TW: Nsfw, Yandere, Toxic Relationship, Friends With Benefits, Guns, Threats Of Harm And Death, Name-calling
TW: nsfw, yandere, toxic relationship, friends with benefits, guns, threats of harm and death, name-calling
gn reader
When you open your heart to your fuck-friend, he sighs with rust.
You still have his cum inside your hole as he tears you a new one—telling you he doesn’t have the fucking time or the fucking energy to deal with lovey-dovey confessions right now—he has enough bullshit on his goddamn plate already without having to consider you and your fucking feelings as well.
If you’re not going to shut up and fuck him, you might as well shut up and fuck off.
So you do. The latter, that is.
Part of you knew it was going to end up this way. You with your heart broken and him with the blood on his hands. But part of you had hoped as well—hoped he felt the same way—hoped your words would soften his edges and wash away all the muck in his head enough to let you in.
You’d read a little too much into those gentle touches he sometimes bestowed upon you in his weaker moments—that soft way he cried when holding onto you during the night, wordless and clingy and begging you not to go.
But the more you think about it, the less you understand why your heart aches. It doesn’t really make much sense after all…
In truth, he’s an asshole. Always been. And you deserve better.
He’s always so angry. Always on something mudding up his blood. Never with anything nice to say. It doesn’t really matter how you’d held him in his nightmares or patched him up when he’d stumbled through your door drunk and bloody.
Scarred boys in need of fixing aren’t good for your health—especially when all they have to offer you in return are callous words of rejection.
He’d always been secretive. He wasn’t a very good lover—but you're not entirely sure if he was ever even a good man. The wounds he’d dreg to your apartment in the middle of the night always left blood on your sheets. He never agreed to go to the hospital—always insisted your first-aid kit was enough, even when he'd come to you with bullets you’d have to dig out with a pair of tweezers.
You realize he’d been using you. You were convenient and stopped being convenient the minute you wanted more—and upon the realization, you move on.
And then he comes crawling back…
Shivering in the rain like a beaten street mutt—looking starved and sick like one, too. There’s blood on his shirt and a grim darkness in his eyes. He tells you to let him in, and you only barely have the guts to tell him to go away.
He has this tortured look on his face—as though something’s your fault, as though you’ve wronged him in some way, as though you’re the reason he’s out in the cold with nowhere to go.
Barging in and slamming the door behind him—he locks it and pockets the key—ignoring your questions as you ask him what the fuck’s gotten into him. He looks deranged—water dripping from his matted bangs, eyes reddened, and cheeks streaked. You only now notice it isn't because of the rain.
“You said you wanted me, didn’t you?” he huffs. “Here I am.”
You’re tense. You hadn’t felt like that with him before, it takes you a minute to realize it’s because you’re scared. After all, you’d wanted him all those other times—rough or otherwise. And now you didn’t want him at all.
“You should leave. You’ve been drinking.”
“What? You changed your mind already?” he accused, then scoffed with an unamused laugh. “I’m not surprised. People like you, who like danger and bad men, are always so fickle-hearted.” He approaches you too fast for you to back away, his scarred hands curling into your sweater—split skin from recent beatings bleed onto the fabric. “Flighty little slut, you’ve probably already found the next guy who gives you a rush. Isn’t that right?” He’s seething as he pulls you forward, looking like a hostile hound.
You lay your hands on his chest to keep him at a distance—feeling his entire body shake like static. You wonder if he’s taken drugs tonight, but looking into his eyes, you don’t think so. They aren’t fidgety but deadset. Actually, upon closer look, you don’t even think he’s drunk.
But anyway, it doesn’t really matter. You still don’t want him here. “I’m serious. Get out, or I’m calling the police.”
“Oh? Are we slinging threats now?” he jeers, showing no signs of letting go or leaving—he only pulls you in closer, so close you could kiss. “What? Don’t tell me you’re scared now.” He breathes out a short excuse for a laugh as you veer away, putting his lips to your ear instead. “You should have been from the start—but no—grinding up on me at the club as though you’d die without my attention. Crying pretty tears when you saw me all beaten and bruised—acting as though you want to save me. Tch—”
He throws you down on the carpeted floor. You wince from the impact, and when you look up again, you see he has a gun pointed at you.
You stop breathing. A dark hole in your gut seems to want to swallow you from the inside, and you think you might just want it to if it means escaping the threat before you.
“I shouldn't have come here…” he mutters—finger resting on the trigger all too calmy. “But I just couldn’t get your face out of my head. Looking up at me with those doe-eyes, wearing my shirt even though it’s got blood on it after I fuck you silly, saying such sweet little nothings as if I’d paid you to.”
He sighs—heavily—as though he’s expelling spirits. His hand remains holding the gun poised and pointed straight down at you even as the other drags down his face, pulling his maw before sliding through his wet locks, raking them away from his face.
“I gotta kill you, you know?” he says, shoulders slumping with the statement. He sniffs—it's almost soft enough to be a sniffle. “That’s the only way to solve this. That’s the only way to get you out of my fucking head.”
He cocks the safety with a click that makes your life flash before your eyes. Faces of your family and friends, people you haven't seen in years, childhood pets long dead, a job interview, the holiday you felt true happiness, the night you went out dancing and met him.
The tears stream silently down your face, and you still don’t breathe. Every part of you, every nerve and muscle, has gone completely still. Unmoving, unblinking as you stare up through the barrel of the gun and wait for the bullet to come through.
His finger curls tighter around the trigger, and you close your eyes with a furl between your brows. And then…
Nothing. There’s a large exhale.
“I can’t do it…”
You open your eyes to see the gun lowered. The sight brings a rush of air back to your lungs, making you all but wheeze as it fills you, breathing in far too much and much too quickly. You regain some semblance worth of motoric, too—able to scramble backward until there’s no more room to be gained, sitting with your back against the wall. Eyes peeled at him where he’s taken to crouch, holding his head with his free hand and the one still with the gun in it.
He fists his hair and tugs on it frustratedly, muttering to himself. “Dozens of lives on my hands, and I can't kill this one single-” he stopped short.
This time, when he looks at you, there’s something else in his eyes. No malice or scorn, but something sad—pity almost.
“Well… seems like you got what you wanted...”
The pity’s meant for you.
“This is what having my heart feels like.”
BNHA – Bakugou, Shoto, Dabi JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Toji AOT – Eren DS – Akaza, Sanemi
♡ (FEMxM) INSERT masterlist ♡ (GNxM) INSERT masterlist
More Posts from Junkyuholic and Others
Honesty
A rather long piece about a certain dodgeball player not being quite that honest about his past.
warnings: female! reader, graphic mention of death, murder, mention of blood, yandere and alcohol and drug use
“C’mon! Is that all you got?” You take another sip of your relatively weak drink, a little bit of rum mixed with a whole lot of cola. It wasn’t your intention to get all that drunk, but you couldn’t abstain while trying to get someone else drunk. The pirates were wasted every night Razor would give them off, but the problem with those day’s was that Razor would join the fray sometimes, and the absence of your husband way key to this plan working. “Since when are you such a lightweight?”
“Lightweight?! I’ll have you know I held the record for most tequila shots downed in an hour at a bar back at home.” True to his word, despite the seven shots he’d already thrown back, he wasn’t anything more than tipsy. “If you drank more than twenty in an hour, you didn’t have to pay.”
“Sounds like an easy way to get drunk.”
“You don’t wanna know how big those shot glasses were.” He wiped his nose on his sleeve, your nose crinkling when you saw the amount of dried up goop on there. You would’ve rather spent your night with nearly anyone else, but he was the only one that took the bait when you’d suggested drinking at the bar. Most didn’t want to get near you with a six foot pole. “Their technique was to get you shitwasted by the seventh glass or so and make you pay for all of it.”
Geldro was a plain old alcoholic with a rather serious criminal record, having been a notorious serial killer, targeting wannabe hunters that had high hopes and little ability, easy targets that no-one looked for since most would just assume they’d died during the exam. He freaked you out, his hair and beard disheveled, and eyes that always seemed to be pointed down at your chest, despite you dressing as modestly as possible when he was around.
The only reason he’d followed you up on your offer to get drunk was because you had access to the liquor cabinet-key, and so he could ogle you during. He wouldn’t touch you, though, you were sure of that.
He wasn’t suicidal.
Keep reading
eat me whole
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪ lover !!
ᝰ.ᐟ even if he doesn't exude this energy to outsiders, you're happy to know that your boyfriend is the biggest simp around when it comes to you. or: the cute things he'll do for you. (fem!reader)
featuring yoichi isagi, seishiro nagi, reo mikage, rin itoshi, rensuke kunigami content contains hotel bathroom sinks designed by a man, slight jealousy (reo is the jealous boyfriend), height differences (nagi + kunigami + rin are described as taller), wearing his clothes + clothes is described to be oversized on you (nagi), called a simp by his teammates (kunigami), clingy bf (yoichi <3) author's notes hq version coming soon!!! i just wanted to write something soft n fluffy for once <3
౨ৎ YOICHI ISAGI — goes viral on tiktok when the two of you go on vacation to celebrate your second year anniversary. you're recording yourself from the bathroom of the private villa he rented out for the two of you, and you originally wanted to record what an absolute joke the sink is. there is literally no counter space. nowhere to place any of your makeup or skincare products. yoichi interupts the video unknowingly, knocking softly and asking if he can come in. he doesn't realize you're filming, and it's entirely genuine when he asks, "is everything okay? you sounded frustrated? did you need help opening something?" you laugh before explaining the situation, and he's silent for all but one second before he goes, "oh! i'll just hold your makeup bag, and i'll hand you the stuff when you need it." (poor yoichi means well, but he's standing there for over an hour as you laugh at him when he can't tell the difference between a tube of lipgloss and liquid blush. the look of concentration on his face as he nods intently while you explain what each product is for is absolutely adorable; it's the same concentrated look he gets when he's reviewing game footage, meaning he's taking this seriously for you.) he's also the type that loves to follow you around. it's a common joke for his fans to comment "walk him like a dog, sis!" on any candid photos of you + yoichi because he is almost always holding your hand while trailing behind you. he's like your shadow as he follows you around different stores in the mall, and even when you tell him he can just sit down with the other boyfriends while you just try on some clothes, he refuses to leave your side. tries to follow you to the dressing room, and gets all pouty when he realizes he's not allowed in. makes you walk outside the dressing room with the new outfits on so he can rate them (he is incredibly biased and believes everything looks good on you and forces you to bring everything to the cashier so he can swipe his card to get it for you <3)
౨ৎ REO MIKAGE — cannot handle anyone else taking up large chunks of your time, especially when he rarely gets to see you during game season. makes a face anytime he realizes that the server at the restaurant is a guy. the server will smile at you and tell you that he'll get started on that meal for you right away, and reo leans forward once he's gone and goes, "i can't believe he was flirting with you right in front of me! disgusting!" he's actually convinced that every man in the world wants you for themselves, and if you tease him by threatening to run off with any of these men, he'll instantly frown and start telling you to take that back right now! however, he is entirely convinced that you are the greatest thing to ever grace this earth, and he feels so proud whenever you two are out in public and a fan or an employee compliments you. they could say anything postive about you, and he'll beam with pride, going "i know, right? i tell her this all the time!" it's almost common knowledge that the easiest way to get on reo's good side is to treat you well. he also loves listening to you gossip, and is the type of boyfriend who loves all your friends (even if he can't quite remember their names; it's only important that they treat you kindly and loyally), and hates everyone that you hate. he's also less forgiving than you; if someone backstabs you but you forgive them and grant them a second chance, just know that reo still hates their guts and he'll make it incredibly obvious.
౨ৎ SEISHIRO NAGI — can’t help but make video game versions of the two of you any chance he gets. he’ll pretend to not notice the way your eyes light up when you pass by any claw machine containing plushies of your favorite anime characters, but somehow he’ll manage to find himself at the machine, casually winning you your favorite as if the game isn’t designed to make everyone lose. (he’s just that good.) even if you’re not as big of a gamer as him, he’ll watch you play sims 4 (and subsequently watch you spend 3 hours on the create-a-sim section because you’re trying to create a perfect carbon copy of the two of you.) looks for his favorite hoodie only to glance over at your still-sleeping form on his bed and realizes that you’re wearing it. you look adorable in it; he’s taller than you, bigger in every aspect, so the material swallows you up. (he doesn’t wake you up nor does he ask for it back.) despite the fact that he’s taller than you, nagi is definitely a big baby, and is constantly the little spoon. he loves to come home and bury his face in your neck, loves the way you gently run your fingers through his hair (it’s the easiest way for him to fall asleep), and he’ll constantly try to find ways for you to hold him.
౨ৎ RIN ITOSHI — grants you “scary dog privilege.” literally will mean mug every man in the street as the two of you are walking together. everyone thinks that rin would be a selfish lover from his outside appearance, but he surprisingly puts up with a lot of your antics because he loves you so much. you don’t bother buying a step stool because you count on rin to get you anything you need from the tall shelves (and when you’re mad at him, he’ll purposely find ways to get all your most-used items on a hard-to-reach area so you have to sulkily seek him out and ask for his help. there’s no way in hell you put your face wash on top of the fridge, and rin looks all too happy to grab it for you.) he has a very bare social media account and most of the time, he just posts whatever his publicists draft up for him. the only post he has personally created and shared himself is the one of you on your birthday; in a sea of promotional posters and professionally taken game highlights, the smiling faces of you and rin stand out. (it’s the happiest any of his fans have ever seen him look.)
౨ৎ RENSUKE KUNIGAMI — his teammates make fun of him because he is notoriously loyal to you. they tricked him and took him out to a strip club, and there’s a viral video of kunigami staring intently at his phone, never looking up once at his surroundings. (he was going through your instagram feed + then ran out of photos to look at, so he started going through his camera roll to look at pictures and videos of you.) is the boyfriend who embodies the phrase ‘wear whatever you want, baby, i can fight.’ there’s a photo of you two that did numbers on pinterest. kunigmai is such a big guy, towers over you, honestly, but he readily gets down on his knees for you. in the photo, you two are dressed up to attend a gala. he’s on his knees, and you have one high-heel clad foot resting on the top of his thigh as he looks down and is adjusting the ankle strap of your heel for you. his friends shared the photo in the team groupchat and called him a simp, but kunigami knows that if they had someone half as great as you, they’d act just the same.
Outrunning Fate
As promised (though I am more than a little late for Shiratorizawa Week), the soulmate AU
Tendou x female reader x Ushijima
TW stalking, possessive behaviour, implied non-con
Soulmates were supposed to be a blessing.
It was a fairytale that you’d grown up hearing about. One person who was supposed to be wholly yours.
Your parents were soulmates, even if you hadn’t always understood the concept, the proof of that remarkable, unshakable bond was always right in front of you. It wasn’t in the big grand gestures, it was little things - the soft, adoring look in your father’s eye as your mother passed him his coffee every morning, the way she always sought out his touch when they were together, even if it was just to twine her fingers with his, or the way that they always seemed to be able to sense when the other was upset, and wordlessly found the perfect way to comfort them.
Your father never had to tell you that he loved your mother, but he did, every single day. He told her too, just to see her smile.
It seemed effortless, easy, as if their love for one another was as natural as breathing. How could you be blamed for looking at your bare wrist, waiting for the day that name would appear in scrawling black ink, feeling that excited fluttering in your chest because you knew one day you’d meet your soulmate and have that perfect, fairytale love all for yourself.
Except it wasn’t like that.
Something went wrong.
Keep reading
Time Traveller AU part 9
Part 1 is here. Part 2 is here. Part 3 is here. Part 4 is here. Part 5 is here. Part 6 is here. Part 7 is here. Part 8 is here. Time Traveller au masterlist is here. Check out my MASTERLIST for more!
"I think you should take off your veil now. You need to impress the princes so that one of them could take pity and marry you. Or you could try black magic-"
"Baris, I will pull your tongue out and strangle you with it if you say another word." You muttered, holding your head in your hands.
After Baris landed the "marriage bomb" on you last night, you've been stressed. Why did I have to teach Mihirmah? Why did I have to accept the bracelet? Why did I-
"You have bags under your eyes, and considering that they're the only feature visible, its not good-" You threw a pillow at him, which he dodged easily. You hadnt slept at all, how could you? You tried to figure out a plan, that didnt work. You tried to fix your time machine, that was not going to work at all without tools.
"You could be wrong." You mumbled, opening your eyes as you stared ahead. "This bracelet could be nothing but just a kind gesture. It is not a marriage proposal. You're wrong-"
Baris cut you off. "I know it seems impossible, considering how you look, even I'm surprised- but I'm never wrong, Y/n. I've worked here for more 25 years, I know what everyone thinks." You stared at him with a pinched expression.
"You have to help me, Baris."
He smiled. "Of course, you'd be lost cause else wise! I'll get the seamstress to make you some new clothes-"
"No, I meant- you have to help me escape. I cant- I dont want to get married!"
He scoffed. "Darling, we're alone right now. You can drop the "I dont wanna marry a prince and enjoy the luxuries of the world" act."
"I mean it!" You huff.
"And why is that?"
"Because-" you bit your lip. What excuse can you possibly come up with to satisfy him?
"I love someone else."
"How tragic." He said monotonously. "Love has no place in the harem. You're here to attract, serve and please the royal family." He walked closer to you, leaning down as he lowered his volume. "And I'm going to give you some advice: you better not use that excuse again, never even MUMBLE about having a lover again, not unless you want to be tortured and executed for being a traitor."
