are crazy and my mom was just diagnosed with 2 kinds of cancers soooo oooo life truly is crazy and overwhelming rn. i hope to maybe set aside some time each night to write, but it’s hard to stop when it’s getting fun haha. i enjoyed writing this chapter and delving more into this story, like idek where it’s gonna go haha.

anyways lemme know what you think of this chapter. i wanna hear your predictions and thoughts!!!!!!!!! reblog, like, share with friends, say hi to me :)

one last thing. we should decide a ship name for harry and becks, i mean it’s been coming. here are my ideas and feel free to send me others :D

a) hecks (my personal fav)

b) barry (i just think of rachel’s barry from FRIENDS but it’s ok)

c) hebecca????

d) ??????

e) hecky?

“No. No. No. No. No. NO. NO. NO.

I try to breathe in, but I can’t.

And suddenly the switch inside of me changes. Instead of pushing him away for the last few weeks, I want him. I want him to come and save me.

The laugh that falls from my lips surprises the both of us. “You can’t hurt me anymore.”

The swarm of voices that crowded my ears from before is now gone. A soft chatter of voices occupies the conference room now, around an hour after the festivities had begun. Now the fun is over and the last few of us clean up the forgotten plates, take down the streamers donning the walls, push in the chairs, vacuum up the crumbs, and everything else required to return the room to its former glory.

“Hey, you stop that,” somebody says from behind me. “This was yer party, yer not s’posed to be cleaning it up,” they finish as I turn around to find Harry pushing a lock of hair out of his eyes as he grasps a wet rag in the other hand.

“No, I want to help. Please,” I reply, turning back to the table and picking up the spray bottle. I spritz the plastic top and run the wet rag over the spot, repeating in sections until I finish the table.

“Fine, I guess you can help,” Harry huffs and I smile to myself in triumph as I return to my cleaning. “So, what did ya think?”

“It was a lot of fun and very nice of all of you, thank you so much again,” I tell him trying to circumvent having a conversation. I move to the other end of the table as he begins on the next one over.

A few male coworkers fold up the table to my left and carry it out the door, probably to place back in storage. My eyes life to find Harry leaning over the table he scrubs and he must notice my pause because he meets my eyes. But I can’t look at him, not today.

“I’m glad ya had such a good time, ‘m sure everybody else did too . . Everybody’s going t’ miss ya, ya know,” he comments, and I nod with a small smile. I don’t know how much more of this awkward small talk I can put up with, especially as the domino that caused all of this is gnawing at my insides. Particularly the part where he could have stopped it coming to this.

But he didn’t.

The rest of the clean up consists of few words between Harry and I, or anybody else for that matter. We cleaned tables, folded them and carried them away, stacked chairs, vacuumed, packed things away, and carried more things away. The room was now bleak with its new emptiness and quiet, all of the people previously filling it returning to their lives. Luckily I found my escape shortly after the room was all squared away.

“All done?” a voice asks me. I look over my shoulder and find Asher tying up a bloated garbage bag. My stomach drops all of a sudden with disappointment at who it is, and who it’s not.

“Yep.” I nod. Then I feel bad for being disappointed. Oh it’s just a never-ending rollercoaster, isn’t it?

“I can’t believe you helped clean up. The whole point was having other people do stuff for you, and then you helped them?!” Asher laughs with a disbelieving shake of his head. He happens to pull a giggle from my unsure lips. I sheepishly nod at his words, and I give him another laugh when he almost trips over the garbage bag.

“Are you on your way out now?”

“Yeah, I think so. I just have to drop off some last-minute things - keys and keycards, that sorta thing. But now I can’t find the person to give them to . . ,” I confess, losing my words as I scan the room for those green eyes and that mustard top.

“Hmmmph, well it’s getting late. Maybe he left or had something. You could leave them with Myles or Jennings, I’m sure if you wanna get outta here. I know you’re just dying to get those drinks with me tomorrow,” Asher quips, turning my lips up with his words.

I leave him with a few words, telling him I’ll see him later. I say goodbyes to a few people as I leave the conference room and begin my hunt to find Harry. One I’m not sure how I want to end.

I find my desk empty and many others as well. Glancing at my watch, I find that the hours have flown by. Many people jetted out of here as it’s five o'clock on a Friday afternoon. The cushion welcomes me as I sit down in my chair for the last time, but I don’t miss its welcoming squeak. The squeaking continues as I spin my last spin in the chair, feeling hot tears at the back of my eyes at the finality of my actions. My mug of pencils- no, it’s not my mug anymore. It never was mine.

A polar bear post-it note holder invades my -not my desk - along with framed pictures of strangers, a bright pink day planner, candy apple lotion, and other foreign objects belonging to the new owner of this desk. Who isn’t me. A long sigh leaves my lips as I release my hands I didn’t know I was clenching.

“It’s now or never,” I say aloud, willing myself to stand.

Okay, Becky, we can do this. This isn’t even the hard part.

But it is, I think to myself as my eyes glance up and memories that took place at this desk spin through my head. Making Harry laugh for the first time. Silly arguments with him about which was the better movie. How easily he made me smile by bringing me coffee out of nowhere and- Stop, Becky, you can’t do this now, I tell myself as I swipe a hot tear away from under my eye. I exhale as I get to my feet and feel for the ring of keys in my pocket. Good, they’re still there.

The hallway is dim, but the light from the London evening comes in through the many windows around the office. His hallway. A hallway I will never walk again. Fuck, am I really sure I want to do this? How can I not see him again? You can and you will. You have to, Becky. It was too hard sitting there day after day wanting him. And him not wanting you back. I nod to myself, trying to affirm those words to myself. They don’t do that good of a job, because of the person I see around the corner.

“Oh hey, bug. A-are ya leavin’?” Harry stutters, his furrowed emerald eyes falling on me. He comes to a stop in front of me, running a hand through his mop of curls.

“U-uh yeah. I was just going to drop off the keys with you and go over a few things.”

“Yeah yeah, sounds good. I jus’ really gotta take a leak, so ‘ll be back in a minute, ‘kay?” He asks with a pat on my arm. I nod with a soft ‘okay,’ as I turn to watch him walk away. Nodding with a thumbs up, he gives me a small sad smile before turning around and walking down the hallway. I watch until he’s gone.

Almost done. But now for the hard part. Leaving him for the last time, I contemplate with a pout. I shuffle my feet to his door and twist the knob. Immediately, his familiar woodsy scent hits me. Suddenly, all of my senses are inundated with him. His messy desk. His blazer draped over his chair. Bookmarked biographies dotting his desk. Empty mugs of tea taking up empty spots. The essential oil diffuser in the corner humming as it mists Sandalwood. Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1 trickling from a Bluetooth speaker in the corner. Harry. It’s all him. And my reserves begin to fall. Can I really do this? No, there’s no way I can. Even if I have to sit at that desk day after day trying to love him, it’s better than leaving him.

Yeah, and then what about when he marries Amber or somebody else that’s not you?

I gulp, trying to get rid of the lump in my throat and at the same time pressing my fingers against my eyes, willing them to dry.

“Wow, are we getting a little teary-eyed on our last day?” a voice snarks from behind me.

No. No. No. No. No. NO. NO. NO.

I try to breathe in, but I can’t.

And suddenly the switch inside of me changes. Instead of pushing him away for the last few weeks, I want him. I want him to come and save me. To save me from her. And to see her for the monster that she is.

The laugh that falls from my lips surprises the both of us. “You can’t hurt me anymore, Amber,” I snap, turning around to face her with a wry smile coating my lips.

“Oh I don’t know about that, I still can. But hey, I won, and don’t you forget that,” she retorts. Amber’s blonde curls shake as she stomps her foot and points a tanned manicured finger at me. How can he even comfortably hold hands with those daggers?

