Yandere who tries so hard to make you fall in love with him, except he's a background character. A tragic affair, truly, that all of his efforts always fade into irrelevancy.
His grand kidnapping plans, his ardent confessions, his tormented monologues of raw, unadulterated obsession, it all - at best - happens for a fleeting moment before another character steals the audience.
"I haven't got much time," he finally says, holding onto your wrist with maddening urgency, "have you read my letters?"
"Letters?"
You gaze at him, somewhat confused. Have you met this man before? Why is he talking like you've known each other for years?
"The letters, damn it! I send them every night, right underneath your window, you couldn't possibly miss-"
He gasps as the realization sinks in. It must've been happening offscreen. Damn it!
Summary: After your parents were killed by Noah, a merciless underboss, you were determined to avenge your family. But fate seemed to have another plan as the man practically adopts you. I guess you have a new dad? Congrats?
Breaking into Noah's house (again)
Getting caught sneaking out of school
Getting formally adopted
Ary'nos and Cir'es, the Harpies (Parental)
Summary: a vacation gone wrong quickly leaves you in the clutches of a harpy that’s convinced you’re in desperate need of its attention
Meeting the harpy/Adopted!
Being introduced to Ary'nos's mate + learning names
Intruder Alert!
Cir'es catches you escaping
Harpy!reader ask
Harpy!reader follow-up
Harpy aging + how they view reader
Dragon!reader ask
Harpies react to YOU aging
Harpies telling you stories
Period comfort?
Will, the House Ghost (Parental)
Summary: Your new house comes with its very own ghost, that feeds you, tucks you in, and doesn't let you leave!
Moving in
Tarian, the Fae (Parental)
Summary: You were picking flowers for a homemade tea you were trying to brew, but you accidentally step into the domain of a Fae, and they aren't letting you go anytime soon.
Getting Taken
Leonard, The Psychologist (Parental)
Summary: You - a yandere - were spared the death sentence in return for going to a rehabilitation program, designed for people just like you! But things don't go as planned when your assigned doctor begins taking a deeper fascination with you than normal.
The program
Getting Taken Home
Platonic Yandere Circus
The First Night
Reaction to reader that hoards
More on the Mistress + Hoarding (spoiler for future parts)
Warning: pseudocest/incest, jealousy, Selina and Bruce lowkey kind of hate each other in this but only because they are currently ‘off’, you are in horrible trouble whenever they are ‘on’, tried my best to make it gn, etc.
Mom and dad but mom and dad are lowkey always fighting for your love and affection.
Bruce trying to get your love through material things, the things your mother deeply enjoys like diamonds and pearls and large, dangling jewels.
Selina trying to get your love through exhilaration, through being the ‘cool’ parent who is always taking you on wonderful adventures and trips.
Bruce who has you sleep in his bed like you used to when you were smaller and makes you feel bad with his big sad face whenever you try to sneak back to your own room.
Selina who just invades your space and decides your bed is the community bed.
Bruce who steals away your first kiss, almost by accident.
Selina who steals your first French kiss in petty, jealous retaliation.
Bruce who gives you your first lingerie set.
Selina who has you grind up on her thigh wearing the set, recording every bit of your sweet little face and sending it to Bruce with the smuggest smile.
Bruce who then goes ahead to be the one to give you head for the first time, the first one to finger you, to make you cum loud and whimpering on his mouth and hands alone knowing full well how much Selina was looking forward to that.
And it only gets worse if you add the outside world into the mix.
neglected to regressor batsis! reader x platonic batfam
what if after 20 years of neglect from your family full of vigilantes, you face an unfortunate death, only to find yourself regressed back to when you were 16?
⤷ lots of emotional neglect, reader was batgirl, reader was a tryhard and an overachiever, reader had no social life in her first life, mentions of drugs, mentions of human trafficking, mentions of death, regression themes, toxic and unhealthy relationships, dysfunctional family, toxic mentalities, reader and everyone else needs therapy…, canon typical violence, canon divergence, major character death(s) | tba | based on this
⤷ info! (background) 1 | 2 | read this first to understand the plot and each batfam better :)
⤷ all uf art ‼️
⤷ uf chapter covers ❤️🔥
⤷ uf memes 🫵
⤷ if you’re bored 🌟 (i’ll eventually get to tagging all of posts..)
hihi!!! I am currently just very obsessed with the platonic!yandere harpies !! I don’t know if you are still willing to write for them, so please ignore this if you aren’t (or just don’t feel like writing this !!), but I have a request …
how would they react to an afab suddenly getting their period ? do they have education on that type of stuff or would they just be clueless and think they’re dying ?
Hiiii! I'm always open to requests for any of my stories (unless otherwise stated on a masterlist or in my bio). The interaction would more or less go down like this!
Parental Yandere Harpies x GN reader that menstruates
Ary'nos's heart felt full of joy. It was early morning, before either of your harpy parents went off on patrol, and he was enjoying the feeling of his mate's wings wrapping around him and their precious nestling.
He couldn't help the little happy trills resonating deep in his chest. He was so glad to have found you! With you, his small family finally felt complete.
No more empty nests...
Then, he smelt iron.
It was a sharp scent, and one that felt out of place, here, in the safety of the cave.
His feathers ruffled, standing on their ends. The smell was coming from... nervous chirps filled the nest as he nudged your cheek, trying to rouse you from your slumber.
His panic only grew when you grunted, as if in pain, and burrowed deeper into the soft bed of the nest.
The scent of blood grew more pungent, and Ary'nos couldn't help but feel his heart drop to his stomach. Both you and Cir'es were abruptly pulled out of sleep when Ary'nos let out a fearful squawk, his wings unfurling as he shot himself out of the nest at lightning speed.
He crashed into the wall with such force, the collision echoed afterwards. Fumbling, he searched their stash for their medical supplies and healing salves.
Hearing his mate's distress, Cir'es perked up from the nest, his wings displaying in a threatening manner as if to ward off the one causing such a panic to his mate. Then, when he paused, he too smelt the scent of your blood, and a bone-deep terror filled him. His hands reached around to press down on your shoulders, as if to ground you from the pain they believed you to be in.
You were more confused than scared as Ary'nos scrambled back to the nest. His hands were trembling and you could see a wet shimmer in his yellow eyes. Cir'es's jaw was clenched, but he pretended as if he was calm for your sake. He knew panicking as well would only freak you out, so he made an effort to release reassuring croons meant for little ones.
"Show papa," Ary'nos chirped, pressing a clawed hand to your chest to keep you from getting up. "Show papa where hurt."
"Huh?" you looked at him as if he were crazy.
Frustrated, Ary'nos tried tugging the hem of your shorts down, only for him to start helplessly crying as you slapped his hands away with a yelp.
Ary'nos, helpless, began to weep. He buried his face in his hands, chest trembling from the outburst.
His little hatchling was hurt! They were hurt, and they weren't letting him help.
Were they going to die? The scent of blood was nearly overwhelming now.
You stared dazed at the scene, confused. You turned to Cir'es for some guidance.
His feathers were standing up too, making him look bigger and fluffier than usual. There was a crease in between his eyebrows, indicating his concern, but he spoke to you gently, "Bleeding, why? Hatchling hurt?"
It was only then that you made out the telltale sign of your stomach cramping.
Ah.
Were you going to have to give your bird parents the talk?
---
Luckily, after a very fumbled explanation, your harpy parents calmed down. Ary'nos was still sniffling, but he was no longer bawling inconsolably.
To help with the cramps, Cir'es had brewed you a herbal remedy. Supposedly, to ease the pain.
Afterwards, Ary'nos had picked you up, flying you deeper into the cave. Your eyes widened as you saw the gorgeous system of hot springs in front of you. They were illuminated by crystals, casting the room in soft teals, purples, and the occasional amber.
Ary'nos gently settled you down near the water, gesturing for you to take off your clothes and get in.
"But the blood—" you began to protest.
"Water self-cleaning," Ary'nos insisted firmly. "Healthy for you."
You soaked in the water, feeling the aches and pains numb in the warmth. Your head leaned back on the stones, eyes fluttering closed as you felt Ary'nos finger coiling your hair. You could smell something cooking back in the front of the cave, so you assumed Cir'es was making breakfast.
Ary'nos cooed happily behind you, chest puffing up in pride as he saw the pain seep out of you. He was helping! His nestling felt better because of him!
This was nice.. you thought sleepily...
...Now, that you were thinking about it, how did harpies reproduce?
---
A/N: been a while since I've written for these two! i hope reader's happy free bleeding cuz i don't think they have pads or tampons in the wild :3
Pathetic genius yandere! Having a genius be absolutely obsessed with you, he spent his entire life as an academic and engineer, building things that served the world, and it made him a fortune. During that time, once he met you, he realized that greater than all of his life's work was the life that he was creating with and for you. No one expects the multi-billion dollar man to have taken his wife's name, but he does, and he loves it.
pathetic genius yandere! "Well, I love my wife, and I love the name she was born with, and so why wouldn't I take her name?" . No one can really say much about it.
Of course, it makes headlines, but what are they going to do, argue with a billionaire? You know how people say that it's not about the money and that they don't care about the money? Well, he does. Not in the sense of how it relates to him, but in the way of how it relates to you:
- how he can buy you more
- how he can give you more
- how he can commission a half-a-billion-dollar yacht named after you
- how he can buy you the heritage jewels and gemstones of the world so that your family name can live on with a grand legacy
Pathetic genius yandere! He doesn't care about the name he was born with. That means nothing. He's built his entire life trying to be someone, to mean something. He didn't realize that the entire life he was building was meant to be given over to you entirely, completely, unabashedly.
Pathetic genius yandere! He's rich enough to fuck the patriarchy, and that's why he devotes himself to you. He has sit-down interviews with all of the top news networks, interviewers, et cetera. He has a sense of almost being ephemeral because he can exist in a realm above societal standards and expectations.
Pathetic genius yandere! He always considered himself agnostic on a good day, atheist as norm. He never believed in the concept or the theory or the doctrine that there's a man in the sky. Why would there be? He believed in science, and science said that women were the bearers of life, unless, of course, you were a seahorse.
Why would he subscribe to a notion as silly as the one that man created all life in the universe and was the judge of all life?
Pathetic genius yandere! When he met you, for the first time in his life, he felt his sense of religious enlightenment, zealotry, a need to be committed to something outside and above himself. When he met you, he knew that you were the altar at which he would bear himself, completely and render all of his resources to.
Pathetic genius yandere! he feels like a computer, and you're the coder. He'll figure out whatever needs to happen in order to make your desires become reality. You give him an input, and he'll show you output. You give him an order or command, and he'll show you what he can build from it. Every one of his actions is centered around you. Forever.
synopsis ⠀:: ⠀ when you hug their face in your boobs.
including ⠀! ⠀ dick grayson. jason todd. tim drake. damian wayne. ✶
contents ⠀! ⠀ fem reader. nsfw. obsessive characters. the boys being phatethic and in love. masterlist. english is not my first language. ✶
DICK GRAYSON
he's so fucking touch starved it's not even funny. like yeah he's dick grayson, everybody loves him, he's got that charming smile, but when's the last time someone just held him? really held him? not because he was bleeding out or because the world was ending but just because he needed it.
so when you're sitting on the couch and he comes home from patrol, still wired, jaw tight, that little crease between his eyebrows that he gets when he's been thinking too hard—
you don't say anything. you just reach up, grab the back of his neck, and pull his face right into your chest.
he makes this sound. this broken little exhale. like all the air just left his body at once.
his hands come up immediately, gripping your waist, and he just melts. face pressed into the soft swell of your cleavage, nose buried in your sternum, and you feel his whole body go slack against you. his shoulders drop. his breathing slows. his fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt.
