Summary: Haunted by visions of a zombie who speaks her name with unsettling familiarity, (Y/N) finds herself drawn into a dark mystery that blurs the line between fear and desire.
Nevermore at night was unsettling enough, but following Eugene to the bee shed was even worse.
“Just… come on,” he whispered, adjusting his beekeeper’s hat as he led you toward the shed. “You have to see this.”
The shed door creaked open, and the smell hit you first: sweet honey tangled with something sour, like spoiled meat. The buzzing was louder inside, angry bees circling the lanternlight.
And then you saw it.
The thing in the corner didn’t look like it belonged to the world of the living.
He was tugging against the chain, a rusted iron collar clamped tight around his throat. The chain links rattled each time his body jerked with a ragged breath. His skin was mottled with shades of gray and green, peeling in places where bone jutted starkly through. One cheek had sunk away entirely, exposing the yellowed curve of teeth beneath torn muscle.
But it was his skull that made your stomach lurch. The top of it had split, jagged and uneven, a wound that should have ended any mortal life. Dried blood crusted around the break, and through the gap, you swore you could see the pale, glistening tissue of his brain. Flies landed there sometimes, crawling across as though it were nothing more than spoiled meat.
Every breath was a wet, rattling struggle, ribs creaking under papery skin. When he opened his mouth, a sound spilled out of a half-moan, half-growl—thick with decay. The stench of it filled the shed: rot, old earth, and something metallic, like rusted iron and blood.
You froze.
“Eugene… what is that?”
Before he could answer, Pugsley emerged from the shadows, holding a jar of honey like it was an offering.
“Don’t freak out,” he said quickly. “He’s… Slurp.”
“Slurp? That’s not a name—”
“It is now,” Pugsley interrupted, dumping the honey onto a spoon and nudging it toward the zombie's mouth. The creature- Slurp-groaned, lips working clumsily as he tasted it. He lurched forward and vomited on the two boys.
Your stomach twisted. This wasn’t right. Nothing about this was right. And yet, when his eyes lifted again, they landed squarely on you. He lunged forward, but before you could step back your skin brushed the rotted flesh. Your head snapped up and my body went stiff.
The world spun.
Suddenly, the rot melted away. You stood in another place entirely, bathed in flickering light. He wore a brown tweed coat, the fabric hanging loose over lean shoulders. His features were strikingly sharp, softened only by the dark curls that coiled into perfect ringlets. His hand cupped yours, steady and deliberate, and he leaned closer. Too close. Your breath caught as his lips brushed yours, 'forgive me...it's been a while since I've done this.' He chuckles softly as he leans in further.
Then it shattered.
The shed rushed back in; the bees, the rot, the fucking zombie. You looked up at Eugene and Pugsley- still covered in undead bile- cradling my head.
“What… did you see?” Eugene asked.
You sat up.
"It...it was silly. It wasn't anything important." You say as you thank them for making sure you were okay. "You guys should get rid of that thing before Principal Dort finds out." You stand up and brush yourself off. The buzzing in the shed didn’t fade, and for a moment, you couldn’t decide if it was the bees or something else that made the hairs on your arms stand on end.
----------
The night air outside Pilgrim World was crisp, the carnival lights flickering like fireflies in the darkness. You hadn’t wanted to come—really, you hadn’t—but your friend Isla had been insistent, tugging at your sleeve.
“Come on! Don’t be such a scaredy-cat,” she said, grinning behind a sugar skull mask. “It’s just a haunted house. What’s the worst that could happen?”
You swallowed, tugging your brown knitted cardigan tighter around your shoulders. Haunted houses weren’t your scene. Dark places, sudden noises… they unsettled you more than most. But one step, and then another, and soon you were shuffling behind your friend, the chaos of the carnival fading behind you as you entered the shadowed hallway of the haunted attraction.
The air inside smelled of smoke, damp wood, and something else, metallic and sharp, that made your stomach twist. The lights flickered overhead, casting long, jittering shadows that seemed to stretch toward you.
Then a sudden, guttural scream ripped through the hall.
Isla froze, wide-eyed. “Uh… maybe we shouldn’t—”
The crowd leaving pushed Isla away from me, the twisting halls of the mansion separated you further.
The commotion came from deeper in the maze of darkness: a figure, hunched and jerking, moving with purpose. A sickening, wet sound reached your ears.
You froze, every instinct screaming, like a deer caught in headlights. The figure loomed over a man’s prone form, grotesque and deliberate. The top of his skull had split open, the glistening gray of his exposed brain slick and pulsing under the flickering lights. From the darkness of the figure's mouth, a long, inky tongue slithered over the mass, curling around it with a sickening precision.
Your hand flew to your mouth, stifling a gasp as a shiver ran down your spine. Mist curled around your ankles, swirling in the colored glow of the carnival lights. Blue and violet reflections fractured across the fog, throwing jagged shadows across the walls and floor, turning the scene into something unreal—like a nightmare painted in motion.
The creature devoured the rest of his snack and slowly straightened, his movements jerky but deliberate. He turned his head slightly, shadows masking his features, keeping his back to you.
“Slurp,” you whispered, heart hammering. You stepped forward, breath catching, and reached out, brushing your fingers against the edge of his coat.
Suddenly, your head snapped upward, and the fog around you dissolved into soft, golden daylight. The man was back. His dark curls fell across his forehead, and his sharp, intense eyes found yours immediately.
He reached for your hand, brushing his warm fingers against yours, the connection electric. Closer, closer still, until your foreheads nearly touched, and his lips hovered just above yours, soft and teasing, like a promise waiting to be claimed. Your chest fluttered, your breath mingling with his in the golden glow. His lips traced your body and moved to your parted thighs, placing a kiss on your inner thigh.
The vision shattered. Daylight gave way to the artificial fog of the haunted house. The creature remained before you. Yet something in his gaze lingered, a flicker of recognition that tethered him to you, a thread of warmth in the cold blue haze.
“(Y/N).” The walking cadaver exhaled, your name rasping out like a dying breath.
“Who are you? Why am I seeing these visions?” you demanded, your words tangled in confusion and urgency.
He hummed low, licking the last traces of his meal from his fingers before straightening to his full height. His gaze lingered, heavy and unreadable.
“You’re a dove, aren’t you?” A pause. Then, with a ghost of a smile: “It seems our futures are bound.” Your breath caught in your throat. His words dripped with inevitability.
“I don’t even know you,” you whispered, but your voice faltered when his shadow fell over you.
“Not yet,” he murmured, stepping closer. The metallic smell of blood still clung to him, sharp and sweet, mingling with something older—like dust, like candle smoke. His hand hovered just near your cheek, but he didn’t touch. “And still… You see visions of me.” The space between you vibrated with an unspoken gravity, as if the very air conspired to draw you into his orbit. His eyes gleamed in the half-light, dark as a crypt and yet burning with something dangerously alive. “Tell me, dove,” he breathed, tilting his head as though studying a rare relic. “Do you fear me… or do you crave me?” Before you could shape an answer, a sharp voice shattered the moment.
“Anyone still inside, come out! This is Detective Santiago!”
The shout echoed through the rotting halls of the haunted house, startling you back into the present. The cadaver’s mouth curled in a low chuckle.
“Best to fly away, little dove.” His words carried a dark amusement, as if your fear entertained him. And then—just as quickly as he had appeared—his form unravelled into the thick veil of smoke, leaving behind only the faint scent of iron and ash.
Notes: i've actually never written Chrollo, i hope this doesn't turn out ooc. Something about him is so vague, he's difficult to write, lol. Also I looked up poker hands for your welcome. I play poker with my family sometimes, but we prefer blackjack for whatever reason lol. Also i've never played the strip variety lol
It was raining. Drops fell through the jagged holes in the ceiling of the abandoned building, wetting the floor in uneven patches. It was dusk, a gloomy gray light cut with the golden candlelight coming from the candles scattered across the floor. You wished your colleagues had shelled out for a nice hotel. Heck, you would take a motel, anything with four walls, a roof, and wifi. But alas, the members of the Phantom troupe who were assigned to find shelter were the most dramatic ones(Chrollo, Feitan, and Nobunaga) and not any of the ones with common sense.
And so here you were, hunched over your laptop. Gloomily watching the battery slowly tick down the hours until you would need to charge it at a net cafe, and occasionally moving to dodge raindrops. The sound of your fingers hitting the keys fills the large cavernous room, interspersed with the turning of pages and the occasional fluttering of cards to the ground.
There wasn't much to do, in the random abandoned lot the spiders had decided to hunker down in. You could sleep, you supposed. But the only other two people occupying the room would probably sabotage that. You would wake up with clown makeup(the actual clown makeup, not the stuff Hisoka wore) and a card tower balancing precariously on your stomach. And you would know, it had happened before. Your only other option was taking the forty-minute trek into town. Through the rain, which actually sounded more unpleasant than the clown makeup. At least that stuff came off.
The sounds of Hisoka’s cards falling to the ground punctuate the formerly peaceful silence, and you sigh, watching your battery move to ten percent. Maybe it would take pity on you and that ten percent would last the rest of the night. A card wizzes by your ear. You don't even flinch.
“I'm busy, Hisoka.” You say, not even turning. He's probably where he was when the rest of the phantom troupe members left earlier, sitting cross-legged on the rock floor, making card towers.
“You don't look busy~” Hisoka says, from behind you. Another card lands beside you, this one a foot away from your thigh. You lay stretched out on the floor, propped up uncomfortably on your arms, occasionally typing on your computer. Every couple of minutes you obsessively switched positions. You got antsy after sitting for too long.
“I'm working.” You say in return. Hisoka hums, and you imagine him tilting his head in confusion like a cat. Actually, you're watching a show. Muted with subtitles, because you forgot your headphones and you don't want to venture into the storm to get them. But that's none of his business.
Your battery ticks down to seven percent. Chrollo, sitting dramatically up on a rock at the front of the building, turns a page of his book. Another card wizzes by you, this one hitting an inch or two away from your computer keypad. You roll your eyes.
“Stop that.” You say, annoyance leaking into your voice. Hisoka chuckles.
“But I'm bored~” He whines, sounding closer than before. You roll your eyes.
“Build another card tower.”
“I'd rather not,” Hisoka returns, and another card flies by, this one dangerously close to your computer screen. “Bothering you is much more entertaining.”
“Careful!” You grumble. Your computer battery blinks, five percent taunting you. “If you break my computer you have to buy me a new one.”
Hisoka's response comes in the form of another card, this one landing a centimeter from your keyboard. Fed up you turn, glaring at the clown sitting behind you.
“Fuck you Hisoka,” You grumble, “just let me waste the rest of my battery in peace.”
He doesn't respond, just smiles at you. You hate to admit you find him attractive. He’s definitely moved closer and now sits perched above you on a rock, leaning back casually, hands lazily flicking cards about the hideout.
You wished desperately that you had just taken a normal job, maybe as a receptionist or a waitress, and not decided to join the spiders of all things. You blamed it on your terrible taste in men. And your sister's ex-boyfriend. Because maybe, after your sister had come crying to you, telling you that John had cheated, you had immediately gone to beat him up. You had ended up beating him up pretty bad and went home and that was the end of it.
Until you woke up the next morning, saw the spiders sitting in your living room, and dropped your coffee. After you cleaned up the mess, they informed you in various volumes, that because you had defeated one of their members you had to become a member. You had initially declined, and then you saw certain handsome men in spirit Halloween costumes and you folded like wet paper. So here you are, kind of deeply regretting your rash decisions.
Chrollo turns another page. Water drips from the ceiling and hits your nose. You jerk back, turning back to your computer. Which is dead. Or course.
Grumbling, you slam the computer closed and lay back on the ground, letting the stone cool you down, and listening to the rain as it hits the building around you. It's peaceful, the smell of fresh rain, intermixed slightly with two different types of cologne and the faint smell of mildew. The rain calms you down from your annoyance, the cold sinking into your skin and putting a damper on your annoyance.
If only you could find it in yourself to truly hate Hisoka. He was a nuisance, constantly inconveniencing you on a daily basis, and jokingly flirting with you because he knew it annoyed you. And you would get so fed up and upset and then he would smirk and you would see his stupid handsome face and you just couldn't bring yourself to truly hate him.
His joke flirting actually kind of hurts you, because you know he's only doing it as a joke. You know he doesn't actually think you're attractive. Neither does Chrollo, now that you think about it, but at least he didn't give you false hope. He was straightforward in his dismissiveness.
You sigh, and turn onto your side, already antsy. A breeze gusts across your face. A warm breeze.
The smell of flowers and blood hits your nose. How odd.
You knew there were patches of greenery outside of the building, and there were probably a few inside as well, but blood? As far as you knew no one had died here yet. You sniff harder, your brow furrowed in confusion. And then a hand lands on your side. Your eyes fly open in shock, and Hisoka grins at you from his position mirroring you on the floor, about a foot away. You shriek in shock, as Hisokas hand strokes up and down your waist and hips.
“You're loud.” He says, his mouth curving in a smirk. It sounds suggestive, but everything he says sounds suggestive. Unfortunately, he looks even more handsome up close.
“You scared the crap out of me,” You grumble. “The hell Hisoka.”
“Oops, sorry.” He says. He doesn't look sorry and his hand is still stroking your side as you lie side by side on the cold stone of the floor. You hate how much that hand makes your stomach flutter. Rolling over you purposely trying to ram him onto his back. Maybe his stupid hair will get crushed.
But alas, his body is a brick wall, and of course you only succeed in crushing your front into his muscled chest. Your face flushes, hidden where it is in his pecs, and you try to pull away. But an iron arm is holding you against him. Against all reason, you can hear his heart beating evenly in his chest. Your own skips around, propped up by the butterflies in your stomach. You wiggle, trying to escape but only managing to free your arms from his iron embrace.
“My my, how eager.” Hisoka coos, probably about to say something equal parts annoying and mortifying. “You could have just asked.”
You dig your fingernails into his shoulders, trying to unsuccessfully pry yourself away from his body. Hisoka only chuckles.
“Fuck you,” You say against his chest.
“Mm, maybe later.” Hisoka hums. You sigh.
“Chrollo? Your subordinate is suffocating me.” You grumble. You can't see him from here, but you assume he's still sitting on his big boss rock. He chuckles, and you hear a page turn.
“Let her go, Hisoka.” He says, sounding way too amused for your liking. Hisoka obliges, but not before his hand finds its way onto your ass. You kick his leg, and hold back the urge to ask him to do it again. Chrollo has put his book down, and is now watching the two of you curiously, illuminated by the candle sitting a few inches from his weird leather coat. Why both of the men in the room with you dress like absolute weirdos, you’ll never know.
“You just let me squirm for a while, huh.” You grumble at him. He smiles
“You seemed like you were enjoying it, I didn't want to interrupt.” He replies, the candlelight flicking on the pale skin of his abs. You always wondered why he chose a leather jacket without a shirt, but you weren't going to ask and embarrassed yourself. He's snarky tonight for some reason.
You flush, hiding it with a glare.
“I was not enjoying anything!” You say, at the same time Hisoka unhelpfully chimes in with, “aww, don't be jealous Chrollo.”
You shoot Hisoka a weird look, but Chrollo only laughs. The sound echoes in the like twenty feet of space between you and Hisoka, and Chrollo on his big boss rock.
“Stop looming over us like that.” You say, flopping into a cross-legged position across from Hisoka. He's pulled himself up from the ground and is shuffling his cards in his hand. “If you're gonna talk you have to come down.”
Chrollo laughs. “Sure dear.” He says, and you watch him jump gracefully down from his perch and join the two of you on the ground in a little circle.
Hisoka hums quietly, playing some weird nonsensical card game. Chrollo has opened his book again. You're the only one with nothing to do.
“What are you reading anyway?” You ask the man beside you. Chrollo, sitting a foot away from you, looks up.
“The Divine Comedy.” He says, flipping the heavy cover to show you. You roll your eyes so far back into your head they just might get stuck there.
“How dull,” Hisoka says, and for once, you find yourself in complete agreement.
“I shouldn't have asked, huh.” You mutter, settling back against a rock with a sigh. Chrollo raises an eyebrow.
“I take it you aren't a fan?” He asks, closing Dantes' glorified fanfic and placing it beside him. You roll your eyes with a sigh.
“Too long. Boring. Would rather read Crime and Punishment, at least that has a romance plotline.” You say, picking dirt from under your nails. “Do you even read, Hisoka?”
“Of course,” Hisoka replies, gathering all of his cards from their nonsensical placements. Cautiously, but too curious for your own good, you raise an eyebrow. He smiles at your silence, shuffling the cards in his hands. “Aren't you curious?”
“No,” You lie, watching him shuffle. You are curious, but for once you decide to hold your tongue.
Hisoka starts dealing three piles of cards. You eye him suspiciously.
“What are we playing?” You ask cautiously. It's always a good idea to air on the side of caution with Hisoka. The man just oozes sketchy vibes.
“Strip poker,” Hisoka replies. Your mouth drops open.
“Hell no.” You say. Hisoka pouts, looking almost harmless. Almost.
“You scared?”
“Fuck you.” You return. “No way in hell am I betting against you.”
It seems like an extremely unwise idea to play any games that have anything at all to do with lying or gambling against Hisoka of all people. You were totally going to lose.
Hisoka tilts his head. “I'm disappointed by your cowardness” He coos, setting his deck of cards on the ground gingerly. “You're just as dull as him.”
He's goading you. You know it, you can feel the smart voice in your brain telling you to ignore him and turn around. But he gets you.
“Fine, whatever.” You say, picking up your cards with a sigh. “This is a terrible idea.”
Out of the corner of your vision, you see Chrollo also pick up his cards. You raise your eyebrows.
“You're joining us in this tomfoolery?” You ask, genuinely pretty surprised. Chrollo smiles.
“Seems fun,” he says, a faint light behind his eyes that you can't place. You sigh, watching as Hisoka finishes dealing.
“This kind of thing seems pretty on brand for him,” You say, gesturing at Hisoka. “But you Chrollo?”
Hisoka makes a fake offended noise, and you roll your eyes. Chrollo simply smiles.
“Maybe I have ulterior motives,” He says. Turning his attention to Hisoka, he continues, “Five card draw?”
You catch on to that sentence, but you hurriedly move along when Hisoka nods.
“Yes, the person with the lowest hand gets to strip,” he says.
Maybe you're imagining it, but you swear he's just looking at you when he says that last bit. Perhaps a prelude of things to come. You sigh, taking a look at your cards. This is going to be a long night.
○○○
“Gimme three cards,” You say, fiddling with your necklace. Hisoka takes a large swig of beer and tosses three cards your way with a grin. So far, nothing too bad has happened. Hisoka had lost the first round, betting on nothing while you escaped with two pairs and Chrollo won with three of a kind. Hisoka had taken off one arm badly, the other one still sitting unevenly on his arm.
You had lost the next round, and taken off your earrings.
Chrollo had followed with two losses, losing his weird earrings that looked like Christmas tree ornaments, and the useless belt hanging from his coat. You had just lost a round, taking off your white kitten heels.
So far you were sitting pretty, although you were wearing the least of the two men, with a zip-up hoodie over a sky-blue tank top and jeans. So far Hisoka was the one with the least losses, but you doubted anyone was surprised about that anyway. If you were ever gonna go to Vegas you would take Hisoka with you, and the two of you would be walking out bathing in ritches.
You have a good hand this round. A straight is pretty hard to beat, and even if you didn't win you would probably get at least second. Privately, you hoped Hisoka would take off his other armband. It was starting to annoy you.
“Four cards please Hisoka,” Chrollo asks. You hide your grin behind your cards. You can taste victory on your tongue, along with cheap beer. Hisoka trades out two cards, grinning inscrutable in your direction.
“You have a good hand, right Name?” He asks, crumpling up his empty beer can and tossing into the small pile the three of you had been adding two. You roll your eyes.
“Maybe I do, maybe I don't.” You say, holding your cards reflexively against your chest. “I'm not gonna tell you.”
Hisoka carries on, smiling a little too much to be friendly.
“Your face, although very pretty, tells me everything I need to know.” He coos, leaning towards you with a smile. “You really should work on that poker face.”
You roll your eyes. Hisoka just smiles. Chrollo ignores both of you.
“Done?” You ask. “Let's reveal our hands already.”
Hisoka is just trying to shake you up, it's obvious. It's all the man does for god's sake.
“Turn on three.” Chrollo says. Your eyes come to him, catching on the small drinking flush on his cheekbones. His hair is drooping from its gelled place, a few strands falling over his forehead. Hisoka, on your other side, also looks a little unhinged. More than usual anyway, with a feral light in his eyes. He never looks away from you, even as Chrollo speaks.
“One, two, three.”
The three of you flip your cards and your heart sinks. Your straight is the lowest hand on the table. Hisoka smirks, a royal flush sitting proudly in front of him. Chrollo has four of a kind. Your jaw drops in disbelief. The odds of that are absolutely insane.
“What the hell,” You say in shock. “I cant fucking believe it. I thought I was set.”
Chrollo chuckles quietly. “You must have gotten unlucky my dear.” He says, taking a small sip of beer. Hisoka smiles.
“Don't be too sad Name.” He says, gathering the cards back into his hand. “Now put on a show for us, okay?”
You roll your eyes, shrugging your sweatshirt off and onto the pile of your already discarded clothes.
“That's good enough for you, creep?” You ask, rolling your eyes again. You've been doing that a lot lately.
“I suppose it'll do for now,” Hisoka sighs, dealing the cards out again. Chrollo chuckles.
“A rather lacking show, don't you think?” he says, picking up his cards. You shoot him a confused look.
“Your acting weird today, Chrollo.” You say, eyeing your hand. Nothing good.
“Am i?” Chrollo says vaguely. “Whatever you say dear. Another beer, Hisoka.”
Hisoka chuckles, lobbing a beer at Chrollo, who catches it in his free hand.
Hisoka loses the next few rounds, discarding his arm band and both of his shoes. Chrollo then has to discard a few of his weird bobbles and chains, and then his shoes. You're all dangerously close to losing an important piece of clothing now. The tension in the room is rising, along with the intoxication level.
You sigh, feeling not drunk but pleasantly buzzed. You can tell Hisoka and Chrollo feel the same.
And then it happens. You lose the next round.
Staring sadly at the shitty hand in front of you, you calculate your options.
You can take your shirt off, leaving you in your bra, pants and underwear. Or you could take your pants off.
“Come on now, move along.” Hisoka coos, words somehow sounding more suggestive than normal. You roll your eyes, pulling your shirt over your head and tossing it into the pile of your discarded clothes with a frown. You hope they assume the flush of your cheeks is from alcohol.
Chrollo coughs a little, tossing Hisoka his hand and averting his eyes almost politely. Hisoka just stares shamelessly, at your boobs, cupped in your light pink lacy bra. You flush.
“Stop staring, creep.” You toss your cards his way. His smirks, dealing three hands again.
Hisoka loses the next round. You giggle, shouting payback until he takes off his shirt. You swear you're not looking at his chest or anything. Chrollo loses his jacket next, and you swear the universe is taunting you as you sit there, almost bare next too to really attractive shirtless men.
You lose the next round, leaving you on the cold stone floor in your matching underwear and bra, trying to hide your embarrassment.
The stone is cold, but it doesn't nothing to cool the heat you feel running through your veins, gathering in your gut as Hisokas pale hand deals out the fateful cards.
The air is filled with an odd tension, something simmering under the surface. For once, everyone is silent, the only sound is the cards hitting the floor crisply. You find yourself mesmerized by the movement, the muscles of Hisokas arms as they ripple, as the cards hit the floor. You kinda wanna kiss his muscled arms.
“See something you like?” Hisoka coos. You flinch, looking in the opposite direction. It isn't any better, now all you can see is Chrollos bare chest. You choose to look down at your cards. The room sinks into silence again, Chrollos pants rustling as he shifts positions slightly, flicking three cards down onto the ground.