Her blow hits me, and she knows it. I can’t hide it, because I’ve lost it. The last few weeks or even months have taken everything from me. My grandpa dying, my mom’s abusive treatment towards me, Harry’s bipolarness, and Amber’s physical and mental attacks. I lost.

“I don’t care,” I croak, throwing up my hands in defeat. The keys on the ring twinkle with movement in my hand.

“But you do! I know you do!” she cackles, excitement twisting her plastic face into a Cheshire grin. “You wanted him, but you couldn’t have him and so you gave up! I won!” Amber continues, stepping towards me in her flowy scarlet blouse and skin-tight black jeans.

I instinctively step back and away from her, but I stop when I think I hear a noise. It’s a loud squeak on the floor that makes me stop, but it doesn’t stop right away.

“I don’t care, Amber, you can have him! I told him what you did to me and he didn’t believe me because of whatever spell you put on him. So you can keep him and live a wonderful, happy life together. I don’t care anymore, and I hate that I ever did,” I announce with weight to my words, willing my feet to lift from the carpet, but they won’t.

Amber chuckles, crossing her arms with a pleased smile of satisfaction painting her face. “I can’t believe you had the nerve to tell him what I did to you,” she mutters in disbelief, shaking her head. “As if Harry would believe that I’d do such a thing. He probably thinks you made it up. Hell, for all I know I never laid a finger on you and you just imagined the whole thing.”

“You left marks on me, Amber,” I spit out through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, and apparently that wasn’t even enough to convince Harry. God, I really do have him wrapped around my finger,” Amber sighs happily. “I can’t do anything wrong in his eyes. He hasn’t even noticed how much I’ve been gone lately, or how often I’ve been texting this new bloke I’m fucking on the side.”

“You slut!” I exclaim, not being able to hold it in. “Harry loves you and would do anything for you! He built this firm from the ground up! He’s sweet, he’s kind, he’s giving, he’s funny- he’s amazing and that’s how you treat him?!”

“Excuse me?! Who here was throwing themselves at my boyfriend right in front of me?!” Amber argues, taking another frightening step toward me. She’s no longer laughing, but instead, her drawn-on eyebrows have fallen into a point above her glassy stare.

“How dense are you?!” I laugh, feeling the anger rise warmly in my chest. I really don’t care anymore. “You have such a huge problem with that - which never happened, thank you - but you think it’s okay to cheat on your boyfriend?! My god, you really are fucking dumb!”

“You just had your last laugh, bitch, because I’m going to slap that smug smile right off your face,” she snarls, taking several steps before I can almost see the flames rising in her eyes.

“No, you won’t!” a voice announces.

I take my eyes off of Amber to see who said that, but it’s a second too long that lets her clawed hand accost my face.

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diyunho · 5 years

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The Joker x Reader - “From Above”

She fell from the sky. Literally. The Joker has no idea who Y/N is, but one thing's for sure: after the encounter his life will never be the same.

The loud splashing sound makes The Joker open his eyes only to see the pool water flooding the terrace, almost reaching the lounge chair he dozed off on.

“What the hell?...” he gets on his elbow, confused after being abruptly woken up.

The waves are starting to calm down a bit and J finally gets up from his spot, curious and intrigued about the shape he’s discerning on the bottom of the pool: there’s actually someone curled up in a ball, most likely a woman.

The protective, translucent barrier surrounding your body is already disintegrated by the time The Joker dives under the water to get you out. In a few seconds you are placed on the same chair he rested earlier, The King of Gotham increasingly pissed that the security downstairs didn’t do their job properly.

“Hey, hey!” he taps your shoulder, puzzled by the white, skin tight outfit you’re dressed with: every time he touches it there are small electrical charges following the complicated pattern of your outfit.

You faintly moan, slowly coming to your senses.

“Hey, wake up!” J insists while wondering if you’re one of the “fliers”, a term used for people thrown from planes: either they know too much or have to disappear for good. Mobsters would frequently use aircrafts in order to get rid of unwanted cargo; a little push at high altitude and the corpse would be found splattered all over the ground and often unidentifiable. Did that happened to you? Were you maybe lucky enough to have escape death by landing in his pool?...

The Joker grabs his cell from the tiny table by his deckchair, instantly yelling as soon as Frost picks up:

“Are you guys napping??? What am I paying you for, huh?? How did she sneak in?!!”

“Who sir?” the henchman replies, totally alert now that the boss seems in a very bad mood.

“The woman in the white outfit! How did she pass by unnoticed?! Or did you just let her in The Penthouse to see if I’m amused by your stunt?”

“Sir,” the goon defends himself and the team. “We patrolled the perimeter and I can tell without a doubt that we didn’t see a soul. We would contact you before sending someone to The Penthouse; we know the rules.”

“Do ya’???!!” J yells so loud you open your eyes. “Never mind!” he shrieks seeing the woman’s reaction. “I’ll take care of it!” he hangs up and throws the phone back on the table.

“You!” he pokes your waist, annoyed. “How did you get in here, hm? Who sent you?” the interrogation continues. “Where did you come from?”

He watches you direct your arm towards the night sky, your index finger pointing at the stars.

“Were you thrown from a jet?” he slams you against the cushions when you try to lift your head. “Answer me!” The Joker violently yanks at your hand.

You just glare at him, analyzing the strange man shouting things you don’t care about and it makes you happy.

“Oh!” you exclaim and he doesn’t have time to dodge when your arms go around his neck; the embrace is so unexpected it takes moments to recollect.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” J snaps out of it and shoves you away. “Don’t touch me!”

You frown and pout, upset he didn’t recognize you: how could he anyway? It’s been so many years and it appears life hasn’t been kind to him to begin with. The logic realization makes you smile and The Clown lets you touch his face simply because he plans to break your fingers for the transgression. You keep caressing his face and your fingers are still intact, but he’s going to snap them soon. Probably…

“Who are you?” The Joker growls, mad at himself for showing weakness: he didn’t hurt you yet and he sure feels the urge to shred you to pieces.

“Who’s that Mister J?!” Kira sulks and walks outside on the patio, jealous the man she spent the evening with has somebody else over. She heard the commotion from the master bedroom and since her partner wasn’t in bed she went searching for him. Only to find The Joker with another girl, apparently engaged in some kind of foreplay. Or at least that’s what she believes.

“I have no clue,” he snarls while distancing himself from the weird creature that landed in his life out of nowhere.

“Don’t lie Mister J,” Kira speculates on The Clown’s capability of twisting the truth all the time. “Is she your new toy?” the envious woman inquires.

“No,” and the simple reply is not even taken into consideration.

“It’s fine, I can work with that…You could have us both in the same time…” she seductively bites her lip since this is the only solution separating her from being chased out of the premises. “Just let me stay…yes?”

“Stop talking and go to sleep!!!” he lashes out because he’s fed up with the blabbermouth: J has more important matters to attend than a resentful, casual escapade.

“Is she a dominatrix or something? I could get a latex suit for you also if you’re into that,” she continues to gamble on his patience when in fact he definitely had enough.

“GET. YOUR.ASS. inside,” he mutters through his clenched jaw, “or I’ll make you!”

He is definitely angry and Kira halts her tirade, aware she’s walking on pins and needles.

“Hey, where are you going?!” The King of Gotham inquires when you suddenly jump of the seat before he can pin you down. You run by Kira and barge in, your wet hair dripping all over the expensive rugs in the Penthouse.

“What is she doing?” the lady asks a worked up Joker rushing after you.

You keep on running around the huge living room, touching and marveling at all the extravagant decorations scattered around the place.

“Oh!!!” you keep on exclaiming and the odd behavior makes The Joker forget his temper and watch the scene with a painful grimace.

Out of the blue, a deafening noise shakes the Penthouse; a few windows crack and car alarms start blaring on the streets nearby.