"fuck," he mumbles, voice muffled against your skin. "needed this."
you're wearing one of those low cut tops and he's not even being sexual about it at first. he's just breathing you in. his lips are parted against the curve of your breast, warm breath fanning over your skin, and his eyes are closed.
you run your fingers through his hair, scratch his scalp the way he likes, and he groans. deep and rumbling, vibrating right through your skin.
"hard day?" you ask.
he doesn't answer. just nuzzles closer, turns his head, and presses his mouth right over your nipple through the thin fabric.
oh...
his tongue flicks out, wetting the material, and you feel his hips twitch against your thigh. he's getting hard. just from this. just from being close to you like this.
so cute.
"let me," he whispers, already pulling your top down, and then his mouth is on bare skin and he's gone.
he doesn't rush. he's so earnest about it. worshipping your tits is a privilege he's been granted. he licks and sucks and moans against your skin, leaving wet patches everywhere, pulling your nipple into his mouth and rolling his tongue over it until it's hard and aching.
"pretty," he breathes against you. "so fuckin' pretty. taste so good."
he switches to the other breast, gives it the same attention, and his hips are rolling against your thigh now, grinding slow and desperate. he's not even trying to get off. he's just feeling the moment.
when he finally pulls back, his lips are swollen, his hair's a mess, and there's drool on his chin.
"better?" you ask, smiling.
he laughs, a little breathless. "yeah. sorry. got carried away."
you pull him back in.
he doesn't complain.
JASON TODD
it's his favorite thing.
not that he'd ever say that out loud.
but you know. you know because when he comes home with blood on his knuckles and red in his eyes, he walks straight to you, drops to his knees, and presses his face into your stomach. wraps his arms around your waist and just breathes.
you're standing in the kitchen, making tea, and he's there with his face buried in your shirt.
"jason," you whisper, carding your fingers through his hair.
he growls like a dog.
yeah. he don't want you to say anything romantic rn.
but then you sit down, pull him up, and pull his head to your chest. and he fall into you, all the fight just drained out of him. his whole weight pressing you into the couch cushions, his face smushed between your tits, his arms locked around your ribcage like he's afraid you'll disappear.
"you're okay," you murmur. "you're home."
he doesn't say anything. just turns his head and bites down on the soft flesh of your breast through your shirt. not hard enough to hurt. just enough to feel. to remind himself you're real.
"jason."
"shut up." his voice is rough. "let me have this."
so you do. you let him mouth at your tits through the fabric until your shirt is soaked and clinging to your skin. you let him pull it down and latch onto your nipple like a starving man. you let him suck hard enough to make you gasp, his stubble scraping against your sensitive skin, his big hands squeezing and kneading your breasts.
"so fuckin' soft," he groans against you. "could live here."
his tongue is hot and rough, and he's not gentle about it. no he's desperate. sucking and licking and biting, marking you up, leaving bruises on your chest that'll bloom purple by morning.
he's hard. you can feel him pressing against your thigh, thick and throbbing, and he grinds against you.
"jason," you breathe. "let me take care of you."
he pulls back just enough to look at you. pupils wide, lips wet, jaw tight.
"you already are," he says.
then he buries his face back in your chest and doesn't come up for air for a long, long time.
TIM DRAKE
tim hasn't slept in three days. he's staring at his laptop, eyes bloodshot, coffee cup empty for the fourth time, fingers still moving but getting slower.
so you do the only thing that works.
you walk up behind him, slide your arms around his shoulders, and pull his head back against your chest.
he makes a confused little sound.
"what're you—"
"shh."
he resists for maybe half a second. then his eyes flutter closed and he lean against you. his whole body goes limp, head resting heavy between your breasts, and you feel the exhaustion just hit him.
"you're so warm," he mumbles, voice already slurring.
"you need sleep."
"can't. case."
"tim."
"five more minutes."
you roll your eyes and shift so his face is pressed more into the softest part of your chest. his lips parted against the bare skin where your shirt dips low, and his breath is hot and slow.
he's not doing anything but enjoying the moment. but his body is responding anyway. you feel his shoulders tense, then relax. his hands come up and rest on your arms, holding you closer.
"y'know," he says, voice relaxed, "this is really nice."
"yeah?"
"yea..."
he turns his head, presses a kiss to the swell of your breast. then another. then his tongue darts out, just a little, tasting the salt on your skin.
"tim."
"mm?"
"thought you were working."
he pull his head away, looks up at you with his exhausted blue eyes, and there's something soft and a little drunk in his expression.
"changed my mind."
he pulls you around the chair and into his lap, and then his face is buried in your tits and he's groaning like he just found water in a desert. his mouth is everywhere. licking, sucking, kissing, biting. he's so sloppy. he's so cute.
"fuck," he whimpers against your nipple. "fuck, you're so hot."
he's not usually vocal. but he's so sleep deprived and overstimulated that his filter is gone. every thought just falls out of his mouth.
"could do this forever," he mumbles, switching to your other breast. "never leave. stay right here."
he's grinding up into the heat of your core without even realizing he's doing it. his hips move in slow weak circles.
"tim, baby, let me ride you," you whisper.
he shakes his head. "no. not yet. just—let me—"
he buries his face deeper, tongue flattening over your nipple, and groans like it's the best thing he's ever tasted.
"just let me be."
you let him.
DAMIAN WAYNE
damian hates vulnerability.
he is arrogance and precision and makes cutting remarks. he says "i don't need anyone" and "sentiment is weakness" and "tt" when he doesn't have a comeback.
but here's the thing, he's still learning what it means to want something soft.
and you're the softest thing he's ever touched.
the first time you pulled him into your chest, he froze. didn't know what to do with his hands, his face, his body. just stood there stiff as a board while you held him.
now he doesn't ask. but he... there...
you're reading on the couch and he sits down next to you. close. closer than necessary. his thigh presses against yours and he picks at the hem of his sleeve.
he's annoyed about something.
"damian."
"tt."
he won't even look at you.
"come here."
he moves fast. too fast.
so he was waiting for you to say it. alright.
and then he's pressed against you, face shoved into your chest, arms wrapped around your waist, and he's shaking. just a little.
"i had a difficult patrol," he mutters into your skin. like that explains everything.
but that's the closest he can get to saying i need you.
you wrap your arms around him and hold him tighter. his face is pressed right between your breasts, nose against your skin, and you feel his breathing even out. his hands curl into your shirt.
"you don't have to talk about it," you say softly.
"good." he pauses. "i don't want to."
and he doesn't pull away. if anything, he presses closer. and then his lips are moving against the swell of your breast. soft at first. like he's not sure he's allowed.
"damian."
"i'm not—" he cuts himself off, frustrated. "you smell good."
you bite back a smile. "so i've been told."
he huffs. but then his mouth is back on you, trailing hot, open mouthed kisses across your chest. he's not that practiced but he's eager. a little clumsy. he pulls your shirt down and stares at your bare breasts like he's never seen them before, even though he has. even though he's memorized every inch of you.
"you're beautiful," he says, so quiet you almost miss it.
then he latches onto your nipple and sucks, and it's like a dam breaks. his hands are everywhere. squeezing your other breast, gripping your hip, tugging at your clothes. he's making these sounds—soft, surprised little moans.
he's hard. pressing against you, twitching every time you gasp. but he doesn't move. doesn't ask for anything. just keeps his mouth on you. this is the only thing he wants in the world at the moment.
"dami fuck," you breathe, threading your fingers through his hair. "you're so good at this."
he makes a choked sound against your skin. his hips jerk. and when he pulls back, his face is red and his lips are wet and his eyes are wild.
"i am?" he asks, and there it is. the vulnerability. the need for approval he'd never admit to.
"yeah," you whisper. "you are."
he buries his face back in your chest. he doesn't want you to see the smile or the redness on his face.
Pathetic genius yandere! Having a genius be absolutely obsessed with you, he spent his entire life as an academic and engineer, building things that served the world, and it made him a fortune. During that time, once he met you, he realized that greater than all of his life's work was the life that he was creating with and for you. No one expects the multi-billion dollar man to have taken his wife's name, but he does, and he loves it.
pathetic genius yandere! "Well, I love my wife, and I love the name she was born with, and so why wouldn't I take her name?" . No one can really say much about it.
Of course, it makes headlines, but what are they going to do, argue with a billionaire? You know how people say that it's not about the money and that they don't care about the money? Well, he does. Not in the sense of how it relates to him, but in the way of how it relates to you:
- how he can buy you more
- how he can give you more
- how he can commission a half-a-billion-dollar yacht named after you
- how he can buy you the heritage jewels and gemstones of the world so that your family name can live on with a grand legacy
Pathetic genius yandere! He doesn't care about the name he was born with. That means nothing. He's built his entire life trying to be someone, to mean something. He didn't realize that the entire life he was building was meant to be given over to you entirely, completely, unabashedly.
Pathetic genius yandere! He's rich enough to fuck the patriarchy, and that's why he devotes himself to you. He has sit-down interviews with all of the top news networks, interviewers, et cetera. He has a sense of almost being ephemeral because he can exist in a realm above societal standards and expectations.
Pathetic genius yandere! He always considered himself agnostic on a good day, atheist as norm. He never believed in the concept or the theory or the doctrine that there's a man in the sky. Why would there be? He believed in science, and science said that women were the bearers of life, unless, of course, you were a seahorse.
Why would he subscribe to a notion as silly as the one that man created all life in the universe and was the judge of all life?
Pathetic genius yandere! When he met you, for the first time in his life, he felt his sense of religious enlightenment, zealotry, a need to be committed to something outside and above himself. When he met you, he knew that you were the altar at which he would bear himself, completely and render all of his resources to.
Pathetic genius yandere! he feels like a computer, and you're the coder. He'll figure out whatever needs to happen in order to make your desires become reality. You give him an input, and he'll show you output. You give him an order or command, and he'll show you what he can build from it. Every one of his actions is centered around you. Forever.
Yandere Alpha Clark x Omega Reader x Yandere Alpha Bruce
@angelamajiki in the spirit of your virginity fic, I'm unleashing this from the drafts
Warnings: yandere, nsfw, noncon/dubcon, fauxcest, a/b/o, first time, shame, manipulation
It seems the biggest step your "fathers" are willing to force is your abduction. Since then, they've been willing to make concessions for your comfort.
You're too scared to let them knot you. You would die unmated before giving in to them so fully. It wasn't a choice without consequences; the constant presence of two virile alphas was having mortifying effects on you. You could endure the longer, more frequent heats that came with their proximity. They indulge you, taking care of you with their fingers and tounges. They work through their ruts together. They assure you that you're their girl, and they'll never do anything to hurt you. You could get by like this, if this was the worst of it.
You failed to account for the detox period. You hadn't been given suppressants since your abduction, but your last doses would take time to fully leave your system. A week ago, you hadn't even known to be grateful to those trace chemicals. Part of you wished you could apologize to them now. Your body is screaming for an alpha. They find you crying on the bed, mattress half-soaked beneath you. You had long-abandoned the sense that would keep you out of their dirty laundry. Far past the point of embarrassment, you hardly look up from the gym shirt you are huffing, and only grind harder on your pillow.