You knew what he was referring to. The harem, the concubines, the whole palace was filled with jealousy. If anyone were to hear about this, they would use it against you, conjure up such vulgar lies that the sultan will chop off your head.
"Baris I cant-"
"You dont have a choice, Y/n." He cut you off harshly. "I suggest you suck it up and pretend to be happy or else you'll be in for a hard life."
"Now, get ready. You need to teach a lesson."
-
"You look sick."
You resist rolling your eyes. "Yes, I know I'm ugly. Thank you for keeping me updated."
Mihirmah shook her head. "No, I mean you dont look well. Are you alright?"
No, I lost sleep because of you and-
"Just tired, Mihirmah. I think we've should stop here today." You watched her beam.
"Finally! Now we can celebrate!" Mihirmah clapped her hands as the servants brought in some tea and sweets. She had initially wanted to celebrate her victory from last night as soon as you came in, but you wanted to get the lesson done with so that you could leave.
"You enjoy it. You did a good job." You tried to excuse herself but she frowned.
"I did. And so did you! I mean, the way you made Mahidevran shut up! It was amazing!" She took a piece of sweet and handed it to you. "Besides, my father appreciated your efforts as well-"
You looked down at the bracelet. This was more of a death sentence than a gift.
"Mihirmah." You took off your bracelet. "I- I appreciate the sultan's gift, but I cant accept this. Its too much- its-" you mentally rolled your eyes at your next excuse. "Its above me."
She furrowed her brows. "Even if that may be the case, which its not because you fully deserve that after the showdown, you still cannot refuse or return a sultan's gift, much less one that he made himself!" She tilted her head. "What is really going on? Why do you not want the bracelet? And dont say its not to your taste, because lets face it- you probably have not seen jewels like this in your life."
Biting the inside of your cheek to prevent the insults from slipping out, you took a breath.
"I... heard that..." you took another breath. How do you say "I dont want the bracelet because I dont wanna marry any of your brothers" without sounding narcissistic. "I... I heard that there might be a different meaning behind the bracelet. That it may signify... something else."
"Which is...?" She prompted you.
You exhaled.
"That I might be considered to be... a spouse for a sehzade."
Mihirmah snorted as you looked down to conceal both your embarrassment and fear.
"I'm sorry- what did you say?" She was laughing now. You continued to look down. As long as she's laughing and not getting mad at you for even suggesting such a thing, you're fine. Besides, if she's laughing then it means that all that bullshit Baris was spewing earlier was just that- bullshit.
"You think- my father, the sultan, wants you- YOU, to marry one of his sons?" She wiped a tear away from her eye as she laughed. "That is the most ridiculous idea I've ever heard. True, father does only give handmade gifts to those he considers close, but I dont think thats true in your case, Y/n. You're just my teacher, that's all. Besides, even if you were to be considered as a potential spouse for my brothers, you have my mother and Mahivdevran standing in your way. And trust me, they're going to marry their sons to someone they like. You- they cant even tolerate you as my teacher at this point of time."
Sighing in relief, you nod. "Well, that's great to hear-"
"Wait." Mihirmah narrows her eyes at you. "If you thought that my father wanted to marry you to one of his sons, why did you want to return the bracelet? Did you- did you not want to marry my brother?"
Oh shit. "Mihirmah no-" You tried to pacify her.
But she snapped at you. "What? You think you're better than my brothers? Any of them? You'd be lucky if Mehmed or Mustafa chose you, if such a miracle does happen."
Your eyes were wide at her venomous tone. You dont know whether it was because she was protective of her brothers, or if she just really hated the idea that you would consider rejecting royalty.
A few more moments of silence went by. "You misunderstand me, sultana." You chose her title to please her. "I know of my status, and I am well aware of how... lowly I am to be a part of this family. The only reason I was returning the bracelet was because... I didnt want the harem to assume things and threaten or hurt me. I am aware that the sehzade have their favourite concubines, much better equipped to their tastes. But if they were to see this bracelet gifted by the sultan on me, they would... it would cause misunderstandings. I just wanted to avoid that."
Your words were carefully selected to not aggravate her any further, which it didnt but they also didnt calm her down.
Mihirmah's face was still sour. "The concubines are smart enough to figure out who's a competition and who's just a mere servant. You have nothing to worry about."
The words stung but... you just bowed and took your leave instead of slapping her across the face.
Mehmed had just turned the corner when he saw you leaving Mihirmah's room with tears pooling in your eyes, the niqaab only causing them to look more prominent.
He entered Mihirmah's room, finding his sister looking angry as she gazed into space.
"Mihirmah?" He sat down beside her, noticing how she didnt immediately light up as she always did when he came. What did you do to piss her off so much?
He cupped her face to look at him. "What's wrong? Tell me."
-
You're laying in your bed, arm over your eyes as you try to think of a way out of here.
When will the time machine work again?
Its not like you can go out of the palace to get help or even tools to work on it, and you always fear that someone just may walk in on you tinkering with the machine. The only place where you can get privacy in this palace here is the dungeons, only because its dark and oh-so-daunting that it doesnt really attract people there.
There's a knock on your door. With a grunt, you get up and open the door, only to find no one there. Your room was in the harem, but it was on the upper floor, so you could see the whole area from above, including the silhouette of someone leaving the harem doors.
Normally, you wouldn't have bothered with the "door bell pranks", but you made your way down because 1. you're not familiar with what this might mean, maybe some royal summoned you and you're to follow the servant. 2. you're bored.
When you left the harem and looked to your left, spotting the back of a girl in red dress, you knew she was baiting you to follow her. So you did, turning around the corridor only to be body slammed to the wall.
3 women surround you, blocking any escape routes. They're all glaring at you, and you recognise their faces. They're the concubines.
You clear your throat. "Well? I suppose you have something to say that you couldnt say in there."
The brunette in front of you narrows her eyes. "Who do you think you are?"
"Why dont you tell me?"
Her glare intensifies. "You think you can just bat your lashes and whore yourself to the sehzade?"
"Heh?"
The raven haired girl on her right grabbed your throat and banged your head against the wall behind. "Dont play dumb! We know you're trying to marry the prince!"
The blonde on the left banged your head against the wall this time, gritting out "Stay away from sehzade Mustafa!"
"And sehzade Mehmed!" the brunette warned, repeating the same assault as the other two.
You took a deep breath, closing your eyes as you rubbed the sore spot on the back of your head. "None of your accusations are true. Unlike you, I actually have a respectable job here-"
"We saw the bracelet! You think you can just prance around here, pretending to be this holy and pure, untainted girl while we work ourselves to the bone to get in bed?!" The brunette screamed at you, getting in your face.
You pushed her away. "First of all, I am not interested in marrying anyone. Secondly, the bracelet means nothing than a job well done. And finally- you seem to mistake your status over me. I dont work for you, or under you. So, this is for earlier-" You slapped her hard across the face, making her fall. The other two were in shock, and you took that as an opputunity to slap them too.
"Now, we're even." You huffed, adjusting your niqaab before turning on your heel to leave. You needed to slap them, not only because you need to let them know they cant bully you, but also because you needed to release some steam. It felt good, you wont lie. You may have even imagined some people's faces as you smacked them-
"Omph!" You're pushed to the ground, flipped over onto your back. You grab on to the hands that are wrapped around your neck, eyes wide as the brunette starts to choke you.
"You stupid bitch!" She screamed as you fought hard to pull her hands away. She yanked the veil off your face, smacking your cheek hard enough to scratch you with her sharp nails.
"Laira stop-" the blonde tried to pull her off you but Laira continued to beat you.
"Hand me the torch!"
"Laira-" The blonde started again but the raven haired grabbed the fire sconce off the wall and handed it to Laira.
You stared in horror as she brought the torch closer to your face, the heat radiating. She grinned manically, one hand still squeezing your throat.
"You're not even that pretty for a sehzade. Did you use black magic on them?" She clicked her tongue, while your eyes were fixated on the torch. "I guess, it wont be futile to ruin your face for guarantee."
"Please no-" she choked you harder with her man hands that you just couldnt seem to pry off, and you sort of became paralysed as the dancing flames took you back to the night in the desert, when the assassins set your tent on fire. Everything slowed down, and noise drowned out like in the movies.
Salauddin. Help-
The flames suddenly vanish from your view as Laira is thrown off you.
"What the hell do you think you are doing?!" The man roared behind you. Your eyes moved from the shaking concubines to your saviour.
Ibrahim pasha.
"Pasha bey-"
"Shut it. Guards! Throw them to the dungeons!" Ibrahim yelled and automatically, 4 Janisarries appeared from behind him and dragged the wailing girls away.
Ibrahim looks down at you, his eyes shifting from rage to sympathy. He crouches down and helps you sit up, his touch gentle.