You choose to trade two, hoping for a full house. And miraculously, you actually get it. Hope fills your chest as Hisoka and Chrollo trade their cards. Maybe you're safe after all.
Candlelight flickers, the moonlight pouring in through the large windows onto the three of you, sitting in your circle, clothes littered around you. Your body thrums with head and suppressed arousal, and your nipples stand in the cold night air. You wonder if they think you're pretty. You wish they did. A breeze blows through the building and you shiver.
“Reveal your hands on three.” Chrollo says, his voice hushed. Hisoka nods, for once not saying anything.
“One,” Chrollo counts. Hisoka shifts, hands rearranging his baggy pants. His eyes burn into yours, the rare yellow color clouded with something you can't place. He looks feral, his hair falling slightly from its usual style,a few strands brushing his forehead and the tips of his ears. You feel breathless.
“Two,” Chrollo says. You jerk your eyes away from Hisoka, looking at Chrollo. It's not much better over there, but at least he isn't looking at you. Eye contact is too much for your sanity. He's just as strong as Hisoka, but his build is more lean. While Hisokas shoulders taper into his small waist, Chrollo's body is more of a straight line. You resist the urge to stroke down his visible abs. The air feels hot suddenly, as Chrolllo opens his mouth one final time.
“Three.”
Time seems to slow down, as each person reveals their hand. A full house, sitting in front of your bare knees.
A straight flush, sitting in front of Chrollo.
And a royal flush, sitting in front of Hisoka.
Time seems to still for a moment as each person takes stock of the hands, takes stock of who lost. And then they turn to you.
“I don't have anything left.” You say, your voice pitched soft.
“You sure?” Hisoka coos, sliding along the floor slowly. Closing in on you. You laugh nervously, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, trying to remain nonchalant.
“Was this all a ploy to get me naked?” You joke, avoiding eye contact. Hisoka chuckles. Chrollo remains silent. You can feel their eyes on you, tracing your body, catching on the lace hiding your privates from view.
“Wasn't it obvious?” Chrollo says, a slight tremor in his voice. Your jaw drops open.
“What are you talking about?” You ask. The tension still lingers in the air as you look up at Chrollo, taking in his appearance. He looks slightly disheveled, an almost invisible flush sitting high on his cheekbones, a flush on his neck. You trace it down until it disappears, and then find your eyes dropping down farther and farther until they land on the bulge in his loose pants. You swallow your shock.
“What,” You start, and then jump a little as a warm clawed hand traces your shoulder. Hisoka has crept behind you, his bare chest a few inches from your back, his hands tracing your shoulders. He bends down, and pressing a light kiss to your neck.
“What's gotten into you guys,” You ask, voice shaking as Chrollo moves forward, crouching in front of your body. His hands stroke up and down your legs, stopping just shy of your thighs. Hisoka chuckles in your ear.
“You're quite naive, you know.” He coos, one hand reaching down to flick the clasp of your bra. It comes apart seamlessly, and Hisokas hands tease the straps, the only thing shielding your boobs from hungry fingers and eyes.
“He's so obvious, too.” Chrollo remarks, fairly casual as he presses a kiss high on your thigh. You muffle a whimper, biting your lip. He was quite physical with you. But you always brushed that off as Hisoka being Hisoka, and nothing more. Maybe you were a bit too hard on yourself.
“Why didn't you just ask,” You whimper, as Hisokas teeth scrape your neck. He leaves a hickey under your ear.
“Already tried that.” Hisoka hums. Chrollo chuckles, hands smoothing over the delicate skin of your thighs.
“You're always so eager to reject me,” Hisoka teases, pulling your bra off with a flourish. “So mean.”
His hands whined around, nails scratching your nipples as your boobs are exposed to the cold air.
You whimper, back arching and hands scrambling to grab something, anything. You land on Chrollo’s hair, yanking it a bit as Hisoka teases your nipples. Arousal is running through your body, and you accidentally shove Chrollo’s face into your thigh as one clawed hand grips your hair, pulling your head back.
Chrollo’s hands grip your hips, studying himself as your hands lessen slightly, allowing him to pull away from your thigh. His hair is a mess, black strands knotted in your hands. He looks a bit desperate.
“Look at you,” Hisoka coos, clawed hand tracing slowly between your boobs, tracing up the pulse point of your neck, thumb smoothing over your lips.
“So pretty and eager for us.”
You grumble, trying to protest, but HIsoka silences that by shoving two fingers down your throat. You give in, sucking with a whimper.
“She likes that,” Chrollo says, tossing the words upwards at the clown behind you. “She's soaked through her panties.”
You whimper in mortification, as shamefully your pussy pulses with heat. Chrollo's hands work your underwear down, pulling them off your legs and bearing your wet pussy to the cold air and Chrollo's gaze.
The cold air hits your clit and you tense up, about to protest. And then he slips two fingers inside of you.
It's embarrassing how easy they go in, the squelch that echoes in the air. Chrollo hums in appreciation.
“She's so pretty like this.” He says, fingers fucking you open gently. You whimper in response. Hisoka chuckles in agreement.
“Indeed,” He says, the words almost a moan. “Irresistible.”
His fingers fall from your mouth, a trail of spit following as he pulls away. He pinches a nipple, drawing a moan out of your throat.
“Wait,” You murmur, reaching back to grip Hisokas vibrant red hair. “Want you to fuck me.”
They both pause, tension hanging in the air as you tremble, your pussy throbbing. Chrollo pulls his fingers from you, the sound echoing in the silence.
And then, your world spins. You're on your hands and knees, the stone digging into you. The cold leaks into your skin, not able to dampen the fire of arousal running through your body.
“Fuck thats hot,” You groan, looking up at Hisoka, who kneels before you. He chuckles, hand caressing your blissed out face.
“You're a little whore, aren't you.” He purrs, gripping the side of your face. You get the full view from here, able to take in his pale abs, the large bulge in his pants, and his disheveled appearance. He looks radiant.
“Mmm,” You murmur, not agreeing or disagreeing.
“Condoms?” Chrollo asks from behind you, hands smoothing over your bare ass. You giggle. How gentlemanly, but at this moment all you want is to be fucked out of your mind.
“Dont care,” You grunt, taking a moment to suck Hisokas thumb. His pornographic moan is a reward. “You guys clean?”
“Yes,” Chrollo says, and you hear the clink of a belt behind you. You whimper, your pussy throbbing desperately. Hisoka chuckles.
“Yes,” he coos, and you watch eagerly as he pulls himself out of his pants. “Now put that pretty mouth to use.”
You whimper, obliging him and wrapping your lips around the tip of his cock. He's big, thick, stretching your throat out as you do your best to take him in as deep as you can. He winds a clawed hand in your hair, gripping your head and pushing you farther onto him. Your so distracted you forget about Chrollo, until he abruptly shoves his cock into you pussy.
Your back arches in response, a gargled moan muffled by Hisokas cock shoved down your throat. Hisoka yanks your hair and you moan.
“She liked that,” Chrollo grunts, his voice as controlled as ever. If you pay close attention you can hear a roughness in his voice, a sign that hes trying to disguise how affected he really is. But your too busy moaning like a whore to pay close attention.
“Did she?” Hisoka grunts, his breath coming in ragged pants as he grips your head, fucking your throat like a toy. “You like being fucked like a whore Name?”
“Oh god yes!” you moan, back arching. You can feel an orgasm on the horizon, looming as you get controlled from both ends.
Chrollo winds a hand around, rubbing your clit with his thumb.
“Gonna cum,” You moan shakily, hands scrabbling at the stone ground. Hisoka chuckles dangerously, hips stuttering into your mouth.
“Already?” He almost laughs, sweat wetting his hairline. Chrollo speeds up, timing his thrusts with Hisoka. They drive you insane.
“Can i cum?” You beg. Chrollo lands a slap on your ass and you clench around him.
“Hmm, I don't know.” Hisoka teases. “Should we?”
Chrollo chuckles roughly, hips stuttering slightly in between steady thrusts.
“I think she deserves it.” He says. “She’s been so good.”
You whimper, holding back your orgasm as they speak over you. It's arousing, and you hate that. Hisoka chuckles, gripping the back of your head and abruptly shoving you deep onto his cock.
“Fine then,” He teases, “go ahead. Cum.”
You obey, your orgasm overwhelming you. Stars bounce in your vision, your body trembling as you cry their names and nonsensical words onto Hisoka’s cock.
Faintly, you hear groans, and Hisioka cums down your throat, the salty liquid flowing down your throat in spurts. You do your best to swallow it all, orgasm still hitting you as Chrollo cums into your poor pussy.
When your orgasm finally subsides, you find yourself laying on your back between them, cum dripping from your abused pussy. You sigh.
“Where am i supposed to clean up?” You ask, voice still raspy from moaning. Hisoka chuckles, running a hand through your messy hair.
“Oh dear,” He purrs. “Did you think we were done with you?”
You look at them, watching as arousal floods their bodies, as that light comes back into their eyes, and sigh.
Its going to be a long, long night.
....
Endnotes: hope you enjoyed it, it's like three am and i'm gonna put this up and go to beddddd. Oh also you might have noticed that the Kinktober list changes. If you have anything you're particularly excited about feel free to dm me and i'll make sure to keep it in!! Feel free to leave a comment <3
'was that really so hard?' - Isaac Night x f!feader [smut]
wordcount: 1.5k
content/warnings: unrealistic smut 18+, fingering, one instance of clit spanking, Isaac being a little cruel, Isaac abusing his powers (constraining & choking reader)
a\n notes: This was so fun to write. I feel like we need more of Isaac using his powers | masterlist
“Isaac–” you drawled, growing more and more frustrated as your boyfriend continued to work, hunched over his desk with nothing but a small desk lamp illuminating his features.
“What, dove?” his voice was distant, still preoccupied as you rounded behind him, dragging your fingers over his shoulders, moving to lean against the desk beside him.
“You’ve been working all day, every day for the last three days. I miss you,” you pouted, no longer ashamed of how needy you were being.
To his credit, Isaac’s eyes flicked up to you at that point, a small sigh escaping his nose as his lips pressed into a thin line. “I suppose I have been a little… neglectful.” He nodded as he pushed his chair back a little, gesturing with a nod for you to settle yourself in his lap. You sat across his thighs, leaning into the crook of his shoulder as he hugged you tighter to him. “I do just have a little more to do though, then my attention is all yours.”
You sat a little straighter again, frowning at him as he huffed. “Don’t look at me like that, it isn’t fair.” You sighed, your frown only deepening.
“What isn’t fair is having to try and get myself off for the last three nights.” You shot back, rolling your eyes as you went to stand up, only for a phantom force to tug at your waist, yanking you back down to his lap.
“Have you really been that desperate?” he cocked his head a little as he teased and you felt your skin heat up under his gaze, nodding shamefully as you tried to avoid his eyes.
His hand cupped your jaw, forcing your head back up to look at him as he caged you on his lap.
He looked at you expectantly, not moving nor releasing his grip until you nodded against his palm, eyes pathetically pleading.
That seemed to appease him. His fingers dug harder.
“Will you be good, hm?”
Your nod came more frantically this time, a whine with it as his thumb brushed your lip.
“Good. Turn around, then.”
You were familiar with this game. You’d get needy, Isaac would give you almost what you needed — that being just enough to keep you quiet for another few hours — as he continued to work.
You settled back down accordingly, balanced on his left knee as he spread his thighs, having already gone back to writing some equation in his journal.
His left hand, however, wasted no time wrapping around your waist. Deft fingers trailing around your hip, across your stomach, down over the waistband of your skirt as your thighs parted in desperate invitation.
It was astonishing how little it affected him, even as your breath quickened, hips squirming against his thigh as his fingers trailed painfully slowly along the skin of your inner thigh, the calluses from working with his machines scratching along the skin deliciously.
His sudden pinch pulled a yelp from your lips, your thighs closing around his hand momentarily as the skin burned.
“Stay still,” he warned, baring you next to no acknowledgement as his pen continued to scratch at his page, “or I stop.”
“Yes, Isaac.” Your thighs parted again as you settled back against his shoulder.
His fingers dragged slower this time, two fingertips just barely ghosting the skin, irritation flared in the pit of your stomach yet you daren’t move lest he stopped again. And you would be back at the excruciating beginning.
Then, at last, they brushed the edge of your underwear, the fabric still sodden from your poor attempt to appease yourself that morning, having dreamt of him all night. Even in sleep, his shadow stood out amongst the others, torturing you sweetly, until you woke up near mad.
The smallest ‘tsk’ beside your ear told you he knew, the wave of disappointment so palpable it had you whimpering.
“Let me guess, your own hands are no longer enough?”
You knew better than to ignore his taunt, your head shaking furiously, dropping back against his shoulder as the slightly dampened pads of his two middle fingers pressed the fabric against your cunt firmly, the glimmer of friction already setting your ruined nerves alight.
“N-no. Only yours.”
You hated how it wasn’t a lie.
He said nothing else, but huffed. The indignant sound something between pride and pity.
It took all of your strength, when he finally yielded, to not buck your hips like something in heat. His rough fingertips dragging your negligible covering to the side and pressing directly where you needed him most.
As if to further your torment (for it was his favourite pastime) he lingered there for a moment more, not moving, nor twitching, even. Just a steady pressure as he focused on the answer to his equation.
Then, mercifully, one small circled followed another, distracted at first, but becoming more focused as your breath quickened. Your hand gripped his wrist in some poor attempt to keep yourself still, terrified he would stop, nails digging into his skin deep enough to leave crescent evidence beside his veins.
“F-fuck–“ the word spluttered past your lips as his fingers delved downwards, pressing into you with no resistance, curling immediately as if to hold you in place cruelly, his palm flat against your clit, coated with your slick in an instant as you bucked against him.
It was involuntary, base. A whine ripped from your throat as he hammered the pads of his fingers against that soft spot that had your eyes rolling back, head dropping against his shoulder.
But the next breath caught in your throat, panic settling in beside pleasure as invisible fingers clothed the expanse of your throat, pressing down just enough to make each racking breath that little bit more difficult, especially as you squirmed against it.
His fingers were methodical, as they were in every application, dragging against your slick walls precisely, rutting up into you in measured time, the meat of his palm dragging messily across your swollen clit.
Your mind was growing foggy, hips trying to move but trapped, as if he were gripping them, pinning them to his lap, even as he continued to work. The embodiment of poise, face still, body stiller.
“I-Isaac,” you could barely stutter, his name broken before it even reached your lips. Everything was too intense. Too much. His near-mechanical ministrations on your cunt were pushing you closer to the edge, the sounds of your slick lewd, white hot intensity burning through your veins as your muscles begged for breath. The ends of your fingers, wrapped in a vice like grip around his wrist, were turning numb, the tingling growing worse with every unsatisfying breath.
“Shush, dove. I’m trying to work.”
You struggled against his invisible grip, back arching where it could against his power. “I-I can’t–“
“You can and you will. Or I’ll send you back to your room.”
You could have cried, the tears welling heavy on your lashes as he withdrew his fingers, only for his flat palm to land heavy against your clit. Quick, sharp – a warning – before delving into you again.
“Just - a little - longer.” Each word was punctuated by the scrape of his pen.
You couldn’t help your muffled grunt as his fingers worked you open, wrist snapping back and forth at an inhuman speed.
“Shit– Isaac, nughh.” Your head dropped forward, chin against your chest as you gasped for air desperately, your hands gripping at his forearm where it pressed against your stomach – the only thing keeping you still as he fucked into you, long fingers abusing your walls with every thrust.
The sound was obscene. Your slick was practically dripping down onto his trousers below you, positively squelching as he rutted his curled fingers up against your front wall, the pressure growing so quickly that you thought you might pass out.
“I-I’m go—, fuck– please!”
Everything happened at once. The pressure released from your throat, the coil in your stomach snapping, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear as he muttered something you couldn’t hear over your own cry — this bliss positively overwhelming, your body contorting and contracting, quivering on his lap.
You were vaguely aware that the hand that had been writing so diligently was wrapping around your waist in a near bruising constraint to keep you from falling from his thigh, his fingers still buried within you as your walls clenched around him, working you through it.
“Shhhhh– that’s it–“ his breath was hot against your throat, head finally dipping to languish the column of your throat with wet kisses, teeth dragging across the sweat-dampened skin. Your body continued to tremble as you finally collapsed into him again, utterly spent. “Perfect.”
His fingers slipped cruelly from you, a gush of slick following as he dragged his palm up across your clit one last time, relishing in your weak attempt to buck away from him, chuckling low against your ear.
He lifted his hand to the light, admiring it as he did his work, the shine left behind by your arousal as it webbed between his fingers.
That’s when he lowered it to your lips.
Your eyes fluttered as you picked your heavy head from his shoulder, tongue tracing a line up his palm diligently.
“My perfect girl,” he tutted. “Was that really so hard?”
content warning: smut, sexual inexperience and exploration, masturbation, masochism
notes: initially reader was going to be wearing a skirt but then i thought to myself it would be more pathetic of him this way… like a victorian man seeing an exposed ankle. virgin isaac on my mental, thanks @arquiiva for plaguing me with these thoughts. don’t forget to reblog, comment and like.
preview: The irritation flares, but his body doesn’t care. It’s always worked against him.
Isaac always nurtures an almost pathological affection for his craft, regarding idleness not as the human necessity it is, but as a moral failing: a peccadillo for which he bore no mercy, least of all toward himself. He spirals off into soliloquies about whatever venture had seized his imagination this week, you bear witness in tolerance, used to his particular brand of monomania, his disinterest in the conventional rituals of conversation, and the fact that he regards your attention as optional, at best.
The lab scarcely qualifies as a workspace; it is more accurately a mausoleum of clutter, where paper towers buckle under their own ambition and indecipherable contraptions crouch in the corners like house pets no one remembers acquiring. You had been gone all of ten minutes, yet in Isaac’s orbit, entropy is not so much a gradual decline as a competitive sport. Your bag has already vanished into the morass, absorbed without ceremony. The table groans under an indiscriminate scatter of papers: aborted sketches, algebraic graffiti, and hieroglyphics you had no interest in decoding. “Ten minutes,” you say, “and it already looks like a tornado hit. You knew I would be back.”
Isaac doesn’t bother to lift his head. “I know exactly where everything is. And where it belongs.”
“And my bag?” you push.
A beat, then the subsequent grin — smug, odious: “can’t expect me to be responsible for your misplacements.”
“You just can’t help yourself,” you intone flatly. “I’m meeting up with Eli and I’m already late.”
“And what a loss, to be deprived of the profound insights of your boyfriend. I’m sure you’re missing out on a riveting conversation,” he jibes, his hand hovering lazily in mid-air while, beneath it, the pencil skitters across the page in precise counterpoint.
“Not my boyfriend,” you say. “Besides, we don’t do much talking.”
That makes him glance up. The smile is hollow, but tight around the edges. “Figures,” he says. “Conversing implies the existence of something worth saying. In that idiot’s case, I can see why you’d skip it.”
He then proceeds to articulate the rudiments of his latest contraption. “If I can devise a method to stabilize it,” he begins, “then the rest is a matter of trial and error.” Without so much as a glance in your direction, he pivots to the next phase: “There’s a vial on that shelf.”
“Y’know, for someone who loves showing off his telekinesis, you make my life unnecessarily hard,” you say, but there’s no bite to it, only an exasperated amusement as you begin to thread through the cluttered shelves, rifling through glass bottles and chemical apparatus.
“The cryogenic fluid is the sole element capable of salvaging this. I’ve—” He glances up for a moment; a mistake on his part. He falters, mid-sentence, the cadence breaking as his eyes land unexpectedly on you stretching to retrieve the vial, your shirt inches upward to reveal a narrow expanse of skin at your stomach. His throat tightens. A momentary lapse, but one swiftly veiled with the same level of cohesiveness from before. “…begun formulating my own variants. It should keep the core below critical temperature.”
You return to the table and hold out the vial. “Here. You’re welcome. Now hand it over.”
He makes a vague motion at the table without any further acknowledgment, preoccupied with his instruments. A perfunctory wave in the table’s general direction and from beneath the layers of lab detritus, your bag launches itself into the air.
You snag the bag, abandon the vial, and collapse into the chair. The search for your things is methodical, almost clinical: lipliner, gloss, each motion familiar, rehearsed, a private liturgy you enact with practiced ease.
Isaac, subsumed in his work, takes one glance at the bag through his periphery and uses a hand to angle a concave mirror toward you, unthinking, as if this were his reflex. Your hands falter mid-rummage.
Then you smile, small, clandestinely, and lift the lipliner to your mouth.
*
After your departure, Isaac grew restless, unable to force his mind to the task at hand. He paced, from one machine to another, coat billowing behind him theatrically. He tinkered without conviction, fiddling with half-finished contraptions, shuffling through the dregs of earlier designs as though some abandoned sketch might jolt him back into coherence. Nothing took. The harder he pushed, the more barren his concentration became, his so-called inventions reduced to busywork.
When he yields to it, it’s not a full relenting: there’s no actualization of anything, just a tightness coiling in his stomach. He doesn’t concern himself with the removal of clothing, just shuffles and lets his unbuttoned pants sag low on his hips, his hand gripping himself with the grim intention of dispatching it quickly. Just friction, a quick release and then he can move on. He works at a punishing pace, as if masturbation could be itemized on his itinerary between soldering and recalibration. The point is expedience, not pleasure. He needs it finished, he wants the clutter in his head scrubbed clean.
You knew I would be back.
He gasps as though you’ve already breached the doorway. You could return at any time, the knob turning, your voice cutting through the thick air of the lab. The danger of it should kill the urge. Instead it worsens it. You have already invaded his space; worse, you have infiltrated his mind and now the equations won’t stop getting entangled.
And the image is persistent in its refusal to leave: stretching for the vial, shirt riding high, that flash of smooth, bare skin. He thinks back to when you’d lean over him to retrieve something, your breath hot on his skin. It needles into him, slows his wrist, alters his rhythm until what was perfunctory begins to spiral into something else. The irritation flares, but his body doesn’t care. It’s always worked against him. His palm drags, tighter now, strokes unspooling into a rhythm meant to prolong, not end.
At the back of his mind there’s a scintilla of annoyance but he lingers. Your presence barges in, insolent, like you were the first time you had stumbled into his space, and impossible to get rid of. He envisions the heat of your breath when you lean close, the shape of your mouth forming a retort, the warmth of skin revealed so casually it brands itself into his memory. His strokes deepen, a rhythm forming despite himself, his body treacherously savoring what his mind condemns. He should be vexed by the ease with which you occupy his mind. Instead, he accommodates you, his hand matching the shift in tempo, slow and more deliberate.
An unsolicited thought intrudes with the shift in pace: how would you touch him? At first he conjures up your manicured fingers grazing, the practiced tease. But the fantasy collapses almost immediately. The pressure mounts, grip hardening, nails scoring flesh; whatever softness there was curdles fast into something relentless and sharp.
His fist works over the head, smearing it, precome thick enough to string between knuckles and leave his cock shining. Each drag of his palm only coaxes more, dribbling down the underside, slipping into the dark curls at his base. It spatters onto his thighs, obscene in its persistence, wetting him beyond function. The mess clings sticky and translucent, dripping steadily with each jerk until it slicks the heel of his hand, until his strokes become sloppy, sliding over the length with no restraint.
His head tilts back, mouth falling open. “Fuck,” he hacks, throat rough. “Fuck.”
Experimentally, Isaac reaches down with his free hand to grip into his thigh, nails gouging in to hurt, to draw blood. The sharp sting only fuels him, making his strokes jerk and stutter. He presses his teeth into his lips, nose scrunching into a sneer and tugging at his own flesh until a sharp trickle of blood slides down his chin, a taste that makes the heat spike harder, his lip twitch. Pain and pleasure fuse together, cloying and messy, like an experiment gone wrong and every slick, clumsy stroke drags him deeper into the chaos of need.