Bruce is immediately by your side. His cool hands press your blazing forehead, and you whimper.
"Sweetheart," he tuts, "Why didn't you call for us?"
His hands slide down, coming to rest on your hips. Hushing your desperate whines, he slows you to a gentle rock. You want to snap at him, but are distracted by Clark's hands on yours. It appears he took your distraction as an opportunity to undress. He's loosening your grip on the shirt, he's taking it, and the growl crawls up your throat before you can think better of it. Your hips are forced to stop. Bruce closes his teeth around your earlobe it a hum of disapproval. Cowed, you relinquish the shirt.
"I thought you'd be flattered. It is your shirt."
"I can't be flattered that much. She knows how to behave."
Clark laughs in disbelief. Then, he reclines, patting your thigh.
"Come on, pretty girl. Up with you."
Bruce lets you go with a squeeze. Abandoning your soiled pillow, you clamber up to Pa's Clark's face. He guides you over him, and you just resist resuming your ride on his jaw. His fingers are too slow when they run between your lips. Cool air blows across your folds, and you almost paint his face right then. Almost.
"Please," You're actually crying now. "I need it. I'll die. I'm going to die here."
That gets a chuckle out of Bruce. Mercifully, Clark wastes no time coming to your rescue. You're promptly seated. His hot tongue draws from your clit to your entrance, setting a steady rhythm. Your desperation is not quelled by the muscle's shallow dips into your hole. This won't be enough; you know it.
Your attention shifts to Bruce, and it seems he was waiting for it. He slowly undresses, preening under your gaze. The sight of his half-hard cock makes your mouth water.
Clark's own member stands eager before you. It looks warm, practically glowing. It's thick, and pink, and god, you can smell it. You'd put it in your mouth if you could reach. You settle to take it in your hand. The skin is soft and warm, and you feel a little twitch beneath your palm. You're so transfixed by the bead of precum rolling over your fingers, you don't notice the alpha gasp into your folds.
Bruce reaches over and guides your hand away. Tears threaten to return as you look to him for explanation. He was taking this, too? They already took your shirt. It wasn't fair.
"You aren't ready yet, remember love?"
Suddenly, it's all too much. You're sobbing, begging for more than they're giving you but you can't put it to words. Dad wraps around you, guiding you to sit on Pa's chest. You lean into his warmth, savoring the smell of his skin. It's reassuring. Bruce looks to Clark, now unoccupied. There's an apprehension shared between them, neither willing to move first. All the while, you're still pleading into the junction of Bruce's shoulder. He tries to rub your back, but it only agitates you further. Tearfully, you bite down.
Now Clark never considered himself to be the kind of man moved by a tantrum, but he wasn't heartless. They hadn't taken care of you properly, and you were suffering for it. He watches Bruce gently detatch you. The sight of your teary face, cradled in your dad's hands, will be the end of him.
"Shhh. You don't have to say it, just take what you need." He's unsure if his words are getting through to you.
He's pretty taken aback when you practically leap onto his dick. Bruce puts a hand to your hip.
"Slow down. Don't hurt yourself."
Unhindered, you spin to face them. You line Pa up with your hungry cunt and sit. He goes in smooth, with a mouth-watering pressure. You moan in pure relief. You're going to be okay. You just need a little more. Gathering the strength in your legs, you begin to move. Clark gasps, and Bruce's eyebrows shoot up his forehead. They had fully intended to open you up with their fingers first. Still, they let you bounce to your heart's content, only petting your hair and kissing your hands. God help you, it's not enough.
You practically knock the wind out of Clark with how suddenly you sink over his knot. It hardly even stings. The stretch is easily overarched by the most intense orgasm of your life. You nearly black out. Every muscle, plenty you'd never known you had, tenses and quivers. A guttural cry pours out of your mouth.
When you come to, Bruce's arms are holding you steady through the aftershocks. You gradually regain a hold of yourself. You feel so full, and warm. Clark's knot keeps him snugly pressed into your sweet spot. Your pussy continues to milk him, and the animal fading from your mind wants to make him give you more. Bruce takes a hand off you to rest it on Clark's flushed, heaving chest. You feel Bruce smiling against your temple. You also feel his very hard member against your back. He kisses your forehead before shifting further to Clark. The Kryptonian seems nearly brain dead, giving only an airy grunt when Bruce cards through his hair.
The warm haze is really giving way. The thing you so lovingly conquered is starting to feel more like an intrusion. You've been knotted. You practically knotted yourself. The one thing they hadn't taken from you, and you threw it at them because you wanted to cum.
You want off, and a shower. The slick soaking your lower half feel worse every cooling second. You shift backwards on your knees to allow Clark up, his softening cock sliding out of you. Painfully empty Mercifully free, you begin to crawl further back. Bruce catches you.
"Hold on. Is that how you treat your family?" He's smiling in spite of his scolding. "Your Pa just gave you something very special. What do you say?"
That you were the only one who gave anything up here?
"Thank you, Pa."
Clark is practically glowing as he surges towards you. By the time you could yelp, you were already gently laid beneath him. He pushes back your sweaty hair. His teary eyes rove over your body.
"Oh baby, you did so good. You're so good for trusting us." His hands trace lower and lower. "Does it hurt? You can tell Pa where it hurts."
Bruce's hands come to rest on Clark's shoulders. He leans in, as if to whisper a secret, but speaks loud and clear.
"Dad will kiss it all better," he promises with a wolfish grin.
Clark moves to let him at you. As you get a full view of his manhood, a bolt of fear pierces your abdomen. It's not quite as big as Clark's but it looks... angry. They couldn't expect you to do that twice in one night. Your slick was starting to dry tacky on your thighs, and the relaxed openness between your hips was making way for a more familiar, anxious tightness. But in Bruce's eyes, there shines the very expectation.
"Br-Dad, please, I just took one and I'm sore-"
He shushes you again.
"I told you, I'll kiss it better." His grip is firm on your thigh: a warning. You freeze. Clark takes the opportunity to drag you up to the headboard with him. A growl escapes Bruce at the sudden theft. You're held to Clark's warm, rumbling chest, forced to face the unsatisfied apha. The alien rests his chin on your shoulder, getting right up to your ear. His purr drowns out your hammering heart.
Bruce's gaze softens at the sight of you both. He takes your stiff, quivering legs, and gently hooks them over Clark's. Clark's hands begin to press into you breasts, gently kneading and stroking. The next moment, Bruce is upon you. There is no escaping his mouth. True to his word, he kisses every part of your aching pussy he can reach. He uses his fingers for what what he can't. You shamefully acknowledge that the obscene squelching is much more your own renewed arousal than his saliva. You let every whine and whimper pass your lips. The light pinch on your nipple, the thorough massaging of your insides, the constant suckling and laving against your clit: it's too much. There's nowhere to even squirm but deeper into them.
The inevitable second orgasm comes. This one leaves you jittery. You know what's coming next.
"Just focus on how good it feels," Clark whispers.
In spite of yourself, you feel the tension in your gut uncoil a little. His breath is warm, and his deep purr soothes something in your bones.
Bruce takes your attention back with another kiss. He is slotted above you, one hand pushing you deeper into the kiss, and the other lining him up with your entrance. He begins to press in, and you sob.
"No, no, sweetheart," he tries to hush you as he thumbs over your clit. "This is good. You already love it."
Easy to say when you're not the one being bitched. He pushes deeper with a cracked groan, slowly bottoming out. He drags back out, feeling your walls squeeze in protest. You're granted a few shallow thrusts before he stops with just his tip resting in you. His thumb sits heavy on your clit. He's still smiling at you, but it's more mischievous than proud. It makes you nervous again.
"I don't know that I should just give you what you want. You haven't been very grateful for what you've gotten so far."
Before you can grovel, Clark scoffs, grabs a great handful of Bruce's ass and hilts him into you. You shriek in surprise. Bruce's hand leaves you to catch himself against the mattress.
"Be nice. It's her first time."
"Second, technically."
"First time with you. And she won't want a second if you act up like this."
Clark readily replaces the fingers on your clit, determined to get you to your third peak. Bruce snorts, but begins fucking you in earnest. Each thrust is delicious and punishing. Clark amps up the intensity, pressing and pinching your clit. You can't hear yourself, can't understand that you're saying as you say it anyway. Your toes curl; you kick into empty air. You find some purchase on Bruce's back, and dig your claws. His pupils blow out as he shoves his knot into you.
You feel like the best omega in the world as he fills you up.
You all lay in a heap until Bruce detatches from you. You lightly whine at the loss, head fuzzy from the endorphins. You're floating in their scent, their purrs, their warmth. Coherent thought doesn't return to you until you are placed in a warm bath. You gradually come down from your high as your alphas clean you. Dad is extra gentle drying you off. He sports a fresh bite mark with pride, forgoing a shirt. Pa scents you thoroughly after you're dressed. The smell makes your head a little hazy again. You're brought to a nest of clean bedding. You bed down between your alphas while a small, shameful part of wonders when they'll give you their knots again.
Because I am a menace do you think you could do this scenario where fem!reader is talking with the lads over the phone but she has bad signal so shes super amd at the bad signal and is like "im breaking up on you" and they think she said shes breaking up with them.
lads boys thinking reader is accidentally breaking up with them over phone call
pairing: fem!reader or fem!mc x xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus, caleb, valko (all separate)
warnings: none
a/n: this is too funny absolutely brilliant idea that i had so much fun imagining and writing out thank you anon! i hope you enjoy
xavier (word count: 625)
you called xavier while you were grocery shopping. the plan was simple. you were going to his apartment later for a baking date, and since you knew his pantry was probably lacking anything remotely useful, you decided to ask what ingredients he already had before buying everything yourself. although, if you were being honest, you suspected the answer was going to be very little.
xavier answered after a few rings. "hey. do you need something?"
you smiled at the familiar sound of his voice.
"do you have—any..."
you looked around the supermarket. the aisles were unusually crowded. boxes were stacked everywhere, carts were blocking the shelves, and employees were busy restocking. the perfect timing.
"what? can you say that last word again?"
you frowned and looked down at your phone. the call was still connected. xavier's name was still displayed on the screen. so why couldn't he hear you?
you brought the phone closer and spoke a little louder. "i said, do you—"
static suddenly ripped through the speaker. the loud crackling made you pull the phone away from your ear. seriously your service, again? you knew you should have upgraded your phone the last time you had the chance. somehow, every time you left home, your signal decided to disappear at the worst possible moment.
"do i what?"
xavier's voice came through again, quieter this time. "is everything okay?"
you tried to answer quickly before the connection disappeared again.
"no, i—i'm breaking up—" the static returned. "—with you."
the call suddenly dropped, and you stared at your phone in disbelief. the little service bar that had completely disappeared.
you immediately tried texting him - sorry, my phone lost service.
the message failed. you tried again. nothing, just the pesky exclamation mark showing it didn't go through.
you sighed, putting your phone away. you would see him soon anyway, and you could explain then.
you pushed your cart further down the aisle, reaching for a box of sugar. then everything changed. a flash of light surrounded you. the store disappeared for a moment. and a familiar voice cut through the beam.
"you are breaking up with me?"
slowly, you turned and standing in front of you was xavier. his eyes were wide, concern written all over his face.
"xavier?" you dropped the sugar box. "what are you—what?!"
you stepped closer, completely confused. "why would you think that?"
you immediately wrapped your arms around him. but for a moment, he hesitated, like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to hold you back.