Already? you think and stomp towards The Joker, grab his hand and drag him outdoors again.

“Let go!” he slaps your arm when your white outfit glows with such intensity he has to squint his eyes: your free hand reaches for the sky and he instinctively looks up; there’s something enormous shining above Gotham with lights rhythmically pulsating each time you take another step.

“Mister J, w-what is that?” Kira gestures at the eerie apparition and shrugs in fear when the pool water is ascending towards the invisible force acting like a magnet for the strong beam of incandescence illuminating the atmosphere.

Although it’s not necessary, you cling to the man you came for because he must be paralyzed by now: the flash always has this effect on first timers.

“Don’t be scared!” you reassure J, “I’m here to save you!” it’s the last sentence he discerns as both bodies float in the air towards the ship meant to get you out of there before it’s too late. “Don’t faint!” you try to keep him conscious but The Joker blacks out immediately, not used to the advanced technology he is privileged to experience.

**************

He groans in his dream, continuing to gaze at the transparent panels depicting stars and darkness steadily moving in the vast space. Maybe if he closes his eyes really tight and reopens them, he’ll be able to wake up from the bizarre hallucination.

Nope, it didn’t work.

“I’m in a padded cell at Arkham…I’m in a padded cell at Arkham…” he deeply inhales, repeating the words meant to aid him recover from the sluggish state he’s in. J manages to bring his fingers close to his face, not even noticing the tattoos on his hand are gone: the shimmering white attire he’s dressed with sticks out, adding to his astonishment. “Shit,” The Joker reprises his words, believing his brain is playing tricks on him: “I’m in a padded cell at Arkham…”

“You’re not in a padded cell at Arkham,” the woman’s firm yet calming tone informs and he turns his head instead of just looking up at the translucent ceiling: the sluggish state he’s in is starting to diminish, panic taking over.

“Where am I?” J mutters, his erratic breathing escalating the more he remembers about what occurred yesterday, unaware it was six days ago.

“Please calm down,” you smile and he attempts to stand up without success. “I know how it feels, I’ve been there before. Just take deep breaths and exhale, OK? You were in The Inc.Ubator for days but the process finally ended.”

“The…the what?” The Joker pants and you have to distract him otherwise he will hyperventilate shortly and it won’t help the situation.

“The Inc.Ubator fixes everything that’s wrong with someone at molecular level,” you press on his chest to assess his irregular heartbeat. “Do you sense a certain clarity in your thoughts? Like, they are not scrambled and distorted?”

J has no idea about the involved circumstances that lead to his redemption, but he’s about to find out.

“I’m not sure,” he justly concludes. “I think I completely lost my mind and I’m delirious.”

You chuckle at his affirmation since that’s what you thought also when you were saved by THEM 23 years ago.

“You didn’t lose your mind, I can assure you of the opposite: it’s fixed now. I’m sorry about the tattoos, teeth and hair though.The Inc.Ubator reads them as anomalies that shouldn’t be there: it follows biological imprints stored in its memory for each species, removing and repairing stuff that shouldn’t be there. Wanna see?” you offer to help him up and once on his feet you guide the dumbfounded Joker to one of the panels that reflects back as a mirror as soon as you draw a circle on its surface.

“Oh my God!” he covers his mouth in disbelief at the unusual sight: he has no more green hair, pale skin or tattoos; he looks exactly how he is supposed to look like without the Ace Chemicals incident. NORMAL.

“What did you do to me?” he fakely grins only to see white teeth instead of his silver ones.

“Not me, The Inc.Ubator; it’s an honor to be chosen as survivor of a dying world,” you draw the circle and the screen transforms back into the clear panel granting the two humans a visual of what is going outside the interstellar vessel.

“That’s Earth,” you point at a humongous cloud of debris in the distance. “What’s left of it…” Y/N’s voice dims at the visual. “The core had a surge in temperature and the globe imploded right before I took you. No warning for the people, nothing to stop it. But THEY saved us from that…”

The Joker has a hard time comprehending the insane concepts thrown at him, yet he finds the strength to utter:

“Who’s THEY?”

“Enhanced beings traveling around the Universe and collecting mementos of extinct planets. THEY can’t intervene, their laws forbid it,” you pause to sniffle. “THEY predict when catastrophe will strike and rescue a few samples before annihilation.”

J nervously digs his nails in your suit, unsettled by the news:

“So you’re one of them?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I’m from Earth, part of the First Wave they saved several years ago.”

“Why was I selected?” the former Clown Prince of Crime demands an explanation and he’s enlightened with the answer.

“Now that your mind was gifted back to you, do you recall the orphanage?”

His sudden silence confirms he does.

“Do you remember the mute little girl you used to play with?”

His eyes get big and you continue:

“You never made fun of me and my disability like so many other kids did,” you sadly recollect. “You always shared the sweets you stole from the kitchen and protected me from the boys that used to tease me. You didn’t know sign language but we understood each other, didn’t we?” your eyes get teary at the emotional past.

“… … Y/N?... “ J articulates the name he didn’t say since he was a child.

You nod a yes and provide more details to the stunned man standing next to you:

“I’m sure you also remember I disappeared. I didn’t. I was simply taken by THEM and brought here where The Inc.Ubator mended my handicap: that’s why I can talk. When THEY decided to save a few more before the disaster, I was urged to pick someone: the young boy that was so kind to me was the only one that stood out from my old existence. Thanks to their technology I was able to track you down and come get you,” you start sobbing and intertwine his fingers with yours. “I’m glad I had the chance to return the favor my dear friend,” you bury your face in his shoulder, incapable of letting go.

And the changed Joker squeezes you closer to him, shocked at the craziness that followed the first encounter with the lost and forgotten childhood friend. He doesn’t know what the future holds, but one thing’s for sure: his life will never be the same.

Also read: Masterlist

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You can also follow me on Wattpad and AO3 under the same blog name: DiYunho

#the joker x reader #the joker imagine #the joker fanfiction #the joker suicide squad #the joker jared leto #the joker #joker #joker fanfiction #joker suicide squad #dc #mister j #Mistah J #Mr.J #joker jared leto

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royallyprincesslilly · 6 years

Text

Title: Late (18)

T’Challa X Black Reader

Chapter Warning: Cursing, plot,

Word Count: 3892K

Note: Treat time!!!!! 2 more chapters left y’all. Oh man, I’m excited. Are you guys excited or feeling sad it’s almost over? Thank you guys so much for reading.

***Loosely proofread/edited. I’m sorry in advance.

If you enjoyed this, please, please share it, like it, reblog it. ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

************

“Is this correct?” You asked Captain Rogers as he sat across from you in your office.

“Yes, it is correct. Tony used satellites to track the actions and this is everything that transpired. Steve assured.

You couldn’t believe your eyes. You rewound the video yet again and focused on the scene unfolding. Captain Rogers walked around to stand beside your chair and watched with you.

“I’m sorry we just looked at these since the events in Vienna things have been quite a mess.” Steve apologized. You knew the accords that made superheroes practically illegal unless they registered caused a lot of strife not only across the world but within the Avengers.

“I can understand.” You brought your attention to the part of the video that interested you more. There plain as day you saw her. Nakia.

“Isn’t that King T’Challa’s fiancé?” Steve asked. You clenched your jaw at the mention of T’Challa’s name and reference of a fiancé.

“Yes.” You confirmed. You and Steve watched her suspicious actions, she was across the street at the top of the building looking on through binoculars. Another approached her and joined in watching, another she recognized, W’Kabi. You zoomed in on the surveillance video already knowing how the events turned out inside the building.

“Oh my god!” You exclaimed. Nakia looked to W’Kabi and nodded. He took out a radio and spoke. You wished you could hear the words he said but almost instantly the building across from them exploded. You slapped your hand to your mouth as tears sprang to your eyes.