His breath grows ragged, filling the cramped room with the sound of him straining against his own restraint. He imagines your warmth, your voice close enough to graze him, the way your mouth would part if you noticed the hunger in his eyes. His hips lift, chasing sensation, no longer controlled, no longer detached.
Do you think of him at night? The question rings through but he refuses to delude himself, you and him were nothing more than friends and you had a repertoire of paramours. He knows this degeneracy only exists in the aberrant confines of his mind, but your voice drifts through so vividly, curling through his head. “Isaac…” He shudders violently, cock slick in his fist, precome running down the underside, pooling at the base. His strokes jerk and falter, sloppy and desperate.
“Do you like that I’m thinking of you?” you whisper, almost teasing, almost patient, and heat flares through him like fire. Hips jerk, chest heaving, nails pressing into the tender curve of his thigh, every flare of pain sharpening the wet friction in his hand.
“Look at you… just can’t help yourself, can you?” The words curl through him, coiling around every nerve, making his grip sloppy, desperate. Precome glistens thick and sticky, dribbling down his thighs, clinging to the slick already there. Sweat mixes in, hot and wet, running over chest, stomach, collarbone, and into the mess already coating him.
There’s a wavering grin that comes from him at the question you pose, fondness permeates his clockwork-heart. His tongue peeks out to wet his lips.
“Do you want me to touch you?” The whisper lands like a lash, making him tilt, trembling, but he clamps down, impelling a control he does not feel. His hips lift and jerk anyway, nails rake into thigh, each flare of ache feeding the wet slick on his hand, every movement sloppy and ragged, every pulse of heat unbearable.
“Looks like you’ve got that covered,” you hum, sharp-edged. “I’ll have to take care of myself.” His eyebrows pull together, almost in dissent, though dissent is meaningless; his body has long since abandoned his reason. “I’ll just make myself come—” The thought truncates because your eyes flick to his throbbing length, then to the dark smear of his own blood along the curve of his thigh, and back up to meet his gaze.
“It’s okay,” your whisper curls through his mind, intimate, teasing. “It’ll be easy, because you’ve already helped.” In his imagination, your fingers lift, and he sees them coated in his come and blood.
He does not think his body could get any hotter, but it does, ribs tightening, hips twisting instinctively as your hand vanishes beneath the band of your clothing, glossed mouth parting, each contrived motion driving him insane and all he can think of is how you’re touching yourself with his come, his blood and the possessiveness he feels, sets his nerves aflame and it’s enough for his release to overtake him, it wrenches through hot and ungoverned. A low, harsh grunt escapes him, your name leaving his lips, clipped and urgent. He spills over his hand, his stomach, the tremor in his thighs betraying how hard it hits. A muffled curse escapes, unplanned, before he can bite it back. He shudders through the aftermath, chest heaving, hand sticky with the evidence of how far gone he let himself get.
Can I just say, the smut section of those Isaac headcanons had me feeling things I should not be feeling at work 🫠
I am going to very much need you to expand on those when you have the time 🥵 that desk scene in particular
cannibal.
link to headcanons
synopsis: your boyfriend Isaac likes working till late at night, he gets a little hungry and…oh…you’re the closest snack.
warnings: ORAL (DESCRIPTIVE MENTIONS OF BEING ATE OUT), fingering (kinda) , licking, no cannibalism i was being dramatic, p in v, love bites
a/n: AMEN SISTER (or whatever you like being called) the downbadness ive got rn for isaac is insane.
smut, interact at your own risk
Isaac Night was a genius, who could dispute it? Some called him the greatest DaVinci to ever walk Nevermore, a whole lab had been built to cater to his needs. He spent hours upon hours up there tinkering and testing new inventions, up till the dead of night. It was no wonder he’d get famished, but thank god you were there…his sweet partner that never declined to satiate him.
Issac dragged a long stroke of his tongue over your clothed pussy, his hands spreading your thighs apart as he knelt before you. He would never be caught reverent to anyone else. He lapped at the lace of your panties, as if he was restraining himself to simply smelling the sweetness of your slick, sucking at your clit through the fabric.
“Isaa-I- Isaac,” you breathed out, chest heaving as a warmth ran down your body, pooling at where he was ravenously pressing kisses to.
“shh…don’t…we haven’t even gotten to the good part…” he whispered, glancing up at you.
Isaac moved his hand from your thighs, thumb rubbing up and down your clit before yanking the fabric to the side, taking a moment to watch your wetness flow onto his crafting desk. He wouldn’t condone any mess, so he’d have to clean you up, of course… He licked the fluid up like he was thirsty and you were the only remedy. His tongue was as masterful as his hands with crafts, artfully dipping between the lips into your warmth. Isaac was by no means a quiet eater, more so moaning into your pussy and messily painting his face in your wetness.
You felt the length of his tongue slowly enter your pussy, taking all your willpower not to whine too loudly, instead opting to let quiet whimpers out. He paused, moving to look up at you to your dismay,
“You like that?” He tilted his head innocently at the noises you were making.
“Ye-yeah you bastard- keep going,” you shot him a withering glare. He laughed, a cold, fickle sound that reverberated through the lab before he abruptly stood up, hand clenched as he raised it. You felt your body get pressed down by a force, so that you laid back down against the desk. You watched as Isaac climbed on top of you, with your thighs still spread and pretty cunt still exposed. He shifted, pushing your legs up over his shoulder to fold you into a mean, nasty mating press.
“I’m full,” he whispered in your ear, shrugging as he pulled at his pants, freeing an already erect cock. He looked down at you, getting full view of the whorish expression you made as he pushed his length between your lips. He frowned, groaning a little as your walls immediately clenched around him, “But you’re hungry too, aren’t you?” Isaac smirked, roughly bullying his cock deeper into your hungry cunt. He dipped his head down to nuzzle at your neck, tongue slithering out to lap at your neck and collarbones, sucking to create little love bites. His hips pressed into yours, his motions all rough and apathetic like the only thing he was focused on was making a mess of your guts. Your walls clenched around him one final time, effectively milking his dick for all it was worth, his cock shooting ropes of cum, filling you up. He panted like a madman, slowly moving off you as he pulled his pants back up and tugged at his lab coat. He watched you on the desk, his cum dripping out of your pussy. What a pretty artwork he’d made…
Hear me out, isaac night x reader but its like gomez's little sister like during the time that isaac and gomez are 'friends' and theres just kinda the thrill of the older brother best friend trope, with like fluff but possibly smut if you feel comfortable 🫣, thank you for coming to my Ted talk.
-🪲
So Wrong but So Right (Isaac Night x Addams! Reader)
(Summary: up above: Reader is Gomez's sister and she meets her brothers 'best friend' and dorm mate. Things get heavy between them)
Masterlist : Request info
WordCount: 641
(a/n: Hello! Thank you so much for the request! :D just wanted to let y'all know that the reader(you) is a year younger than Gomez.)
(WARNINGS!: Smut(not very detailed)!, mentions of bondage, fluff, Addams! Reader, secret fling, brothers best friend trope, slight Manipulation (if yay squint), short!, not proofread)
~~
If you had told her that attending Nevermore and meeting her brother's roommate who so happened to be his best friend. Y/n had never thought she'd end up here pressed up against the wall lips locked with that very same friend: Isaac Night.
She didn't even have the slightest intention when they first met that she'd be sneaking around with him or mean anything to him at all. Did she think he was attractive? Yes. Did she plan on doing anything? No. It all just sort of happened and never stopped happening no matter her efforts.
~~~
Y/n had just gotten to Nevermore after unfortunately being kicked out of her other school for making vines wrap around a student who was bullying her friend, Agnus. Her parents decided then that she'd go to nevermore with her brother. They surprisingly took her for being a Junior where her brother was a senior.
Now, here she stood in her brother's dorm after unpacking with her brother and Morticia and her brother's roommate.
"Ah! Isaac this is my sister Y/n Addams. Y/n this is my dear friend Isaac Night." Gomez said as he introduced them. Y/n stuck out her hand. Isaac's internally rolled his eye 'oh great another one.'
"Pleasure." She mumbled shaking his hand.
But when he looked at her something was different than how he felt about her oaf of a brother and for some reason couldn't take his eyes off her. Little did he know she felt the same way.
That was the start of Sneaking around with your brother's best friend.
~~~
"We can't... we have to stop this.." Y/n said breathlessly with her blouse unbuttoned and Isaac's face buried in her neck.
He let out an aggravated sigh before pulling away looking to her eyes a sinister smirk on his face.
"Yeah? How many times have you said that before but it always ends up like this? or with you tied up in my lab?" He whispered in a dark husky voice. Her face flushed in a deep crimson red at his words.
"I-" His finger came up to lips hushing her.
Before leaning down to capture her lips as his hands roamed her body inspecting every curve as if studying her for the first time all over again. Made her fall apart and he knew he got to her as she gave into him completely.
Her head leaning back against the wall as his fingers worked like a machine to have her see stars.
It felt so wrong but so right and what’s even worse is that she didn’t regret it not even for second. Even after all the times she swore she was done for her brother’s sake. She always ended up back here just in different settings a random empty corridor where no student nor teacher dared to look, abandoned classroom, occasionally his dorm, but more often or not at his lab where by the end of it her wrist would already have black and blue marks forming or a harsh red that sometimes broke skin.
Their were times where it wouldn’t just be about sex but their was something about it being a secret that made it feel like a burning sun when your near him and one thing about the sun it never burns out..
Kinks: Dom!Jungkook, sub!Reader, arranged marriage, gunplay, oral to a gun, big cock, praise, body worship, nippleplay, strength kink, size kink, tattoos & piercings, thigh riding, spanking, dirty talk, sexy possessiveness, multiple orgasms (f. & m.receiving), creampies, squirting, overstimulation, rough & passionate sex in front a window, she rides him, the trope of “this is the first night where the sex feels real and not like a marital duty”
Wordcount: 10.4k
a/n: i feel…feelings. too many of them. most of carnal nature. some of deeply emotional nature. this story did too many things to me, holy fuck i need air. besties, Kinktober hits different because we can be totally unhinged together and i am loving the adventure ❤
You fucked up. You are aware that you did. Five men are dead, slaughtered because you trusted the wrong person. Seven barely escaped death and the rest were either hurt or pissed.
Taehyung’s with you, cleaning the cut on your cheek a broken bottle left. You think someone threw it at you, but you blacked out before you could see who did it.
“Hurts”, you groan.
“I know, sorry. It must be done”, Taehyung answers you, replacing the blood soaked cotton swap with a new one. Soaked in disinfectant, he presses it against your wound, eliciting another hiss of discomfort from you.
“So what are we gonna tell him?” Jimin asks the question the rest of the group was too afraid to ask.
“The truth, what else?” Namjoon says dryly, fingers busy with stopping the bleeding on his arm by pressing a cloth to it.
“Yeah and risk her getting shot? Nah thanks”, Seokjin says, shaking his head.
“People died”, Namjoon hisses, eyes lowered in anger, “Yoongi’s still out and guess shit about how Hoseok’s surgery is going.”
“She didn’t shoot them did she?”
“She could have very well pulled the fucking trigger.”
You avoid looking at Namjoon, knowing very well that he would probably kill you with just a look if he could. You understand him. You’re angry at yourself as well. You weren’t careful enough and let the details of the meeting meet the wrong people, ending in the cops busting you in the middle of the deal.
“Where is she?!” Jungkook’s loud voice cuts through the air like thunder.
Summary: You and Gladio have been going back and forth for weeks. The heat gets to you both and you have to sort it out.
Warnings: smut, swearing, jealousy
Word Count: 7.3k
The Regalia was silent, save for the low thrum of the engine and the breeze running through your hair.
You sat in the back, wedged between Prompto, who’d thankfully passed out with his head against the door, and Gladio, whose thigh had been pressed against yours for the last two hours.
Two hours.
Two hours of stolen glances, that stupid smirk he gave you when you caught him looking, and the slow burn crawling up your spine every time your knees bumped on a sharp turn.
You swore the man was doing it on purpose.
"Hot there?" Gladio’s voice was low, teasing.
You didn’t look at him. "It’s summer. Of course it’s hot."
He chuckled. "Didn’t mean the weather."
You definitely didn’t look at him then.
"Maybe if you didn't man-spread I'd have more room to air out," You scoffed at him and Gladio chuckled deeply.
"Sorry, babe, it's not my fault I have big ba-"
Ignis cleared his throat from the front seat. "We’ll be arriving soon. Best prepare for nightfall. We’ll need to make camp before we get too close to the nest."
“Great,” Noct muttered, eyes still half-lidded behind his shades. “I could sleep for a week.”
“I could eat for a week,” Prompto said, somehow awake again. “Please tell me we have Cup Noodles.”
You blinked at the window, trying to will your pulse to slow. Almost there. Then you could breathe again. Maybe.
Or maybe not.
× •-•-•-•⟮ ◆ ⟯•-•-•-• ×
The fire crackled, throwing long, golden shadows across the edge of the clearing. The tents were pitched, bellies full, the rest of the guys already turning in.
You sat outside a while longer, poking at the fire with a stick, lost in thought — until you heard his footsteps behind you.
"You always this quiet after a hunt?"
You glanced up. Gladio stood just behind you, firelight licking up his skin like it wanted to taste him too. He was shirtless, of course he was. A towel slung over one shoulder from the nearby stream.
“I’m tired,” you lied.
He stepped around the fire, crouching next to you. "Bullshit."
Your eyes met, and that was the worst mistake yet. His gaze was heavy, searching, like he knew.
"You keep looking at me like you want something,” he said, voice low, rough. “But then you keep pulling away."
You swallowed. “You’re imagining things.”
"Am I?"
His hand found your knee. You didn’t stop him.
"I don’t do casual," you whispered, voice breaking before you could stop it.
"And I don’t start something I can’t finish," he said.
Silence stretched, and then—
"Then why haven’t you started?" you said.
That was all it took.
Gladio leaned in, one hand braced in the dirt beside your thigh, the other coming up to brush your cheek. You thought he might kiss you, finally, but instead he whispered against your skin:
"You’re the one holding the match. Just say the word."
Gladio’s breath lingered against your skin. Your heart pounded, hands twitching with the urge to grab his face and just do something about it already.
You parted your lips.
"Gladio, I—"
“Dinner is ready,” came Ignis’ calm, precise voice from behind you — far too close for comfort.
You jumped like you’d been caught doing something illegal.
Gladio, to his credit, didn’t even flinch. He sighed, low and long, like it physically hurt to be interrupted. “Timing’s a goddamn art form with you, Specs.”
Ignis raised a single brow. “Forgive me for fulfilling my role as camp cook. We can’t all make a meal out of tension and unfinished sentences.”
You opened your mouth, then closed it again. Great. Now everyone knew.
As Gladio stood, stretching to his full height, Ignis added casually, “Also—slight tenting issue.”
You blinked. “Tenting issue?”
Ignis adjusted his glasses. “There was a pole missing from the extra tent. Noctis insisted it’d be fine sharing with you two. So. You’ll be bunking with him tonight.”
You stared.
“Sharing. A tent.”
“With Noctis.”
“Correct.”
Gladio ran a hand through his hair, clearly holding back a groan. “Hope His Highness doesn’t mind a little heat.”
You elbowed him. Hard.
× •-•-•-•⟮ ◆ ⟯•-•-•-• ×
The smell of Ignis’s stew filled the camp like a promise. Savory, rich, and comforting. It pulled everyone in, even the ones who barely had energy to sit up straight.
You took a seat across from Prompto, who was already halfway through his first bowl and making dramatic sounds of delight.
“No offence to every diner in Lucis,” he said, mouth full, “but Specs could make Cup Noodles taste gourmet.”
Ignis didn’t look up from his bowl. “I have.”
Gladio sat beside you again, of course. His arm brushed yours as he leaned forward to grab the ladle, then stayed just close enough to make your nerves fray like overused thread.
You didn’t move away. Neither did he.
Noctis sat nearby, poking lazily at his stew. “We making a plan for the daemon nest tomorrow?”
“After dessert,” Prompto said, lifting his bowl dramatically. “This deserves my full focus.”
You tried to focus too — on anything but the heat of Gladio’s thigh next to yours, or the way your knee kept bumping his under the table. That little moment earlier at the fire still lingered in your blood, sticky and unresolved.
Gladio ate slow, quiet for once. You caught him glancing at you over the rim of his bowl more than once. Like he wanted to say something.
Prompto noticed, of course.
“So…” Prompto said with a sly smile, gaze bouncing between the two of you. “Anyone else feel like the temperature around here jumped a bit since sundown?”
You stiffened.
Ignis didn’t miss a beat. “Campfires tend to generate heat. Shocking, I know.”
Prompto grinned. “Sure, sure. Couldn’t possibly be tension or anything.”
Noctis raised an eyebrow, finally engaged. “Tension?”
You tried to drink from your cup and nearly choked.
Gladio, unbothered, leaned back with a smirk and threw his arm along the back of your chair. “Prompto’s got a wild imagination. Doesn’t know the difference between weather and body heat.”
You gave him a sharp look. He just smirked deeper.
Ignis cleared his throat. “Regardless, finish eating. We’ll be waking early — and you three will be sharing the main tent.”
“I could sleep under the stars,” you offered quickly. Too quickly.
“No,” Gladio said at the exact same time as Ignis.
The silence that followed was thick.
Prompto snorted into his stew.
“You okay sharing, Noct?” you asked, trying to play it cool.
“Sure,” he shrugged. “Just try not to kill each other in your sleep.”
“Or worse,” Prompto whispered, just loud enough for you to hear.
Gladio’s hand settled on your lower back as he stood to clear his bowl. You flinched — not from the touch, but from how much you didn’t want to move away from it.
He leaned down as he passed behind you and murmured near your ear, “still your move, sweetheart.”
You sat frozen, cheeks burning hotter than the stew.
And of course, Prompto noticed that too.
× •-•-•-•⟮ ◆ ⟯•-•-•-• ×
After dinner, the sky deepened into a thick navy hue, and the stars blinked into view overhead. The fire crackled low now, reduced to embers. The others had already retreated to their tents, Ignis to his pristine setup, Prompto curled up with a blanket half off his face in the Chocobo-stamped tent nearby.
You stood awkwardly just outside the large tent you were sharing. The flap was open. Inside, a sleeping bag on each side, and one in the middle.
Of course.
Noctis was already sprawled across his, half-changed into a ratty old t-shirt and sweats, blinking up at the roof like he was trying to disappear. “I call left side,” he mumbled.
“That’s not how shared spaces work,” you said, stepping in. He didn’t move. Gladio ducked in behind you, ducking slightly to fit through the flap — shirt already off, because of course it was. You tried not to stare. Failed. Looked down.
“Middle’s mine,” he said simply, tossing his jacket off into the corner and kicking off his boots.
Your jaw dropped. “Why the middle?”
“Because Noct’s dead weight and you toss like a storm at sea. I’ll survive between you.”
You tossed a pillow at him. “You just want to crowd both of us.”
He caught it easily and threw it onto his bag. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Noctis rolled over and muttered into his pillow, “Can you two flirt more quietly? Some of us are trying to pretend we’re already asleep.”
You flushed. “We’re not flirting.”
Gladio raised an eyebrow at you — and said absolutely nothing. The silence was louder than words.
You knelt to unzip your bag and changed into your sleep shirt under your blanket, trying to move fast and not make a scene of it. Your limbs felt too warm. Too aware. Gladio’s presence radiated like a hearth behind you.
By the time you slipped into your bag, he was already lying down, arms folded behind his head, gaze fixed on the canvas ceiling.
You were so close.
Close enough to feel the heat of his skin through the sleeping bags.
Close enough that one small shift in your sleep would have your hand landing across his chest.
He let out a slow breath, voice low enough that only you could hear:
“You always this jumpy when someone lies next to you?”
Your throat went dry. “Only when they look like you.”
His head turned toward you, slow.
And there it was again — that look. Molten, deliberate, full of something that felt dangerous to touch. You held it. You shouldn’t have.
But you did.
Noctis coughed pointedly. “Still here, you know.”
You broke the stare, curling in on your side. “Goodnight, Your Highness.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled.
You closed your eyes. You didn’t sleep.
Not really.
Not with Gladio’s breath so steady beside you, not with the phantom feeling of his hand almost brushing yours between your bags, not with the fire in your chest that refused to die out.
Not with the memory of his words: Still your move, sweetheart.
× •-•-•-•⟮ ◆ ⟯•-•-•-• ×
You weren’t sure what woke you.
The wind had died down, the air inside the tent still and warm. Noctis snored softly a few feet away, wrapped like a burrito in his sleeping bag. The camp was quiet — but your heart wasn’t. It hadn’t slowed down once since you lay down beside Gladio.
You’d rolled onto your back sometime in the night, the thin barrier of your sleeping bag twisted low around your hips. The material clung to your skin, warm and uncomfortable. You turned your head slightly—and caught Gladio already looking at you.
He hadn’t slept either.
His eyes were half-lidded, gold in the moonlight bleeding through the canvas, sharp even in the dark. You could barely breathe.
“You’re awake,” you whispered.
“So are you,” he murmured, voice low and rough like gravel underfoot. “Didn’t think you were gonna sleep with all that tension between us.”
You tried to laugh it off, but it came out as a shaky exhale. “This is a really bad idea.”
“I know.”
His hand slid across the space between your bags — slow, deliberate — and settled on your hip. You sucked in a breath, the heat of it lighting a fuse straight through you.
“You gonna stop me?” he asked, voice just above a breath, his palm dragging slowly up your waist.
You didn’t answer.
You didn’t want to.
Instead, you shifted toward him, the sound of fabric whispering under your movement. His hand flattened against your side, drawing you close until your noses nearly brushed.
“Gladio,” you breathed.
“I’ve been patient,” he said, voice low and dangerous, “but you’re driving me crazy, you know that?”
“I noticed,” you said, and your hand found his chest — solid, warm, steady under your palm.
“Then do something about it.”
And gods help you, you did.
You leaned in, finally, letting your lips find his in the dark. It was slow at first — a testing kind of kiss — but he didn’t stay soft for long. He gripped your waist and pulled you in hard against him, kissing you like he’d waited years. Like it would never be enough.
Your hands tangled in his hair, in the sheets, in anything that could anchor you to reality. Every sound had to be bitten back, every breath stolen through the kiss. His mouth moved to your jaw, then your neck, each brush of his lips stoking the fire higher.
“Still think this is a bad idea?” he murmured against your throat.
“Absolutely,” you gasped, fingers tightening in his hair.
“Then we better make it worth it.”
He rolled on top of you, slow and careful to avoid waking Noct — but that hardly softened the weight of him pressing you down, the feeling of skin and heat and tension finally breaking loose. Your legs wrapped around his thick waist, breath hitching as your hips met his—
“—Hey.”
You both froze.
Noctis groaned groggily from the other side of the tent. “If you’re gonna do that, leave the tent. Some of us are trying to sleep.”
You slapped a hand over your face.
Gladio just laughed, low and unrepentant. “Guess that’s my cue to take you outside.”
“You’re not taking me outside!”
Gladio grinned like the bastard he was — and didn’t hesitate. His thick arms wrapped around your back and beneath your knees before you could stop him, the motion so fast and smooth you let out a surprised yelp as he stood up, hauling you right off your sleeping bag like you weighed nothing.
“Put me down, you fucker!” you hissed, trying to squirm out of his grip as he shoved open the tent flap with one arm.
“Language, sweetheart,” he said, barely keeping his voice down. “There’s royalty present.”
“You are so dead—”
“Mmhm.”
You thumped your fist against his shoulder as he carried you past the campfire, now reduced to soft embers. The cold air bit at your skin, but he was warm and solid and infuriatingly smug beneath your hands. You weren’t exactly struggling hard.
“You’re gonna wake Ignis,” you snapped.
“Too late for that. I’m pretty sure Noctis already did.”
“You’re gonna wake Prompto.”
Gladio barked out a laugh. “Pretty sure he’s rooting for us.”