"on the phone," he said quietly, "you said 'i'm breaking up with you.'"
his expression softened. "i thought you were crying. that's why your voice kept cutting out."
you couldn't stop the small smile that appeared. of course this was what he thought. it was ridiculous, and somehow, completely adorable.
"no, xavier." you pulled away and held up your phone. "my phone sucks! my service stopped working. see?"
you showed him the failed messages. the evidence was right there. for a second, he just stared, then a hint of redness crept across his ears.
"oh." he looked away, clearly embarrassed that he had jumped to that conclusion. but finally, his arms wrapped around you. relieved. "i see."
"you teleported to a grocery store because you thought i broke up with you."
"i was concerned." he muttered into your shirt.
you smiled, "you're lucky you're cute."
"please stop."
you felt him shaking his head but you couldn't stop smiling. after a moment, xavier pulled away and looked down at your cart.
"so..." he glanced at the ingredients. "are we still having baking night?"
"that was your first question after all this?"
he looked at you seriously then smiled.
"yes, xavie. we're still having baking night."
"good...i'll help."
zayne (word count: 666)
zayne knew he was going to be at the hospital late. you knew it too, which was exactly why you were currently sitting in the parking lot outside a small restaurant, a bag of his favorite food sitting carefully beside you. a surprise.
he had been working nonstop lately, taking extra shifts and barely remembering to eat anything that wasn't from the hospital cafeteria. you figured showing up with dinner was the least you could do.
your phone rang before you could start driving - zayne's caller id flashing.
you smiled immediately as you answered, "hi."
your keychains rattled slightly as you went to put the key in the ignition.
"you sound busy."
"i'm…not." you didn't want to let on that you were on your way to see him and hoped your voice wouldn't give you away.
"you hesitated."
he knew you too well. you tried to play it off, "and you spend too much time analyzing people."
"i'm a doctor it's in the job description."
you smiled to yourself as you pulled onto the road. "how's your shift?"
"long."
"that bad?"
"i've had better."
you frowned sympathetically, "did you eat?"
"i had coffee."
"that is not food."
"it had calories."
you drove through the tunnel, still talking. "so i was thinking maybe after your shift—"
the call crackled, you glanced at your phone.
"hello?" he asked
"i-was thinking-need-to-break-up " there was static. "your schedule" you tapped the screen. it was still connected. "zayne?"
then the call ended. the tunnel was always bad for service. you should have known you were going to lose him. no matter, you shrugged it off. you would see him soon anyway.
after a few more errands you arrived at the hospital. zayne had just finished with a patient when he returned to his office.
and there you were standing by his desk. setting out dinner.
you turned around with a smile, "surprise!"
for a moment, he looked like he had forgotten how to react. then his expression shifted. not confusion...something worse.
"you shouldn't be here."
your smile immediately faltered. "what do you mean?"
"i thought..." he looked away. "i thought you broke up with me."
the utensil in your hand slipped, and fell on the floor with a clatter. "WHAT?!"
zayne looked at you confused. "the call. when you said..." his voice lowered. "that you were breaking up with me."
there was a brief moment of silence then — "SO YOU WERE JUST GOING TO LET ME BREAK UP WITH YOU OVER A PHONE CALL?!"
the entire office went quiet. some of his coworkers outside the window stopped walking. zayne just stared at you.
"that's what you're upset about?"
"yes! you thought i broke up with you and your solution was just... acceptance?"
"it's not like i had much time to question it, i had patients to see."
"zayne." you said taking a step closer to him
he opened his mouth to speak then stopped, because now that he was hearing it out loud, it did sound absurd. not only would you never, but he should have never assumed.
you crossed your arms standing directly in front of him now.
he sighed, "i'm sorry, it's been a long day."
you raised an eyebrow. "that's your excuse?"
"it is the only explanation i have."
you tried to stay annoyed. you really did. but then he stepped closer, his expression softening as his hands reached for you.
your face relaxed. "i guess i should have called back when i got out of the tunnel."
"yes, you should have."
you rolled your eyes and before you could respond, he leaned down and kissed you. it was slow and gentle. the tension he had felt all day melting away. the kind of kiss that said he was still relieved you were here.
when he pulled away, he glanced at the dinner you brought, and his stomach rumbled before he could stop it.
"go eat before i change my mind and pack this up."
"yes ma'am"
rafayel (word count: 744)
you had just finished getting dinner with some friends and were about to head into a new nightclub. it was supposed to be a great night. no drama. no problems. just a fun night out.
before you went inside, you decided to call rafayel. mostly because you knew if you didn't, he would somehow convince himself you died in some horrible accident.
you waited near the entrance, watching the line slowly move forward. the second he answered, you smiled.
"hey. how's girls night?" his voice immediately turned teasing. "miss me already?"
the music from the club was already blasting through the speakers outside, the bass vibrating through the sidewalk. It was way too loud.
"good, miss you—what? having fun."
"that's good...i think."
you smiled, smushing your phone up closer to your ear trying to hear him better.
"if you need a ride home, just let me know."
you looked toward the front of the line. you were almost inside.
"i'm sorry—"
the music drowned you out. you stepped away from the crowd, pressing your phone closer to your ear.
"i am breaking up—"
there was static and rafayel's voice barely cut through. "what?"
you frowned, "i said i'm breaking up—" the connection broke again. you tried moving toward the side of the building where it was quieter. "—with you."
the call dropped. you stared at your phone. "oh, come on."
you barely had time to register that you had lost signal before your phone started going off.
once. twice. then nonstop. notifications flooded your screen - your social media. yur personal email. your work email. somehow, rafayel had found every possible method of communication and was using all of them.
you opened the first message - we can work this out, i promise.
then the next - please don't leave me. i love you so much.
you continued scrolling. there were at least twenty more. you weren't even sure when he had managed to type all of them.
i don't understand what happened but i am willing to take the blame.
are you ignoring me?
that is fair. i deserve it.
but please know i am suffering.
you covered your face with your hand. you immediately tried calling him back but it steadily beeped. you checked your signal bar. no bars.
you looked at the nightclub entrance. your friends were waiting. the night was supposed to be fun. but now you had a very dramatic boyfriend somewhere thinking his entire relationship had ended because of a bad phone connection.
you sighed, "sorry guys."
your friends looked at you. "what happened?"
you held up your phone, "rafayel."
they immediately understood. "again?"
you nodded, apologizing as you left the line, already knowing where you were going. by the time you reached his place, you weren't even surprised that the door opened before you knocked. rafayel stood there. his hair was messy, and his expression was devastated.
you stared at him, "rafayel."
he looked at you for all of 0.5 seconds then immediately pulled you into a hug.
"i thought you were gone."
"raf-"
"i was prepared to give you space." he interrupted
you couldn't help laughing. he pulled back, looking offended.
"this isn't funny. you broke up with me over a phone call."
"but the thing is i actually didn't."
"you said you were breaking up with me."
"i said the call was breaking up!"
rafayel froze, "what?"
"the signal dropped." you held up your phone. "the nightclub was loud, my service was terrible, and you heard half a sentence."
his expression slowly changed devastation turning into hope, "you mean..."
"i mean i was not breaking up with you."
there was a pause, then his shoulders dropped. the dramatic despair faded into embarrassment.
"oh...so i see now that i panicked."
"you contacted my work email."
"i was desperate!" he looked away. "i thought i was losing my muse."
you softened immediately, because underneath all the drama, that was the real reason. he loved deeply. sometimes too deeply.
you reached up and fixed his hair, "you are dramatic. "
"and..."
"and i love you."
his expression brightened immediately as he pulled you into the house and closed the door.
"good. does this mean girls night is over? i just want to know if i should order dinner."
you laughed, "you're unbelievable."
"but?"
you sighed, "but yes. order dinner."
he kissed your forehead. "next time, please don't break up with me."
"next time, please let me finish a sentence."
sylus (word count: 551)
you should have known answering a call during a mission was a bad idea - but it was sylus. and despite everything you claimed about being professional, you always answered when it was him.
your phone buzzed as you moved through the abandoned district, scanning the area for Wanderer activity. you accepted the call.
"you're calling me during work hours?" you teased.
a low chuckle came through the speaker. "and you're answering during a mission. seems we're both making questionable decisions."
you rolled your eyes. "you missed me."
"obviously."
you opened your mouth prepared to continue teasing him. then something moved behind you.
"sylus, hold on."
a wanderer lunged. you dodged, your phone bouncing against your shoulder as you fought back.
"are you seriously fighting while we're on the phone?"
"kind of busy!"
"i can tell." there was amusement in his voice.
you fired back at the wanderer, moving quickly across the street.
"stay there!"
"i am not the one you need to tell that to."
the wanderer attacked again, and you grunted, pushing it back.
"sylus, i'm breaking—" static swallowed your voice.
his expression changed. "what?"
you were still talking but all he heard was fragments.
"i'm breaking..." the signal crackled. "...with you."
he heard a crash then silence. for several seconds, sylus stared at his phone.
by the time your shift ended, you were already exhausted. you noticed the missed calls immediately. and the moment you called him back, he answered.
"i am so sorry." you begin trying to explain
"where are you?"
"uh...leaving headquarters?"
"good, when you get outside look to your right."
"why?"
you stepped outside and there he was. leaning against his car like he hadn't just appeared at your workplace without warning.
"sylus?"
"i already ordered you a new phone. your current one is clearly unreliable."
before you could respond his voice cut through again
"now get over here."
you ended the call and crossed over to him.
"are you mad at me?"
"no...i'm irritated."
"because my phone broke?"
he looked over your head off into the distance. "you said you were breaking up with me."
you immediately covered your face. "i was fighting a wanderer."
"yes, i gathered that."
"i said i was breaking—" you pointed at your phone. "—up because the call was breaking up. the wanderer must have been interfering with my signal. "
sylus stared at you for a long moment, then he sighed. "that is incredibly inconvenient."
for the first time throughout this entire situation, you laughed.
"you thought i would randomly break up with you?"
"no." he answered so quickly it caught you off guard. "because that would be stupid, kitten."
"and yet..." you lifted your phone between the two of you, holding it up right in front of his face.
he looked at the cracked screen for a second before plucking it neatly from your hand.
"it looks like i eliminated the greatest threat."
he turned the phone over once, inspecting it with all the seriousness of someone evaluating an enemy combatant.
"you are such an old man."
you stepped into his space and looped your arms around his neck. shaking your head, you leaned up and kissed him.
when you pulled away, he was already slipping the phone into his pocket.
"the new one arrives tomorrow."
caleb (word count: 632)
caleb answered your call while walking toward the transport bay, his tablet tucked under one arm.
"where are you?" he asked.
you smiled at the immediate question. "hello to you too."
"hello." his tone softened slightly. "now answer the question."
you glanced around your surroundings. "i'm outside."
"outside where?"
"work."
"you're just leaving?"
"yeah. i had to stay late."
"you said that two hours ago." he complained
"and yet here i am."
he huffed quietly, but you could hear the amusement in it. "unbelievable."
"you're one to talk!"
caleb smiled to himself as he listened to you talk. this was the part of missions he hated most—the quiet moments before leaving, when he had to memorize the sound of normal things. you complaining about work and the two of you arguing over nothing.
"anyway," you continued, "i was just calling because i wanted to—"
your voice suddenly felt very far away. caleb pulled the phone away slightly, checking the screen. your id was still glowing right back at him.