"Are you alright, Hatun Y/n?" You're staring at him in a daze, your body has not recovered enough to physically react, almost on autopilot.
Say something.
"Y/n?" He asks again, his brows furrowing as his concern deepens. Why does everything sound so far, so low?
He snaps his fingers near your ear, and your brain finally reacts.
"Y-yes." You tear your gaze away, looking at the fire torch lying on the ground far from you.
Fire. Second time you were almost burnt to death.
"Come on." He helps you up, gently tugging you to follow him. A few shaky steps later, you follow him to your room.
He sat you down on the bed. "There we go." Ibrahim pasha scanned your face for any burns or injuries, noting the nail marks from the slap.
"Baris Agha!" Ibrahim called and a few seconds later, the eunuch stumbled in.
"Yes, pasha- ya Allah, what happened to-"
"Baris." Ibrahim snapped at him. "Get me bandages and healing balm. And keep quiet about this." Baris only nodded before following orders.
You cleared your throat. "I... thank you for saving me, pasha." Ibrahim smiled courteously as he sat on a chair nearby.
"It was my duty. Sultan Suleiman had asked me to keep an eye on you."
Your brows furrowed. "Why?"
Ibrahim looked at the bracelet around your wrist. "I suppose you did something to make him pleased."
He relaxed in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest. "So... what happened with the concubines?"
"Misunderstanding." You said dismissively.
"And what that might be?" He prodded. When you didnt reply, he sighed. "I am the pasha, the sultan's right hand. I am supposed to know what happens in the palace."
"Its nothing of significance. You can let the girls out of the dungeon."
"I'm afraid that decision is not upto you." Ibrahim deadpanned. "If you do not wish to tell me, fine. I have other ways of finding out." He made his threat clear and began standing up.
"Wait!" You clenched your niqaab, looking at the veil in your lap. "I'll tell you, but... you cant tell anyone."
Ibrahim stared at you before nodding, sitting back down.
"There may have been a rumour... the cocncubines- they think that the bracelet, a gift from the sultan means that I am... special." You mumbled the last word.
"Special how?"
"They think... that the sultan wants me to be his... daughter-in-law. Actually, they think that I am wooing the sehzades- Mustafa and Mehmed."
"And are you?" He asks immeadiately.
"Of course not!"
"Why not? Anyone would love to marry a prince."
You scoffed. "I would never want to be a part of this family, not even as a teacher."
He raised a brow. "Hate the Ottomans?" You shake your head. "No. But I wouldn't want to be a part of it." You clicked your tongue. "Everyone in this palace is a slave. The concubines, the servants, the wives, the kids, you and me too. The wives of the sultan, they have all the luxuries one could imagine... except for the loyalty of their husband. Not to mention, they have to live in constant fear of being replaced and be in paranoia forever because everyone who is not family, is a threat to her. The kids? If you're born a boy, sure- you are immediately given a superior status, but with such power and princely status also comes with its own drawbacks. The boy will have to always be compete with his brothers, not because he wants to be the next sultan, but for survival."
In Ottoman empire, there was a common practice of fratricide- a tradition where once the next sultan is chosen, the new sultan is allowed LEGALLY to kill his brothers, stepbrothers, nephews and even female relatives (sisters included) as well, so as to get rid of any future competition or betrayal by his own family. In a nutshell, it was done to prevent civil wars.
"If you're born as a girl, then you may have a better chance of survival than your brothers, but that's still not guaranteed. Not to mention, you are raised to be married off to someone that will strengthen the royal family. Not to someone you love." Ibrahim watched you as you continued. "Its not better to be a servant either. Always being threatened, questioned about your loyalty, having to take the fall for the higher ups. The eunuchs, who think they are all high and mighty and control the court, you and I both know that their job to "protect the women of the harem" wasnt even their choice. To be forcefully castrated as children, forcefully ripped from their families, forced to serve the royals... they dont have a choice. I dont have to tell you how degrading it is to be a concubine."
"And me? How am I a slave?" Ibrahim asked.
You smiled sadly. "You know very well, and youre just trying to see how much I know. Your past is not a well kept secret, pasha." You kept quiet, and Ibrahim realised you already knew about his life.
Ibrahim, born as Orthodox Christian, was enslaved during his childhood. He and Suleiman became close friends in their youth, or perhaps forced to convert to Islam and then raised to befriend Suleiman. Suleiman appointed Ibrahim as grand vizier when he took the throne.
"How do you know?" Ibrahim's gaze was sharp. "I know a lot of things, pasha. But dont worry, I have no ill intent. If anything, I want to be as far from this life as possible. Perhaps... you could help me with that?"
He raised a brow. "I dont think that is an option for you right now." At your frown, he explained. "The safest place for a woman like you is here."
"Did you just forget that my face was almost burned off moments ago?"
He chuckled, shaking his hand. "Of course not. But you need to understand that you cannot just up and go without a word, especially after the sultan just gave you a handmade gift, and whether or not it signifies that he's considered you for one of his sons, it does mean that he considers you important. His majesty will not just accept your leave for no reason." Ibrahim leaned forward, clasping his hands. "As for your safety, you can leave that to me. I will make sure no harm befalls you again. I promise."
"But what about the sehzade? The rumours?"
He hummed thoughtfully. "If you're so concerned about that matter, then you should just avoid the princes as much as you can. Keep your niqaab on, continue your lessons with the princess and avoid interacting with people as much as you can."
Well, its not a bad suggestion. If you make yourself scarce and draw less attention to yourself, you can slip out of the palace and leave unnoticed.
"Oh, pasha?" You called him as he stood up to leave. "Can I request you not to tell about this incident to anyone?" You pointed to bruises on your face.
He grinned and nodded. "Of course. But it is not me you should be worried about talking." At your confused face, he chuckled.
"Baris Agha still hasnt returned."
-
Mihirmah and Mehmed were in your room just a few moments after Ibrahim pasha had fetched the bandages from below and treated your wounds, further confirming that Baris was spreading the news about your attack all over the palace.
"Y/n! Who did this to you?" Mihirmah traced the bruises gently as she sat beside you on the bed, while Mehmed sat in front of you, on the seat previously occupied by Ibrahim pasha- just closer this time.
"I dont know." You lied, pulling yourself away from Mihirmah's concerned touches. Oh you're still mad at her.
Your evasiveness didnt go unnoticed by her, as she dropped her hand and her mouth settled into a thin grim line.
"Why did someone attack you? What happened?" Mehmed asked, cutting the tension.
You shrugged. "I dont know." You fiddled with the niqaab in your lap. There's a big bandage on your cheeks, so while you couldnt exactly wear your veil again, you suppose in a way your face was somewhat covered?
"Probably mistook me for someone else. Or just a misunderstanding." You tried to brush this off.
"Still, it shouldnt warrant such a reaction. We should investigate-" Mehmed started but you shook your head.
"Ibrahim pasha is already looking into the matter. He'll take care of it-"
"I am the sehzade. I will look into this personally." Mehmed stated before leaving the room before anyone could stop him. Ah, to be the knight in shinning armour for a distressed damsel.
You and Mihirmah sat alone now. The air in the room was thick, the silence thicker. Mihirmah glanced at your nonchalant face, your eyes fixated on the ground, not caring how uncomfortable the silence was making the princess.
It was clear she had to break the ice.
"Y/n." She called. "Yes, sultana?" You answered, but your eyes still remained on the ground.
Sultana. Not Mihirmah, like she'd allowed you to call her, but sultana.
She pursed her lips. "I..." She paused. What is she supposed to say? Sorry? The word is as foreign to her as it is to any royal.
"I dont like the things you said this morning." She finally stated. "You shouldnt have said those things."
You resisted the urge to scoff. Is she really trying to pin this on you and make you apologise? Entitled brat-
"You're right, sultana. I was out of line. I suggest we should just stick to our lessons and avoid talking about anything else. I'll be careful not to bring up any other topic." You stated monotonously.
Mihirmah frowned. Why are you saying this? Why are you being so difficult?
"Stop it." She warned. You nodded. "As you wish, sultana. I'll arrange another Quran teacher for you." Your words only enraged her further.
"I said- stop it." She ordered but you're hell bent on making her apologise- a dream, but still. You clicked your tongue. "I suppose I'll hand in my resignation to the sultan and explain to His Majesty that it was my fault for being a useless servant who is just not capable- ow!" You finally looked at her in disbelief.
She pinched you. Mihirmah pinched your arm. Hard.
And she had the gall to glare at you, with some anger and remorse in her eyes.
"What did you do that for?" You spat, hissing as you rubbed the area she'd assaulted. There was going to be a bruise, for sure.
Her frown deepened. "You- I told you to stop, didn't I?!" You watched her trying to contain her rage, her body shaking as she tried not to wrangle you by the neck. "I- I dont want you to leave."