You opened your mouth to argue — and then shut it as he turned off the path and into the trees, stepping over roots and brushing past branches like this was some casual moonlit stroll. The dim light filtered through the canopy above, throwing silver patterns over his bare chest, his arms tight around you, his grin unshakable.
Your pulse was chaos.
Finally, he stopped. A small clearing, soft moss underfoot. Still within earshot of the camp — just enough to be reckless.
He didn’t let you down.
Instead, he lowered you slow, your back grazing the bark of a tree as he caged you in with one arm braced beside your head. His hips pressed into yours, heat blazing through your sleepwear, his face barely an inch from yours.
“Comfy?” he asked, voice low and rough.
You stared at him, chest heaving. “You’re insane.”
“You didn’t say no.”
Your fingers slid up his sides, slow, and hooked into his waistband. “That’s because I hate how much I want this.”
“Good,” he growled, leaning in to kiss you again — slower this time, deeper. His hands mapped every inch of your body like he already knew it in a past life. His lips traveled down your jaw, your throat, your collarbone, each kiss setting your skin on fire.
Your back arched, hands fisting in his hair, your mind somewhere between “this is so wrong” and “please don’t stop.”
When he lifted his head again, his eyes were molten. “Say the word and I’ll take you apart right here.”
You bit your lip.
“Do it,” you whispered , breathless, needy, not even pretending anymore.
Gladio didn’t hesitate.
His mouth crashed into yours, not gentle this time, not patient. It was hunger, full and raw, weeks of tension, of brushes and banter and heat and almost , breaking all at once. His hands slid under your thighs, lifting you, pinning your back against the rough bark of the tree as your legs wrapped around his waist.
Your fingers tangled in his hair, dragging a low groan from his chest as he kissed you deeper, teeth catching your lower lip. He tasted like smoke and fire and something sweeter, like you’d already ruined him just by saying yes.
He kissed down your neck, biting softly at your pulse, and your head fell back with a gasp. The night air was cool, but his hands were fire on your skin, dragging under your sleep shirt, tracing your ribs, your sides, every inch of you like he wanted to memorize it.
“I’ve thought about this,” he murmured against your throat. “So many times.”
“Me too,” you admitted, voice shaking. “So much it drove me insane.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you — his expression dark, full of something dangerously close to affection.
“Good,” he said, hoarse. “Then I won’t hold back.”
You didn’t want him to.
Clothes became obstacles, tugged and shoved and half-removed in the rush. You moaned into his mouth when he finally pressed against you fully, no layers left between you — every part of you aching with how close he was. How much you’d needed this.
And gods, he felt so good — his hands on your hips, his breath warm in your ear, his body pushing you higher with every slow, grinding motion. He took his time, savoring every sound you made, every shiver, every whispered plea.
“Look at me,” he said lowly, forehead against yours, eyes locked to yours even as he rocked into you. “I want to see you.”
And you did, held his gaze through every rising wave, lost in the heat and pressure and the way he touched you like you were something sacred and wild all at once.
You felt yourself coming apart, breath hitching, nails biting into his shoulders. And when it finally hit, sharp and overwhelming and perfect, he held you through it, kissing you like you were the last thing left in the world.
He wasn’t far behind, groaning your name into your neck like it was a prayer he couldn’t stop saying.
The quiet after was almost louder than the act itself.
You were still wrapped around him, both of you panting, foreheads pressed together, hands trembling slightly in each other’s hair.
“Still think this was a bad idea?” he whispered.
You swallowed hard. “Definitely.”
He laughed, warm, low, and satisfied. “Good.”
“...You’re gonna have to carry me back, you know.”
“Oh, I plan to.”
× •-•-•-•⟮ ◆ ⟯•-•-•-• ×
You could barely catch your breath as Gladio gently set you back on your feet after that moment of sheer heat. Your skin felt flushed and electrified, every inch of you hyperaware of what just happened.
His chest heaved in tandem with yours, but he was already moving. His large hand found your wrist, pulling you with surprising care toward the edge of the clearing. The camp was still, but you could hear the faint rustling of the others, Noct’s barely audible snoring from his tent, and the faint sound of Ignis making breakfast.
"Stay close," Gladio murmured, his voice low but intense, a subtle edge of mischief threading through. He leaned down, brushing his lips over your ear, sending a shiver through your spine. "Don’t want anyone waking up just yet."
You nodded, still trying to regain some semblance of control over your body. Every step was unsteady, your legs still sore and a little wobbly, but you forced yourself to keep up.
You both moved quietly, too quietly, as Gladio pulled you deeper into the trees. The moonlight filtered through the canopy above, making the shadows feel like they were closing in. Your heart pounded in your chest as you finally saw the entrance to the tent ahead.
“Almost there,” Gladio muttered, his grip on your waist tightening, but in a way that made you feel like the only thing between him and losing control was a hair’s breadth.
The closer you got, the harder it was to pretend this wasn’t all far too obvious. But you were too close to the finish line now. Just a few more steps.
“Careful,” you warned in a barely audible whisper, hoping your feet wouldn’t betray you.
“Don’t worry,” he said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ve got this.”
When you reached the tent, you exhaled — but the relief was short-lived. You turned to him, eyes wide, and he held a finger up to his lips, signaling you to be quiet.
He crouched, slipping inside the tent first and then reaching out for you. You hesitated, eyes darting back toward the campfire, but then you took his hand and slipped inside, the fabric of the tent closing softly behind you.
The tent was still warm from earlier, the dim light of the morning filtering in through the small gaps. Noctis was still snoring lightly a few feet away, blissfully unaware of the chaos that had just unfolded.
You let out a shaky breath, trying to steady your racing heart as you lowered yourself back onto the sleeping bag. Gladio followed suit, carefully unzipping his jacket and letting it fall beside him.
For a moment, it was just the two of you — silent, hearts pounding, as the night’s events still lingered heavily in the air.
But then you heard a low, grumbling voice from the other side of the tent.
“…I know what you two were up to.”
It was Noctis.
You shot a panicked look at Gladio, who just smirked, leaning back with a cocky grin.
“Ignis is gonna kill us,” you muttered, your heart sinking as you heard the sounds of movement from Noctis’ side of the tent.
“Nope.” Gladio chuckled low in his chest, leaning in toward you, his face just inches from yours. “You’re my problem now.”
Before you could respond, you heard Noctis’ voice again, this time with a faint chuckle.
“I’m just glad you two finally figured it out.”
Gladio’s grin only widened, his fingers brushing against yours once more.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice full of smug satisfaction. “Took us long enough, didn’t it?”
× •-•-•-•⟮ ◆ ⟯•-•-•-• ×
The moment you stirred awake, you knew something was off. It wasn’t just the low hum of the morning; it was the distinct feel of eyes on you. Gladio was still lying next to you, his large frame stretched out in his usual relaxed manner, but your skin was burning. And not from the warmth of the tent.
You hesitated, glancing up at him. His eyes were closed, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. He knew you were both busted, but he was enjoying every second of it.
A sound from outside the tent caused your heart to skip — footsteps, and then the unmistakable sound of snickering.
The tent flap pulled back with little warning.
“Well, well, well… look who finally got some action,” came Prompto’s voice, loud and impossibly cheerful.
You froze. Nope. No way.
“Prompto!” you hissed, your face heating up as you quickly scrambled to cover yourself with the nearest blanket.
He leaned casually in the entrance, looking far too pleased with himself. “I mean, I’m glad to see you two finally took the plunge.” He gave a dramatic wink, leaning in as if to whisper to you. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. I’m not gonna tell anyone… unless I can get a free photo op.”
“Prompto, for the love of—” Gladio groaned, half-awake and still trying to pull the blanket over his head, but it was too late. The damage was done.
“Too late, man,” Prompto interrupted, practically beaming with amusement. “I saw your faces last night when you two thought nobody was watching. You guys were way too obvious.”
"You pervert!" You hissed.
“Ignore him,” Gladio mumbled, but you could see the smirk tugging at his lips, clearly enjoying the chaos.
“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, pulling the blanket up higher, desperate to avoid more teasing. “But seriously, if you tell anyone…”
Noctis woke up, glancing over at you both with half-lidded eyes. “You were practically screaming in the trees.”
“Noct, shut up!” You snapped, embarrassed beyond belief.
Prompto was absolutely howling now. “Oh my god, you two were loud? I knew it. I KNEW IT!”
“Shut it, Prompto!” Gladio barked, sitting up with a scowl, but even he couldn’t hide the small grin on his face. The morning-after smugness was infectious.
"Seriously," Noctis continued with a lazy smile, "at least wait until we’re asleep. It’s a little rude."
You were ready to curl up and die. “This is why I didn’t want to sneak back in here.”
Prompto jumped onto the bed with you and Gladio. “Oh, come on, you can’t be embarrassed now. We’re all friends here,” he teased, poking you in the ribs. “Now, tell me everything! How was it? Was he as good as he looks?”
“Nope.” Gladio grinned, his voice low and teasing. “Better.”
You kicked him lightly in retaliation, but it only made the whole thing worse. Ignis’ voice, cold and calculating, cut through the chaos like a knife.
“Will you all shut up already?” Ignis said, his patience clearly running out as he emerged from his tent, adjusting his glasses. “I’m trying to cook breakfast here, and you’re all making a scene.”
You managed to stammer, still covering your face in humiliation, “We didn’t do anything…”
“Sure,” Ignis said, clearly not buying it, his eyebrow arching. “And I suppose I didn’t hear the two of you sneaking back in here last night either.”
“Ugh,” you groaned, wishing the earth would just swallow you up right there.
Prompto was on the floor now, laughing uncontrollably. “Oh, I love this so much.”
“Well, at least we’re not sleeping through it like someone else,” Gladio said, poking Noctis in the side. “I don’t know how you can sleep through the noise, man.”
Noctis just waved it off with a smirk. “I’ve got a talent for it.”
“But we’re not talking about this anymore, got it?” You shot back, your face still burning, trying to shift the topic before things got even worse.
Prompto was still grinning. “Oh, we’re talking about it all day long, trust me. Just wait ‘til we get to the diner later, you two.” He waggled his eyebrows, and you could’ve sworn you saw Gladio’s smirk widen.
"Anyway," Gladio said, clearly enjoying the banter far more than you were, "you guys hungry?"
Noctis gave him an exaggerated sigh. “Are you really changing the subject right now, Gladio? After all the teasing?”
“What teasing?” Gladio chuckled. “There’s no teasing happening here. Just truth.”
You buried your face in your hands. "I can’t believe this is happening."
"Alright, we're hitting the road soon." Ignis shouts as he walks away.
× •-•-•-•⟮ ◆ ⟯•-•-•-• ×
The bell rang as you and the Chocobros entered a diner. It was a cozy little spot on the side of the road, always a welcome place to rest after a long trek. The atmosphere inside was inviting, the hum of conversation and the clinking of plates filling the air. But as soon as you stepped in, you felt the tension coil in your chest. You all sit down at a table and a waitress approches.
The waitress , tall, blonde, and absolutely radiating confidence, was immediately there, practically gliding over to your table like a predator circling its prey. Her eyes landed on Gladio, and you could already tell she was interested.
“Hey there, handsome,” she purred as she leaned over the table, just a bit too close to Gladio. “What can I get for you today?”
You glanced over at Gladio, who was blissfully unaware of the flirtation. He shot her a charming grin, stretching his long legs out beneath the table, looking relaxed and completely at ease.
“Prairie-style skewers, thanks,” Gladio said, his voice smooth and casual, not realising the attention he was drawing.
The waitress flashed him a smile that could’ve melted steel. "Coming right up. I’ll be sure to make it extra special for you." She lingered, eyes flicking between Gladio and you, and you felt your stomach twist.
You clenched your fists under the table, a sharp wave of jealousy washing over you. She was way too close. And Gladio—he wasn’t noticing how obvious she was being. Not at all.
“Anything else I can get for you, hon?” she added, her voice dripping with flirtation.
Before you could open your mouth to respond, a voice from across the table interrupted.
“Oh my God, again?” Prompto let out a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes. “Gladio, you’re making it way too easy for her.”
You could see the waitress’ eyes flick to Prompto with a slight glare, but she quickly went back to focusing on Gladio.
You swallowed, trying to suppress the rising irritation in your chest. "I’ll have the skewers, too," you said, your voice sharp, the words coming out before you could stop them.
The waitress finally turned her attention to you, her gaze briefly cold, and you could feel her sizing you up, a clear sense of superiority in her eyes. You didn’t miss the way she lingered on Gladio, almost completely ignoring you as she scribbled something down. She got the others' meals as well.
“Got it,” she said before turning to walk away. The sway of her hips was way too exaggerated, and you couldn’t help but feel the frustration build inside.
As she walked off, you glared at her retreating figure, your face burning. You felt a tight knot in your stomach as you crossed your arms, doing everything you could to keep your cool.
“What’s up with you?” Gladio asked, finally noticing the shift in your mood. He was still relaxed, clearly unaware of the obvious reason you were upset. "You’ve gone quiet all of a sudden."
Prompto grinned from across the table, his eyes glinting mischievously. “Uh-oh, looks like someone’s a little jealous.”
“What? No!” You quickly shot back, your tone a little too defensive. You knew you were being obvious, but you couldn’t help it. She was all over him, and he was acting like it was nothing. It was making your blood boil.
“Don’t even try to lie, [Y/N],” Prompto teased. “I saw the way you were glaring at her. Don’t worry, I’ve got your back.” He shot Gladio a wink. “But Gladio, man, I think you’ve got a bit of a fan club here.”
Noctis, who had been quietly sipping his drink, shot a knowing look your way before shrugging. “Honestly, it's not a big deal. Gladio gets hit on all the time. You should be used to it by now.”
That did not help your mood.
“Yeah, but it’s not just about the hitting on,” you muttered, trying to keep your tone steady. “It’s the way she was... hanging on him. A little too much for my liking.”
“Hey,” Gladio said, leaning forward now, his voice softer, “if it’s bothering you, I’ll make sure to keep my distance. I didn’t think it’d get to you.”
The sincerity in his voice made your heart skip a beat, but the green-eyed monster inside you wasn’t backing down that easily. You were still frustrated, but you couldn’t deny that Gladio was trying to make it right.
“It's not about keeping your distance,” you said, your voice quieter now, "It’s just... I don’t like the way she was acting like that with you.”
“Well,” Ignis chimed in, his voice calm but sharp as ever, “perhaps if you two were less obvious about it, no one would notice.” He adjusted his glasses and gave you both a pointed look, clearly fed up with the whole situation. “We’re trying to eat breakfast here, not make a spectacle.”
You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment. Great, now Ignis was calling you out in front of everyone.
Before you could respond, Prompto burst out laughing, doubling over in his seat. “Honestly, this is the best thing to happen all week.”
“You’re a real pain, Prompto,” you muttered, shaking your head. "Seriously."
But Gladio just chuckled, his hand reaching over to gently squeeze yours under the table. “I get it, [Y/N]. I really do. You don’t have to worry about her. You’re the only one I’m interested in.”
You looked at him, the tension slowly starting to ease as you met his gaze. “Thanks.”
“I’d take it easy on the jealousy though,” Gladio teased, his grin returning. “It doesn’t look good on you, babe.”
“No, you’re not helping,” you muttered, though the warmth in your chest made it clear you weren’t actually mad anymore.
“Well, I think we’ve had enough fun for now,” Noctis said, his usual indifference masking the slight smirk tugging at his lips. “Let’s just eat before we start really embarrassing ourselves.”
× •-•-•-•⟮ ◆ ⟯•-•-•-• ×
The day had worn on, and the sun was beginning its descent as the group walked through the quiet town, searching for a place to relax and grab a drink. Everyone was in good spirits, though you couldn’t shake the memory of the earlier encounter. It had seemed like an endless stream of women looking Gladio up and down. It was something you'd gotten used to, but it was still grating.
You hadn’t let it show much, but now, it seemed like the universe was determined to test your patience.
You and the gang had stopped by a small, rustic bar. The mood was casual and relaxed, and everyone was enjoying a round of drinks. The guys were having a good time, joking around with each other, but your attention had wandered to the bartender, a tall, dark-haired man who had a certain... charm. You hadn't meant to notice him, but when his eyes met yours, he gave you an unmistakable once-over.
He flashed you a smile, one that seemed to linger just a little too long for your liking.
"Hey there," he greeted, voice smooth and almost seductive as he made his way over to you, leaning on the counter. "What’s a beautiful lady like you doing in a place like this?"
You gave him a polite, but tight-lipped smile, trying to keep the situation neutral. “Just enjoying the company of some friends.”
Glancing back at the Chocobros, you caught Gladio’s eye. He was mid-laugh with Prompto, but the moment his gaze met yours, something in his expression shifted. It was subtle but unmistakable—his eyes darkened slightly, his jaw setting in a tense line.
The bartender leaned in a little closer, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he addressed you again, completely ignoring the presence of your companions.
"You sure you don’t want to get away from all this noise?" he suggested, voice dripping with charm. "I could show you a better time."
At that, your patience finally snapped. You weren’t used to this kind of attention, especially not in front of Gladio. You weren’t interested in this guy in the slightest, but you weren’t going to let him flirt so shamelessly either. Before you could respond, Gladio stood up from his spot at the table, his posture stiff and his movements deliberate.
The energy shifted. You could feel it—the subtle but unmistakable possessiveness radiating off him. His footsteps were heavier as he approached, and you could feel his presence behind you like a looming shadow.
“Is there a problem here?” Gladio’s voice was deep and steady, but there was a razor’s edge to it.
The bartender straightened up immediately, visibly caught off guard by the sudden shift in atmosphere. He managed a nervous chuckle. “N-No, not at all. Just—just talking.”
You didn’t need to look at Gladio to feel the intensity building. It was like a storm brewing, his body so close now that you could feel the heat radiating from him, the barely contained tension in every muscle. You were surprised he didn’t just outright drag you away.
“Yeah, I think you should back off,” Gladio continued, his tone low and commanding. He gave the bartender a look that was so intense it could’ve set fire to the whole room. “This one’s taken.”
The bartender quickly backed away, muttering an apology under his breath, but Gladio wasn’t finished. He turned to you, his eyes full of that dark, possessive heat that sent a thrill straight through your chest.
“Come on,” he muttered under his breath, taking your arm and leading you away from the bar, away from the prying eyes of the others.
Once you were out of the bar, Gladio pulled you into the alleyway next to the building, his hand gripping your wrist firmly but gently enough not to hurt. He didn’t give you a chance to say anything. He just backed you up against the brick wall, the cool surface pressing against your back as he hovered in front of you.
His breath was heavy, his eyes searching yours like he was trying to read something you weren’t saying.
“I hate it when people look at you like that,” he growled, the words coming out in a rush. His face was inches from yours, his breath warm against your lips. “You don’t deserve to be treated like some prize to be won.”
You swallowed hard, feeling your pulse quicken. His anger—mixed with something else—was like a fire that fueled your own desire. It wasn’t just jealousy you were seeing; it was raw, unfiltered need.
"I’m not some fragile thing," you said, the words coming out sharper than you intended. “And you can’t just—”
Before you could finish, his lips were on yours, cutting off the words you didn’t want to say anyway. The kiss was rough, urgent, almost desperate as he pulled you closer, his hand tangling in your hair. His other hand pressed against the wall beside your head, caging you in.
It took you a moment to respond, but once you did, the spark turned into an inferno. You kissed him back with just as much intensity, your hands roaming over his chest, pulling him closer, feeling the heat of his body against yours.
"Gladio," you whispered breathlessly, your voice full of tension.
His grip tightened on your waist, and he pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes. “I don’t want anyone else looking at you like that. No one else is allowed to touch you, [Y/N].”
The possessiveness in his words made something inside you snap. You wanted this. All of it.
You smirk, "now you know how I felt earlier."
Without another word, Gladio kissed you again, more demanding this time, his hands quickly finding their way beneath your clothes, the heat of his skin against yours driving you both toward the edge.
It didn’t take long before you were both caught in the whirlwind of your desire, the world outside of this alleyway no longer existing. There was only the burning need between you, the heady mix of jealousy and passion that had been simmering all day finally reaching its boiling point.
He hiked your skirt up and pulled your panties to the side.
"Fuck, [Y/N], wet already?" He teased.
"Jealousy looks so good on you." You smirk and his fingers dip into your pussy. You moan and he covers your mouth with his hand.
"Don't want anyone disrupting us." He mumers and he works his fingers in and out of your dripping hole, swirling your clit with his thumb.
Your nails dug into his exposed abs. "Gladio..." You whine.
"I know, babe." He huffs as he unzips his leather pants and pulls his boxers down, his giant member slapping against his muscles. He slides his member along your slit as you whine at the sensation. He slowly pushes into you as you gasp and he groans deeply. "Fuck." He holds you tightly around your waist as he thrusts into you, your breasts bouncing at the motion against the brick wall.
"Baby," You whine as your hands settle on his face as he plays with your clit and you rub his cheek. You kiss him deeply. He groans into the kiss. "Im close" you breathe as he chuckles.
"Me too." He thruts a few more times and you both reach your high. You tilt your head back as you see stars. Gladio buries his face into your neck and bites down as he fills you up. After a few moments he pulls back and tucks himself back in and kisses your face gently.
"It's so hot knowing your filled with my cum." He bites your ear and you giggle.
× •-•-•-•⟮ ◆ ⟯•-•-•-• ×
The evening air was cooler now, tinged with salt and heat from the pavement. After the long day, the Chocobros decided to forgo camping for once and check into a modest hotel on the edge of town. The neon sign flickered lazily as Ignis handled the front desk, making sure everyone had a room.
“Noct, you’re with me,” Prompto said, stretching his arms with a yawn. “Try not to snore like a behemoth this time.”
Noctis rolled his eyes. “You’re the one who sleep-talks.”
Gladio was quiet beside you, the tension from earlier replaced by something calmer—but not quite gone. He kept a protective hand on your lower back as everyone made their way down the hall with keys in hand.
You were about to follow Noct and Prompto to your shared room when Gladio’s grip tightened slightly.
“Switch with me,” he said quietly to Ignis, who raised a brow behind his glasses. A knowing flicker of amusement flashed in his eyes, but he said nothing.
“Very well,” Ignis replied smoothly, offering Gladio a different keycard.
You raised an eyebrow. “What was that about?”
Gladio leaned close, murmuring just loud enough for you to hear. “After earlier, you really think I’m lettin’ you out of my sight tonight?”
You felt a blush rise in your cheeks, but didn’t argue.
The room was simple: a king bed, crisp sheets, and warm lighting from a small lamp in the corner. The curtains were drawn, and the muffled sounds of the town buzzed faintly beyond the windows. You kicked off your shoes, toes grateful to breathe again, while Gladio peeled off his jacket and tossed it over a chair.
The silence wasn’t awkward—it was comfortable. Grounding. His eyes found yours in the soft lamplight as you sat at the edge of the bed.
“Earlier... that guy didn’t stand a chance,” you said, half-teasing, half-serious.
Gladio chuckled, walking over to you and brushing his fingers gently along your jaw. “Still got under my skin. Guess I don’t like sharing what’s mine.”
You leaned into his touch, your voice quieter now. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
He kissed your temple, arms wrapping around your waist from behind as he pulled you into him, your backs swaying slightly in a private rhythm only you two knew.
“You wore me out today,” you said with a mock scowl.
He grinned, voice low. “Yeah? Let’s sleep, then.”
You changed into something comfortable while Gladio stripped down to his boxers. As you both settled under the covers, his warmth against your back, his arm looped snugly around your waist, you let out a soft, content sigh.
“You really gonna behave tonight?” you teased, nuzzling into the pillow.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his lips brushed your ear.
“Only if you stop makin’ those little noises when you stretch.”
You smacked his arm, laughing. “You’re the worst.”
“And you’re perfect.”
With that, he kissed the back of your shoulder and finally relaxed, his chest rising and falling evenly against your spine.