"hello?"
"i'm here." your voice came back, but faintly.
stupid reception. of course being so close to the deepspace tunnel. the signal always got weird around this area.
"where did you go?" he asked.
static swallowed half your words.
"i'm breaking" the connection broke then returned for half a second. enough for him to hear the next words clear as day. "up with you"
before he could ask what you meant the call dropped. for a moment, his brain refused to process it. then it did, and the colonel who had faced down impossible missions, hostile enemies, and things most people would never survive—stood completely still in the middle of the transport bay.
caleb never made it onto the airship. he told himself it was because the mission could wait. clarification was more important.
the moment command cleared him, he was already moving. by the time he reached home, he was still in uniform. he didn't even take the time to change. the second the door opened, he was already inside. you barely had time to look up from the couch.
"caleb? why are you—"
you didn't get to finish because he was already crossing the room. and then he was holding you. not a casual hug. not the kind where he pulled you close and teased you about worrying too much. this was desperate. like he needed to feel you breathing before he could believe he was home.
you froze, your arms hovering awkwardly before slowly wrapping around him.
"caleb?"
his grip tightened. "we can't break up." his voice came out rough. "not now...not ever."
you pulled back just enough to look at him. "caleb, what are you talking about?"
his eyes were red. actually red. and that was when the confusion turned into concern.
"you said it...on the phone" he whispered.
faint amusement played on your lips, "oh...oh my god."
but caleb still looked at you serious.
"my love we were losing signal," you said slowly. "i was literally telling you the call was breaking up."
the realization hit him all at once. at the same time you stared at his uniform.
"wait." your eyes narrowed. "did you leave the mission?"
"i thought you were leaving me."
the quiet confession made your heart ache.
you reached up and touched his face. "what did you tell them?"
"that there was a family emergency."
"caleb you cannot be serious?!"
"well it wasnt exactly a lie!"
you laughed softly, shaking your head. "you really scared yourself."
"i know." he said so quiet you almost didn't hear him.
"you cried, didn't you?"
his silence answered for him.
your expression softened turning teasing, "the big bad colonel cried?"
"don't start."
his forehead rested against yours, and for the first time since that awful phone call, he laughed.
"lets hope i don't get fired"
valko (word count: 674)
valko had dealt with system failures before. servers crashing. technology malfunctioning at the worst possible moment. he had built an entire company around solving those problems. so when his phone failed him, he took it personally.
the call had started normally. you were on your way home, talking about your day while valko finished up some work.
"you're still in the office?" you asked.
"yes."
"you know, most people leave work eventually."
"most people are not running a company."
"no i am pretty sure even those people go back to their normal lives."
he was still smiling when the call started breaking up. at first, he assumed it was a minor connection issue.
then your voice distorted. "valko, i'm—"
his brows furrowed, turning the speaker off and bringing the phone closer to him.
"i'm breaking up—" the words jumbled together slightly. then the line dropped but right before it did he could have sworn you had said "with you"
valko stared at the screen. for several seconds, he didn't move. then he looked around his office. the same office where his employees had spent years developing cutting-edge technology. and somehow...his own phone had just delivered the worst possible message.
within the next hour, his executive team walked into a meeting expecting quarterly reports. instead, they found valko sitting at the head of the table with his phone placed in front of him.
one employee hesitated before asking. "is there an issue?"
"there is."
everyone became serious. "security breach?" someone said
"no."
"system failure?"
"no...my phone."
the room went silent. "your phone?" his assistant asked
valko nodded. "it malfunctioned."
someone looked confused. "we can replace it."
"that is not the point." valko continued. "it caused unnecessary emotional distress."
one employee slowly realized what happened. "sir."
"no." valko's expression remained completely serious. "i am exploring legal options."
"against who?"
"the manufacturer," valko said evenly. "the network provider. possibly both."
he clasped his hands behind his back and continued pacing.
"i am considering emotional damages."
"valko."
your voice cut cleanly through the room. every head turned toward the office door. one of his assistants had called you the moment valko started pacing around his office, throwing papers across his desk and, according to the assistant's very panicked words, "absolutely raging."
you'd changed directions immediately and came straight to his company. now, standing in the doorway, you looked between the nervous employees and your boyfriend.
"what's going on?" you asked carefully. "your assistant called and said it was an emergency."
the moment valko saw you, every ounce of composure disappeared. he crossed the room in seconds and wrapped his arms around you without a second thought, completely ignoring the audience.
"valko?"
he held you tighter. "explain the phone call."
you frowned, "what phone call?"
"the breakup."
then your eyes widened. "break—" you slapped a hand over your forehead. "oh! i was saying the call was breaking up!"
the office went completely still. valko slowly turned his head toward his employees. then, with all the dignity he could still salvage, he cleared his throat.
"everyone out."
no one argued. laptops, notebooks, coffee mugs—everything was abandoned as the room emptied in record time. when the door clicked shut, only then did valko finally look back at you.
he glanced down, suddenly finding the floor very interesting. "i see..."
you stared at him for exactly three seconds before bursting into laughter.
"you thought i broke up with you? and you were going to sue your own industry as a result?"
he sighed, sat down in his chair, and effortlessly pulled you into his lap.
"you are never letting this go, are you?"
"oh, absolutely not."
a reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. you brushed a thumb across his cheek, still smiling.
"you owe me an apology."
he considered that then shook his head. "no. you owe me."
"for what?"
he looked at you with complete seriousness. "emotional damages."
you groaned, laughing as you buried your face against his shoulder.
you had a weird dream one day of how your fiancé would soon abandon you for the true heir of the throne — the son of a maid who slept with the king for a night and has raised in secrecy. you were destined to yield to him because you were only the final villain and your brother was the true protagonist
“celius?”
you blinked confused, trying to blink away the red that has blurred your vision.
but you knew better, the sticky warm substance that flowed down your face and stuck to your clothes at this moment.
“what on earth—“
a boy you didn’t recognise stood in front beside your fiance, his sword pointed against you. you struggled to get up but to no avail, you couldn’t feel your legs but you could feel the warm puddle of blood against the cold tiles floor of the throne room.
“that’s enough, you despicable tyrant.”
tyrant..? you didn’t understand, what king was he talking about when you were still uncrowned. the ceremony was still a month away. the most shocking thing was not the boy next to him but perhaps it was that your future queen was standing across you and not next to you where he should rightfully been.
you could never have expected that the grand duke would one day stare you down with those eyes. the same ones that he gave to his enemies beyond the north. the warm eyes that used to ooze with honey when they look at you would one day remind you of the unforgiving winters in the north.
“today will be the day, your madness will be put into an end and the rightful heir would be put back into place.”
the more your duke went on the more you didn’t understand. you understood every word, but when strung together like that and for some reason it was like your brain couldn’t recognize them.
both he and you knew that this was once everything to you. you were raised for the throne, everything that you lived for up until your fathers death was solely to reign the kingdom. out of anyone in this country, he of all people should know best. he was the one who released you from those shackles.
which made everything happening in front of you so absurd. why was the person who cut you free from your puppet strings now turned his blade towards you.
“celius, what’s wrong?” there was something wrong, very wrong. “why are you— of all people, why are you-“
“wrong? everything is wrong.” you didn’t know that those grey cold irises could turn even icier. “you made everything wrong in this kingdom with you vile disgusting reign. do you have any idea how many people suffered and how many lives were lost.”
what was it, there was that saying that goes on about how you don’t know you only treasure things once you lose it. maybe this was one of those times. “
the sweet times when he would snuggle with you in bed and you would leave him to get ready for the day. the way he would whine and try to get you to sleep in for five more minutes before getting ready with you.
those sweet moments you don’t know if you could ever go back to. maybe if you knew back then that things would end up like this you would indulge in those five minutes more. maybe you didn’t treasure those small moments of sweetness in-between the busy palace days.
“brother.” the boy behind the duke finally speaks up, “tell me, does it ever keep you awake at night?”
does the unjustified screams of the deceased ever haunt you in your dreams?” you finally diverted your attention to the man– no, boy standing behind celius finally spoke to you. you were sure that this boy was not born in nobility, no matter how noble his words sound. he clearly did not have the poise in his posture beaten into him from a young age. yet, a fake like him has the audacity to stand behind your fiance to question your life’s meaning in front of you.
“it doesn’t,” you replied, a boy too young and untrained for the crown would not have not shaken your will if it wasn’t for celius pointing his sword against you,
“i’ve always lived for the crown, everything was for the prosperity of the kingdom. my studies, food, rest, my words, everything was for the crown.”
all the gruesome training was for the happiness of the kingdom, your ego nor self ever mattered in it. you were only a cog in the large picture, a king without a will until that day you were freed by the duke,
“i would never disgrace myself to subject my people tosuffer under a tyrant.” the duke face scrunched at your words, “you are shameless, until the end.”
“my duke, i wish to lead a life where i can be true to myself, the crown and to you.” you smiled like you always did when it was just the both of you, yet the unfamiliar duke didn’t return it.
at your words, the boy behind the duke clutched celius sleeves tightly anxiously. no matter how much your heart hurts
“even on your death bed, you only continue to spew nonsense.” celius spats at you. truly strange, your celius would probably be over the moon to hear those same words from your lips,
“don’t say that, these feelings aren’t nonsense.”
“enough of your blasphemy. today will be the day this kingdom will be free from your chains.”
ridiculous, you thought. even when the cold metal sliced through your neck and your head hit the floor, your celius would never say that.
you thought you would return to home or maybe reincarnate into your next life but your soul stayed. you floated adrift amongst the kingdom for the next several years watching the kingdom burn without you.
you watched the young boy grow into a fine adult but his heart didn’t grow with him and was left behind in time. he struggled against the court, against the people and against the crown. the cracks began to happen in court, the nobles schemed amongst themselves to gain even more riches. laws were no longer upheld as they used to, panic and crime swept in and the security
amongst the kingdom fell gradually. nearby nations eyed the kingdom greedily as corruption begin to form in between cracks and the young man still remained a boy beneath the pressure of upholding the kingdom. you watched the nights go by where he would cry in the arms of the duke’s in your old bedroom,
you watched how he struggled in the day approving the faulty decisions made from greed but disguised as welfare for the people. choosing to trust the wrong merchants, who only smuggled substances into the kingdom.
as you watched, you wondered why you were shown this. you were no longer part of the world, yet they refused to let you move on. there was a day where you watched the younger brother
you never know exist crumble inside your office, unable to scavenge the pieces to undo the damage he dealt to his home. he could only helplessly read documents over and over to no avail.
it was no surprise really, you don’t blame him. you were the only person that received the proper education for this, you spent your whole life preparing to be entrusted into that heavy position
one day. if being thrust into all this blindly wasn’t bad enough, not being born from high society most certainly made it more difficult to build alliances with other nobles. even the ever reliant duke was unable to put a stop to the rot sprouting within the kingdom.
“you truly are unfit to be king.” you weren’t sure what washed over you in that moment to let words slip past your ghostly lips, words that would never reach anyone and be lost in the void.
perhaps it was your sole comfort that all your efforts while you were alive would have meant something.
to your surprise, your brother’s head whipped in your direction and for a brief moment you could’ve sworn your eyes met.