"But sultana-" "Mihirmah. You call me Mihirmah." She emphasised.
You bit the inside of your cheek to suppress your smile. "I am just a dispensable servant-" You jumped back when she went to pinch you again.
"Will you stop doing that?!" Your arm still hurt from her first attack. Mihirmah's nostrils flared. "Will you stop acting like a brat?!"
Your throat made a sound of disbelief. "I am acting like a brat?! Have you looked in the mirror recently?"
"Yes and I look very beautiful! Unlike your busted face!"
"Oh so you just get to insult me?" "I am not insulting you! I am DESCRIBING YOU!" She screamed as you glared at her. Mihirmah took a few deep breaths to calm down. "I am not calling you ugly, I was just referring to the bruises on your face. How did you manage to get beat up so badly? Did you not learn anything from my sparring lessons?"
"Sparring lessons? You mean the times where you would flip me on my back or throw me against the wall?" She glared at your accusation. "How is it my fault that you dont fight back?"
Mihirmah's gaze flicked the arm you were holding, the one she'd pinched. "Does it still hurt?" Her voice was much softer this time.
"Would you like me to pinch you back to demonstrate how much it hurt?" You spat back and she scoffed. "I didnt pinch you that hard. You're just sensitive." "Sure, you must only have meaty man fingers." You grumbled as she gasped and smacked your bruised arm, making you hiss.
The two of you glared at each other before Mihirmah wrapped her arms around you and looked up at you with a small pout.
"This doesnt work on me." You muttered, making her grip tighten around you.
"You know you're not a servant." Mihirmah whispered, looking up at you with puppy eyes, but only you knew the real Ronda Rousey in her.
"You're my friend, Y/n. Or the closest thing I have to a sister." "If you were planning on beating up your sister, I'm glad your parents didnt have one."
"Shut up, you're ruining the moment." Mihirmah scolded you. "I dont want you to go. I dont want you to be hurt, either. So just- I'm willing to let things go back to the way they were before this morning, if you are."
You stared down at her. You knew you were never going to get a real apology, Mihirmah was too prideful. You couldnt make her feel ashamed for her actions, or hold her responsible. So, you'll have to make do with this.
"Fine." She broke into a grin and squeezed her arms around you tightly before letting go.
"Now, tell me! Who were these girls who attacked you? I'll skin them with my daggers!" Ignoring her sociopathic tendencies, you shrugged. "I dont know, Mihirmah. I dont know who they were- I'm still new to the palace."
She hummed before her face lit up in realisation. "Wait! Baris Agha did say something about concubines. I'll ask Mehmed too when he returns with more information from Ibrahim pasha!"
-
While you are trying your best to hide the incident about your attack, unbeknownst to you, the news has spread like wildfire in the palace. A maid saw Mehmed entering Ibrahim pasha's office, and when she reported it to her friend, she then told her about how she overheard the eunuchs talking about a fight breaking out between the concubines and someone else, and then someone added that they saw Ibrahim pasha, Mehmed and Mihirmah in your room, so you were involved too. It wasnt long before this news reached Hurrem and Mahidevran, only this time it was more dramatised.
"The concubines tried to kill Hatun Y/n! It was only by pure luck that sehzade Mehmed saved her! And now her wounds are being tended to by Mihirmah sultana while sehzade Mehmed and Ibrahim pasha are punishing the concubines!" Gul, the chamber maid, told Mahidevran.
Mahidevran narrowed her eyes. "Why did they save her? She's just a teacher." The queen didnt understand why the royal children were going through such lengths to get justice for you. Fights in the harem break out all the time.
Gul fumbled with her thumbs, avoiding eye contact with her queen. Mahidevran's frown deepened. "What is it, Gul?"
"I- sultana- I just heard some rumors, its probably not even true-" "Out with it!" Mahidevran snapped.
Gul licked her lips as she spoke. "Um- I overheard that sehzade Mehmed has been... spending a lot of time with Hatun Y/n. Especially after the dinner where Mihirmah sultana recited-"
Mehmed... spending time with you? Why? If he wanted to sleep with you, he could have any girl from the harem. So why you? Why you, a Quran teacher, a conservative girl who covered herself from head to toe? Surely, Mehmed hadnt been bewitched by your physical appearance- not that you had any, in her opinion. And then Suleiman seemed to like you to, so for Mehmed to fancy you would be because-
Mahidevran's eyes widened at the sudden realisation.
"Get me Mustafa. Now!"
-
"Hatun Y/n was attacked by the concubines! Ibrahim pasha saved her and carried her unconscious form to her room!" A maid reported to Hurrem.
"Why was she attacked?" Hurrem asked, bored.
The maid hesitated to answer. "I am not sure, sultana, but the word is that the concubines were jealous of the attention Hatun Y/n was getting from sehzade Mustafa."
Mustafa? No. What possible business could you have with Mustafa? From the past week's events, Hurrem was told that you'd spend most of your time with her daughter, and only moments with Mehmed when he visited his sister.
"Mustafa isnt interested in Y/n." Hurrem stated, more to herself than to refute the maid's claims.
The girl nodded. "I'm only telling you what I heard, sultana. And... I also saw sehzade Mustafa leaving Mahidevran sultana's chambers to visit Hatun Y/n earlier today, just moments before I came here!"
Hurrem halted as she tried to make sense of the information. Mustafa was out all day because of the hunt, he wasnt supposed to return before dinner. Which means, he was fetched, likely by Mahidevran. Who probably informed him about your attack and now he went to check on you.
But why? Even at the dinner the other day, Hurrem didnt detect any sort of affection from Mustafa for you, or you from him. You both barely glanced at each other.
Maybe he's just checking in on you. That's all it is to it.
"How badly was Y/n injured?" Hurrem inquired.
"I didnt get a chance to see her yet, she's been with Mihirmah sultana since the event, but I heard that her unconscious body had to be carried by Ibrahim pasha himself! And- and that he even bandaged her up-"
"Ibrahim pasha?" Hurrem whispered to herself. What business did he have with you? He could've easily had a servant tend to your wounds, so why did he personally do it himself?
Ibrahim. Mustafa. Mahidevran. What are they upto? Hurrem knows Ibrahim doesnt like her, that he favours Mahidevran and Mustafa over her, that he wants Mustafa to be the next sultan-
Hurrem's heart sinks as she pieces it together.
"Get me Mehmed. Now!"
-
Suleiman was having dinner with his family. Both of his families- Mahidevran and Mustafa joined him tonight as well. He was happy to have them together, all well and healthy.
Except... something was off.
Suleiman's gut could sense it. The children were making small talk, his wives as well, but he could tell. There was some sort of tension.
It was Mihirmah that made him finally speak up.
"Mihirmah." He called out the girl who was playing with her food. "You've barely eaten. What's wrong?"
The room immediately fell dead silent, the attention now focusing on Mihirmah.
She smiled nervously, taking a small bite. "I'm fine, baba."
But Suleiman could see that her usual bubbling aura was somewhat depressing. "Mihirmah." He called her name more sternly, and this time, her smile faltered as she finally spilled.
"I'm just worried for Y/n."
Suleiman frowned. And when he looked at everyone else, it was clear that they knew something he wasn't aware of.
"What happened?"
-
Baris Agha was having fun riling you up. "So, you're telling me that both sehzade Mustafa and Mehmed, the two crown princes racing to be the next sultan, are visited you?" He snickered as you shot him a glare. "Can I just suggest you to remove the niqaab for the wedding-"
"Baris! Shut up!" You raged at him. "Dont think I dont know you were the one spreading the lies about-" "Lies? About what? About you being attacked? By concubines who are jealous of your- I dont know, I'm sorry what it is that these men seem to be enraptured with-"
There are hurried, intense knocks on the door. Baris opens the door as a servant stumbles in, out of breath.
"Hatun Y/n! Sultan Suleiman has summoned you! Now!" His tone signified that you're not to waste time.
"Why did he call for me?" You whisper to Baris as the two of you rush down the hallways.
"Perhaps he wants to formally ask you to marry one of his sons-" "Baris!" He grinned. "What? I have a sixth sense-" "YOU HAVE NO SENSE!" You yelled. "Have more sense than you." Baris grumbled.
"Why are you even following me? Dont you have a job?" You wanted him to stop vexing you.
He snorted. "And what? Miss out on all the fun? Besides, you know as the future sultana, you will need me-"
"I swear, as soon as I'm finished meeting the sultan, I am going to throw you off the roof."
The two of you turned the corner leading to the royal dining hall, and you bumped face first into Ibrahim pasha's back, the man catching you by the arms before you fell on your ass.
"P-pasha? What are you doing here?" You asked, backing up once you got your footing.
"Sultan sent for me. What are you doing here?" Ibrahim asked, equally confused.