You closed your eyes to the sound of his breathing, the quiet hum of the hotel, and the comfort of knowing you were exactly where you were supposed to be.
This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.
Nervousness wrenches your insides as you peer at the proceedings from afar. Another gala to raise funds in order to quell a budding rebellion in the Districts. The second one this year.
They always leave you feeling sour. It’s not like the Districts have no reason to start an uprising. The next reaping is fastly approaching and you’d rage too if your family was to go through that again.
You take a tiny sip from your glass of posca, mindful not to overindulge. The diluted, aromatic wine is far stronger than one would imagine. But a slight dash of intoxication is the only way you can see yourself getting through the night. Crowds always made you anxious, but a gathering of Capitol citizens stirs a particular discomfort in you.
You’re not one of them and you often wonder if they can tell, sense a whiff of District 12 on you. The foul stench of unbelonging. Perhaps in the manner you speak or your stance. You’ve never managed to perfectly mimic the way Capitol ladies carry themselves, born from a lifetime of practicing poise and etiquette. After all, you are an outsider, and always will be.
Regardless of how many galas you attend, fashionable dresses you order to match the quickly changing trends of the Capitol, effort you exert to erase your thick Covey accent…it seems someone can always tell there’s more to you.
It’s in that mocking glint in their eyes, that sneering lilt in their voice.
To them, you’ll never be more than District rabble.
Which is exactly why you despise these events. But your husband insisted. He’s working hard to impress his boss, the most important man in all of Panem, and you can’t let him down.
You must be the picture of charm. Laugh at every joke, nod your head when a serious topic is being broached, display interest when personal stories are being shared.
You place a hand on your roaring stomach, a frown creasing your brow. You haven’t swallowed a bite the entire day, too anxious about how tonight would go.
Your gaze darts about the room. The tantalizing spread of appetizers in the middle of the room seems to be calling your name. Your mouth waters.
Without a thought, your feet glide across the marble tiles. A little self-conscious, hesitation tingles at your fingertips as they drum by one of the silver platters. Another pang of hunger pierces your insides at the sight of the food. You cave in, picking up a tiny sandwich from a plate. Your eyes close, angels singing in your mouth as delicious aromas trickle on your tongue.
“Sweetie, there’s someone you must meet,” your husband chimes at your back.
Still chewing on a mouthful of meat and bread, you whirl. Your eyes bulge. Startled, you nearly suffocate on your food.
You quickly wipe your mouth as heat rushes to your cheeks.
You’ve seen his face before. The murky screens do not do justice to his dashing looks.
“President Snow. It’s a pleasure. Apologies, I was…”
A smile ghosts over his lips as he drinks you in, his cerulean gaze dragging over your frame. “No apologies,” he answers silkily. “I’m glad you’re enjoying the food. At least someone is.”
He picks up your hand and presses an ephemeral peck on the back of it. You turn to Henry. The shock adorning your husband’s face mirrors yours.
President Snow’s lips curl skywards.
He lets go of your hand and adds, “It’s nice putting a face to your name. Henry is always raving about you.”
You shake your head, eyes bashfully finding the floor. “Oh, I’m sure he isn’t,” you mumble.
The blonde hums as if to disagree. He bends close to your ear.
“He’s always lauding what a wonderful wife you are, dutiful, sweet…”
…Makes me almost jealous.
Your head whips up.
You blink at the whispered words, barely above a breath. Maybe you heard wrong. It’s hard to tell, the way Snow gauges you, that subtle smile still decorating his handsome face.
He asks you trivial questions about how you’re settling in and how you’re enjoying your life in the Capitol. You answer every time, ignoring the chill dancing at the base of your spine.
His scrutiny swells your unease.
So as soon as the conversation veers away from you and towards the topics of lawmaking and taxes, you snatch the opportunity to excuse yourself.
You give an apologetic smile to your husband.
“Henry, maybe I should go. I’m not feeling too hot.”
He scowls at you. “You want us to leave already?” Disappointment bleeds in his tone. A thick layer of shame settles in the pit of your stomach. You’re being a bad wife.
“You can stay, even if I go,” you try to offer.
“There’s still so many people we haven’t talked to…” Henry argues.
You deflate. You suppose it would be uncouth to leave too early.
To your surprise, President Snow’s smooth lilt interjects, “If your wife is unwell, you both should go.”
You gape at him. A strange glint bounces in his cerulean orbs and unease flutters through you once more.
Henry sighs, grabbing your hand.
“Alright. I’ll go fetch the car.”
He gives the blond a formal salute before dragging you away.
As the two of you leave, the heat of Snow’s attention prickles along your spine.
“Did he say something to you?”
Gasping, you turn to your husband. He pointedly looks at you and you shift awkwardly in the passenger seat.
“What?” you say, taken aback by his sudden question.
He studies you for a while before his gaze drifts back to the road.
“Snow. He said something to you, didn’t he?”
Your chest clenches. Faking nonchalance, you shrug and reply lightly, “Just a joke but I didn’t understand it.”
The days soar by, humdrum and uneventful. You file away the strange moment at the gala and return to your everyday life. Henry occupies most of your time but when you’re not catering to him, you tend to the house and read. And during stolen moments…you play and sing. Henry doesn’t know, of course. It’s a life you left behind, or are supposed to at least.
You’re the wife of a Capitol official, not some District balladeer peddling song for coin.
But you can’t help it.
Singing reminds you of home. Of endless green meadows and lazy afternoons by the river. Your life from before may have been uncertain but you find yourself missing it at times. Missing the freedom to do and act as you pleased.
An orphan like so many others, the Covey were the only family you ever knew. Then you met Henry. Henry who spoke so sweetly to you and gazed at you with warm brown eyes. And he became your family. He didn’t care that you were from a District or that your manners were lacking. He embraced you.
And now you wish to support him in all that he does. Even if it means tossing away parts of yourself.
The front door cracks open, halting the path of the needle between your fingers. A smile blooms on your lips as you place Henry’s shirt on a nearby table. You can resume fixing the buttons on it later. You rise from the armchair and make your way to him. You help him out of his coat, noting the excitement radiating off his frame.
He’s not usually this ecstatic after a day of work. You tilt your head in puzzlement.
He hugs you before announcing, “We have a guest tomorrow, a very important guest.”
“Oh,” you reply, tamping down your concern. The apartment isn’t exactly ready for guests, much less important ones. The fridge needs to be stocked and the furniture requires thorough dusting.
“Yes, I was mentioning what a wonderful cook you are and he said he hasn’t had a home cooked meal in a while.”
“Who?” you ask, your curiosity peaking.
“President Snow,” Henry replies with a victorious grin.
Dread and confusion collide inside you. Why would President Snow visit you and your husband of all people? While Henry’s been rising in ranks quite fast, you can’t picture the leader of the country making time for people like you.
But you don’t voice these thoughts, instead you inquire, “Are you sure my cooking will be enough for him? His palate is used to those fancy meals at the Capitol.”
He cradles your face and plants a kiss on your forehead.
“Don’t doubt yourself, honey. You’re an amazing cook.”
“I just don’t want to let you down,” you confess, anxiously chewing on your lip.
“You won’t,” he assures. His chestnut gaze dives into yours. “This could be a great opportunity for us. Imagine what being close to Snow could do for our lives. He could promote me. We could even move to a bigger place.”
Your brows knit. “I love our place.”
Henry laughs. “Yes but the day we expand our family, you have to admit it’ll be a little small.”
You peer at your surroundings. Every corner of the little house harbors a beloved memory. You’d hate leaving it behind, but you suppose he’s right. You might outgrow it one day.
Henry frames your chin to draw your focus back to him.
“Just be yourself,” he says. “Your kind, sweet, wonderful self and all will be well.”
Nodding, you give a feeble smile.
“Understood.”
The next day is spent meticulously cleaning every inch of the house. For hours you’re anxious, wondering what to say or do, how to behave. You don’t have the natural wit and charm to impress someone like Coriolanus Snow. You keep worrying you’ll speak out of turn and embarrass Henry. Preparing dinner is the only time your mind is at rest. You stir the vegetables in the stew, smiling as the delectable scent fills your nostrils. It’s simmered for hours to create a rich flavor. It’s only your second time trying this recipe so you’re a bit nervous. Henry adored it but he’s your husband. You don’t know if President Snow’s delicate taste buds will find your meals to his liking.
You’re slightly more confident about your strawberry cake. While you struggled with it at first, the frosting never quite coming out the way you wanted, it’s now turned into one of your specialties.
The doorbell rings and you freeze. You glance up at the clock hanging near the stove. Already? Time has flown and you didn’t notice.
As you approach the door, you smooth out the wrinkles in your apron and straighten your spine. You take a deep breath before opening the door.
A wobbly smile cants your lips upwards.
“President Snow, it’s an honor,” you greet cheerfully.
The tall blond crosses the threshold after your husband. You take him in, trying to girdle your apprehension. He casts an imposing figure with his slicked back silver locks and tailored purple suit, the signature white rose pinned to his left breast pocket as always.
An aura of authority seems to follow him wherever he goes.
“Please, the honor is mine,” Snow says. His sky gaze roams across the living room. His expression is unreadable and you feel a bit self-conscious. It’s likely not as luxurious as what he’s used to. But to your surprise, he looks right at you and says, “What a lovely abode.”
His nose twitches as he hums, “I smell something heavenly, for me perhaps?”
You nod.
“I made beef stew.”
“Wonderful.”
Your cheeks warm at the compliment.
“Shall we sit?” Henry says, escorting him to the dining room.
You rush to the kitchen and throw your apron on a chair. Inhaling a lungful of nerve, you slip on gloves and grab the pot from the stove. Slowly, you bring out the food. Your skin tingles with the weight of Snow’s eyes on you.
You ladle out the stew on each plate. When you circle the table to serve Snow, you feel the faintest brush of fingertips over your hip. You flinch.
When you look at him, an almost imperceptible smile hovers on his lips. You blink and it almost seems like it’s gone, as if you dreamt the entire instant. The ladle wavers in your hand.
Did he mean to do that? Once again, you question your own senses, your sanity. It was a fleeting touch, the accidental kind that occurs everyday. But somehow your nerves are agitated with this mere, insignificant second.
Quickly, you round the table and plop down in the chair next to your husband. He squeezes your hand beneath the table, his brown gaze spelling “good job”. Relief sits inside you. You spent all day agonizing over every aspect of tonight so it’s nice to know Henry appreciates your efforts at least.
Everyone starts eating, your husband and Snow engaging in topics you only listen to with half an ear. Instead you focus on your plate, swallowing tiny bites of the stew.
The flavor is nice and rich, just like you hoped, and pride trickles inside you.
“You’re so silent. Are we boring you?”
Snow’s abrupt statement yanks a sharp gasp from you. Your head snaps up. You realize both he and Henry are staring at you. Your face warms.
“N-No, I just don’t have anything interesting to contribute,” you stammer, your head dipping.
“My wife has no mind for politics, I’m afraid,” Henry chuckles.
Your mouth screws shut, your fingers tightening around your spoon. It’s more that your opinions differ vastly and there are things Henry prefers you don’t say aloud.
A crooked smirk blooms on Snow’s lips.
“Ah, a pretty, silent one. I believe you lucked out with this one, Henry.”
Your teeth grind as your brows twitch. Pretty and silent. You don’t know why the words chafe you, cutting into you as deep as a knife.
You rise from your chair and grab your near empty plate.
“I should go clean the kitchen,” you announce with a terse smile.
You don’t look back as you walk away, berating yourself with every step.
This isn’t how one should behave in front of him. But you also don’t think you can spend another second in his presence.
You rub the sponge over the top of the stove, satisfaction trickling inside you as the grease and sauce stains are wiped away. You bask in the calm, concentrated on your task.
A warm breath tickles the shell of your ear.
“You seemed peeved before.”
Sucking a sharp breath, you whirl on your heels. Your hand spreads over your chest as your vision is filled with the towering frame of President Snow. His stance is relaxed as he peers at you curiously.
“You scared me…President.”
He ignores your reaction, continuing his statement from before, “When we were discussing the next reaping.”
You shake your head. “I wasn’t peeved.”
“Your face, it did that thing.” Your forehead creases. He inches closer. The scent of roses, thick and heady, coats your senses. Your head starts spinning. “Like now. It bothered you.”
Panic flutters through you. This is a man who could have you hanged or jailed for saying the wrong thing. But something about his expression tells you he won’t relent, that he'll only take the truth and nothing else.
So your heart spills out of you.
“In an ideal world, we wouldn’t need the Hunger Games. They are…” You trail off, remembering yourself, who you’re speaking to. You bite down your feelings and go quiet.
But Snow bends over you, crowding your space as your back hits the edge of the stove.
“What? Barbaric? Cruel?” He chuckles and goosebumps rise on your flesh. “But we do need them, dove. Every single year. So the districts never forget their place, and most importantly ours.”
Your lip quakes. Snow’s gaze follows the motion, his lips slanting lopsidedly.
“Such a sweet soul,” he whispers.
He suddenly backs away from you. Air rushes back to your lungs.
“It’s late. I should take my leave. Thank you for a most…enlightening dinner.”
You resume your life and, for a while, everything is normal. Henry doesn’t talk about that night again and neither do you, the both of you bonded by that silent agreement. Maybe he saw Snow talking to you in the kitchen, maybe he didn’t. You’ll never know as he keeps his thoughts to himself, throwing himself into his work and acting like his usual self.
And if there’s a bit more distance between the two of you in the marital bed, you try not to let it bother you. With time, the strangeness will fade and you and Henry will be back on track, trying for a child and enjoying marital bliss.
Though one evening, things are anything but normal. In fact, the world all but ends.
Your husband peruses the notice letter for rent once more. The blood seems to leave his face.
He runs his fingers through his dark curls.
“I don’t understand.”
Hands resting on his shoulders, your heart skips a beat as you read the neat printed letters.
Rent in your building has doubled overnight. If you and your husband do not pay up by next week, you will be evicted. Houseless.
Hell, you might even be sent back to your district. Your heart plummets to your feet. Your knees buckle underneath you. Henry catches you before you fall, leading you to the sofa as panicked breaths rush through your lungs.
He hunkers in front of you and holds your hands.
“I promise you I’ll find a way. Take out a loan or-”
“A loan we won’t be able to pay back?”
His jaw clenches. “Just let me handle it, okay?”
Though doubts creep inside you, you nod.
The days race along, tension growing each day as the deadline is approaching. Only three days. In just three days, you and your husband will be evicted unless a miracle happens.
And you conclude from the dark circles under Henry’s eyes and the way he barely answers when you speak to him, that he’s as clueless as you are.
There is no solution. Once again, the Capitol and its arbitrary rules strike.
So you come to a decision.
A decision that leads you in front of the biggest mansion in the entire Capitol. President Coriolanus Snow’s house. You suck in a wide lungful, quelling a shudder at the sight of the blue-clad peacekeepers lining the walls.
You stride towards the massive entrance gates. White roses twine around the wrought iron, their thorns seeming as sharp as knives.
You gather your nerves and lift a tremulous hand towards the intercom.
Before you can even state your matter, a disembodied, feminine voice rises from the device.
“Do you have an appointment?” the woman asks stiffly.
Hasty words pour out of you. “No, but I just need a minute-”
“President Snow doesn’t accept any visitors,” she responds harshly.
Your heart sinks. Of course he doesn’t. It was naive of you to cling to the illusory hope he’d see you anyway. Just for one dinner he likely forgot about. He’s the president. There are crucial matters that perpetually call for his attention. A myriad of things bigger and more important than a single Capitol citizen’s rent issues.
Still, you elect to try again, remembering the imminent deadline.
“Please,” you beg. “It’s very important.”
A distorted sigh ripples from the intercom.
“If you do not leave the premises, we will be compelled to remove you from the property, miss.”
One of the peacekeepers posted at the gates looks straight at you, his hand tightening over the rear of his machine gun. A wave of ice spreads through your veins.
You swallow and step back, accepting your defeat. Burning with shame, you start walking away from the mansion.
But you’re hardly a feet away, as the same voice from before erupts again, much softer this time.
“My apologies, miss. I didn’t realize you were a close friend of President Snow.”
Your jaw hangs slack as you turn.
A woman with long dark hair appears through the open gates.
“Please, follow me,” she says as she approaches you. “The president will see you right away.”
Still steeped in utter shock, you acquiesce. You trail behind her. You can’t help but allow your eyes to wander as the woman escorts you through a dizzying series of hallways. While the front of the mansion is impressive with its lavish gardens and striking architecture, the inside is just as grandiose. You feel small as your gaze rests on all the sculptures and paintings decorating every corner of the house. Everywhere you look, there is something beautiful and eye-catching. The entire house is like a museum, meant to be admired rather than lived in.
Eventually the woman halts in front of a mahogany door. She tugs on the brass handles and stands to the side, making room for you to walk in. You mumble ‘thank you’ under your breath as you stumble inside the office.
President Snow’s blue eyes crinkle when they rest on you.
“Hello, dove. Why don’t you have a seat?” he offers, pointing at the chair before his desk.
Licking your lips, you do as he says. Despite the softness of the plush upholstery you sit on, your nerves flare up. You had an entire speech ready, one you practiced on the way here.
But now that you’re here, his intense focus pinned on you, you’re at a loss.
Shaky words trickle out of your mouth.
“President Snow. I know you must be so busy…”
“Nonsense,” he interrupts, leaning back in his leather chair. “I always find time for my friends.”
You swallow the lump in your throat.
“T-That’s a relief to hear,” you stammer.
A maid brings a kettle and biscuits on a silver platter.
“Tea?” Snow asks as he picks up the kettle.
“No, thank you.”
As Snow pours himself a cup, you ponder your next words. You don’t want to seem greedy but you can’t think of an elegant way to state your purpose.
So you settle for the truth.
“I came because…my husband and I are in a bit of trouble.”
Snow scrutinizes you for a while. Your stomach tightens.
He then gives a sluggish nod, bending forwards as his fingers lace together.
“Do tell me everything, dove.”
You do exactly that. Snow is silent as your trembling voice fills his office. No word leaves his mouth while he listens. You don’t skip out a single detail, making a point to emphasize what consequences could befall upon you and your husband should you fail to meet the deadline.
When you’re done, he sips from his tea cup and hums, “How unfortunate.”
“Can’t it be undone? I mean, couldn’t you…”
He chuckles along the porcelain rim of his cup. “I’m not responsible for every law and charter. I approve them, of course, but there are committees, councils. Each law serves the betterment of Panem as a whole. I can’t undo what has been done. I mean, how would this look to the rest of the Capitol? Like I have a different set of rules for my friends? I have to look impartial.” Heaving out a deep sigh, he sets his cup down. “Apologies, dove, my hands are tied.”
The world seems to collapse around you. Your stomach sinks.
You surmise it was too big an ask, even for the President of Panem. You can’t expect special treatment. It was silly of you to even come hoping for anything resembling that.
You were foolish. Now you must collect the pathetic remnants of your dignity and take your leave.
Gulping down the tears pressing at the back of your eyes, you nod.
“I’m sorry I asked,” you croak, already beginning to rise from your chair.
His deep lilt pauses your motion.
“But I suppose…there could be a solution. An alternative.”
Your brow furrows as you drop back on the chair.
“An alternative?”
“I could cover the difference.”
Your mouth nearly hits the floor. Snow using his own funds to help? It could be the very miracle you and your husband waited for. You would have to pay him back over time, of course. But for now, it would allow you and Henry to keep the apartment.
It’s a godsend.
“You would do that for us?” you mutter, shock stealing your air.
His reply is nonchalant. “Yes. I’d simply file it under my own personal investments.” Slanting his head sideways, he studies you. “I’d just ask for a small favor in exchange.”
“A favor?”
You wonder what kind of favor you could do for someone like Coriolanus Snow, the man who has everything and more. Gaping at him, you wait for him to elaborate.
He leans forward, crossing his arms over his desk.
“It’s not much but it would mean the world to me. The house needs some upkeep. Just a few light chores here and there. No cleaning, of course; I have an entire staff in charge of that. But the garden needs tending.” His inflection softens as he takes you in. “A home cooked meal every now and then would be nice, and I might sometimes ask you to join me for tea and conversation…” Mirth sways in his cerulean orbs. “As dreadful as that may sound.”
You move your head in assent.
“I think I can do that. But w-why me?”
He gives a long exhale, resting his jaw in his hand.
“Honestly dove? You’d be the one doing me a favor. All day, I’m surrounded by vultures.” Snow rolls his eyes skyward. “Sycophants who placate me with false smiles and honeyed lies.” His tone warms when his gaze falls back on you. “I simply wish to return home to someone genuine, someone who would never lie to me. And you wouldn’t, would you?”
“W-What?”
“Lie to me.”
Your skin heats under his scrutiny.
Trying not to squirm, you sputter, “Never, sir.”
“Music to my ears,” the young president croons.
It’s not sounding like more work than what you do at home. You can already hear Henry’s discontent echoing in your head. You won’t have as much time for him. That too will be yet another adjustment.
But what other option is there? Even the family of four above yours had to move, unable to keep up with the sudden rent increase. You and Henry could be next.
“I…W-When do I start?”
The corners of Snow’s lips tug upwards.
“How does tomorrow sound?”
“You’re going to work for him?”
Henry’s displeasure ripples through you. You twine your hands and cast him an apologetic look. He despises that you went behind his back; you know that. But Henry ran himself ragged trying to come up with a solution. You didn’t want him to carry the burden on his own. That is not what a marriage is.
“He needs a housekeeper, of sorts. And he paid this month’s rent and the next upfront.”
Henry’s brows crumple. “Still, that’s…” Shoulders sagging, he crashes onto the sofa. The built-up exhaustion of the last few days seems to return all at once. You know he hasn’t slept a wink this whole week. Heart squeezing, you join his side and cradle his hand in your lap. Henry’s voice is dripping with shame and regret. “The entire reason I moved us here is so you never have to want for anything, so you wouldn’t have to work or suffer another day in this life.” His head dips. “I failed you.”
You cup his face, plunging your eyes into his.
“You didn’t fail me. And I won’t suffer. Sometimes life throws you lemons and you just have to squeeze those suckers dry.”
A hollow chuckle slips through his lips.
You run your thumbs over his growing beard.
"Listen, I know this wasn’t in our plans, but it’s just for now. In time, we’ll figure something out but I have to do this.” You lean your forehead against his. “For us.”
“Okay,” he belatedly concedes. He pulls your hands to his chest, kissing your knuckles.
“Just come home when you’re done.”
“I will,” you promise.
The first day slogs forth without a hitch. A car picks you up in the morning and drops you off at President Snow’s estate. The dark-haired woman from before welcomes you, introduces you to the staff and walks you through your duties. You learn her name is Ariadne.
You spend most of the day busy in the garden and library. Snow’s garden of roses might be one of the hidden treasures of Panem. Taking care of it is a pleasure and you even give yourself some minutes to bask in the sun’s warmth.
The library shelves need dusting and you tend to this task as well, humming familiar tunes to yourself while working. It is no harm if no one is around to hear you sing.
You don’t get bored as there’s always a task requiring your attention in the massive house.
When stars begin to dust the darkening sky, you rush to the kitchen. You get started on dinner. Staff members give you space to work and you’re grateful. You don’t like being ogled while you cook. You marvel at the gold, high-end appliances as you knead your dough. The kitchen is pristine, like everything else in the house. You settle for something simple, hearty and warm. There is no point in pretending you’re some fancy chef when you’re not. If it’s what Snow desired, he’d have hired one. There’s a plethora of them in the Capitol for him to choose from after all. And they’d all line up outside his house in a heartbeat if he requested it.
You stand nervous, hands folded in your lap as the meal you prepared is brought out onto silver plates. You spent hours on it. Hopefully he likes it.
“This smells like heaven,” Snow purrs.
He then points at the chair next to his on the long table.
“Have a seat.”