“That can’t be right… that person is already long gone…”
you continued to haunt like the ghost you are and watched the the court preyed on the weak king slowly tearing him apart piece by piece, and the kingdom slowly crumbled under the corruption that now reached deeply inside of it.
war eventually broke out with other countries that longed to covet the former prosperity of the kingdom and the fire eventually reached the castle. you watched for the final time as the kingdom burned to the ground alongside with it’s history, culture and people and how it ended with your generation.
· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·
the next time you opened your eyes again, you were back to your shared bed.you could feel the warm body pressing against yours and the prickling lashes that were on your cheeks. you could recognise the kisses that were left behind and the circles that were being rubbed into your waist.
“you were crying in your sleep, my prince.”
“was i?” you closed your eyes again to blissfully receive the affection of no doubt your duke, he made sure not only kiss your tears away but also to shower you in them. his lips touching your cheek, eyelids, nose and when your lips finally touched his, you opened your eyes to meet his.
you held his face in your hands to make sure this was really your duke and not the one you saw in your dreams. you took your time to affirm yourself that you were back and this was not the
same person who struck you down with that frigid stare of his. celius stared at you with confusion, you could tell there was affection and warmth at the bottom of it all. this was the fiance you were familiar with, the one that would maybe forgive everything you do even if you
one day decided to burn the kingdom down.
“your highness, you’re smiling.”
you left a soft laugh and pulled his waist closer to yours, entangling your legs together. “i just had a bad dream, that’s all.”
the duke furrowed his brows at your answer “surely something you would cry in your sleep in is no simple matter.” you quietly nodded to yourself this was definitely your duke.
“you were in my dream.” you held him close and tucked his head beneath yours, your lips brushing his temple. celius listened to
your words quietly continuing to rubbing soft circles against you, “but you aligned yourself with a bastard and beheaded me.” the duke’s body evidently stiffened beneath yours,
“my prince, you know i would never dare.” he mumbled against your collarbone,
“you are the sun i revolve around, i would never survive without your light shining on me, you are the being that allows me to live.”
“i would never side with a bastard much less dare blemish you in any way.” you gave him abreassuring kiss on his head, hugging his neck close. you knew that was the truth, this duke – your duke on your bed would never but the vivid sensation of his cold blade against your neck
and the feeling of the light in your heart being extinguished against the cold floor of the palace.
“you chose my brother.”
“my dear prince, you have no brother.”
“but you chose him.” you said, “you didn’t choose me.”
maybe this was a silly conversation, maybe you shouldn’t have questioned your lover who has never done you wrong. maybe you shouldn’t have been bitter over something he has never done but the dream clung to your skin and was trying to seep into your bones.
“i would never not choose you,” this might be the hardest he ever clung to you, celius looked up at you from your chest, “that was not me, my prince.” he held your hand against his chest, you could feel his heart thumping against his chest constantly, “ that was a monster donning my skin with my voice. i am right here, my prince.”
“you swear?”
“i swear on the moon and stars,” he intertwined your fingers as if doing so would entwine your fates together and blurring the lines between them, “and i swear upon you, my sun.”
“you won’t betray me?”
celius held the back of your head against his lips, “i deserved to be skinned alive by you and hanged by the city walls half alive, have the people ridicule me until i leave this world in upmost shame and burn in hell for all of eternity.”
you let out a small hum and leaned down to connect you lips again. It was a slow kiss, your tongues played around with each other, celius wasn’t as playful as he usually was. playing a submissive dog in front of you, only pressing his tongue against yours whenever you enticed him, leaving his mouth open for you to explore. your lips continued to touch and part, savoring every touch between you two. celius clutched your shirt beneath you, as he struggled for air but continued to part his lips for you.
for the final time, you simply pressed your lips against each other and a string of saliva connected both of your lips.
┃you're a creep who keeps pictures of your crush, Satoru on your wall, but he's into it?
wait guys lowk mean!gojo in bed, wait freak!jo too
────────────────────────────────────────
You stare at your wall that had hundreds of pictures of the love of your life before you head out. Well, he doesn't know you exist but it's okay, you'll settle for the pictures you printed at Walgreens. He smiles back at you in one of the pictures, he was talking to some other bitch, but he'll know who he belongs to. someday. but not today.
You later sneak into his frat's house party, you knew you weren't going to be let in, so you took matters into your own hands and went through the backyard door. It's okay, nobody caught you.
You wore the sluttiest outfit you owned since you had to fit in with the other girls here, you're so uncomfortable but you'll do anything just to see your man.
And there he is.
His hand is slung over some other girl's shoulder, but you don't pay any mind to that. He's wearing glasses that don't have any frames attached to them, imitating a nerd you assume. His white tank top is about to burst from his big muscles that glisten under the led lights.
You're drooling. Actually drooling. Your red cup catches it in time, mixing in with the jungle juice.
Pull yourself together, you thought. You'll never fit in if you're drooling in the middle of the living room.
The next hour you sit on one of the couches and stare at him. Admire him. His laugh sounds like heaven to your ears, he throws his head back dramatically, showing all 32 of his teeth, (you know it's 32 because you've counted them before), and you notice he's never alone. There's either a girl clinging onto his bicep, or one of his frat buddies slapping his back jokingly.
But you knew it was time to go when one of them yells, "IF YOU'RE NOT A BRO OR FUCKING A BRO, GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE."
You make it back safely, but you don't go to sleep before cheesing over the new picture you took of Satoru tonight.
~~~
The only reason you're comfortable enough to have a wall of Satoru is because your dorm has separate rooms, thankfully. Your roommate was very quiet and valued her privacy as much as you did, so she didn't bother coming in your room.
What you didn't expect this afternoon was banging on your room door. It sounded like a man, a voice you should've known better than anyone, but you've just woken up, so you sluggishly walk over to your door and open it.
"SHOKO—"
Oh fuck.
It's Satoru who was on the other side of the door. Why the fuck is he here. Wait, Shoko? Since when were they friends?
"U-uh wrong door." you nervously say, but he isn't looking at you, he's looking right past your shoulder. Looking right at your wall.
Where hundreds of pictures of him are hung.
Oh, God.
You slam the door in his face in embarrassment.
Oh no.
Oh no.
What the fuck is he doing here?
You jump onto your hard mattress and open your phone to see a text from your roommate, Shoko.
hey. my friend insists he visits me today, but I won't be there until later today. just wanted to let you know :)
Oh my God.
If only you checked your phone before opening the damn door.
Now he thinks you're a creep. I mean you are, but he isn't supposed to know that?!
oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no
~~~
Him seeing your wall woke something up within. You took every single picture down, leaving hundreds of tiny holes from the ticktacks you used.
You're a fucking creep.
The look on his face when he saw the wall will forever be engraved in your mind. He was so shocked, I mean who wouldn't be?
He looked so pretty though, as if he just woke up—STOPITSTOPIT
You forever ruined your chance of being with him. As if you ever had a fucking chance but now your chances were in the negatives.
Like seriously who does this—
knock knock knock
"Hey. It's Satoru, I hope I'm not intruding." he says gently.
...
...
...
...
"I just want to talk. That's the least you can do."
Your heart is beating out of your chest as you step towards the door.
The door creaks as you slowly open it.
He looks exactly the same as 9 hours ago, gorgeous as always.
"I'm sorry, okay? I took it down, it was weird and intrusive—"
"You took it down?"
"...yeah?"
"Can I come in?" he doesn't wait for an answer, he pushes past you and looks at your wall that had a shrine of him.
You follow him, leaving the door open because he should be leaving soon.
He sends a look past his shoulder.
"Shut the door." He commands. His voice is low and rough, making you shiver.
He jumps up onto your bed and gets comfortable with his legs spread wide open. He pats the space in front of him, telling you to sit.
You can't believe you're so close to him. He smells so good, a little smokey with a hint of mint, and he's so big compared to your twin bed. You're used to him being at least 20 feet away but now you're so close you can smell the slight floral scent of his shampoo.
"Why'd you take it down?" He asks; breaking the silence.
"It was weird—"
"To whom?" he tilts his head, purposefully staring you down so he can watch you squirm.
"I liked it." he continues.
...
"What?" Your eyes grow into a size that's comparable to the moon. Are you hearing him correctly?
Did he just say he liked it?
...
"What?"
"I'm into it. Kinda sad you took it down." he pouts.
"I-Is this a joke?"
"Nah. Put it back up for me, yeah?"
Without a word, you get up to your closet to take the bucket of pictures out. Your legs feel like Jello, and the box suddenly feels 50lbs heavier.
He's watching you intensely, not blinking.
You're back on the bed and you're about to stick a picture back on the wall when Satoru lifts you up into his lap. Your back is pressed against his chest, and your ass is right on top of his clothed cock.
"What are you doing?" you yelp.
"Don't mind me. Get started."
You manage to get one picture up, but the second one is much harder to put up when one of Satoru's large hands move under your shirt and grope.
"Keep going." He murmurs against the nape of your neck while his hand has a smug grip on your tit. He strategically blows air onto your neck when you get close to putting another picture up.
"When was this one taken?" Your nipple is put between his pointer finger and thumb, pinching it softly. You completely forget his question under his touch, but he bites your neck sternly.
"Hm? Think I asked you something, pervert."
Him calling you a pervert shouldn't have made you wetter, but it does.
"A-aah—uhm, right b-before finals week..."
~~~
30 minutes pass and you're completely naked while he's fully clothed. You're dripping all over your clean sheets and his fingers are drenched with you.
He hasn't let you come yet.
You've put almost half of the pictures up when you should've been done a while ago, but his touch is so addicting you get lost.
His two fingers are deep inside your pussy, but he doesn't move, he just stuffs you full. You try to move but he slaps your tit so hard it turns red, surely leaving bruises as he goes.
He can't hide how hard he is though. His cock is begging to be let out of his sweatpants but not yet, he wants to punish you first before he can have his fun.
When he first saw your wall, he was creeped the fuck out. But when he sat at home and thought about it, he loved it. He loved it when a girl was dedicated. And this? This was dedication.
He was amazed with how many pictures you had of him, how has he never noticed a freak taking pictures of him?
"Keep going. I'll let you come, jus' got to finish up." He softly encourages, only because he wants to fuck you so, so bad.
The right side of your neck is completely red, covered in bite marks.
He's using your neck as a reminder that he has to wait too.
You shakily bring you hand up, putting the last picture up.
"Good girl."
He flips you over on your back as soon as you finish; keeping his promise. He quickly frees his cock from his sweats.
Oh, God, how is this happening right now?
"You don't need to be prepped, right? You can take me right now?" he eagerly says. He's grinding up and down between your folds, waiting so patiently for you to give him the green light.
"Nononono, I can take it, p-put it in—FUCK"
Tears immediately leave your eyes when you feel him stretch your insides, he's so big you see a bulge in your lower stomach.
"Look, look here. You can see me in here." He's smiling evilly at the sight, bringing his thumb to move your stomach against him. When he notices he's the only one looking, he grabs a fistful of your hair and forces you to look down.
"Do you not have fucking ears?" he pats your cheek with his other hand in warning.
"I-I'm sorry—"
"Shut up."
He starts pounding, his hips slap against your thighs and you take it, take it with a smile on your face because this is what you've wanted for years.
He lets your head go carelessly and brings both your legs together, squeezing tightly. Your feet settle on his chest and he kisses them passionately.
"Is this what you wanted, huh?" he mocks.
"Fuuuck—"
"Answer me, slut."
"Yesyesyes, I-I dreamt of you cumming i-inside me, making me yours."
Your mouth stays wide open with your eyebrows furrowed together.