“Oh my god.” You watched the building shatter knowing T’Chaka was inside. You watched a smile spread across Nakia’s and W’Kabi’s faces before they turned to get off the roof.

“So it really was not Mr. Barnes!” You shouted out.

“No.” Steve answered.

“Oh my god, it was her, it was Nakia.” You sprang to your feet and began pacing your office pondering everything you’d just seen. Trying to make sense of it, trying to piece the little pieces together.

“Why? Why would she do this? Why would she want T’Chaka dead?” You asked yourself. Steve watched you.

“Maybe he wronged her?” He suggested.

“No, I’ve heard nothing of that. He loved her like a daughter, treated her like a jewel of Wakanda, his words not mine.” You informed.

“Why would she do this?” You wracked your brain trying to figure it out.

“Maybe he was in the way.” Steve stated. You stopped in your tracks thinking. You gasped several moments later.

“Steve. Yes. T’Chaka stood in the way of the marriage from happening. He was holding everything back. T’Challa told me this, he said his father saw the error of securing a marriage pact between him and the river tribe, he said he was holding the event from happening.” You informed.

“So if the king was holding back the ceremony then that would be a reason to kill him.”

“Oh my god, Nakia killed King T’Chaka, T’Challa’s father so the marriage could happen.” You pieced together.

“And that marriage is taking place in 3 days now.” Steve informed. Your head snapped to him.

“What!?”

“Yes, I received the royal invitation 2 weeks ago, we all did. You didn’t?” He asked. You clenched your jaw.

“I know you no longer work in Wakanda I thought that was a mutual decision being that you are still working at the embassy.” He assumed.

“I did not get an invitation.” You dryly responded turning your back. Everything spun in your head, everything you’d just uncovered. He doesn’t know you pieced together.

“He doesn’t know!”

“Of course he doesn’t, no man would marry the one responsible for the death of their father and I know T’Challa.” Steve confirmed. You went to press the kimoyo beads on your wrist only to remember they were taken from you before the jet left to return back to Wakanda 4 weeks ago.

“Shit!” You rushed to your computer and began to draft an email before pausing.

“This isn’t the kind of thing you send through email is it?”

“Not at all. This sort of thing has to be delivered in person, along with the evidence.” He informed.

You froze. That meant going back to Wakanda. Back to the palace where your life was in danger. It meant giving your assassin another chance to finish the job. Was that something you could do? By no means were you a punk but you also were not stupid. You were too smart for your own good. What were the chances you could sneak into Wakanda reminiscing to stealthy American spy and talk to T’Challa to show him the evidence. Surly being convicted of killing the prior king was enough to break a marriage pact. It was treason after all, and treason no matter where was punishable by imprisionment at least. Still you were frozen.

“You hesitate. Why?” Steve inquired. You shook your head and looked down.

“I have no means of contact with Wakanda.” You informed.

“I do.” Steve offered. You looked back over your shoulder to him.

“We have been trying to convince T’Challa of the importance of his joining the avengers especially with him wanting to open Wakanda to the world.” Steve explained.

“The Avengers? Sounds like something right up his alley, he always wanted to help others.” You said and smiled fondly remembering your many conversations of how he would separate his rule from that of T’Chaka. You looked back to the computer screen at the blank email.

“You have to do the right thing Y/N. T’Chaka’s deserves his murderer to be brought to justice.” Steve implored, working at your soft heart.

He knew you were softhearted. You’d been friends for almost 3 years now and he admired your admirable career path and when you first met him as Steve he told you many times. When you found out he was Captain America your head almost fell off your shoulders but the more you thought about it, you got it. Like T’Challa he was honorable to a fault.

“Damn it Steve.” You whispered. He touched your shoulder gently.

“If you need backup I’m sure we can all pitch in. I know Tony has been dying to prove he can break into the impenetrable country of Wakanda.” Steve teased.

You snorted laughed. Your first one in weeks. You knew Tony would do it and you knew it would annoy the hell out of T’Challa especially if you brought Sam. After a sly comment Sam made about T’Challa liking cats T’Challa hated him with a passion. After the two of you stilled from the laughter you sighed knowing you had to, death and dismemberment be damned.

“The things you do for love.” Steve said. You spun around to look at him again and he gave you an all knowing look. You scoffed, of course he’d pieced it together.

“Y/N, you’re not as slick as you think and he definitely isn’t as stealthy as a panther when it comes to his feelings.” Steve said.

You shook your head and paused hearing his statement echo in your head. You thought back to the attempts on your life. They all began once Nakia returned.

“Say that again Steve.”

“What? That it was obvious he was in love with you and that you were equally as in love?” He asked. Realization hit you like a ton of bricks, or like the oversized rhinos of the border tribe.

“Oh my god.” You whispered.

“What?”

“It was her.”

“Her? Who?” Steve asked filled with confusion.

“It was her, Nakia.” You filled in.

“Yes we just watched…

“No, no, Steve it was her who tried to kill me!” You shouted.

“What? She tried to kill you?”

“Yes, several times I believe. It was her! She killed T’Chaka to get him out the way and seeing that T’Challa loved me as clear as day as you say she saw it as a threat so she had to get rid of me too because T’Challa…

“Would never want her uncontested unless you were dead to pose no threat or competition.” Steve filled in. You spun around to face him eyes wide, meeting his equally wide baby blues.

“It makes sense.” Steve backed. You immediately felt rage fill you, you felt as if you could kill a mountain lion, or better yet a bitch war dog.

“Who is your contact in Wakanda Steve?” You said through gritted teeth.

“Besides T’Challa, Okoye.”

You looked like death as you rose again from your seat.

“I will tear the bitch apart!”

***************

The echoing he heard was muffled the voices sounded like they were far away. Or was he the one that as far away.

“T’Challa.”

He opened his eyes and looked around, he was in the ancestral plane. The beautiful aurora borealis lights in the sky was obvious. He spun around feeling he was not alone. He came face to face with his father. They stood there taking the other in.

“Baba!” He hurried to him and embraced him. T’Chaka patted his back lovingly.

“My son.” T’Challa closed his eyes feeling the joy run through him. Oh how he missed his father. Missed his knowledge and guidance.

“I miss you baba.” He admitted.

“I know my son. What are you doing?” He asked. Pulling away T’Challa looked upon his face trying to grasp his meaning.

“You miss me so much you would take your own life?” T’Chaka asked. T’Challa looked down.

“You look down to no one. Answer me.” T’Challa raised his head and looked at his father face to face with his disappointed face.

“Father I-“ He began.

“I do not want your apologies. I want your responsibility T’Challa.” T’Challa swallowed harshly. He remembered as a child when he got in trouble his father never wanted an apology instead he wanted him to take responsibility for his actions and the actions leading up to it, then he wanted correction.

“I am lost.” He admitted out loud. T’Chaka’s expression softened as he nodded.

“I have lost my way.”

“Every man loses his way, every King loses his way my son. What you are doing is not the answer.” T’Challa nodded looking off to the distance. He knew it was not the answer.

“I know.”

“Your balance, your center is gone. I see it, you are hollow. Who knew Y/N held so much importance.” He teased. T’Challa looked at him shocked.

“Oh T’Challa you were horrible at covering it up. You’ve always been horrible at hiding anything from your mother or I. We saw it plain as day.” T’Chaka explained chuckling. T’Challa smiled to himself before the same smile disappeared.

“She’s gone.”

“Yes.”

“She was my center, my balance. I didn’t know it before, I know it now.” T’Challa admitted.

“At least you know it now. Now you know what it feels like to have your center and to be without it. Now you will fight to ensure you never loose it again.”

“Father, I have already lost her. She is gone. Gone back to America. She is lost to me. My duty is here.”