Your eyes bulge. Not only are you stunned by his request, as there are so many other chairs on the gigantic dinner table, but you were hoping to return home to Henry once dinner was served.
“Oh, I thought…”
He smiles at you. “I hate dining alone.”
You consider arguing. But as you remember all that you owe him, your mouth squeezes shut. You give a meek nod and drag your feet to the chair.
“Of course.”
You pick up your knife and fork…one of the knives and forks. You choose at random, unsure what purpose each of the cutlery items serves.
A smile waltzes upon Snow’s lips as he watches you. Shame pools in your gut. You feel like you’re making a fool of yourself.
He takes a bite of food and hums low in his throat, his eyes closing.
“Your cooking never fails to amaze, dove,” he lauds. Blue eyes search your face. “Are you hiding other talents from me?”
Your eyes lock onto your napkin, following the swirl of the flower patterns sewn in the corners. “I don’t think so,” you mumble.
Dinner continues in silence, only occasionally shattered by Snow’s sounds of delight and words of praise. Your own bites are small. While you’re glad it turned out the way you wanted, you’d rather save your appetite for home.
When a maid brings tea after the meal, Snow raises a dismissive hand.
“We’ll have tea and cakes in the study,” he announces.
Your face scrunches. “But it’s getting late. I should-”
“I must insist,” he interrupts. He rises from his seat and offers you his outstretched hand.
His smile broadens.
“You would rob me of your company so swiftly, dove? How cruel of you.”
Reluctantly, you accept the hand he gives you. He helps you out of your chair and motions at you to follow him.
The both of you end up in his study, sitting by the fire. Tea is placed on the small table between you. Coriolanus takes a slow sip while you fiddle with your hands.
His cerulean gaze locks with yours.
“That song you were humming earlier.”
Your chest seizes.
The loud thudding of your heart fills your ears. You swallow thickly.
“A song?”
“Yes,” he says absently, adding another spoonful of sugar to his cup. He gives a small stir before bringing it to his lips again. “I heard it as I walked by the library.”
You try not to let your panic show, cloaking yourself in false nonchalance. You thought you were discreet, quiet almost.
“Ah, that. It’s nothing,” you elude.
“No, it was lovely. You have the voice of an angel.”
The compliment leaves you speechless.
But his next words tie your stomach in knots.
“I want to hear it again.”
“I don’t really…perform for audiences.”
“You mean since you left the Covey?”
Mouth agape, you stare at him. How did he find out? You don’t remember ever bringing it up. In fact, you wouldn’t. You expend great effort to hide your past on a daily basis.
Your reaction draws a snort from him. Amusement bounces in his orbs.
“Come on, dove, that accent…It might fool others but not me.”
“I don’t sing anymore,” you state firmly.
Even if you did, you wouldn’t do it for Coriolanus Snow. Not of your own free will.
He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. His inflection becomes sharp, all softness evanescing. “Remember when I told you that I hated lies?” His pointed gaze sends chills through your body. “Sing for me, dove.”
Your mouth goes dry as sand.
You understand his words for what they are. An order from your president. A strange order…but an order nonetheless.
You don’t get to refuse. You’re to sing for him, whether it pleases you or not.
Like a bird in a cage.
So you do it. Your lips fall open and clear, soft notes rise out of you. A traditional song your mother taught you. It tells the story of a girl who meets a boy with ocean eyes, how she drowns in them but the fall is like rising to heaven.
As your voice fills his office, Snow’s scorching gaze doesn’t leave you.
When the song is done, he doesn’t applaud or praise you.
Instead, his eyes bear into you for what feels like an eternity. You try not to move, though your heart thunders in your chest.
“See, was that so hard?” he asks, that cocky smile still adorning his lips. You don’t reply, your throat ablaze. It felt as if you didn’t belong to yourself just then. And it terrifies you. He slides your untouched cup towards you. “Drink your tea before it gets cold. Then, you can go home.”
Without a protest, you lift the cup to your mouth. One measly cup of tea and you’ll get to go home. Then this uncomfortable evening can end. Finally.
But as the liquid trickles inside your mouth, tendrils of darkness lurk in your vision. Your body gets heavier. So heavy you can’t hold the cup anymore, or even yourself. The porcelain dish vanishes from your hands. You sag into your chair.
Progressively, colors dim around you.
Then sleep drags you down into a rabbit hole of utter oblivion. And all is blackness.
Softness like you’ve never felt before greets you when you awake. Like being embraced by fluffy clouds. For a while, you linger in the comfortable sensation, humming against the plush blankets. But as your eyes land on the thin slice of sunlight spilling from the window, you unleash an audible gasp.
You bolt in a sitting position.
Your eyes widen as you find Ariadne observing you between the velvet curtains at the end of the bed.
Gripping the side of your head, you glance at your surroundings. Clearly, you’re in a room. But how did you wind up here? No matter how hard you try, you can’t summon a single memory from last night.
“Ariadne? What happened?”
She circles the bed to take a seat next to you. Her gentle tone alleviates your rising panic.
“You fell asleep,” she explains. “Master Snow brought you here so you can get some proper rest.”
You sigh. It does make sense. Though you can’t stamp out the trickle of embarrassment sitting inside you with that knowledge. You dozed off on the job, on your first day. Hopefully, Snow isn’t too offended.
“I must have been more tired than I thought,” you mutter, looking down.
“He’s gone now; he had urgent business at the Justice Building. But he insisted you eat a proper meal before you go.” She points at the golden food cart near the bed, every tray brimming with pastries, fruits, meats and cheeses. Way more than you could eat in a single meal.
The kind of decadent abundance the Capitol likes to indulge in.
You politely decline.
“I can’t…I have to return to my husband. He must be worried sick.”
Ariadne puts a hand on your arm.
“Word has been sent to him that you were simply tending to Master Snow’s needs last night.”
You purse your lips. It’s not ideal but at least he knows you were working.
“Good,” you reply, nodding.
You yank the blanket off your body, determined to stand up and leave. But as soon as you’re on your feet, you crash back down on the bed, a strange ache awakening in your limbs.
Your forehead creases. You hug your stomach, a vicious cramp creeping there too.
Ariadne’s immediately at your side, placing her hands over your arms.
“Take it easy, miss,” she warns. “You exerted yourself a great deal yesterday.” She beams brightly. “In fact, Master Snow has given you a few days off. He was very satisfied with your work and expects you in three days’ time.”
Your brows rise. “Oh, that’s very generous.”
Her grin expands.
“He is exceedingly pleased with your performance.”
Over the next few weeks, Snow keeps summoning you sporadically. The days you work for him are pretty much the same. You attend to your daily tasks, you cook for him and then the two of you have tea in his study. He has you sing for him sometimes. You’ve learnt to swallow your feelings and perform according to his whim. You don’t even sing to yourself anymore, the exultation you drew from it all but gone. It was a way to stay connected to your Covey roots, to keep your family close to your heart. Now you can’t do it without his icy gaze invading your thoughts.
You often end up incredibly tired on those days, your body aching and sore for hours afterwards. You never imagined working for Coriolanus Snow would drain you so much. Falling asleep in his house even turns into a regular occurrence, happening almost every time you show up for work.
Naturally, Henry isn’t thrilled with that. Every time you come back home, too tired to wait on him hand and foot like you used to, his displeasure grows.
But he’s also yet to find a way to fix the issue, so the two of you must keep working. You’ve already sold everything that you could, clothes, any belonging of slight value.
The gap is still too vast.
And the city won’t allow you to apply for another place to live, claiming the waitlist is already sky-high.
Though you resent it, Coriolanus Snow is your only hope.
“You’re not in charge of dinner tonight,” Ariadne announces one night as you fire the stove.
You turn the burners off, your eyes rounding.
“I’m not?”
A bright smile blooms on the brunette’s face.
“Master Snow is inviting you to dine with him as his guest, to express gratitude for your outstanding work.”
Your lips part in surprise. In the many weeks you’ve worked for President Snow, this has never happened. You have shared meals, of course, but you’ve never received such a formal invitation.
You suppose it’s all a game to Snow, and he simply changes the rules whenever he feels it.
She astonishes you further when she urges you to follow her to one of the guest bedrooms.
Utter dismay fills you.
A white dress lies atop the bed. The sleeveless evening gown looks more expensive than any dress you’ve ever laid eyes on. The delicate white silk flares at the waist, the gigantic, fluffy layered skirt making your head spin already. You imagine how hard it'd be to move in such a dress. Though you surmise it won’t be too much of a concern as you only need to sit through dinner with it.
“Master Snow expects you to wear this tonight,” Ariadne chimes.
She helps you slip on the dress, a task you undoubtedly would have struggled to complete on your own, the many layers of tulle, silk and lace of the huge skirt alone their own challenge.
Eventually, you’re dressed.
She escorts you to the dinner room. Curious eyes dart about the halls, noting their unusual emptiness. Not a single footman, maid or Avox in sight.
You’re alone.
“The house is very quiet,” you point out.
Ariadne beams at you from above her shoulder.
“The entire staff’s been sent home. Master Snow wants to wait on you himself tonight.”
Your stomach knots, a foreboding feeling swelling within you.
Still, you glide forward. It’s a little late to turn back.
When you enter the diner room, Snow’s face lights up. He makes his way to you. As usual, he’s dashing, his platinum blonde locks neatly combed back and his crimson suit highlighting his tall frame.
His gaze twinkles as he drinks you in.
“You’re a vision, dove.” He lifts your hand and brushes his lips over your knuckles. His eyes slam into yours. Time seems to hang still for a few seconds. “As I know you would be.”
Keeping your hand in his, he escorts you to your seat. He pulls your chair for you and you fumble with your skirt a little before finding a comfortable way to sit.
“So…no maids today?” you say lightly.
His lips slant. He removes the lid off one of the pots. The mouthwatering smell instantly reaches you.
“I thought it’d be nicer to enjoy a quiet, private dinner together, as a way to celebrate.”
Your face contorts into a puzzled expression.
“Celebrate?”
“Your last day as my housekeeper,” he replies cheerfully.
Your heart misses a beat. Is he firing you?
You attempt to tamp down the quake in your voice. You fail miserably.
“Really?”
He gauges you and his smile grows.
“Yes. In fact, you and your husband will never have to worry about rent anymore. Him especially. Everything’s settled.”
An audible exhale slips through your mouth.
“This is…I don’t know what to say.”
“You can say thank you.”
“Thank you, President Snow.”
His laugh resonates in the near empty dining room.
“Please, call me Coriolanus.” He ladles soup onto your plate before bending close. You tense as his warm breath ghosts over your temple. “We’re quite…close now, aren’t we, dove?”
You gulp down the lump in your throat.
“I suppose we are…Coriolanus.”
You wince. Uttering his name feels wrong, forbidden almost.
Satisfaction doesn’t part from his handsome features as he regains his seat. He gestures for you to start eating. You feel a bit self-conscious as he observes you intently.
Still, you do as he heeds, not needing to be told twice.
The quicker you eat, the quicker you’ll get to be home and out of the uncomfortable dress.
You groan as your lids flutter, a blurry shape rocking back and forth in your vision. Fatigue tugs at your heavy limbs as you stir. Your forehead scrunches. Your body’s hot, like a furnace, like you’re burning from the inside out. Tingles spark somewhere in you and you keen sharply, leaning into the sensation. Feverish whispers surround you, words you don’t comprehend in your daze.
The pull and tear. The pleasure mingling with the pain. You’re in a strange dream, maybe a nightmare.
Deep-chested grunts land in your ears. You awake further. It’s a voice you recognize, from somewhere…but not like this. Never like this. Something’s wong. Your forehead wrinkles. Something’s wrong but you’re so tired. So so tired. Your mind’s like cotton. Your limbs are as rocks.
As your lids sag, something slams into you. Fast, hard and vicious.
Your heart bounces. Your eyes snap open.
Your stomach drops.
A sinister smile you know too well by now welcomes you.
“Hello, dove. Awake, finally,” Snow whispers, his hips snapping into yours. Your breath catches as his cock grazes against your sweet spots. You clench around him and he chuckles darkly. “That angle always does it for you.” Smugness oozes off his hoarse timbre.
You look up at him. Sweat dots his brow, his tousled blonde locks clinging to his forehead. His blue eyes are cloudy with lust. His white shirt is half open, revealing a glimpse of the bare, glistening muscles underneath.
And as your gaze travels lower, horror flares inside you.
You gape with wide eyes as his veiny length disappears inside you. Again and again. The fluffy white shirt is bunched around your waist, your panties torn, exposing your lower body to President Snow’s lewd scrutiny entirely. His large hands dig into your hips, trailing crescent bruises in the shape of his fingernails.
Your shocked gaze finds his.
His smile expands.
“P-President Snow, what are you doing?”
You know it’s a stupid question…but you have to make sense of this. Because none of this can be real. Maybe it’s a nightmare and you’re still sleeping.
You gasp as he pushes you into the mattress, piledriving into you at an angle that has you seeing stars.
“Taking what’s mine, of course,” he says matter-of-factly, hooking his arm under your thigh.
He lifts you and spreads you even more. His darkened gaze follows the motion of his cock as he pounds into you, an insatiable look twisting his handsome features.
Reaching between your tangled bodies, he pinches your tender heap of nerves. He rubs against it, teasing it with maddening circles until your legs quake. You come apart beneath him, crying out as your back arches against the soft sheets.
“Please, stop,” you whimper, tears gathering in your eyes.
Snow’s pace quickens. Ragged moans tear from your throat. Your vision flickers.
He bends over you to lick one of your tears, humming in satisfaction at the taste.
His lips drag against yours as he asks, “Is it truly what you want? Because it’s kind of hard to tell the way your pussy hugs my cock.” His mouth curves upward against your cheek. “Like it does every time.”
A wave of ice spreads through you.
Every time? Realization hits you, knife-like as it pierces through the veil of denial.
Every time…
The pieces fall into place as you remember all those times you fell asleep, unable to recall how you ended up in bed. Tired, confused…sore.
A shudder shoots through your frame.
You twist your body as panic seizes you.
Coriolanus growls when you clamber away from him, heading for the edge of the bed. You curse the pesky gown and the way it hinders your movements.
He yanks you back with ease, gripping the back of your head and shoving you down into the mattress.
Lips graze your earshell as he snarls, “Where are you going? We’re not done. We have to make sure you carry the next Snow heir.” In one stroke, he sinks into you from behind. You choke on your breath, the pain snatching your air. With one hand cinched around the back of your neck, he starts rutting into you. Your bruised folds ache at the blunt invasion. Still, your core clings to him in a way that stirs shame in your gut. “Although after all these times…” You hear the smile in his conceited inflection “It’s a given, isn’t it?”
Your eyes swell with tears. Your lips part in a silent scream. The sick song of flesh against flesh fills the room, mingling with his feral moans.
Each time your walls tighten around him, bile rises up your throat.
“What have you done to me?” you sob against the drenched silk sheets.
“Oh, I think you know,” he purrs. His warm breath fans over your scalp. “You can feel it, can’t you? How well your body knows me now, dove.”
His hips stutter, his thrusts getting sloppier. His cock twitches inside you. As warmth trickles alongside your walls, you feel sick again. He remains nestled inside you a while, panting above you and shoving the excess back in as you remain still.
As you feel his digits poke and prod, a chill runs through you.
You can’t let him touch you again.
You keel over the edge of the bed, heading straight towards the floor. Pain ripples through your knees as they hit the carpet. You’re forced to ignore the crack resounding through your bones, awkwardly getting to your feet and dashing to the wooden swing doors.
Coriolanus’ wicked laugh echoes behind you.
“Oh, dove, if you wanted to play hide and seek, all you needed to do was to ask,” he taunts.
Terror grips your throat. You ignore it alongside everything else. Alongside the pain, alongside the uncertainty, alongside the fact that you can still feel him inside you. Like you never left the bed. Like you’re still caged in his embrace.
Your legs carry you, barefoot and panicked, as you run through the palatial hallways as fast as the bothersome white dress will allow.
The president’s deep voice bounces against the ornate walls.
“Ready or not, here I come, my darling.”
The blood rushes to your feet. Your head spins and your feet tangle. You trip. Immediately, you gather yourself. You lift the skirt and dive hastily towards the living room. You duck behind a sofa.
It’s a pathetic place to hide; you know it. But the lavish mansion is nothing but open spaces doused in sunlight.
There is nowhere to hide.
The clamor of your heart is deafening in your ears as you hear objects crash to the floor a few feet away from you. Hand over your mouth to keep every sound in, you jerk every time the racket grows on the other side of the sofa.
His frustration coats the air.
“Come out, come out wherever you are, dove,” he calls, his tone icier than before.
You freeze, holding your breath and wishing he doesn’t think to look where you are.
The minutes pass, agonizingly slow. The flimsy hope that he may have left even begins to bloom inside you.
Hot air suddenly breezes over your nape.
“Found you.”
Your heart leaps to your throat. You go still. Coriolanus hauls you from the floor, half-carrying you and half-lugging you across the living room. You try to bite and claw any part of him you can reach but his hand locks around your throat.
He slams you harshly against a wall. Your head rings, the lines of his face momentarily doubling in your vision. You bite his hand. Cursing under his breath, he bangs your head against the wall again. You go limp.
Through your hazy sight, you note the scarlet trail streaking the back of his hand. You drew blood. Even if you’re lost, you bask in the ephemeral second of victory.
He carries your unmoving form the rest of the way back to his bedroom. You loathe yourself for your stillness. You want to put up a fight. You want to claw. You want to bite. You want to kill him with your bare hands.
But all you can do is simmer in helplessness as he brings you right back to the very place you tried to escape.
He gently releases you on the bed then climbs over you. Goosebumps erect on your flesh as he caresses the side of your face, a strangely fond gesture considering everything he put you through.
“Please,” you mumble weakly. “You can have anyone you want. I have a husband.”
His face contorts into an expression of pure mockery, as if what you said was beyond ludicrous.
“I don’t want just anyone.” He lifts your chin, scorching blue gaze diving into yours. “I want you.”
“As for your husband…” His voice trails off as he traces your trembling bottom lip with his thumb. A crooked smirk drags his lips skyward. He leans over you to whisper, “Well I did say he’ll never have to worry about rent ever again, didn’t I?”
Your heart sinks. You can’t believe you trusted Coriolanus Snow. A foolish mistake. A dangerous mistake. One you’re now paying dearly. He not only trapped you…he also hurt Henry.
All because of you.
You will never forgive yourself.
“What did you do to him?” you ask, anger and heartbreak making your voice wobble.
A chill-inducing glint dances in his orbs.
“I haven’t done anything.” He cocks his head. “Rebels are criminals of the state and shall be sentenced as such.”
The world collapses around you.
A chasm of despair swallows you whole as quiet tears stream down your face.
As sobs shake your frame, President Snow plants soft kisses on your wet cheeks. You feel him grow hard against your belly as he hums, as if the taste of your hopelessness was ambrosia to him. Heavenly sweet.
He cups your face.
“Do not fret, dove. I’ll make sure you don’t miss a second of his execution.” The emptiness of his blue eyes staggers you, their depths as icy as a frozen lake. “It’s important for all citizens of Panem to learn from watching.”
The expression on his face turns downright diabolical. His knuckles sweep over the apple of your cheek.
“And I want you to learn as you watch the light go out in his eyes, dove, that this was inevitable, that I always win.”
His tone softens as his hands drag over your hips.
“I wonder how many children you’ll give me. Will they all sing as pretty as you?” The hurried rustle of his pants as he frees his cock freezes your blood. He bites his lip, lust already misting his gaze as he prods impatiently at your entrance.
“I suppose we’ll just have to find out,” he croons.
Do you do yandere, more specifically, yandere reader? If so, for Fate UBW, can you do a yandere reader x Rin Tohsaka with the reader being in Gilgamesh's Role and being servant like him, you can include smut by the end of it.
Mirror of Fates | Rin Tohsaka x Archer! Reader x Gilgamesh
Author's Note: No gender was mentioned in this request so I am making the reader gender neutral. I also have a fat crush on Gilgamesh so I hope you don't mind me incorporating him in this a little bit ;p also rin is 18+.
Warnings: yandere reader, possessiveness, sexual tension
Word Count: 4.8k
The moon hung high in the night sky, its pale light illuminating the shattered ruins of the building. Rin Tohsaka, ever composed despite the chaos of the Holy Grail War, stood at the rooftop's edge. Her sapphire eyes scanned the battlefield below, the distant glow of magical auras signalling skirmishes far away. But the real battle was here. Across from her, the golden-haired King of Heroes, Gilgamesh, smirked with his usual arrogance. Draped in his resplendent golden armor, he looked every bit the god-like ruler he claimed to be. Standing beside him, the unmistakable figure of his new Master—a shadowy figure obscured by a shroud of magic—gave Rin pause. But what truly set her on edge was the presence of you.
Perched atop a crumbling stone pillar, you leaned casually, one hand resting on the hilt of a crystalline dagger—a fragment of your Mirror of Fates. Your piercing gaze was fixed on Rin, unwavering and unsettling, like a predator stalking its prey.
'Rin, my dear,"'you purred, your voice dripping with an unnerving mix of affection and menace. 'I warned you not to stray too far. A battlefield is no place for someone as delicate as you.' Rin bristled, her fists clenching.
'Delicate? Spare me. I don’t need your overbearing concern, and I certainly don’t need you interfering in my fight.' Before you could reply, Gilgamesh chuckled, his deep voice cutting through the tension.
'What an amusing little spat. Two mongrels vying for the attention of a single Master. Truly, this war never ceases to entertain me.' You shot him a glare, your possessive aura flaring.
'You would do well to hold your tongue, King of Heroes. You have no claim here. Rin is mine, whether she acknowledges it or not.' Gilgamesh smirked, unfazed.
'Ah, but do you think she agrees? A woman of her calibre deserves protection, not the suffocating obsession you offer.' He gestured toward Rin with a flourish. 'Rin, you are far too intelligent to fall for this... pale imitation of grandeur.' Caught between two powerhouses, Rin crossed her arms, her annoyance barely masking her unease.
'Will you two stop treating me like some prize to be won? I’m not interested in either of your delusions.' Your smile darkened, and the crystalline dagger in your hand caught the moonlight.
'Careful, Rin. Words like that might hurt me.' You tossed the blade into the air, where it dissolved into shimmering light. 'But since our golden friend insists on questioning my devotion, perhaps I should remind him who he’s dealing with.' With a flick of your wrist, the air shimmered as the Mirror of Fates materialised behind you, its surface glinting ominously. The reflection it offered was not of the world around it but of a realm filled with shadows and broken fragments of memory. Gilgamesh’s smirk faltered for the briefest moment.
'A curious artifact. You believe that bauble will intimidate me? I am the King of Heroes! All treasures belong to me by right.'
'You may have treasures,' you replied coldly, 'but none that can shatter a soul.' A wicked grin spreads across your lips. The rooftop became a battlefield, with Rin caught in the crossfire of your possessive fury and Gilgamesh’s unyielding arrogance. 'At least my master is brave enough to show her face.' I mock as I prepare to attack. Gilgamesh’s smirk returned, his crimson eyes glinting with amusement.
'Careful, mongrel. Your arrogance is beginning to sound like envy.' You stepped forward, the rooftop trembling slightly under the pressure of your magical energy. The Mirror of Fates hovered behind you, casting eerie, shifting reflections across the battlefield.
'Envy?' you scoffed, your voice dripping with disdain. 'Hiding behind a veil? Pathetic. No wonder you cling to someone like him,' gesturing to his master.
The shadowed Master flinched at your words, but Gilgamesh merely chuckled.
'Bravery is unnecessary for one who has me at their command. Unlike you, who clings desperately to a fleeting dream of affection.' Your lips curled into a sharp grin, but your eyes burned with anger.