Your eyes stay in the back of your head; you look like a disaster.
"I'm fucking you out of kindness, and now you want me to come inside you too? Greedy, greedy girl." he tuts.
"Please? I-I'll be good, I promise." You plead.
You'd sell your first-born child to feel his come drip out your cunt; just once.
He doesn't answer, he continues to drill into you, making sure your insides never forget. He's full on making out with your toes, lost in how warm and tight you feel.
You on the other hand has come countless times. But you want more.
You need more.
"Gonna fill you up, okay? Fill this tight pussy up, yeah?" He's rambling on and on about filling you up and while he talks away, it makes you wetter and wetter.
"Fuuck." he whines, finally coming inside of you, his hips twitch against your thighs.
You don't want to waste a drop, so you move your feet to his back, pulling him closer.
And then you're out. You fall asleep.
~~~
You wake up to the sound of birds chirping.
Your legs and neck are sore but the first thing you see are a bunch of new pictures of you and Satoru on your wall.
Satoru's dick with come dripping down his length.
You sleeping soundly with angry bite marks on your neck.
Satoru deep inside you with a prominent stomach bulge.
Yandere! Footballer who uses his fame to get you. He makes subtle hints that he's dating someone. But who?
You, of course!
He makes subtle slip ups in an interview, cryptic Instagram posts and other things that lead fans to your Instagram. All of a sudden, hate comments flood your notifications.
"How dare you get with him?"
"Is it true you hunted him down just to fuck him for some clout?"
"I can't believe you're in it for the money."
Those are the tamer ones. The other comments/dms you would get include calling you mean names like "whore", "bitch", and other depravity you would not ever talk about.
You're a normal person that posts once in a while, or every so often, not because you have fans to post for. You try to push it off and convince yourself it's all going to die down soon enough but he doesn't let it. There's posts that fans psychoanalyze for no reason and somehow it comes back to you?
It's all alleged until he starts following you, and all hell breaks loose.
Being the gentleman that he is, he finally appears at your doorstep with flowers. He gives you that empathetic look and asks, "do you wanna talk?"
Biting your lip in hesitation, you agree to let him in.
"I don't want this," you start.
"I know you don't, but I want to give you a choice," he elaborates.
You take a deep inhale, ready for whatever he's about to propose but you don't know the true weight of the future.
"It's either you bear being known as a "slut" to everyone, or you actually come home with me and we sort things out," he watches you in amusement. "I can make the parasocial fans disappear with one story, as long as we make it official."
"I-" you want to say something, to fight back, but nothing goes past your lips.
"So?" he uses one finger under your chin to make you look at him.
"I-I don't know what to say..." you mutter.
"Just come with me, it's the safer option of the two, no?" he asks, a spark in his eyes that sends shivers down your spine. Possessiveness? Lust? Control? You have no idea, but what you do know is you never wanted this.
"A-are you kidding?" you blurt out.
His expression turns dark. "Do you think I'm joking about this? Is me soft launching us a joke to you?"
"What— no!" you exclaim.
"Alright then, what's your choice?" he asks. "I'll give you some time to think about it."
He leaves you alone in your apartment— thinking and confused.
in honour of the world cup except this is not about a certain football player. also i fucking hate argentina football team & messi so merino better not mess this up.
Hi. So I am trying a new writing style, I really like reading beautiful prose, but I live in constant fear of over-writing. So, feedback is welcome if you feel like giving it!
TW: Manipulation, sexual abuse (not explicit), coercion, dubuious consent.
Comfortable sheets were the minimum of what was wonderful about spending the night with the crown prince. The rumours were a sizzling secret among the ladies at court. Of course, no one would ever believe such rumours about the jewel of the kingdom.
“Our prince is a gentleman, he would never sully a maiden's virtue without the sanctity of marriage!”
Indeed.
As his personal attendant, you have heard enough (and been the subject) of the rumours, and have long refused to discuss topics of his highness's personal life with the others. The royal family was pure to you, and you would never disturb the trust they put in you to be by his highness' side.
You did not lie often; or so you thought yourself. However, every time the rumours got close to your ear, your face felt hot when you denied them.
Because you knew better than anyone, the crown prince was a hedonist.
The first time you had discovered this was when you both were quite young, when you'd accidentally walked into his etiquette lesson to find his tutor pleasing him in a way you were sure was of terrible manners. His eyes had snapped to yours; cold and half lidded, pupils dilating at the sight of you--because of being caught in the act, surely.
You'd closed the door silently, and hurried away at the time. You were surely going to faint if you'd stayed just a second longer. You could not look the older woman in the eye after that--not that she made the attempt, she was a lady of high standing after all. His highness had not seemed fazed by it after, either. He quietly walked into his apartments after bathing, and upon finding you there averting your eyes and turning your back quickly after a little curtsy, he'd wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face into the crook of your neck.
He never said anything, so neither did you.
After that, it slowly became a rising occurrence that his highness would bring a guest with him to his apartments, after nights of revelry. When you'd happened to be there a couple of those times, he'd paused and your eyes met; those cold, captivating eyes which feel like the warmest of caresses, frozen to yours in a moment which would only break when his companion demanded his attention with her voice, her lips, or her hands. In a breath which felt minutes long, his gaze would slide off you and to the woman clinging to him. He never once told you to leave--on the contrary, he often whispered to amorous companion: “Do not worry about the servants, they're discreet.”
Your heart would always speed when their lips met, and you'd catch glimpses of her hands on his chest, pulling off his silks, and touching his skin. You never lingered; your chest felt tight, like your heart would burst every time you caught him with any other.
Then there were those pesky little moments when his hands strayed with you...
Yes, his highness was quite the hedonist.
And tonight was no different. You'd come later than you usually did, you'd been at tonight's celebration after all, and you'd seen his highness downing wine like there was no tomorrow. You weren't surprised when you entered the room and a lady was hurriedly fixing her crinoline beneath her gown. You merely stood beside the door until she left.
His head lifts slightly from the sheets, waves of his hair sprawled across his pillows. He's undressed, half covered with the sheets, his smooth perfect skin touched and marked by the lips and hands of his lover. His eyes flutter open, half lidded and hazy, but they sharpen when they land on you, the way they always do. Somehow, they feel sickly saccharine, and he reaches for you.
He's always out of reach.
His fingertips brush your sleeve. A raspy demand. “Come here.”
In the dim light of the candle, he glows like sunlight and warmth. Golden; you'd have thought him touched by the hands of Midas. You're tempted to step into his reach. You know what he wants, but you avert your eyes and shake your head. “I cannot, my prince.”
His brows furrow for but a second, though he doesn't contest your low whisper. He sits up slowly, the covers shifting precariously around his waist. You weren't bothered by his state of undress, so long now you've served him, but your eyes remain lowered. He reaches for you once more, this time taking your wrist in his hand and pulling you closer. “You cannot. But you are here, and I have not called for you.”
It was true. This time, you had not been called to assist him, but had come from your own volition. You nod, your eyes lifting and sliding over his body briefly, catching on the blemishes that his companion had left to mar his perfection. A slow irritation built in your gut, reinforcing the emotions which had brought you here in the first place. “My prince,” A desperate tone laces his title, a plea born of your devotion to his resplendance. The easy grace of his movements falters, and tension replaces the satisfaction which had been left by his night of passion.
“What is the matter?” He says immediately, his fingers sliding up your wrist, under the long sleeves of your uniform. His touch feels like salvation you've not yet earned, like sunrays on your skin after a long dark winter. “Are you unwell, my angel?”
In the dark of his rooms, with his eyes watching you with that rare soft gaze you could never deserve, your blank expression shifts into heartbreak. You shook your head, tucking your chin towards your chest and averting your eyes with a tilt of your head.
“If something ails you, let me embrace it.” His fingers caress the sensitive skin where your pulse was beginning to race. After you had discovered the vicious rumours which surrounded you and his highness, after the impact it had caused, you could not bear to watch him do this any longer. You were bursting at the seams, and he was offering to sew you together with a word. He leans forward slightly, the strands dishevelled by his night, shifted in the candle light by the movement. “Tell me. Speak your mind.”
Your hands touch his skin like it was silk, beauty and of God's perfected design, your voice comes out like a pitiful dopey thing, “Please, your highness…” His title on your lips in the dark was enough, and heat flooded through his body once more, his previous night of pleasure seemed like a drop of ink in a deep vast ocean of his desire, reawakened by your sad little plea. “You musn’t soil your body and spirit with the pleasures of those undeserving,”
His expression shifted. Smothered and changed, back to being as unreadable to you as it always was, the light of the candle sharpening the edges of his soft features, highlighting the cold beauty that you believed should be preserved, for you could never imagine it dimmed. Your eyes drift over the blemishes left on his neck, his jaw, the scratches that wretched woman had left on his precious skin. Your displeasure was evident on your face, something you never had shown in the years you had been beside him. Who were you, to show displeasure at what his highness did or did not do? Even as that warning fluttered in your mind, your loyalty reminded you that you were his attendant, and you were looking out for him. It was your duty. Your fingertips brush over the marks, and a vile feeling builds in your stomach, alien to you as you bought the ice you'd gathered to his skin, willing away the evidence of his corruption. He tensed up at the touch, but you didn't ease the pressure.
Your disapproval was palpable, hidden behind a thin veneer of deep belief within that misty eyed gaze where you beheld him. Your hands take liberties, for once, he does not need to ask for your touch for it to find him, chaste and brief and gentle. He is quiet, the usual intensity in which he held himself was nowhere to be seen. Your heart felt strangely calm and heavy, you were just, of that you were sure. These acts had impacted your life and his vices threatened to proceed him, albeit in hushed whispers. You could not stand it.
His lips press into a tight line, the only change in his marble still features. “This has nothing to do with you.” It was a curt, cold defensive snap, a tone you'd heard him use time and time again, usually accompanied by a sly, cruel smirk and condescension. There was none here, just a curious tension. “I did not ask you into my bed, do not concern yourself with what happens within it. I decide who is worthy enough to be in my chambers.”
You were not particularly bothered by his words, if they were meant to be as cutting as his tone, they felt impotent. You stared down at him, keeping the cold compress against his skin, moving over the blemishes, desperate to erase these wrongs from him. He was technically correct, he'd never asked you into his bed for amorous reasons, though he'd attempted again and again to coax you into his shell of silks for a number of other justifications. “My prince, you are everything that is beautiful, youthful, and ripe,” Your fingers barely graze the silky stray lock of hair attempting to curl against his temple, a slight shiver going through your mid back at the feel of its glowing softness. "Everything of you is ambrosia,” You whisper, “It is not simply a critique of your choice, it is the fact that no one is worthy to taste you, my prince.”
Your free hand slid over and tilted his head to the side gently, an excuse to reach his throat, an excuse for his eyes to meet yours. You can see the tightness in his jaw, the way his muscles ticked, his sooty lashes fluttering slightly, narrowed imperceptibly, were it not for the tension in his eyebrows. The flame flickered, and your own heart skipped a beat, shamefully delighted at the words you lathered him with, even when he remained silent and still under the heavy weight of your polishing hand. “Pleasure is as finite as you let it be.” He said. “Ambrosia flows so one may bleed ichor, is it not a worthy pursuit to supply it?”
“You are finite,” You reply, sharper than it was meant to be, a blade welded by your conviction. “Is that not worthy of preservation? If not, what could be?”
“Angel.”