"He summoned me as well. What do you think its about?" You watched the cogwheels in his mind turn and the realisation dawn on him.
"The attack earlier." He exhaled, closing his eyes as he tried to figure out his next steps. "We cant- you cant tell him the truth!"
"You want me to lie to the sultan?" He rose his brows. "Please, Ibrahim! I- I told Mihirmah and Mehmed and then Mustafa that I didnt know who the attackers were, or why they attacked me! If you tell them the truth-"
"Y/n." He grabbed your shoulders, staring into your worried eyes. "I promised to protect you, didnt I? I intend on keeping my promises."
You both entered the dining room together, bowing to the royal family sitting there.
"Y/n." You looked up at the sultan. "Is it true? Were you attacked?"
You were quiet for a few moments, resisting the urge to glance at Ibrahim to figure what to say, before nodding hesitantly.
"Y-yes, sultan." You trailed your eyes back to the ground. These people, they were warriors. They didnt have any technology back then, and they had to rely on body language to read people.
And you didnt want to risk him catching you in a lie.
"Are you alright?" Suleiman's voice was much softer now. "Did you go to the infirmary?"
"I'm well now, sultan. Thank you for asking." You meekly answered. "I was saved in time, thanks to Ibrahim pasha."
Mahidevran's eyes narrowed at you. Ibrahim saved you? Of course, you'd lie about that, so that no one would suspect you and Mehmed getting close. She thought to herself.
"Ah, Ibrahim pasha." Suleiman's voice turned serious. "You were the one who saved Y/n?"
"Yes, sultan." Ibrahim confirmed.
"And you have the attackers in custody?"
"Yes, sultan."
Suleiman slammed his fist on the table, rattling everyone. "Then why the hell wasnt I informed of it?!" Ibrahim kept his head down as the sultan continued to rage. "Why does everyone seem to be aware of this matter, except me?! Answer me, Ibrahim!"
Hurrem couldnt help the smile that curled on her lips. She was glad to see Ibrahim getting in trouble, perhaps Suleiman will finally get rid of him for once and for all-
"It's my fault, your majesty!" You announced suddenly, and everyone's focus shifted to you. "I- I was- I was shaken up from the attack and I- I made the pasha stay with me. I was too scared- I didnt think I was safe- so Ibrahim pasha left to make arrangements to assure me I was safe! He was busy because of me. I'm sorry! If- if anyone should be punished, it should be me!"
You held your hands together tightly to stop them from trembling. The room fell silent at your explanation, with you and Ibrahim holding your breaths.
"Is this true, Ibrahim?" Suleiman broke the silence.
"Yes, my sultan." Ibrahim answered. "After I had saved Hatun Y/n, I wanted to assure her of her safety, so I was busy interrogating the concubines who attacked her. After they confessed, I wanted to check if anyone else in the harem had any ill intentions for Hatun Y/n, so I was engaged in checking everyone who could be a possible threat. I was on my way to inform you, but you summoned me before I could."
"Concubines? Why did they attack Y/n?" Suleiman asked, wanting to know the result of his interrogation.
Ibrahim answered without missing a beat. "They were jealous of Hatun Y/n's bracelet." You looked at him but the pasha kept his eyes ahead at the sultan. "From what I gathered, Hatun Y/n refused to give up His Majesty's handmade gift, and when she put up a fight to defend your present, she was subjected to a harsh beating and had her face almost burned."
Suleiman's eyes widened. "Burned? Because of a bracelet?"
"It was what the bracelet represented, my sultan." Ibrahim's statement made your heart sink. He better not tell him about the "daughter-in-law" theory.
"The concubines think that you... favour Y/n over them." Ibrahim's words set fire to your cheeks and you had to bite your lip to suppress the gasp you almost let out.
Ibrahim decided to change the "daughter-in-law" theory to "3rd wife/bedwarmer theory".
"What rubbish?!" Suleiman slammed his fist on the table again, and perhaps everyone in the room was silently grateful for his rage and disbelief, as it disapproved the theory and quelled any future rumours. "I only see Y/n as my daughter, nothing else! How dare they slander me like that?! How dare they hurt someone I care about?! Ibrahim, execute those wretched concubines!"
Your eyes widened at the order. Preventing their death sentence was the only reason you lied and kept this charade up. You cant risk more people dying and history changing forever because of you!
"Y-your majesty!" You fell to your knees, your voice wet. "I- I beg you- I beg you on the behalf of the concubines, please- have mercy!"
Everyone watched in surprise as you cried for mercy for... your attackers?
"You... want me to forgive them? Despite what they did to you?" Suleiman asked, watching in disbelief at your tears wetting your niqaab.
"It- it was wrong- but please, they're just- they're just young girls. They made a mistake, they shouldnt pay with their lives!" You tried to come up with better reasoning. Aha!
"Sultan, I- we are Muslims. You are a role model for Muslims all over the world right now- but you have a role model as well- someone you havent met or seen, but you follow his advices and footsteps every day. Its Prophet Muhammad (PBUH)- and- and he advices us to be forgiving and merciful." Ibrahim watched you try to persuade the king.
"On the Day of Judgement, when we beg and grovel Allah for forgiveness, would He not forgive us happily if we show mercy to His creatures? If we forgive His mankind?" You pleaded and Suleiman was touched by your words, so-much-so that he walked over to you and pulled you by your shoulders before pressing a kiss to your veiled forehead.
"You're too kind, Y/n." He whispered, before nodding at Ibrahim. "Dont kill the concubines. But find a fitting punishment for them, Ibrahim." The pasha bowed his head obediently.
"And find Y/n her personal chambers in the royal wing." Suleiman stated, making everyone surprised.
No. Room in the royal wing only meant more contact with the royals themselves. This was the last thing you needed-
"Your majesty-" He held up a hand. "Dont protest, Y/n. You were hurt because of my present and while I appreciate that you defended it, I do not wish to see you hurt. Ibrahim, find her a room and shift her there by tonight. And assign a few guards and servants to Y/n as well. I dont want her to feel unsafe again." Suleiman looked at Ibrahim with a serious expression. "I trust her in your hands, Ibrahim."
"Of course, your majesty." Ibrahim nodded.
Suleiman looked back at you, a gentle smile on his face. "I would like you to join us for dinners now." He gently pushed your back and Mahidevran immediately scooted a bit closer to Suleiman's seat and patted the space beside her... and next to Mustafa.
Hurrem glared at the blatant display of intentions- Mahidevran showed her "generosity and humbleness" by letting you sit next to her to please Suleiman, and also make you sit next to her son to get close with.
At this moment, both queens are under the impression that Suleiman wants you to be his future daughter-in-law, so both women think that the other is making her son court you because the first one to marry you will produce a heir, further legitimising the prince's claim to the throne and becoming the next sultan, especially since Suleiman views you to be the perfect, pious woman who would be the perfect mother for his grandkids.
The only difference is- Mahidevran wants you to be Mustafa's spouse, not because she thinks you're a good match for her perfect son, but because she wants to speed up Mustafa's claim to the throne. She knows Suleiman prefers Hurrem over her (Hurrem's five kids are proof of that), and since she has no child other than Mustafa, Mahidevran is at disadvantage and she needs every advantage she can get, no matter how savoury it is- like you.
Hurrem on the other hand, does not want you as her Mehmed's spouse, because you're not what she had in mind for her precious son. She wants someone soft, demure, submissive, beautiful and more importantly- someone she can control. But she also knows what game Mahidevran is playing, and since Hurrem doesnt want Mustafa trying to steal the throne from Mehmed, Hurrem will have to just- get rid of you.
-
"So... the sultan just said that outloud?" Baris ate a date from the fancy table in your brand new chambers. "He just announced that you're his "daughter" to everyone?" He heard you groan a yes from your place on the bed- face buried in the pillows.
"And Mahidevran sultana made you sit between her and sehzade Mustafa?" He heard you groan another "yes".
Baris plopped down next to you. "So you're marrying Mustafa. Huh, didnt bet on that-"
"You bet on this?" You asked miserably, finally pulling your head up. "Of course, need to make money. Unlike you, not everyone has the oppurtunity to marry into royalty-"
You smack a pillow right across his face. "If I hear you talk about marriage again, I will strangle you."
Baris rolled his eyes, fixing his hair that you'd messed up. "I dont know why you're so upset. Did you want to sit next to Mehmed instead? If so, maybe I can still win the bet-"
"I dont want either of them!" You stated frustratedly, sitting up. "Do you not get it- I dont want to be a part of royalty! They're- they're all mad! My life would be in constant threat- from jealous concubines, possessive mother-in-laws, throne hungry princes. I dont want that!"
"Is it because you want Ibrahim pasha?"
You blinked at him. What? "What?"
Baris rubbed his chin. "Oh come on, I saw the way you two looked at each other before you entered the dining room- how the pasha promised to protect you, even from the sultan's wrath."