'A fleeting dream? No, King of Heroes. My devotion is eternal. And since you insist on questioning it, let me show you why.' You raised your hand, and the Mirror of Fates began to hum, its crystalline surface rippling like water. The air around you grew cold, the oppressive aura of your Noble Phantasm pressing down on the rooftop. 'Let’s see what fears hide behind all that arrogance of yours,' you taunted, your voice like silk over steel. Rin, caught in the middle, took a cautious step back, her instincts warning her of the danger.
'Damn it, don’t drag me into this!' She snapped, glaring at both of you. But your focus remained on Gilgamesh, his confident expression faltering ever so slightly as the mirror's surface glowed brighter. For all his bravado, even the King of Heroes was not immune to the terror reflected in your crystalline artifact.
'Prepare yourself, Gilgamesh,' you said with chilling finality. 'Your arrogance ends here.' With a snap of your fingers, the Mirror of Fates surged forward, its light enveloping the rooftop as it locked onto its target. The Mirror of Fates floated forward, its crystalline surface shimmering with an unnatural light. As it turned to face Gilgamesh, the rooftop seemed to darken, the moonlight swallowed by the mirror's eerie glow. Its surface rippled like a disturbed pond, revealing flashes of shadowy figures and fractured memories within. The reflections coalesced into a vision that seemed to emanate directly from Gilgamesh’s mind: his failures, his losses, and the crushing weight of moments where his pride faltered. The golden king’s smirk faded into a scowl as he realized what was happening.
'An artifact that toys with the mind?' Gilgamesh sneered, stepping back. 'Do you think such parlor tricks will unnerve me?' But even as he spoke, his movements were more rigid, his crimson eyes narrowing at the visions within the mirror. The phantasm’s power was irresistible—drawing its target closer, forcing them to confront their own fears and vulnerabilities.
'Your arrogance blinds you,' you said, your voice low and commanding. 'Even kings have shadows they fear to face. And now, you stand defenseless.' Gilgamesh's jaw tightened, and with a sharp motion, he extended his hand. A golden ripple formed in the air, and from it emerged a torrent of weapons from the Gate of Babylon. Swords, spears, and axes—each a masterpiece of legend—rained down toward the mirror with devastating force. The rooftop shook as the weapons struck true, explosions of magical energy erupting with each impact. Dust and debris filled the air, and the mirror was momentarily obscured.
'You underestimate me, mongrel,' Gilgamesh declared, his voice rising above the chaos. 'There is no treasure I cannot destroy. Your bauble is no exception!' But as the dust cleared, the Mirror of Fates remained intact, its surface unmarred. It floated closer, the visions within growing sharper and more vivid.
Gilgamesh’s eyes narrowed. 'Impossible...' The mirror pulsed with light, releasing a wave of pressure that forced Gilgamesh to his knees. The visions inside were now unmistakable—scenes of his past failures, of his reign’s fleeting glory, and of moments where his own hubris led to ruin. For a fleeting moment, a flicker of doubt crossed his face.
'You cannot destroy it,' you said, stepping forward. 'It reflects what you hide, what you deny. And it feeds on your fear.' Enraged, Gilgamesh rose to his feet, summoning Ea, his most powerful weapon. The drill-like blade spun to life, its ominous hum reverberating through the air.
'I am the King of Heroes!' he roared. 'No fear, no shadow, and no mongrel can stand before me!' The air crackled with energy as he activated Enuma Elish, the heavens themselves trembling at the weapon’s might. The torrent of chaotic energy surged forward, aimed directly at the mirror. The rooftop became a maelstrom of energy as Enuma Elish roared to life, its chaotic vortex surging toward the Mirror of Fates. The very air trembled under the force of Gilgamesh’s attack, the ground cracking and splitting beneath its intensity. Opposing it, the Mirror of Fates pulsed with an unearthly light, its surface radiating a cold, crystalline brilliance. The visions within grew sharper, more malevolent, feeding on Gilgamesh’s hubris and his brief flicker of doubt.
'You truly believe you can destroy my devotion?' you sneered, your voice unwavering. 'You are but a relic clinging to your past. This mirror reflects the truth you fear to face!' The two forces collided with an earth-shattering explosion, light and darkness intertwining as they battled for supremacy. The impact sent shockwaves through the city, shattering nearby windows and tearing chunks from the rooftop. Rin was forced to shield herself, her circuits flaring as she struggled to maintain her balance. For a moment, it seemed the Mirror of Fates and Enuma Elish were evenly matched, neither giving ground. But then, a faint crack appeared in the mirror’s surface, a small flaw spreading outward like a spiderweb.
'Your little trinket crumbles under true power!' Gilgamesh declared triumphantly, pouring more energy into his attack.
But just as the mirror cracked, so too did the golden ripples of Enuma Elish begin to waver. The vortex of energy around the sword sputtered and faltered, its power unable to fully overcome the mirror’s relentless pull. The stalemate couldn’t hold. With a final, blinding flash, the two forces detonated simultaneously, releasing a shockwave of raw magical energy. The rooftop collapsed under the strain, the combatants thrown apart by the sheer force of the explosion. When the dust cleared, you stood shakily, the shattered fragments of the Mirror of Fates scattered around you. The remnants shimmered faintly before dissolving into the night air. Across the battlefield, Gilgamesh emerged, battered but standing, his armor scorched and cracked. Between you, his Master lay motionless on the ground. The explosion’s backlash had struck them directly, their body limp and lifeless. Gilgamesh’s crimson eyes widened, then narrowed in fury. He strode toward the corpse, his expression unreadable.
'Foolish mortal...' he muttered, kneeling beside them. 'To think you couldn’t withstand such a trivial clash.' He rose slowly, his gaze turning toward you, filled with a mixture of anger and begrudging respect. 'You dared to challenge me, and you’ve paid the price with more than you know. But mark my words, mongrel—you’ve yet to see the full extent of my wrath.' You smirked, though the battle had clearly taken its toll.
'Your Master couldn’t survive the weight of your so-called grandeur. How fitting.' From the shadows, Rin’s voice broke the tension.
'Enough!' she snapped, stepping between you both. Her circuits glowed faintly as she steadied herself. 'Are you both so blinded by your egos that you can’t see the destruction you’ve caused? This war isn’t about you!' Her words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the chaos left in the wake of your battle. Gilgamesh’s teeth clenched as he stood, his golden armor battered and smeared with dust. His crimson eyes burned with a mix of fury and something uncharacteristic—loss. He cradled the lifeless body of his Master, their limp form draped over his arms like a broken doll. For a moment, the King of Heroes stood motionless, his jaw tight, his pride clearly warring with the sting of defeat. The once-magnificent aura around him seemed to dim, his presence somehow less grand without the support of his Master’s mana. You straightened, brushing shards of crystalline mirror from your shoulder, your breathing labored but steady. Your gaze flickered toward Rin. She stood on the edge of the battlefield, her circuits glowing faintly as she held her ground, but you noticed the subtle trembling in her hands. Your eyes softened—a sharp contrast to the cold, menacing persona you’d displayed moments earlier.
'Rin...' you murmured, taking a hesitant step toward her. But before you could reach her, Gilgamesh’s voice cut through the air, low and seething.
'Do not think this is over,' he growled, his grip tightening on his fallen Master. 'You may have survived this clash, mongrel, but you will not escape my vengeance.' He turned away, his golden armor catching the faint light of the shattered rooftop. With an almost reluctant grace, he began to retreat, his form glowing faintly as he activated his teleportation.
'Gilgamesh!"'Rin called out, surprising even herself.
The King of Heroes paused, glancing back over his shoulder. His expression was unreadable, though his eyes betrayed the weight of his failure.
'Tend to your mongrel, Rin Tohsaka,' he said flatly. 'You’ll need her protection when next we meet.' And with that, he vanished, the faint golden light of his departure leaving the battlefield eerily quiet.You exhaled sharply, the tension in your shoulders easing. Turning fully toward Rin, you approached her with a mixture of caution and urgency.
'Are you hurt?' you asked, your voice losing its earlier venom. Rin scowled, crossing her arms despite the lingering tremor in her frame.
'I’m fine. Don’t act like you care now, after nearly leveling half the city.' Her words stung, but you couldn’t hide the concern etched on your face.
'I always care,' you said softly, stepping closer. 'You might not believe it, but everything I do is for you.' Rin’s glare faltered for a moment, but she quickly composed herself.
'Save the theatrics. If you really want to help, stop causing so much destruction. You’re no better than him.' Your expression hardened slightly at the comparison, but you bit back a retort. Instead, you extended a hand toward her, a silent offer of protection.
'Let me prove I’m different,' you said quietly. Rin hesitated, her eyes narrowing as if weighing your words. But before she could respond, the distant sound of an approaching skirmish reminded you both that the war was far from over.
'Fine,' she said reluctantly, brushing past you. 'But don’t think this means I trust you.' You followed her, your gaze lingering on her retreating figure. Inwardly, your resolve only deepened. Trust wasn’t something you would wait for. You would earn it—whether she wanted you to or not.
___________________
The Tohsaka mansion was cloaked in silence, the soft creak of its wooden floorboards the only sound in the dimly lit hallways. Upstairs, Rin was asleep, her breathing steady after an exhausting day. You had stayed close to her room, keeping watch from the corridor to ensure no unwelcome surprises disturbed her rest. But as the clock struck midnight, a faint, familiar presence brushed against your senses. Your eyes narrowed. You descended the staircase silently, your hand resting on the hilt of a conjured blade—a fragment of the Mirror of Fates. The moonlight filtering through the tall windows illuminated a figure standing in the centre of the parlour, golden armor glinting faintly. Gilgamesh. The King of Heroes turned as you entered, his posture relaxed, but his crimson eyes burned with a quiet intensity. He stood without his usual arrogance, yet his presence still dominated the room.
'You,' you hissed, keeping your voice low to avoid waking Rin. 'What are you doing here?' Gilgamesh chuckled softly, his gaze trailing lazily across the room before settling on you.
'Do not flatter yourself, mongrel. I came not for you but for Rin Tohsaka.' Your grip on your blade tightened, and you stepped between him and the staircase.
'She’s asleep. You’ll leave her be, or you’ll regret stepping into this house.' Gilgamesh raised a brow, his smirk faint.
'How noble. You guard her as a knight might a princess, yet you fail to realise that your very presence endangers her.' His words struck a nerve, but you refused to show it.
'You’re the last person to lecture me about danger. Your arrogance killed your Master. Why don’t you crawl back to whatever hole you came from and lick your wounds?' For a moment, his expression darkened, and you thought he might summon a weapon from his Gate of Babylon. But instead, he closed the distance between you in a single stride, his crimson eyes locking onto yours.
'You presume much,' he said, his voice low and smooth, almost dangerous. 'You speak of wounds, yet I see them in you as well. Tell me, mongrel—does she even care for you as you wish she would?' The question caught you off guard, and the sharp edge of your anger dulled for a moment.
'That’s none of your concern,' you said tightly, though the uncertainty in your voice betrayed you. Gilgamesh’s smirk widened, his tone softening into something almost teasing.
'Ah, such devotion, yet so misplaced. You would burn the world for her, and yet she may never look at you the way you crave.' You glared at him, stepping closer until you were nearly nose-to-nose.
'Better to burn for something real than to live as an empty relic, clinging to a past that no longer exists.' His eyes widened slightly at your words, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he regained his composure.
'Empty, you say?' he murmured, his tone quieter now. 'Perhaps. But tell me, mongrel, what fills the void in your heart? Is it her, or is it the chase of an ideal you’ll never truly grasp?' The tension between you thickened, the charged silence broken only by the faint ticking of a nearby clock. Despite the venom in his words, there was something disarming in his gaze—an unexpected vulnerability that mirrored your own. 'You don’t know anything about me,' you said, though your voice lacked the conviction it carried moments earlier. Gilgamesh tilted his head slightly, his golden hair catching the moonlight.
'Perhaps I do not. But I know this: we are not so different, you and I. Both of us seek something eternal, yet we tread different paths to find it.' For a moment, the hostility between you wavered, replaced by an unspoken understanding. But just as quickly as it came, it was gone, his familiar smirk returning- only this time, it held a teasing curve that made your pulse quicken.
'Though I must say,' he continued, his voice low and smooth, 'I never expected to find such a fiery spirit beneath all that brooding devotion. It’s almost... charming.' You scoffed, though your cheeks betrayed you with the faintest warmth.
'Flattery isn’t going to make me drop my guard, King of Heroes.' Gilgamesh chuckled, the sound rich and velvety. He stepped closer, the space between you shrinking until you could feel the faint warmth radiating from him. "
'Who said anything about flattery? I’m merely stating the truth. Few would dare to face me so boldly, much less intrigue me in the process.' Your eyes narrowed, though your heart betrayed you by pounding louder with every passing second
'Intrigue? Is that what you call invading someone’s home uninvited?' He tilted his head, golden hair catching the faint moonlight as his smirk widened.
'Perhaps I was merely drawn to your light, like a moth to a flame. A dangerous flame, but alluring nonetheless.' You opened your mouth to retort, but his gaze held you captive, the playful arrogance in his eyes mingling with something deeper—something that made it impossible to look away.
'Careful,' you said finally, your voice quieter but still sharp. 'Keep this up, and I might think you’re trying to charm me.' Gilgamesh laughed softly, the sound resonating through the dimly lit room.
'Would that be so terrible?' he asked, his tone disarmingly casual but with a subtle, unmistakable edge of challenge. You stepped back slightly, forcing some distance between you even as his presence seemed to follow like a shadow.
'If this is your way of trying to get me to lower my guard, it’s not working.' He placed a hand over his heart in mock offense.
'You wound me. Perhaps I simply enjoy the company of someone who doesn’t bore me to tears. That’s a rare gift, after all.' You crossed your arms, determined to ignore the way his words made your chest tighten.
'If you’re done with your games, leave. Rin doesn’t need you here.' Gilgamesh leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper, as if sharing a secret meant only for you.
'Ah, but it’s not Rin who interests me tonight.' Your breath caught, but before you could respond, he straightened, his teasing grin firmly in place. His hands traced the hem of your underarmor cloth. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Gilgamesh's lips as he felt your reaction to his touch. He enjoyed the way your body responded to him, the way your breath hitched ever so slightly. His fingers continued to trail over the sensitive skin of your waist, his touch light as a feather.
'It seems someone is a little bit skittish,' he purrs, his eyes glittering with amusement. 'Afraid you can't handle a king's touch?'
'Of course I can,' I grit my teeth in annoyance, a wave of heat flowing over my body. Gilgamesh chuckled at your defiant response, his fingers tracing a path up to the bare skin of your upper arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.
'Oh, I see,' he murmured, eyes smoldering as he leaned closer, invading your personal space. 'You think you're tough, do you? You think you can withstand a king's attention without flinching?' Gilgamesh's fingers continued to dance across your skin, tracing up to your neck, his touch leaving a trail of heat and electricity. He leaned even closer, his breath warm on your ear as he spoke.
'You'll cave, mongral. Every fibre of your being will submit to my touch.' Gilgamesh paused for a moment as your hands came to rest on top of his, a flicker of surprise passing over his face. However, he quickly recovered, a smirk returning to his lips. His fingers continued to move, tracing a lazy path over the exposed skin of your neck and shoulder.
'Hmm, so you're not as defiant as you seem,' he murmured, his voice husky with desire. Gilgamesh pulled you closer, his hips pressing against yours as the space between you disappeared. His arms encircled your waist, pulling you flush against his body. He leaned in, his lips hovering just millimeters from yours, his eyes hooded and burning with desire.
'Are you sure you're ready for this, mongral?' he murmured, his voice a heated whisper. Gilgamesh's smirk widened at your response, his grip on your waist tightening slightly.
'I can handle anything form you,' you grit through your teeth.
'Is that so?" he teases, his eyes raking over your face. 'You're so sure of yourself, aren't you? Let's see if you can keep up with a king's pace.' He leaned in, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. Gilgamesh's lips continued their exploration of your neck, peppering kisses and gentle nips along the sensitive skin. His hands slid down to your hips, holding you firmly against him as he pressed his body against yours. He could feel the heat radiating off of you, could practically taste the desire in the air. He relished in the way your breath hitched and your body reacted to his touch, a low growl of pleasure rumbling in his chest. Arousal rushed to your nether regions and Gilgamesh let out a low chuckle. Gilgamesh's teeth sank into the soft skin of your neck, leaving a trail of small, bite marks in their wake. He could feel the way your body responded to his touch, the heat and desire emanating from you. He pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with lust as he took in the sight of you, a smug smile playing at the corners of his lips. 'Looks like someone's enjoying themselves,' he murmured, his voice low and sultry. Your hands clenched onto his soft under armor. As his hands begin to remove your cloths, the sound of feet padding down the carpeted stairs spurs your attention. Rin. Rin rounded the corner from the stairs, her eyes widening as she saw the scene before her. She froze in her tracks, her cheeks flushing slightly at the sight of Gilgamesh's hands on your body. Gilgamesh, however, remained unabashed, his gaze fixed on you as he continued to touch and tease. He turned to face Rin, a smirk plastered on his face. 'You know (y/n).. I am in need of a new master.' Rin's eyes flicked between you and Gilgamesh, her expression a mix of confusion and annoyance.
'What are you talking about?' she demanded, her voice sharp. Gilgamesh chuckled, his hands still resting on your hips.
Gilgamesh chuckled, the sound dark and amused, as his hands continued to rest possessively on your hips, his fingers brushing against your skin with a casual, almost mocking familiarity.
'Just making a little proposal,' he purred, his eyes roaming over Rin’s body with open appreciation as if she were admiring a rare artifact. 'I think this one would make a lovely new master.' Rin’s eyes narrowed dangerously, her fists tightening by her sides. '
'You think you can just waltz in here and—' you pipe up.
'Calm down, mongrel,' Gilgamesh interrupted, his voice smooth, carrying a dangerous charm. The words hit you like a slap, and you stepped forward, pushing against him lightly, though your body betrayed you with the heat still lingering in the space between you.
'Stop it,' you snapped, trying to shake off the lingering sensation of his touch. Gilgamesh only leaned in closer, his lips brushing the side of your ear as he whispered,
'There’s no need to be coy. I know how you feel.' He smirked, his fingers tightening subtly on your waist. 'I’ve seen the way your body responds to me. You can't fool me.' Rin took a step forward, her voice sharp and cutting,
'I don’t care what games you’re playing, Gilgamesh. If you’re trying to get under my skin, it’s not going to work.' Gilgamesh straightened up, his gaze flicking back to her, still filled with amusement.
'Oh, but it already has,' he said, the words a playful taunt that only fueled the tension between them. 'I simply thought it was time for a change. Your little... servant here is a bit too attached, don’t you think? Perhaps you should let go and see where the winds truly blow.'
The smugness in his voice grated against your nerves, but part of you couldn't help but feel the pull of his presence—the magnetic, dangerous allure that he always exuded. Rin's frustration was palpable, but she kept her composure, her eyes never leaving Gilgamesh.
'Keep dreaming, king. I won’t let you turn my servant into your plaything.' Gilgamesh’s eyes gleamed, clearly enjoying the tension he’d created.
'Who said anything about playthings? I’m offering a partnership—a chance for them to reach thier true potential.' His gaze flickered to you again, a knowing smirk creeping across his face. 'You’re too limited, little mongrel. There’s so much more I could offer.' Your heart raced, caught in the strange, dangerous allure of his words. But you gritted your teeth, pushing the temptation away.
'I don’t need anything from you, Gilgamesh. Especially not your offer.' He chuckled, the sound rich with amusement, as if he were savoring the moment.
'We’ll see. I always get what I want in the end.' With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, your body still tingling with the aftermath of his touch, and Rin’s sharp, wary gaze following his every movement. The golden king disappeared into the night, his arrogance lingering in the air like a suffocating shroud. You exhaled slowly, your lips curving into a faint, unsettling smile as the tingling sensation of his touch faded, replaced by something darker—something possessive. Rin approached, her brows knitted in concern and suspicion.
'What the hell was that about?' she demanded, crossing her arms, her gaze flitting between you and the faint golden shimmer on the horizon. You turned to her, your eyes sharp and glinting with a dangerous intensity.
'Why do you care, master?'you asked, your voice soft but laced with a venomous sweetness. 'Jealous, are we?' Her eyes widened, and she took a half-step back.
'Jealous? Of him? Don’t be ridiculous. I just want to know what you’re getting yourself into.' You tilted your head, a soft laugh escaping your lips, though it held no warmth.
'You’re so predictable, always trying to play the self-righteous protector. But you don’t need to protect me, Rin. If anything—' You stepped closer, closing the space between you two. '—you’re the one who needs protecting.' Rin stiffened, her eyes narrowing.
'What’s that supposed to mean?' You reached out, brushing a lock of her hair away from her face with a deliberate, almost tender motion.
'It means you should know your place,' you murmured, your tone dripping with dangerous affection. She slapped your hand away, her expression hardening.
'Get a grip, (y/n). You’re starting to sound as unhinged as he is.' Your smile widened, your gaze locking onto hers with an unyielding intensity.
'Unhinged? Maybe. But at least I know what I want. Can you say the same?' Rin's jaw clenched, her usual sharp retorts faltering as your words hung heavy in the air. The moment stretched, charged with tension, before you stepped back, your demeanor softening just enough to make her question if she’d imagined the edge in your voice.
'Relax, Rin,' you said with a dismissive wave of your hand, though your eyes still gleamed with an unsettling focus. 'I’m only looking out for you. After all...' You leaned in, your voice dropping to a near-whisper. 'It’d be such a shame if you got in the way and ended up broken.' Your hands moved back to her hips she gasped a little, about to blurt out some insult or another, but she closed her lips as your hands traced the hem of her short skirt. You leaned into her ear closely. 'You summoned me to protect you with my life, so I'll do that. I'll give you all of me.' You kissed her earlobe before dematerialising-perhaps chasing after Gilgamesh.
Do you do yandere, more specifically, yandere reader? If so, for Fate UBW, can you do a yandere reader x Rin Tohsaka with the reader being in Gilgamesh's Role and being servant like him, you can include smut by the end of it.
Mirror of Fates | Rin Tohsaka x Archer! Reader x Gilgamesh
Author's Note: No gender was mentioned in this request so I am making the reader gender neutral. I also have a fat crush on Gilgamesh so I hope you don't mind me incorporating him in this a little bit ;p also rin is 18+.
Warnings: yandere reader, possessiveness, sexual tension
Word Count: 4.8k
The moon hung high in the night sky, its pale light illuminating the shattered ruins of the building. Rin Tohsaka, ever composed despite the chaos of the Holy Grail War, stood at the rooftop's edge. Her sapphire eyes scanned the battlefield below, the distant glow of magical auras signalling skirmishes far away. But the real battle was here. Across from her, the golden-haired King of Heroes, Gilgamesh, smirked with his usual arrogance. Draped in his resplendent golden armor, he looked every bit the god-like ruler he claimed to be. Standing beside him, the unmistakable figure of his new Master—a shadowy figure obscured by a shroud of magic—gave Rin pause. But what truly set her on edge was the presence of you.
Perched atop a crumbling stone pillar, you leaned casually, one hand resting on the hilt of a crystalline dagger—a fragment of your Mirror of Fates. Your piercing gaze was fixed on Rin, unwavering and unsettling, like a predator stalking its prey.
'Rin, my dear,"'you purred, your voice dripping with an unnerving mix of affection and menace. 'I warned you not to stray too far. A battlefield is no place for someone as delicate as you.' Rin bristled, her fists clenching.
'Delicate? Spare me. I don’t need your overbearing concern, and I certainly don’t need you interfering in my fight.' Before you could reply, Gilgamesh chuckled, his deep voice cutting through the tension.
'What an amusing little spat. Two mongrels vying for the attention of a single Master. Truly, this war never ceases to entertain me.' You shot him a glare, your possessive aura flaring.
'You would do well to hold your tongue, King of Heroes. You have no claim here. Rin is mine, whether she acknowledges it or not.' Gilgamesh smirked, unfazed.