“Your duty is here correct, the panther’s duty is here, you though T’Challa, your duty is to your heart. You are man and panther, selfless to a fault and just as selfish. That which centers you, aids with the balance of the two.” He explained. T’Challa stood perfectly still grasping his meaning. He sighed out.

“How can a King follow his heart while doing his duty at the same time father? T’Chaka smiled and touched T’Challa cheek patting it.

“That is the trick you must figure out my son. It is the same thing I had to figure out, the same every king and panther must figure our for themselves.” T’Chaka smiled warmly.

“I do not want to make the wrong decision, I do not want to bring dishonor to your name father, or the country.” T’Challa admitted.

“My name is cemented in history T’Challa. My time has come and gone. It is your time now. Your name, your history you are making. Your decisions, your country. It is yours. Yes every man wants to be a good King, but remember-“

“It is hard for a good man to be a good king and a good king to be a good man.” T’Challa filled in. T’Chaka nodded.

“I want to be both, I want to be a good king and a good man.” T’Chaka smiled widely.

“So I guess you now know the impact you want to leave on history. All you have to do is make your decisions with that in mind. What centers you my son?”

T’Challa took a deep breath in and thought of you.

“She does.”

“More importantly, your love for her. Love is your center T’Challa, she is your anchor to that love which makes her the center of you. All you do is make every decision as king and as a man through love. Not through despair or anger or even duty and honor.” T’Chaka drilled home.

T’Challa grasped his meaning. “You will be fine my son.” T’Chaka said before he turned away from him and walked away back to the tree in the distance that housed the other panthers.

“I fear I am not ready.” T’Challa voiced.

“You are, I’ve seen it for a while, all that is left is for you to see it. Remember T’Challa fight for what you love, your heart, your panther’s heart is a strong one. Do not fight it. Allow it to merge with yours.” T’Chaka’s voice was becoming more and more distant. He turned around finally at the tree is eyes glowed yellow, the eyes of his panther.

“T’Challa, do not come back here, it is not your time!”

Just like that he morphed into a panther and in the same breath he began to ran toward T’Challa. T’Challa watched in amazement. His father’s panther did not stop only inched closer faster. He watched it leap into the air toward him.

“Go!” The deformed voice of an animal and man shouted before the panther landed on top of him.

T’Challa gasped loudly leaping up.

“T’Challa!” He looked around from side to side becoming aware he was in the medical wing of the palace and not the ancestral plane.

“It is all right, it’s okay.” Ramonda assured shaking him out of the haze. He looked at her. She saw the yellow glow of the panther’s eyes. She was familiar with this and showed no fear.

“You are okay, you are T’Challa. Say it, tell me who you are.” She coaxed. T’Challa raised his mouth in a snarl and felt the animalistic urges course through him.

“Tell me who you are!” Ramonda shouted again. T’Challa gripped the bed and squeezed breaking the strong material as if it was nothing more than cracker. He closed his eyes hearing the echoing voice of his father.

“Do not fight it. Allow it to merge with yours.”

T’Challa shouted out, the loudness of the shout echoed off the walls shaking them. Ramonda squeezed his upper arms more forcefully trying to do for him what she’d done for T’Chaka time and time again. Ramonda knew she would not be as successful as you would be but she had to try. The Dora Milaje rushed in ready to assist with Shuri hot on their heels.

“Mother!” She shouted.

“It’s all right!” Ramonda shouted trying to calm them.

“T’Challa!” She shouted again. He stopped shouting giving everyone some relief until they saw the eyes of the panther.

“Kumkani!” Okoye began. He zeroed in on her and flared his nose raising his mouth again in a snarl.

“Brother, snap out of it!” Shuri shouted.

“Tell me who you are T’Challa!” Ramonda shouted.

He looked back to her and his head and heart filled with immense pain. Pain he’d never felt before. He shouted again before dropping back onto the hospital bed. His body began seizing. Everyone n the room leapt into action fighting to hold him down. He was strong, too strong.

“T’Challa!” he shouted.

“again, Tell me who you are!”

“King T’Challa!” He shouted again before the seizing stopped. Everyone panted for air. He opened his eyes and everyone was relieved to see his deep brown eyes. Ramonda audibly gasped out dripping her head to his chest.

“Oh bast thank you.” She exclaimed. T’Challa looked around at everyone he loved, the only person missing was you. He was overcome with the sudden urge to fight.

“Fight for what you love.”

His fathers words echoed in him. He would fight.

********

“Really, the dude who dresses up as a cat? You’ve got to be kidding me Y/N.” Sam pressed as you were seated on the quinjet next to him and around those who’d signed up to help sneak you into Wakanda undetected. You pressed your lips together but didn’t answer.

“Man, what the hell is going on? Even he’s getting play?” Sam continued, Steve and Tony laughed at him.

“What does he have that I don’t?” Sam asked.

“Well a whole country for starters.” Tony stated.

“I cool suit.” Steve added.

“I have wings, I can fly.” Sam pointed out.

“He also has more money than either of us have combined.” Tony added. You pinched you lips again.

“So that’s what it takes Y/N, a country, a cool suit and money? For some reason I though you had more substance.” Everyone said oh at Sam’s dig.

“Well Sam, he does have all of that but what he really has that you don’t is a really, really big…” You began, Sam’s eyes widened as well as everyone else on the jet.

“And sexy…dip.” You finished.

Everyone laughed loudly. Sam looked relieved.

“He does, have you seen the man walk, it’s a thing of art.” You added.

“Man, I was straight ready to jump out this jet without these wings shouting lord take me now.”

We laughed some more as the quinjet made it’s breech into Wakanda behind the shields. The sun was setting and you sighed looking out the window at your home.

“Wow, is it always this beautiful?” Sam asked. You nodded while smiling.

“Always.” You confirmed. Sam watched the animals frolic across the field and the beautiful waterfalls and he smiled.

“I guess if I have to loose you to anyone, I’d be okay if it were him.” Same said. You looked at him quizzically.

“Loose me? Sam we never had a relationship.”

“In my head we sure did and we had one hell of a run. Hope you don’t mind I’m going to tell everyone I ended things.” He said before walking away. You scoffed and shook your head.

The jet did not go into the hanger-bay instead it went around the mountain to the cliff where the best sunset could be seen. The walls of the mountain opened as if on queue. The jet hovered before descending inside the mountain on the landing strip. Once the engines died down and the doors to the jet opened you saw Ayo, Okoye, E’KeNe, D’GaBo standing there with their spears with stoic looks on their faces. Once they realized it was you their faces immediately broke out into broad smiles.

“Y/N!” Okoye breathed out.

“Y/N” Shuri shouted before running toward you. You smiled as well and rushed out to greet her. She threw her arms around you and hugged you forcefully.

“Hello Shuri.” The Dora milaje warriors joined in on the embrace completely breaking protocol and character, none of them cared. Steve, Tony and Sam stood back and watched the tender reunion.

“What are you doing here?” Shuri asked.

“We expected Captain Rogers.” Okoye filled in.

“Steve helped me put this all into motion. It had to be in secrecy.” You explained.

“It’s not safe here.” Ayo filled in.

“I know, but I have news and I had to come. They came with me to ensure my safety.”

“What news?” Ramonda asked as she approached the group.

“Queen mother.” You said saluting her. She walked straight to you and pulled you into her arms. You smiled.

“Welcome home my child.” You nodded.

“There is much to discuss.” You said.

“Cloak the jet, and go with D’GaBo and E’KeNe they will ensure you are not spotted.” Okoye ordered to half of the Avengers.

They nodded and followed. You walked with Shuri and Ramonda toward a door you’d never used.

“These are my tunnels. Only I know about them and only I know how to maneuver them.” Shuri said with a smile. You smiled back and hugged her again.