“Is it not worthy of being held for one who is to explore it righteously, in the public, in the light? My prince, something so precious--” Your hands drifted down unconsciously, a brief brush of the knuckle against the swell of his bright cheek, “Should not be shared with those impertinent enough to scramble for a touch of your lips in the dark, and are audacious enough to flap theirs the second they are no longer elevated by your gaze!”
You were sure you were speaking out of turn. Your face twisted to reveal the jagged edges of your poisonous contempt, ugly raw, ravenous; a face you would have despaired to reveal to your prince. Something selfish, something that wants, that demands, that eats the grime and regurgitates in the promise of his name. It was shameful, a disgusting part of you that you keep on a tight leash, a leash which had frayed the more those rumours pulled and tugged at your ear. The silence that settles between you makes your skin clammy. But you held his gaze, as it swirled and shifted in the candlelight. You felt the urge to snuff the warm little light, to blind him of your repulsive, hysterical visage.
He simply watched you, his cold eyes keeping you rooted to the spot. You expected many things. You expected him to strike you, perhaps, for the disrespectful tone in which you spoke. To reprimand you, to punish you. But he is silent, and he watches, keeping you suspended on the razor thin line over the chasm of his displeasure. You flinch when he breaks the silence. Not with a harsh movement or a burning word, but a laugh.
A light, melodic laugh, traveling through the air like the soft smell of petrichor after a rainstorm. Echoing around you, startling in the face of your hot, burning, vicious bubbling burst of emotion. You blink at him as he tilts his head back, his lips curving into a smile. “Precious?” He beamed, “What is so precious?”
He stood without waiting for you to rob him, and you stepped back in reflex as he reached for it himself and pushed past you with a slight nudge of his shoulder against yours. Your hand moves for him but stops midway, not daring to stall him. “My prince--”
He laughed again, turning around and spreading his arms, the light shining over his face, brightens his teeth and his smooth cheek and darkens the ridge of his brows. In a blink of your traitorous eye, his smile flirted with the candlelight and sneered at you. “With your great sagacity, if not of my own, humour me, then, who is worthy?”
You hadn't meant insult, despite what you'd said, and his question had left your lips parted with no words crossing them. He stepped closer again, this time his eyes gleamed with a pernicious light, a sight which made unease crawl up your spine. “Well?” He demanded, “It is you who have come to preach, come to save me from my promiscuity, so why is it now when I ask for your sage advice, I find this silence?”
“Your highness, I am no authority--” Your attempt at escape was interrupted by his laugh, and his hand wrapping around your wrist and tugging you rather harshly, making you step forth with a sharp inhale of surprise and nerves.
“No?” He hummed, leaning close enough you could feel the warmth of his words against your temple. You lower your gaze out of habit, or out of proximity, or maybe because the weight of his eyes feels like the lap of cold water against heated skin; and would make your breath tremble. He tilts his head, “No. You are no authority, but I shall gift it to you. You are most welcome, so tell me, who shall I embrace? Who shall I kiss and caress so as to not have the weight of sin upon my soul? Tell me.”
“I…” Years of etiquette and manners barred your tongue from moving, but he kept at his waiting, his fingers squeezing your wrist when you do not respond.
He let out an amused breath. You assumed he'd taken your silence and defeated stature as enough, but you had been wrong. He moved closer, and you tensed as his other hand slides to your hip,
“Is it you, then, my angel?”
You freeze. Of course you do. “No!” You asseverated, “Your highness...! Of course not, I would never dream of thinking so! You... You are…”
“I am sick of what I am,” He rasped, insistent, “Why not--Look at me when I am speaking with you--Why are you not worthy? Was it not you who asserted that I find one who is not audacious and of ill character, even if it were for only a night?”
There were a million, toiling words dancing at the tip of your tongue. But all that you said was:
“You know why.”
His hold on you keeps you in place. You feel the heat in your cheeks; he knew why, he knew better than anyone why, a thousand reasons etched in the way the smooth pale fingertips of his caressed your calloused, darker hands.
“I know…” He whispers, a step of his brings you closer, his eyes hold yours, a swirling colour so cold at one moment, yet so bright another. His fingers uncurl yours, lacing them with his own, “That your hands are capable of the softest, purest of touches.”
Your breath hitches when his lips brush the corner of your mouth, and you stagger back. The light shifts--the candle shivers from the impact of your step, the darkness swallowing the room for a moment when your back hits the softness of his highness's sheets. He looms over you, and his gaze moves with the weight of a physical caress, tracing over your cheeks and settling upon your parted lips. His hands are planted on either side of you, caging you within his shadow.
“I am tired.” He says, and your racing heart could not have drowned the dreamy tone of his voice.
“Your highness, please…!” Your skirts are pulled, in the darkness, you wonder if a phantom deemed it time to haunt you. You shrink beneath the weight of his quiet demands. Reluctantly, the words stammer and stumble from your mouth. “I... I will hold you, my prince.”
“I am pained.” His fingers caress the skin beneath your eyes, catching the salty traitor that had slipped.
“I will... I will take your pain, my prince.” Warm, large hands smooth over your stockings, upon the garters tied in the crook of your knees. Shivers break over your skin at the touch of skin much too familiar. His breath ghosts over your lips, his fingers toy with the knots.
His eyes gleam in the light, the heat within them brings a glow which seems to shine over his features. “Are you righteous, my angel?” His voice is soft and inviting, smooth in its tone, even as your own trembles.
“Not enough,” You whisper, tilting your head to the side. “My prince.”
Hands part your thighs, and your hips press back against the mattress. They slide over the smooth expanse of your skin, squeezing lightly as if you might crumble at the slightest roughness, over your bloomers, and the edges of your stay. Your protest is stuck in your throat, the slightest tremor burns the edges of your heart with each thunderous beat. His lips brush the other corner of your mouth, “Do you know what happens in the dark, my angel...?”
“No…” You manage, “But... It is nothing righteous, if it happens in the dark, my prince.”
He chuckles, his eyes squinting a slight, that precious lightness that nary breaks the ice of his expression, but oh, when it does, you realise the answer to his earlier exclamation. This was the truth of his ambrosia, the slightest dimple in his cheeks, the gentle curve of his lips, and the sweet haze which covers his gaze when it is yours.
“Does it matter, when no one sees it?”
“Yes.” The words fall out unfiltered, and his hand cups your cheek. “The gods see all evil.”
Your gaze trapped in the vortex of his, sparks with tension as your words settle, and his smile falters, which breaks your mercurial heart. But the tension lasts as long as he wills it, and as he levels you with that tender gaze, his hand drifts from your face to the bedside, where the candle has renewed its fervent glow.
“The gods see all evil…”
With a quiet, meaningless sizzle, the light is snuffed between his fingertips.
“Then I suppose the gods will see nothing of you.”
Was it your voice, or his? You could not be sure. The press of his body against yours, despite the layers of your clothing was a heated weight, his heart beating in the empty silence between your own, completing an unsynchronizable sound. His fingers brush over your own, intertwining once more. “Angel…” He breathes, his nose brushing yours.
The nickname drips like honey, thick and desperate and viscous, leaving you stuck in the old habits which demand your compliance. You let out a shaky stuttering breath.
“... At your service… My prince…”
His mouth captures yours in a sudden lunge forward, pressing you harder against the soft sheets, the silk feels like a liquid trap, your senses tuned in on the heat of his body burning through the layers of your clothing, and the feeling of his lips moving with yours. It’s wrong, you know it’s wrong, but your breath is stolen when you feel the brush of his tongue, willing them to part. There’s nothing you won’t do for your prince, even as your mind warred with your better sense. Your lips part, with a soft gasp, and you feel the slightest tremor go through his body when his tongue slides against yours.
His hand slides up to cup your face, his knuckles brushing over your heated cheek before sliding into your hair and tilting your head to allow him to deepen the kiss even more. A soft noise escapes you, and he responds with his own, squeezing your interlocked fingers, his weight pressing into you harder, creating a little world of sin cradled in the cage of his arms. His desperation is only met with hesitance. He attempts to coax you to respond with the same heat, nipping at your lip and devouring any noise which leave you. The only thing which exists is the slide of his skin on yours. The heat of his mouth. The sounds of your gasping, frantic breaths.
His form is a darkness hovering above you, the features which you’ve always admired from a far have been obscured by the shadows, up closer than you have ever been before, you could not recognize the shape of him.
His hands move over you with increasing desperation, sliding from your hair and over your shoulder, over your waist and up. You let out a startled sound against his lips when he feels the weight of your breast, the slight shake in his fingers betrays the restraint he’s despairing to hold onto. the spasms of his muscles tensing and relaxing with each greedy kiss he takes; It’s nothing like what you know, the hands whose hold always were inevitable seem foreign and wild, grasping, searching, holding as if you would flutter away in the wind if nothing pinned your wings. Then come his words, raspy and faraway, a dream of elation woven into his melodic voice, “Angel,”
Your protests have died into shock, gasping for breath beneath him.
His hands are everywhere all at once, the other leaving the grasp of your own to slide over your waist, feeling the leather of your corsetry, before desperately tearing at the buttons of your uniform. You hear and feel his harsh breathing, his hurry in stripping you of your clothing, of your dignity, of everything which the poisonous rumours already deemed you lacking. You panic when the pressure of your stays laces are undone, and you do something unprecedented. Your hands press against his chest, and you push.
You’ve never pushed him away before.
He groans against your mouth, his entire body seems to coil with tension. He pulls away like tantalus pulled from the fruit he’d finally reached. His hands tremble around your hips, holding you close--keeping you close. Pressing you against him, and a roll of his hips makes a shudder run through you, your mind short circuiting. Your heart is beating in your ears, and he did not need the light to know what you looked like, disheveled and breathless under him. He could feel that rabbit-fast beat against his chest, and it made him ache to melt against you. To ignore your pushing and pleading, to meld with you, become one, and make your heart his own. All his efforts to keep you uncontested had unraveled because of that knight, and now you deny those rumours meant to protect you. So what? He would make the rumours true. His mercy had run out of patience. His fingers curl around your forearm, and slide upwards while pulling you down, firm and gentle, pinning your wrist to the silk sheets once again. Your voice is a wrecked thing, pathetic and snivelling in the dark. “Please…”
You whimper when his lips capture yours again, for only a moment, savouring the taste of you and your distress. “No more.” He whispered, “Let me.”
“I can’t,” You plead, your breath hitching as he maps the skin of your jaw with his lips, trailing hot kisses down your neck. “Please, your highness…”
His trembling grip on you tightens. “I will denounce my ways,” His words are a melodic song tinged with despair, dancing over your skin as he nuzzles against your neck. His hand on your hip slides up, wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against him in a tight, hopeless embrace. “Deliver me, angel, I have sinned with many, a feast of flesh in the circle of lust, but you…” A shaky sigh leaves him, “But for you, for you I will leave all behind--till your blood runs gold, when every other stains crimson, be with me alone, purify me of my misdeeds, you are righteous and pure; my pain bleeds into pleasure when you find me.”
Yes, his highness was a hedonist.
“So find me.”
And his mouth runs with promises pleading for salvation at your altar.
“Nothing more than this, your highness, promise me...!”
The touch of Midas boils your blood, scandal kisses your skin and swears to keep you pure, the sun shines over your slick heated flesh, and the wax between your feathers melts away with each blessed kiss; and as your feathers fall and you plummet--he laughs, and whispers to you: The blood which dripped between your thighs tonight was golden.
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