'Ah, but do you think she agrees? A woman of her calibre deserves protection, not the suffocating obsession you offer.' He gestured toward Rin with a flourish. 'Rin, you are far too intelligent to fall for this... pale imitation of grandeur.' Caught between two powerhouses, Rin crossed her arms, her annoyance barely masking her unease.
'Will you two stop treating me like some prize to be won? I’m not interested in either of your delusions.' Your smile darkened, and the crystalline dagger in your hand caught the moonlight.
'Careful, Rin. Words like that might hurt me.' You tossed the blade into the air, where it dissolved into shimmering light. 'But since our golden friend insists on questioning my devotion, perhaps I should remind him who he’s dealing with.' With a flick of your wrist, the air shimmered as the Mirror of Fates materialised behind you, its surface glinting ominously. The reflection it offered was not of the world around it but of a realm filled with shadows and broken fragments of memory. Gilgamesh’s smirk faltered for the briefest moment.
'A curious artifact. You believe that bauble will intimidate me? I am the King of Heroes! All treasures belong to me by right.'
'You may have treasures,' you replied coldly, 'but none that can shatter a soul.' A wicked grin spreads across your lips. The rooftop became a battlefield, with Rin caught in the crossfire of your possessive fury and Gilgamesh’s unyielding arrogance. 'At least my master is brave enough to show her face.' I mock as I prepare to attack. Gilgamesh’s smirk returned, his crimson eyes glinting with amusement.
'Careful, mongrel. Your arrogance is beginning to sound like envy.' You stepped forward, the rooftop trembling slightly under the pressure of your magical energy. The Mirror of Fates hovered behind you, casting eerie, shifting reflections across the battlefield.
'Envy?' you scoffed, your voice dripping with disdain. 'Hiding behind a veil? Pathetic. No wonder you cling to someone like him,' gesturing to his master.
The shadowed Master flinched at your words, but Gilgamesh merely chuckled.
'Bravery is unnecessary for one who has me at their command. Unlike you, who clings desperately to a fleeting dream of affection.' Your lips curled into a sharp grin, but your eyes burned with anger.
'A fleeting dream? No, King of Heroes. My devotion is eternal. And since you insist on questioning it, let me show you why.' You raised your hand, and the Mirror of Fates began to hum, its crystalline surface rippling like water. The air around you grew cold, the oppressive aura of your Noble Phantasm pressing down on the rooftop. 'Let’s see what fears hide behind all that arrogance of yours,' you taunted, your voice like silk over steel. Rin, caught in the middle, took a cautious step back, her instincts warning her of the danger.
'Damn it, don’t drag me into this!' She snapped, glaring at both of you. But your focus remained on Gilgamesh, his confident expression faltering ever so slightly as the mirror's surface glowed brighter. For all his bravado, even the King of Heroes was not immune to the terror reflected in your crystalline artifact.
'Prepare yourself, Gilgamesh,' you said with chilling finality. 'Your arrogance ends here.' With a snap of your fingers, the Mirror of Fates surged forward, its light enveloping the rooftop as it locked onto its target. The Mirror of Fates floated forward, its crystalline surface shimmering with an unnatural light. As it turned to face Gilgamesh, the rooftop seemed to darken, the moonlight swallowed by the mirror's eerie glow. Its surface rippled like a disturbed pond, revealing flashes of shadowy figures and fractured memories within. The reflections coalesced into a vision that seemed to emanate directly from Gilgamesh’s mind: his failures, his losses, and the crushing weight of moments where his pride faltered. The golden king’s smirk faded into a scowl as he realized what was happening.
'An artifact that toys with the mind?' Gilgamesh sneered, stepping back. 'Do you think such parlor tricks will unnerve me?' But even as he spoke, his movements were more rigid, his crimson eyes narrowing at the visions within the mirror. The phantasm’s power was irresistible—drawing its target closer, forcing them to confront their own fears and vulnerabilities.
'Your arrogance blinds you,' you said, your voice low and commanding. 'Even kings have shadows they fear to face. And now, you stand defenseless.' Gilgamesh's jaw tightened, and with a sharp motion, he extended his hand. A golden ripple formed in the air, and from it emerged a torrent of weapons from the Gate of Babylon. Swords, spears, and axes—each a masterpiece of legend—rained down toward the mirror with devastating force. The rooftop shook as the weapons struck true, explosions of magical energy erupting with each impact. Dust and debris filled the air, and the mirror was momentarily obscured.
'You underestimate me, mongrel,' Gilgamesh declared, his voice rising above the chaos. 'There is no treasure I cannot destroy. Your bauble is no exception!' But as the dust cleared, the Mirror of Fates remained intact, its surface unmarred. It floated closer, the visions within growing sharper and more vivid.
Gilgamesh’s eyes narrowed. 'Impossible...' The mirror pulsed with light, releasing a wave of pressure that forced Gilgamesh to his knees. The visions inside were now unmistakable—scenes of his past failures, of his reign’s fleeting glory, and of moments where his own hubris led to ruin. For a fleeting moment, a flicker of doubt crossed his face.
'You cannot destroy it,' you said, stepping forward. 'It reflects what you hide, what you deny. And it feeds on your fear.' Enraged, Gilgamesh rose to his feet, summoning Ea, his most powerful weapon. The drill-like blade spun to life, its ominous hum reverberating through the air.
'I am the King of Heroes!' he roared. 'No fear, no shadow, and no mongrel can stand before me!' The air crackled with energy as he activated Enuma Elish, the heavens themselves trembling at the weapon’s might. The torrent of chaotic energy surged forward, aimed directly at the mirror. The rooftop became a maelstrom of energy as Enuma Elish roared to life, its chaotic vortex surging toward the Mirror of Fates. The very air trembled under the force of Gilgamesh’s attack, the ground cracking and splitting beneath its intensity. Opposing it, the Mirror of Fates pulsed with an unearthly light, its surface radiating a cold, crystalline brilliance. The visions within grew sharper, more malevolent, feeding on Gilgamesh’s hubris and his brief flicker of doubt.
'You truly believe you can destroy my devotion?' you sneered, your voice unwavering. 'You are but a relic clinging to your past. This mirror reflects the truth you fear to face!' The two forces collided with an earth-shattering explosion, light and darkness intertwining as they battled for supremacy. The impact sent shockwaves through the city, shattering nearby windows and tearing chunks from the rooftop. Rin was forced to shield herself, her circuits flaring as she struggled to maintain her balance. For a moment, it seemed the Mirror of Fates and Enuma Elish were evenly matched, neither giving ground. But then, a faint crack appeared in the mirror’s surface, a small flaw spreading outward like a spiderweb.
'Your little trinket crumbles under true power!' Gilgamesh declared triumphantly, pouring more energy into his attack.
But just as the mirror cracked, so too did the golden ripples of Enuma Elish begin to waver. The vortex of energy around the sword sputtered and faltered, its power unable to fully overcome the mirror’s relentless pull. The stalemate couldn’t hold. With a final, blinding flash, the two forces detonated simultaneously, releasing a shockwave of raw magical energy. The rooftop collapsed under the strain, the combatants thrown apart by the sheer force of the explosion. When the dust cleared, you stood shakily, the shattered fragments of the Mirror of Fates scattered around you. The remnants shimmered faintly before dissolving into the night air. Across the battlefield, Gilgamesh emerged, battered but standing, his armor scorched and cracked. Between you, his Master lay motionless on the ground. The explosion’s backlash had struck them directly, their body limp and lifeless. Gilgamesh’s crimson eyes widened, then narrowed in fury. He strode toward the corpse, his expression unreadable.
'Foolish mortal...' he muttered, kneeling beside them. 'To think you couldn’t withstand such a trivial clash.' He rose slowly, his gaze turning toward you, filled with a mixture of anger and begrudging respect. 'You dared to challenge me, and you’ve paid the price with more than you know. But mark my words, mongrel—you’ve yet to see the full extent of my wrath.' You smirked, though the battle had clearly taken its toll.
'Your Master couldn’t survive the weight of your so-called grandeur. How fitting.' From the shadows, Rin’s voice broke the tension.
'Enough!' she snapped, stepping between you both. Her circuits glowed faintly as she steadied herself. 'Are you both so blinded by your egos that you can’t see the destruction you’ve caused? This war isn’t about you!' Her words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the chaos left in the wake of your battle. Gilgamesh’s teeth clenched as he stood, his golden armor battered and smeared with dust. His crimson eyes burned with a mix of fury and something uncharacteristic—loss. He cradled the lifeless body of his Master, their limp form draped over his arms like a broken doll. For a moment, the King of Heroes stood motionless, his jaw tight, his pride clearly warring with the sting of defeat. The once-magnificent aura around him seemed to dim, his presence somehow less grand without the support of his Master’s mana. You straightened, brushing shards of crystalline mirror from your shoulder, your breathing labored but steady. Your gaze flickered toward Rin. She stood on the edge of the battlefield, her circuits glowing faintly as she held her ground, but you noticed the subtle trembling in her hands. Your eyes softened—a sharp contrast to the cold, menacing persona you’d displayed moments earlier.
'Rin...' you murmured, taking a hesitant step toward her. But before you could reach her, Gilgamesh’s voice cut through the air, low and seething.
'Do not think this is over,' he growled, his grip tightening on his fallen Master. 'You may have survived this clash, mongrel, but you will not escape my vengeance.' He turned away, his golden armor catching the faint light of the shattered rooftop. With an almost reluctant grace, he began to retreat, his form glowing faintly as he activated his teleportation.
'Gilgamesh!"'Rin called out, surprising even herself.
The King of Heroes paused, glancing back over his shoulder. His expression was unreadable, though his eyes betrayed the weight of his failure.
'Tend to your mongrel, Rin Tohsaka,' he said flatly. 'You’ll need her protection when next we meet.' And with that, he vanished, the faint golden light of his departure leaving the battlefield eerily quiet.You exhaled sharply, the tension in your shoulders easing. Turning fully toward Rin, you approached her with a mixture of caution and urgency.
'Are you hurt?' you asked, your voice losing its earlier venom. Rin scowled, crossing her arms despite the lingering tremor in her frame.
'I’m fine. Don’t act like you care now, after nearly leveling half the city.' Her words stung, but you couldn’t hide the concern etched on your face.
'I always care,' you said softly, stepping closer. 'You might not believe it, but everything I do is for you.' Rin’s glare faltered for a moment, but she quickly composed herself.
'Save the theatrics. If you really want to help, stop causing so much destruction. You’re no better than him.' Your expression hardened slightly at the comparison, but you bit back a retort. Instead, you extended a hand toward her, a silent offer of protection.
'Let me prove I’m different,' you said quietly. Rin hesitated, her eyes narrowing as if weighing your words. But before she could respond, the distant sound of an approaching skirmish reminded you both that the war was far from over.
'Fine,' she said reluctantly, brushing past you. 'But don’t think this means I trust you.' You followed her, your gaze lingering on her retreating figure. Inwardly, your resolve only deepened. Trust wasn’t something you would wait for. You would earn it—whether she wanted you to or not.
___________________
The Tohsaka mansion was cloaked in silence, the soft creak of its wooden floorboards the only sound in the dimly lit hallways. Upstairs, Rin was asleep, her breathing steady after an exhausting day. You had stayed close to her room, keeping watch from the corridor to ensure no unwelcome surprises disturbed her rest. But as the clock struck midnight, a faint, familiar presence brushed against your senses. Your eyes narrowed. You descended the staircase silently, your hand resting on the hilt of a conjured blade—a fragment of the Mirror of Fates. The moonlight filtering through the tall windows illuminated a figure standing in the centre of the parlour, golden armor glinting faintly. Gilgamesh. The King of Heroes turned as you entered, his posture relaxed, but his crimson eyes burned with a quiet intensity. He stood without his usual arrogance, yet his presence still dominated the room.
'You,' you hissed, keeping your voice low to avoid waking Rin. 'What are you doing here?' Gilgamesh chuckled softly, his gaze trailing lazily across the room before settling on you.
'Do not flatter yourself, mongrel. I came not for you but for Rin Tohsaka.' Your grip on your blade tightened, and you stepped between him and the staircase.
'She’s asleep. You’ll leave her be, or you’ll regret stepping into this house.' Gilgamesh raised a brow, his smirk faint.
'How noble. You guard her as a knight might a princess, yet you fail to realise that your very presence endangers her.' His words struck a nerve, but you refused to show it.
'You’re the last person to lecture me about danger. Your arrogance killed your Master. Why don’t you crawl back to whatever hole you came from and lick your wounds?' For a moment, his expression darkened, and you thought he might summon a weapon from his Gate of Babylon. But instead, he closed the distance between you in a single stride, his crimson eyes locking onto yours.
'You presume much,' he said, his voice low and smooth, almost dangerous. 'You speak of wounds, yet I see them in you as well. Tell me, mongrel—does she even care for you as you wish she would?' The question caught you off guard, and the sharp edge of your anger dulled for a moment.
'That’s none of your concern,' you said tightly, though the uncertainty in your voice betrayed you. Gilgamesh’s smirk widened, his tone softening into something almost teasing.
'Ah, such devotion, yet so misplaced. You would burn the world for her, and yet she may never look at you the way you crave.' You glared at him, stepping closer until you were nearly nose-to-nose.
'Better to burn for something real than to live as an empty relic, clinging to a past that no longer exists.' His eyes widened slightly at your words, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he regained his composure.
'Empty, you say?' he murmured, his tone quieter now. 'Perhaps. But tell me, mongrel, what fills the void in your heart? Is it her, or is it the chase of an ideal you’ll never truly grasp?' The tension between you thickened, the charged silence broken only by the faint ticking of a nearby clock. Despite the venom in his words, there was something disarming in his gaze—an unexpected vulnerability that mirrored your own. 'You don’t know anything about me,' you said, though your voice lacked the conviction it carried moments earlier. Gilgamesh tilted his head slightly, his golden hair catching the moonlight.
'Perhaps I do not. But I know this: we are not so different, you and I. Both of us seek something eternal, yet we tread different paths to find it.' For a moment, the hostility between you wavered, replaced by an unspoken understanding. But just as quickly as it came, it was gone, his familiar smirk returning- only this time, it held a teasing curve that made your pulse quicken.
'Though I must say,' he continued, his voice low and smooth, 'I never expected to find such a fiery spirit beneath all that brooding devotion. It’s almost... charming.' You scoffed, though your cheeks betrayed you with the faintest warmth.
'Flattery isn’t going to make me drop my guard, King of Heroes.' Gilgamesh chuckled, the sound rich and velvety. He stepped closer, the space between you shrinking until you could feel the faint warmth radiating from him. "
'Who said anything about flattery? I’m merely stating the truth. Few would dare to face me so boldly, much less intrigue me in the process.' Your eyes narrowed, though your heart betrayed you by pounding louder with every passing second
'Intrigue? Is that what you call invading someone’s home uninvited?' He tilted his head, golden hair catching the faint moonlight as his smirk widened.
'Perhaps I was merely drawn to your light, like a moth to a flame. A dangerous flame, but alluring nonetheless.' You opened your mouth to retort, but his gaze held you captive, the playful arrogance in his eyes mingling with something deeper—something that made it impossible to look away.
'Careful,' you said finally, your voice quieter but still sharp. 'Keep this up, and I might think you’re trying to charm me.' Gilgamesh laughed softly, the sound resonating through the dimly lit room.
'Would that be so terrible?' he asked, his tone disarmingly casual but with a subtle, unmistakable edge of challenge. You stepped back slightly, forcing some distance between you even as his presence seemed to follow like a shadow.
'If this is your way of trying to get me to lower my guard, it’s not working.' He placed a hand over his heart in mock offense.
'You wound me. Perhaps I simply enjoy the company of someone who doesn’t bore me to tears. That’s a rare gift, after all.' You crossed your arms, determined to ignore the way his words made your chest tighten.
'If you’re done with your games, leave. Rin doesn’t need you here.' Gilgamesh leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper, as if sharing a secret meant only for you.
'Ah, but it’s not Rin who interests me tonight.' Your breath caught, but before you could respond, he straightened, his teasing grin firmly in place. His hands traced the hem of your underarmor cloth. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Gilgamesh's lips as he felt your reaction to his touch. He enjoyed the way your body responded to him, the way your breath hitched ever so slightly. His fingers continued to trail over the sensitive skin of your waist, his touch light as a feather.
'It seems someone is a little bit skittish,' he purrs, his eyes glittering with amusement. 'Afraid you can't handle a king's touch?'
'Of course I can,' I grit my teeth in annoyance, a wave of heat flowing over my body. Gilgamesh chuckled at your defiant response, his fingers tracing a path up to the bare skin of your upper arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.
'Oh, I see,' he murmured, eyes smoldering as he leaned closer, invading your personal space. 'You think you're tough, do you? You think you can withstand a king's attention without flinching?' Gilgamesh's fingers continued to dance across your skin, tracing up to your neck, his touch leaving a trail of heat and electricity. He leaned even closer, his breath warm on your ear as he spoke.
'You'll cave, mongral. Every fibre of your being will submit to my touch.' Gilgamesh paused for a moment as your hands came to rest on top of his, a flicker of surprise passing over his face. However, he quickly recovered, a smirk returning to his lips. His fingers continued to move, tracing a lazy path over the exposed skin of your neck and shoulder.
'Hmm, so you're not as defiant as you seem,' he murmured, his voice husky with desire. Gilgamesh pulled you closer, his hips pressing against yours as the space between you disappeared. His arms encircled your waist, pulling you flush against his body. He leaned in, his lips hovering just millimeters from yours, his eyes hooded and burning with desire.
'Are you sure you're ready for this, mongral?' he murmured, his voice a heated whisper. Gilgamesh's smirk widened at your response, his grip on your waist tightening slightly.
'I can handle anything form you,' you grit through your teeth.
'Is that so?" he teases, his eyes raking over your face. 'You're so sure of yourself, aren't you? Let's see if you can keep up with a king's pace.' He leaned in, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. Gilgamesh's lips continued their exploration of your neck, peppering kisses and gentle nips along the sensitive skin. His hands slid down to your hips, holding you firmly against him as he pressed his body against yours. He could feel the heat radiating off of you, could practically taste the desire in the air. He relished in the way your breath hitched and your body reacted to his touch, a low growl of pleasure rumbling in his chest. Arousal rushed to your nether regions and Gilgamesh let out a low chuckle. Gilgamesh's teeth sank into the soft skin of your neck, leaving a trail of small, bite marks in their wake. He could feel the way your body responded to his touch, the heat and desire emanating from you. He pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with lust as he took in the sight of you, a smug smile playing at the corners of his lips. 'Looks like someone's enjoying themselves,' he murmured, his voice low and sultry. Your hands clenched onto his soft under armor. As his hands begin to remove your cloths, the sound of feet padding down the carpeted stairs spurs your attention. Rin. Rin rounded the corner from the stairs, her eyes widening as she saw the scene before her. She froze in her tracks, her cheeks flushing slightly at the sight of Gilgamesh's hands on your body. Gilgamesh, however, remained unabashed, his gaze fixed on you as he continued to touch and tease. He turned to face Rin, a smirk plastered on his face. 'You know (y/n).. I am in need of a new master.' Rin's eyes flicked between you and Gilgamesh, her expression a mix of confusion and annoyance.
'What are you talking about?' she demanded, her voice sharp. Gilgamesh chuckled, his hands still resting on your hips.
Gilgamesh chuckled, the sound dark and amused, as his hands continued to rest possessively on your hips, his fingers brushing against your skin with a casual, almost mocking familiarity.
'Just making a little proposal,' he purred, his eyes roaming over Rin’s body with open appreciation as if she were admiring a rare artifact. 'I think this one would make a lovely new master.' Rin’s eyes narrowed dangerously, her fists tightening by her sides. '
'You think you can just waltz in here and—' you pipe up.
'Calm down, mongrel,' Gilgamesh interrupted, his voice smooth, carrying a dangerous charm. The words hit you like a slap, and you stepped forward, pushing against him lightly, though your body betrayed you with the heat still lingering in the space between you.
'Stop it,' you snapped, trying to shake off the lingering sensation of his touch. Gilgamesh only leaned in closer, his lips brushing the side of your ear as he whispered,
'There’s no need to be coy. I know how you feel.' He smirked, his fingers tightening subtly on your waist. 'I’ve seen the way your body responds to me. You can't fool me.' Rin took a step forward, her voice sharp and cutting,
'I don’t care what games you’re playing, Gilgamesh. If you’re trying to get under my skin, it’s not going to work.' Gilgamesh straightened up, his gaze flicking back to her, still filled with amusement.
'Oh, but it already has,' he said, the words a playful taunt that only fueled the tension between them. 'I simply thought it was time for a change. Your little... servant here is a bit too attached, don’t you think? Perhaps you should let go and see where the winds truly blow.'
The smugness in his voice grated against your nerves, but part of you couldn't help but feel the pull of his presence—the magnetic, dangerous allure that he always exuded. Rin's frustration was palpable, but she kept her composure, her eyes never leaving Gilgamesh.
'Keep dreaming, king. I won’t let you turn my servant into your plaything.' Gilgamesh’s eyes gleamed, clearly enjoying the tension he’d created.
'Who said anything about playthings? I’m offering a partnership—a chance for them to reach thier true potential.' His gaze flickered to you again, a knowing smirk creeping across his face. 'You’re too limited, little mongrel. There’s so much more I could offer.' Your heart raced, caught in the strange, dangerous allure of his words. But you gritted your teeth, pushing the temptation away.
'I don’t need anything from you, Gilgamesh. Especially not your offer.' He chuckled, the sound rich with amusement, as if he were savoring the moment.
'We’ll see. I always get what I want in the end.' With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, your body still tingling with the aftermath of his touch, and Rin’s sharp, wary gaze following his every movement. The golden king disappeared into the night, his arrogance lingering in the air like a suffocating shroud. You exhaled slowly, your lips curving into a faint, unsettling smile as the tingling sensation of his touch faded, replaced by something darker—something possessive. Rin approached, her brows knitted in concern and suspicion.
'What the hell was that about?' she demanded, crossing her arms, her gaze flitting between you and the faint golden shimmer on the horizon. You turned to her, your eyes sharp and glinting with a dangerous intensity.
'Why do you care, master?'you asked, your voice soft but laced with a venomous sweetness. 'Jealous, are we?' Her eyes widened, and she took a half-step back.
'Jealous? Of him? Don’t be ridiculous. I just want to know what you’re getting yourself into.' You tilted your head, a soft laugh escaping your lips, though it held no warmth.
'You’re so predictable, always trying to play the self-righteous protector. But you don’t need to protect me, Rin. If anything—' You stepped closer, closing the space between you two. '—you’re the one who needs protecting.' Rin stiffened, her eyes narrowing.
'What’s that supposed to mean?' You reached out, brushing a lock of her hair away from her face with a deliberate, almost tender motion.
'It means you should know your place,' you murmured, your tone dripping with dangerous affection. She slapped your hand away, her expression hardening.
'Get a grip, (y/n). You’re starting to sound as unhinged as he is.' Your smile widened, your gaze locking onto hers with an unyielding intensity.
'Unhinged? Maybe. But at least I know what I want. Can you say the same?' Rin's jaw clenched, her usual sharp retorts faltering as your words hung heavy in the air. The moment stretched, charged with tension, before you stepped back, your demeanor softening just enough to make her question if she’d imagined the edge in your voice.
'Relax, Rin,' you said with a dismissive wave of your hand, though your eyes still gleamed with an unsettling focus. 'I’m only looking out for you. After all...' You leaned in, your voice dropping to a near-whisper. 'It’d be such a shame if you got in the way and ended up broken.' Your hands moved back to her hips she gasped a little, about to blurt out some insult or another, but she closed her lips as your hands traced the hem of her short skirt. You leaned into her ear closely. 'You summoned me to protect you with my life, so I'll do that. I'll give you all of me.' You kissed her earlobe before dematerialising-perhaps chasing after Gilgamesh.
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