“I’ve missed you Shuri.” She smiled and led the way through the hidden tunnels.

Every turn that was made was quickly rearranged as the corridors changed their direction similar to the tracks of a railroad. After nearly 10 minutes Shuri peeked her head out looking from side to side. Once she saw no one she signaled it was safe. You stepped out behind her and her mother and scurried toward a separate door. The three of you hurried inside ensuring to lock the door behind you. Once safely inside you hugged them both again.

“What was so important that you risked your life coming back?” Ramonda inquired.

“There is something I need you to watch.” You responded with a solemn expression.

You dug inside your pocket and took out the thumb drive. Walking to the computer you loaded the thumb drive and prepared the video. You glanced back to the two women who’s world was going to be shattered. You sighed and pressed play on the video. You stepped back allowing them full view of the events that transpired in Vienna.

You watched their expressions and saw the moment Ramonda spotted the bitch. Shuri took her in a few moments after. She lunged to the computer and typed in some codes within moments the video was now playing on Shuri’s kimoyo beads projection in life-size imagery. Both their eyes were glued to the video.

“Is that-“ Shuri began before she angled the video for a better view.

The new angle provided irrefutable evidence that it was Nakia and W’Kabi in that building. You watched them further already knowing the contents of the video by heart. When the building began to explode Ramonda released an audible, gut wrenching gasp. The gasp of shock and utter pain watching her husband, the man she loved being killed.

“Baba.” Shuri whispered as tears welled in her eyes.

Ramonda began to cry which prompted Shuri’s tears to flow freely. As the video ended with Nakia and W’Kabi’s departure the two women embraced and cried together. Your heart broke for them. It was one thing for you to see it, you loved King T’Chaka as a great ruler and man but he was not your father, or your husband.

“Mother.” Shuri gasped. Ramonda wiped her tears as she tried to comfort Shuri.

“How did you get this?” Ramonda asked.

“Steve provided it to me, after reviewing the eyewitness reports and trying to piece together what went wrong in preparation for the upcoming accords I decided to go back and this is what I found.” You explained.

“What were they doing there?” Shuri asked. You looked down not wanting to be the one to say it.

“Signing their death warrant.” Ramonda informed with an angry, sinister look etched on her face. To Be Continued…..

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#late fic #t'challa x you #t'challa x reader #black panther #king of wakanda #t'challa smut #wakanda forever #black fanfiction #angst #fluff fanfiction #t'challa fanfiction #black panther fanfiction

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whoreforstraykids05 · 2 years

Text

Red Lights - Bang Chan x Hyunjin x Reader *Smut*

Smut; Threesome; Choking; Daddy

#stray kids #straykidssmut #bangchan #christopherbang #hyunjin #redlights #noeasy

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deathwitch-wra · 5 years

Text

Wolf’s Eyes: Part 2

Stormwind was in its usual quiet point of the night. Various night creatures chirped away into the moonlit sky, leaving much of the streets deserted of honest folk. It was late, almost – one? two in the AM? Gods. Dytoni was not even sure. He’d plopped elaborate golden threading around the cuffs, tunic. Long, thick locks of mocha-brown hair done up into an elaborate foxtail bounced about as he scratched at his head. Puzzled in writing. “Mmmmrgh..” Was the quieted growl, before a scrunching of paper was heard, soundly tossed over his shoulder to the grass behind. A pencil swiftly diving back onto the paper, with lichborne eyes narrowing at the parchment. Sitting himself upon one of his more favorite seating spots. A large bench, just outside of the Pig and Whistle. The 6'4" hulk of a man bent over a large pad of paper, a slight pooling of frost at his feet. Dressed in a jet-black tunic of fine silk.

(( Written with Dytoni Valkenstrider on WrA ))

A ways down the road a window to an apartment slid quietly open. A small bag tossed out, along with a staff, that may appear familiar with it’s green and blue decorations. A white haired woman pulled up the skirt of her robes with a wry grin and climbed out to the roof. Wearing purple robes that left little for the eye to question, white hair whisping into the wind as she then dropped down to the street below. A man sleepy and worn ran to the window behind her shouting, “Where ya goin?"

The woman would laugh bemused, "Dove, ya don’t want me to stay. I promise ya that.” She’d wink and leave the bare chested man wanting as she gathered up her bag and staff and adjusted her gown. The sound of the voices in the distance made the man blink to himself in surprise. Gods, really? At this time of night? The thought drew a grimace to his lips, but none the less he’d ignore it. It was a once-over glance, a white-haired woman he didn’t recognize. The staff seemed familiar, but he just couldn’t place it. She’d be left with the strange gaze from a Death Knight milling away by himself, clutching a notepad as if it were some sort of teddy. “A fun night?” A runic-laced tone would call, a tone that an ole’ Defias agent from yesteryear could pick out with the sharpest ear, if the memory of it was still buried in the back of her thoughts. “Some of us have actual work to do.” The woman seemed to get a slightly surprised look at the sight of the man, but was far more arrogant in her current state to let the moment pass. “If you’ve work to do dove, then best ya get to an inn before the baddies come out…” She’d smirk and her eyes let off a familiar flame, more mischievous than in kind. She leaned more on her staff as she gazed at the man with a derisive look. “What am I supposed to be afraid of, eh? Some sort of Rogue? A cruel beast? A Defias? I knew plenty of them when I was in the damned guard!” His jeer back at her was delivered with a bit more of an icy sneer, practically -daring- the woman to do something about his attitude. Dytoni turned his back towards her, a silent huff leaving his frame as he bent down to continue his writing. Mumbling, grumbling to himself with hushed murr’s of curses. Ignoring her for the moment, yet, he could not get rid of just how -familiar- the tone was. Moving a free hand to the top of her staff she leaned forward, “Dove, the way I heard it you had plenty of trouble, particularly with demons. DO tell how you’ve managed to escape them?” The voice still grinning and bemused with her inuendous teases. Though for anyone that knew the woman would know the voice was not at al her own, but more her form in the grasp of a puppet master. “You haven’t heard much then, stranger. For all I know, another woman crawling from a stranger’s window. Only to –” The man’s frame visibly tensed. Lichborne blue eyes blinked once, twice, three times as a barrage of memories -flooded- his thoughts. –What? There was no way. No damned way. Couldn’t be her. No damned way. There had to have been a dozen Warlocks corrupted with fel energies, their own little demons to face themselves. “To one Dytoni James Valkenstrider, I am not your -Dove.- Little bird.” The name, for the puppet with its subconscious stuffed away, the name likely invoked memories of her own. Good memories, bitter memories, memories of a husband, lover, cruel; broken man in his own way. “Why don’t you fly back to your nest, or the next awaiting windowsill.”