"Are you like- fishing for anything? For fun?" You shake your head at him.
Baris gave you a look. "Really? What about you going in and lying to protect him? He didnt even say anything before you took the chance to save him."
"I saved him because it was the right thing to do! Not because I love him!" You exclaimed, throwing your hand in the air. "If this is how you think, please- PLEASE resist the urge to ever help me! I dont want a proposal coming from you just because you saved me from choking."
Baris glared at you. "First of all- I'm never going to be as blind as the sehzade when it comes to love. Secondly, you'd be lucky to have me as a husband. At least your offspring will have a chance at looking somewhat normal-" You lunged at him and put him in a chokehold while Baris grabbed at your hijaab covered head to pull you off.
Your fighting match is brought to a halt as someone knocks on the door.
Mustafa stands outside your door, surprised to see Baris looking slightly disheveled when he opened your door.
"Baris? What are you doing here?" Mustafa asked, watching the eunuch fix his collar.
"Ah sehzade! Oh I was just helping Hatun Y/n adjust to her room. Shift her things in here." Baris faked a smile.
Mustafa nodded before lowering his voice. "Is she awake?"
"Yes yes- please come in." Mustafa walked inside just as you appeared out of the wooden divider screen, adjusting your niqaab.
"Sehzade." You gave him a courtesy. "How may I help you?"
Mustafa gave you a gentle smile, his moustache quirking up handsomely. "I would like to ask you to spend the day with me tomorrow."
You froze, and you didnt dare look at Baris who you knew was sporting a smug look because you didnt want to throw your shoe at his face in front of the prince.
"I- I think I am busy with Mihrimah sultana tomorrow-"
"No, I asked her. She said she's happy to skip her lessons for tomorrow." Mustafa cut your excuse. "I'll come by after breakfast. Good night, Y/n."
-
Even though Mustafa said he'll see you after breakfast, which for royals was just an hour before noon, you were woken up by Baris at the ass crack of dawn.
"Baris! What the hell?" You glared at him when he yanked the covers off you. Baris grinned at you. "As much as I'd like to believe in beauty sleep, its so not helping in your case. Come on, you need a bath and a lot of other stuff!"
He'd brought fine silk gowns and matching niqaabs (which you insisted on wearing despite Baris voicing his displeasure).
Currently, one of the maids had just finished doing your eye makeup- which in this case was kohl, and some dried berries crushed to a fine powder to make a rouge sort of shade.
"Since your eyes may be the only thing the prince sees, we need to make them bewitching!" Baris had commented before spraying you down with a lot of perfume.
"That's enough!" You push the bottle away as you coughed at the musky, earthy perfume. "Isnt that for men?" You ask coughing.
Baris's grin only widened. "Its sehzade Mustafa's favourite attar! I had to bribe his chamber servant to tell me this. And you my darling-" He sprayed you again. "-need to smell like him so that he thinks you two are a perfect fit!"
"That is literally the stupidest thing I've heard-" your insult is cut short as your vision is blinded by Baris flipping up your veil to reveal your lower half of the face and him applying some crushed berries juice to your lips.
"Just in case you have a change of morals and want to kiss the prince." He jumped back when you tried to slap him.
Soon, Mustafa came to fetch you. You two were currently walking through the royal gardens, with you giving curt answers so that he would lose interest in you and leave you alone.
Your dismissal didnt go unnoticed by him. "What do you like to do for fun?"
"Read." You answer looking at the well cut hedges. "Have you been to the royal library?" He looks down at you, finding you gazing at the flowers. "Yes. I've already read all of the books there." In college, of course.
"All of them?" His disbelief makes you look at him. Finally. Mustafa thinks.
"Of course." You answer, offended.
"Even the royal ancestry book?" Mustafa raises a brow at you.
"Yes." Your brows furrow. "Ask me anything."
He shakes his head and chuckles. "I doubt you know more about my ancestors than me."
When he looked back at you, you were still looking at him expectantly.
"Ask me."
Mustafa's curiosity got the best of him at your determination.
"This is- this is incredible." Mustafa commented, his eyes wide as he looked at the ancestry book from where he basically quizzed you. He didnt know he was talking to a historian who had pulled all nighters for pretty much every major empire for finals.
"How did you learn all of this?" He asks you, still double checking your answers.
"Oh... I have good memory." You mutter, making him shake his head at you with an amusing smile.
"Of course, I should've figured. You're a hafidha, you're passionate for learning." And passionate for making money in trivias.
Mustafa closes the book. "So, since you've read every book in here, I suppose you must be bored?" He doesnt wait for an answer when an idea pops in his mind. "Come on, lets go."
You follow him, trying to keep up with his fast pace. "Go where?"
"To get you new books." He looks over his shoulder and gives you charming grin.
Your steps falter. New books? "We're leaving the palace?" He hums.
You havent left the palace since you came here, mostly because you havent been able to leave.
You match his pace. "Lets go!" And Mustafa finally sees you excited for the first time today.
With a few Janissaries and some disguise, you all head out into Istanbul. You're looking around the city like a kid in a candy store, only you're looking for a something or someone to help you fix your time machine.
The market comes into view along with the sound of hawkers trying to attract customers. Of course, the only shopkeeper who wasnt yelling was the blacksmith, allowing his hammer to garner the attention of serious clients.
He could be of use. If you're able to find some tools, maybe even get some metal films, you could try to spark a charge and trigger the time machine to work.
You start to take a few steps towards him when Mustafa grabs your shoulder and pulls you back to him. "Where are you going? Stay close to me. I dont want to lose you." He tells you, almost in a chiding tone, but his hands carefully pulling your robes around you said otherwise.
He lead you towards a bookshop. Mustafa nodded at you to go ahead, explore and get any book you want. He'll buy it.
While you were busy browsing, Mustafa couldnt help but steal glances at you. He didnt understand why he was doing this- he couldnt really see your face, or anything except for your eyes.
Your eyes, they were pretty but its not their beauty that really captivates him. Its the swirl of emotions in them. The mystery in them, like there's... more to you. Like you're hiding something.
Perhaps it was your mannerisms. Your dismissive nature, your tendency to not be impressed easily by their eccentricities or status, almost as if you've lived with royalty before.
Maybe he likes how different you treat him him. How you dont bend over backwards to please his family, or try to pursue him or his brothers. In fact, you almost seem to be avoiding them altogether.
You intrigue him. Badly. Amusingly. Adorably.
-
"I dont understand! Where could she have gone?" Mihirmah whined to her brother at lunch. Mehmed only raised a brow. "Who? Y/n? She might be in her room recovering from yesterday's events. She was pretty shaken up-"
"I already checked! She's not there!" Mihirmah sighed before laying her head in his lap, and he began patting her hair. "She went out with Mustafa but she still hasnt returned! Its lunch time and I planned on teaching her sword fight! For self defense, you know- so that she doesnt get beat up like last time."
Mehmed's hand stopped patting. "She's with Mustafa?"
She nodded. "Since morning!"
"Huh." Mihirmah sat up, looking at her brother puzzled.
"What? What is it?" She asked him.
"Nothing." He faked a smile, but Mihirmah knew him like the back of her hand. "Mehmed. Tell me."
"I just... dont understand why Mustafa is spending time with her." He stated, standing up to walk to the balcony. "She's your teacher. What business does Mustafa have with her?"
Mihirmah watched her brother stiffen suddenly, watched the way his jaw ticked as he looked down the balcony. She stood up and joined him, following his gaze to see what he was looking at.
Its you. And Mustafa. Finally returning to the palace, servants holding piles of books following behind you two. What's even more bizarre is to see Mustafa smiling down at you while you giggled, covering your mouth despite the niqaab, making you look even more bashful.
Even Mihirmah hadnt ever seen you so joyful, and yet here you are- laughing so gleefully with her eldest brother. Step brother.
It rubbed her off the wrong way.
"You want her?" She asked him, her voice so hollow that it made Mehmed look at her.
"What?"
Mihirmah looked at him, her eyes stern. "Do. You. Want. Her?"
Unwavering determination. Thats what he saw in his sister's face.
Say the word, and it'll be done.
Mehmed stared at her.
"Yes."
-
"I hope you had a good time." Mustafa asked you as he walked you to your chambers. You nodded. "I did. Thank you, sehzade." Despite your best attempts at dismissing him, Mustafa was very persistent at breaking down your walls. And sure, part of you giggled and pretended to be flustered at his words, you mainly acted cordial so that he may take you out of the palace more often. He was your only way out at the moment.
You both stopped outside your door, the servants walking past you to place your books inside. Mustafa looked satisfied.
"If you ever need to go outside again, feel free to come to me, Y/n." He offered, before taking out a small box from his pocket and handing it to you.