Holding to the grin, “You see, dove, you are whether you realize it. And I’m quite content sitting here watching you two fecking squirm to run. Poor, poor, little bird with the broken wings. Look at me dove…” She’d grin straightening her stance. Inside she remembered and began to fight for control over her form, but was still yet denied. -Rage- boiled within him. Much the same brutal, unholy rage that drove most Ebon Knights into furious bloodlusts. With the restoration of his soul, most of the urge was quenched, but every now and again, it’d have to be silenced with what it wanted. As he watched this scene unfold before him, he set down his parchment, pen, easing to his feet. Dytoni said not a word, aside from pursing his lips. Bright, flaring Lichborne eyes locked with her fel flame. “Y'got some explaining to do. /Right/ this second. If you are who I believe you are.” Laughing, “I’ve got shit to explain. You lost the right to any explanation, and I’d suggest you learn manners before you ask again.” She let off a tisk as her tongue ran over the top teeth. “Truly though if anyone has explaining to do it’d be the one who abandoned everything. You know she remarried once, fecking prick too. But oh so helpful…” She’d grin and wink. “Josalora, by the -gods- above, if you can hear me, fight back against this fellish taint.” For once in far, far too long, the voice that’d carried her name with pride would speak it again. He took slow, simple steps in the woman’s direction. “What happened, happened. Time dragged on, as it always does. I was just as helpful. If not more-so. Now be a good lil’ creature, an’ crawl back to the subconscious you crawled out of. He’s not here. I am. Dy Valkenstrider. -Father- of your daughter.” The distance closed to several feet, as he anxiously awaited a move from the woman. “I don’t care if she fucked another, others. Your fey tricks ain’t going to work on me, creature. Now give her back.” The woman laughed and laughed, shaking her head feeding flame to her eyes, “Dove she’s mine now. I’ve taken care of her. Only one to stay. Only one she can trust.” Her hand gripped her staff to ready if he’d try anything. “And that daughter of yours was taken. Of course that all depends on how you look at it, but don’t worry about her dove, she hasn’t a clue what a failure her true parents are.” You are right on one thin’ what happened happened, time dragged on as it always does. And like water on stone over time, it wears on a person and bares down and weakens them. And one day the stone is brittle and breaks and all that remains is the dust that catches on the wind and current.“ "Fixin’ that right about now, I tell you.” To directly challenge her, that body of his began to simply -radiate- with frost. It encased his form with a thin layer of twisted, translucent ice. What guards were around to stop this exchange? He heard not a thing, in the distance. Perfect opportunity. “You may bring it on, demon. She’s in there. I will not ask you again. Give her back, or I will -force- you to give her back.” With a wry chuckle, “Dove, don’t get your panties in a bunch. I’ll let you see what you’ve lost if only for the amusement of your face.” The grin flashed at him and slowly faded. A frown now played at the woman’s face, her cheeks sunken in and the beauty that was once there had been pulled away appearing near malnourished and frail. SHe leaned on her staff as she regained herself which had become a chore. She turned away from the man either not recognizing him or not wishing to meet his eyes and attempting to step away. It was within moments, that the frost around his body would seemingly – dry up. Vanish away. Dy couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to sprint like that in his life. If she’d gone to take a second step, he thrust his hands forward. Using supernatural strength to try to pick the woman up into his arms. To twirl her around, let her face be soundly buried into his shoulder, providing she’d not flailed, kicked, or cast a spell at his attempt. Had she not done a thing to prevent it, the arms she’d once found comfort in were locked tight around her malnourished frame. Josa pushed or at least tried to. In her mind she didn’t want this man touching her and she couldn’t remember why. Shaking her head, “Stop…I..I..” She shook her head again as a person with odd ticks had done. Still her strength was not enough to push away from a small woman let alone a trained man. And so she remained staring off to the side, holding a neutral frown. “It’s -me.- Jos. It’s -me.-” The pushes she’d given his way, weren’t enough to deter the man just yet. Someone too overcome with his own grief, regret to let go of her. Gods, how he even missed the ability to cry. The pain was all there. The painful regret of two, -long- years away. “Dy’s here. I’m right here. -What- happened to you. Gods you.. need to eat! Get something into you!” His tone was frantic, fraught with worry, as any man would have. Again, he finally caught upon her scent, the familiar accented tone. Comforts he thought he’d never hear, see again. “That Demon’s not goin’ to -touch- you again. I swear to the gods.”

A sad laugh left her chest as she worked to breath. She was visible numb to the outside eye. and rested in his arms but didn’t make an effort to hold on to anything but her staff. “Nothing’s wrong.. I..I’m fine.” SHe smiled back at him with empty eyes, “I’m Josalora, i..it’s nice to meet you Dytoni.” She’d tilt her head, “You look worried, c..can I help?” “Josalora Gabrielle Adombrare-Valkenstrider. That is your name.” The man relented a bit upon his squeezes, letting his arms loosen ever-slightly if but to gaze upon her emptied eyes with his own. “–You can help me. You come with me, right now. To the Pig and Whistle, here. Get something to eat with me. It’s a great little place. – Good.. Bourbon.” Dytoni couldn’t tell if it was the demon’s work, her questions, but presumed it was. He -knew- there would be hurt from his absence, but gods, he’d only hoped she would have heard the pleas. -Somewhere- in her subconscious. “That’s a pretty name..” she’d mention absently. “I knew a little girl with a name like that once.” She’d blink up at him. As if he were a worried parent, gently trying to soothe their kin from a spite of amnesia, Dytoni would play along. He knew then, that it was no play to forget him. This was the Demon’s work. He -felt- it was. But – how to break it’s influence. “Oh? What is your name then, dear? What was the little girl’s name.” She’d attempt to find her feet, “I’m Josa. I had a little girl once. Her name was Josylyn.” Lowering her gaze, “She went away though.” As in reflex she’d lift her hand to offer a greeting to Dy, “I’m Josa, Who are you?” “My name is Dytoni. I’m an Ebon Knight. We knew each other, years ago. I even knew your Josylyn. She is a wonderful little bundle of joy.” He couldn’t mention items from the past, trying desperately to play along, even with the heartbreak that ripped at his chest. Oh, but the demon would pay for this. “Now c'mon in here, you must be absolutely starving. You look as if you haven’t eaten in days.” “It’s nice to meet you Dytoni.” She’d follow but look confused, “I eat every day. It’s just.. different.” she’d admit as she’d follow, leaning on her staff as she walked. Occasionally her robes would open enough to expose the scar of the gunshot from years ago. “What’s different about it? Tell me?” His tone was quiet, a brow slowly raising as those lichfire eyes found her own. They found the hem of that scar, though his eyes would soon avert from whatever bared skin was shown. He’d lost that right to look long ago. Another had already taken her. Done gods knew what and gone to his own devices. It drew more anger within him, the -nerve- that stranger had to hurt. Although, how he remembered, it was all of his fault. “Where did you get the scar?” Josa blinked, “It’s difficult to explain.. but I do eat…” She took in a deep breath following the eyes down to the scar. “A love of mine shot me because I betrayed him… or so he thought. Couldn’t kill me. I guess that’s okay… I was married once, nice man, but I…I…” She stammered beginning to lose the thought through her speech. “I’m Josa…” she’d smile. “I know, dear. I know. That man in those times was not, believe me. Josylynn was always good. She was a wonderful girl – one that loved snuggling with her mother, as the family lay together.” with a smile still prying on his lips, he attempted to thwart the daemon’s tricks. Re invigorate her memory, to pry open memories that the creature had locked away. “Don’t you remember, Josa? The little house in Gilneas. The Guardsman that had brought you out of the Defias?” If she’d follow him, he offered her his hand. Leading the pair into the Pig and Whistle. Towards a familiar table at the back of the dimly-It room. “Two bourbons, n’ a bit of grub, if you don’t mind.” His gaze looked towards whatever barkeep was on duty that night. Perhaps it was even their own familiar friend, rather, her own, from days in the now-dead Defias. She would follow, the barkeep arching a brow having seen Josa more recently on her little “outings”. It took a lot of energy for her to follow the conversation but she tried none the less, “Gilneas? I keep a home in Gilneas. Old Farm house near the harbor. My.. my little girls toys are there.” She’d start heading toward a chair to ease herself into a seat. “She’s gone now…” she’d sigh. “Trying to get her back but she must stay away…“ one of the many inner conflicts revealed with the statement. She’d smile blankly, "she’s happy though.” “It’s alright. I can see why she would have to go for a little while. Her father is around though. Did you know that? This old, familiar love of yours is back around in town? He’s looking for you, Josalora. He wants to give you a hand any way he can. – But also, he wants you to wake up.” Anything. -Anything- at the point to try to retrieve her memories. She’d never go with him to see a Shadowpriest, or another Warlock to rid that demon from her frame. How long had it been since it had been in control? Sending her about to live, relish in deviant lusts. It boiled more rage within him, but he hastily iced it. All was the demon’s doing. “I think you’re practically sleeping. Y'got to wake y'self up a lil’ bit. – How ‘bout that bourbon, friend?” Josa looked confused, “Are you alright, sir? I am awake. I am alright. I..I. think I do well.” She shakes her head in debate, “there’s no such thing as love, save for a child. My daughter is nearing her eighth name day.” Turning she’d start rummaging through her small bag in search of something. Before long she was distracted again. Pulling something free that had no connection to the original thought. A quill and ink set with a few scraps of parchment. She’d focus on her work practicing her runes before looking up and seeing Dy sitting there. She’d smile, “ Hello, I’m Josa..” “..Second time you’ve said that, dear. Y'got to try to snap yourself out of it. Here. Nibble upon a bit of bread, Josalora. You’re going to need your strength back.” Reaching across the table, he grabbed a small bowl of what appeared to be rolls. Freshly baked, from down the tower. It was something to nibble on, at least. She would accept the bread, but didn’t really show an interest in it. She took a tiny bite in an attempt to be polite. “I should tell you I’m not very hungry. We ate earlier…” “We?” He asked with a raised brow, taking a small roll for himself. He truly didn’t need to eat himself, but he did it more for the flavor, the action of that any real nutrition. She nodded, her gaze fell back as she continued to work on the rune. “Nantia and me.. She helps me and stays with me so I’m not lonely.” She seemed fond of the named demon. “She’s good to me.” The Death Knight’s brilliant lichfire eyes blinked. Once, twice at that name. Gods, he remembered it rather well. Had he been able to blush, he certainly would have, with memories flooding back to him with reminder of the Succubus’ title. To let his curiosity get the better of him, he -had- to ask her. “Where is she?” Jos took a bite of the roll absently as her eyes scanned the rune she had been working on. As if for her, the rune was a puzzle she needed to solve. Hearing his question she lifted a finger from the roll while still holding it and tapped her head. Gesturing the answer to his question.

The response of hers took him several seconds to respond to. It made sense. -All- of it made sense. “When did she go, in there? I knew Nantia. I liked Nantia.” Jos paused thinking. Silently bickering with her self only an occasional whisper then a smirking bemused grin. Finally the neutral face returned looking up to the Death knight. “Five years ago. Made a deal with Guince. He said he would fix it… He left too.” She’d spoke truth and started having trouble swallowing so she set the bread to the side. A slow drizzle of blood faintly appearing to come out of her right ear. His jaw slowly parted, eyes widening at the sight before him. “Jos!” Came his cry, as he leapt up from his chair. The Death Knight scrambled to the woman’s side, his hands coming up to wipe at the blood gently trickling from her ear. Damn it. Damn it all. Was this the Succubus doing? Dy had not a damned clue, all that he knew, was that it was having a very serious effect on her. “Are you alright? Can you hear me?” Jos’ form grinned at him. The same grin she had worn earlier. And as his attentions were at her ear with a blink she no longer looked malnourished but full and as lovely as she was in the street. She dared to shrug away from Dytoni. “I’m fine but I’d be better if you were not in my space.” Pulling a coin from seemingly nowhere she flipped it at the keep. “Always a good show,” she’d laugh, now would you get the fel bourbon like the man asked?“ "Nantia, why’d y'not let her back out. She was good to you, you know. Always. If all you’re gettin’ is cheap thrills with sex, why would y'not just take over some other form. Or, use a bit of illusion magic to take y'self away under a different guise.” The Knight’s words were laced with – hurt, a bit of hurt. He wondered -why- on Azeroth the succubus would do what she was doing. It -angered- him. He remembered how well the demon was treated, almost as a member of the family. “You’re killing her. Slowly, from the inside out. Then what are you going to do.” The woman would lift a hand to slap the death knight. “The fel do you care? You left. All she cared about left or taken. You and that Guince were killing her. I saved her. She delved into a spell she couldn’t take. I’m here to help her, not you.”

When Nantia had her reach out to slap him, Dytoni could say not a word. He was frozen as they both had stood up. While her words carried true, it didn’t make them hurt any less. What the Knight did realize, was her own methods. It made him growl, as a hand reached up to rub his cheek. “So you prostitute her out for whomever’s willing to fuck? Is that called 'saving’, Nantia? Someone who treated you like -family?-” His words were icy, but from here, she could see the genuine – hurt, in his tone. He’d been lost, for gods knew how long. “I couldn’t keep control of the bloodlusts. If I hadn’t left, I would have -killed- the lot of you. I had to leave, for your own good. But here I am. Give her back to me, let her -know- that I still care for her.” The woman spit at his feet, “Over my dead body…” She grinned knowing he’d catch her meaning. “She is mine, no it’s not prostituting her out. She fecking agreed to it. Not that its any of your fel business.” “Perhaps you should have killed the lot…” She shrugged. “In any case I came to town for a very particular reason. So you can take your forsaken arse and stay out of the way as you’ve always done. She’s mine now, you lost every right to her when you walked out of her life.” She lifted a napkin from the table to wipe the blood that had now reached her neck. “Get over being a hero, lover boy. Cause, little bird to dove, I’ll tell you right now you’re too late and I’m the one running with the spoils.” “You’re lying. She would never agree to be prostitute around for your own sexual desires. Not while she doesn’t have -our- daughter.” Dytoni hissed back, watching her wipe away the blood that’d trickled from her ear. “I’m gonna’ rip you out of her, Demon. If it’s the last thing I will do. You’ll go back into the nether, back at Josalora’s fingertips. ” She became very amused at the man’s words, “You know a whole lot about nothing. Do you realize this? 'My own’ desires… Feck you.” She’d start moving around him towards the bar, taking up the bourbon and drinking it down. Glancing back, “I think the frost rot has gotten to your brain Valkenstrider. Your logic has fallen to the waste in the canals. If you hadn’t heard the crier, you don’t have a daughter. The church took her away. And you’re not helping get her back by pointing fingers.” “She sent her away, to keep her away from you. You can’t take care of her, what do you know about raising a child. You’re a demon. A silly demon that is going to pay the piper, for using someone I duly care about.” Dy’s tone was serious, deathly serious. His teeth grit against one another as thoughts raced through him. “I’m going to tell you what’s going to happen, Nantia. I am going to go find myself a lovely Warlock, or Shadowpriest that’s going to take that lil’ conscious of yours from her thoughts. I’m going to watch you wither, an’ die. Then, when Josalora is finally healthy, sober of your influence, she can decide if she wishes me to be around; or not.” Josa chuckled, “Good luck with that dove. We’ve seen the lot of them and you’ll fail her again, if you’re lucky.” Stepping forward and letting the flame play at her eyes, “Am I pissing you off yet, Valkenstrider?” “I will -not- fail her again. I -am- not going to, demon.” The Death Knight quietly hissed, those brilliant lichborne eyes flaring. Likely one hell-of a worrying sight for the tavern owner. “Y'pissing me off big time, Succubus. Slip yourself out of that frame, of hers. It can be simple, or hard.” Showing her pearly white teeth, “C'mere…” She placed a hand on her hip and beckoned him forward with the other hand. The Knight of the Ebon blade folded his arms, -staring- the Warlock down with hardly a sound. Although, his gaze for a moment would wander to the woman’s hip. It had been so very long; he had almost forgotten her own figure. “Why.” Josa would walk up to the man, leaning forward with an old familiar gesture, daring to place a ploy of a kiss to his lips feeding the fel energy towards him and pulling back. If he’d allowed the kiss, she’d glare at him, “You will win, over -my- dead body…” She’d turn and take up her staff as she made her way towards the exit.

#Character History #Story #Josalora Adombrare

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