Your heart dropped. A ring? Now? This fast? No no no no no-
You opened the box and you felt life returning back to you. It was a gold broach adorned with rubies and a diamond in the center, encaged in an intricate heart pattern.
"I may not share my father's gift of handcrafting jewels, but I do happen to be skilled at acquiring precious jewels on my conquests." Mustafa informed you as he took the broach from the box and looked at you for permission before pinning it to your hijab, just below your collar bone.
You were too stunned to stop him or even turn down the gift, though Mustafa took your silence as awe.
He adjusted the broach.
"Perfect." He whispered, looking into your eyes.
You watched him leave with a grin, finally able to breathe when he was out of sight.
With a sigh, you enter your chambers, half expecting Baris to be sprawled over your bed waiting to tease you for details on your outing.
What you werent expecting was... her.
"Did you have fun?" The sultana asked, her eyes sharp. "I've been waiting for you, Y/n. Lets have a chat, hm?"
Shit.
-
"You're abnormal." Your hands stop adjusting your hijab as you glare at him through the mirror.
"What?"
Baris tilted his head. "You're abnormal." He repeated.
You turn around from the vanity and glare at him. "Is this another way of calling me ugly?"
"Tch. No, I have words for that." He shook his head. "I meant, you've been acting weird since yesterday, after you returned from your secret outing with sehzade Mustafa."
"You're imagining things." You mumble, turning back to the vanity mirror and picking up the broach Mustafa gave you.
Baris scoffed. "I am not. I may have been busy with the younger royal kids yesterday, but I did manage to catch a glimpse of you giggling and blushing when you returned with the prince." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "So that means, the day went good. Something happened on the way to your chambers." He narrowed his eyes at you. "Did you kiss him?"
You whipped your head. "Baris!" He palmed his face. "Sorry, I forgot you're the religious prude. Did he kiss you?"
"No, Baris! No one kissed anyone." You began pinning the broach to your hijab, the same area where Mustafa had placed it yesterday. But you werent able to, too frustrated at the interrogation.
Baris grabbed the broach from you and pinned it in place. "So, you two didnt kiss, bought you enough books to make a you a scholar, and gifted you this broach, and you're disturbed because...?"
You frowned. "I am not disturbed. You're just reading too much into this."
"Fine, dont tell me. I'll find out on my own." You walked past him to teach your Quran lesson.
As much as you'd like to think that you're sly, Baris is right. Something did happen. After you'd returned to your room, you were met there by Mahidevran sultana.
You were reasonably scared because you thought that she's here to torture you or even kill you because you've been "seducing Mustafa" or whatever rumour Baris has spread about you.
But you were surprised when she told you that she wants you and Mustafa together, in marriage. As soon as possible. For the next half hour, Mahidevran basically told you all about the likes and dislikes of her son so that you would accustom yourself to them and then emphasised how supportive she would be of you to be her daughter-in-law. She even encouraged you to... sleep with him, she didnt say it directly but you got the meaning behind her words.
At the end of her lecture, she warned you to not spend time with Hurrem or any of her offsprings, besides Mihirmah because you are her teacher and even then told you to keep your interaction strictly formal and minimum.
When she was about to leave, she spotted the broach on your clavicle and beamed, almost proudly so. When you confirmed that Mustafa gave it to you, and started to take it off to return it to her, she stopped you and told you to wear it everyday. EVERYDAY.
"My son has given you something. You should be honoured. Cherish it." Mahidevran ordered.
The main reason you didnt tell Baris about Mahidevran and her confusing but threatening demands to court Mustafa was because of Baris's blabber mouth that couldnt hold a secret if his life depended on it.
And you have enough on your plate as it is.
You enter Mihirmah's chambers, bowing as you spot her.
"Ah! Welcome! Sit, sit!" Mihirmah pats down the seat next to her and you're slightly suspicious of her energy.
She's upto something.
You sit down beside her, opening the Quran. "I think we should start with-" She closed the book in your hands.
"In a minute. Lets talk first, hm?" She smiled at you. "How was your day off yesterday? Well rested?"
Your shoulders sag slightly. Of course, she wants to know about your day out with Mustafa. Baris probably blabbered something to spark her curiosity like this.
"Yes. A much needed break. Quite refreshing." You tell her, purposely keeping away from the details, lest she gets the wrong idea again and accuses you of whoring around your "ugly self" to her brother.
"Mmhm. Had fun with Mustafa?" Her sharp tone made you look at her.
Is she implying something?
"The prince was kind enough to get me some books." You told her cautiously, trying to ease the tension. "I think you'd like some of them-"
"Mustafa sleeps around." You blinked at her. What were you supposed to do with this unsolicited information.
"Okay...?"
She shrugged, picking up her cup of tea. "I'm just saying- he's been with a lot of women. The other day I was reading a verse from Quran where it mentioned adultery. Then I realised- thats what Mustafa is. An adulterer."
"You read Quran without me making you-"
"Mustafa is an adulterer, Y/n. Allah will not forgive him. He's doomed for hell."
"Actually, if he repents sincerely-"
"He's doomed, Y/n. Doomed." She reiterated.
"By that logic, so are most of your ancestors. I think most men, kings and princes commit adultery-"
"Mehmed doesnt." She stared at you. "He's never slept with anyone. He's a good Muslim man. Allah will be pleased with him."
What is going on here? "Um... okay. That's great news for sehzade Mehmed."
"And for you." Mihirmah announced. "You are the lucky one."
"What?"
She let out a sigh of frustration, as if she has to state the obvious. "Mehmed likes you- no, he loves you-" "Loves me?" "Shh! I'm still talking. You have caught his eye for some reason, so you should end whatever it is that you have with Mustafa and be loyal to my brother."
The room was silent, the two of you staring at each other- you, in confusion. Mihirmah, in determination.
A crow croaked outside.
"First of all, I have nothing going on with sehzade Mustafa. Secondly, Mehmed said he loves me?" You asked while trying not to show resentment.
Mihirmah scoffed. "He doesnt have to say it, I know it."
Your tension deflates to some extent. Okay, so she's just making up stuff. This can be handled.
"Mihirmah, I understand how-" you resist the urge to roll your eyes "-you may think Mehmed may be attracted to me, I am honoured, really. But I can assure you, Mehmed does not love me."
"No, I love you." Your head whips around at the sound of his voice.
Mehmed. He's standing behind you.
"Sehzade-" you begin standing up to bow to him, but he holds up a hand.
"Mihirmah's right. I love you." Mihirmah beamed proudly at standing correct.
Your eyes could only widen in horror as Mehmed sank down to sit right beside you, and with Mihirmah on your other side, you were trapped between the siblings.
"I. Love. You." Mehmed repeated, his hazel eyes staring into yours.
After several moments of silence, a crow croaked again. Mihirmah nudged you to say something.
"Um-" You cleared your throat. "Ugh... thank you."
Mehmed's brows shot up in surprise while Mihirmah broke into a fit of laughter.
"Thank... you?" Mehmed asked, and you would've thought he was mad if it werent for the amused smile on his face.
Mihirmah continued to laugh, and you had to look back at her to make her stop. "I-I'm sorry, Mehmed- this was- this was just too funny. I mean, she has a prince, the next heir of the empire confess her love and all she says is "thank you"?" She said, chuckling as she wiped the tear from her eye.
Mehmed glared at her playfully. "Well, maybe she's just shy around you." Why are they talking about you like you're not right there?
Mihirmah hummed, then nodded. "Perhaps you're right. I'll leave you two lovebirds alone. I have to do something-"
"What? Why? You dont have anything to do." You stopped her from standing up. You dont want to be alone with Mehmed.
"I do!" She narrowed her eyes at you.
"Like what?"
"Like-" her eyes zeroed in on your broach. "-pretty. Mustafa gave it?"
"Yes-" you yelped as she grabbed it and pulled it off you, ripping the niqaab it was pinned with along.
"Mihirmah!" Mehmed yelled at her, his eyes stern. You could only stare at her in disbelief before turning away from Mehmed to hide your bare face now.
"Oops! I'm sorry Y/n! I'll go get you a new niqaab- this one is all torn!" She said without an ounce of remorse before leaving the room.
Mehmed shakes his head as he watched her leave, before turning his attention to you- or well, your back.
"Y/n?" He called out to you softly. "I'm sorry for Mihirmah. She... she doesnt mean you any harm. She's just- she sometimes doesnt realise how hurtful her actions can be when she's trying to help someone."
When you didnt reply, Mehmed grew slightly worried. "Y/n?" He sighed when you didnt reply. An idea popped in his head as he looked around the room before looking down.
You heard the sound of cloth ripping, your heart dropping as you assumed the worst. He wasnt going to-
Your head turned around just as Mehmed's hands encircled around your head, a red cloth blocking your view of him.
"Mehmed?" You whispered, scared. His frozen hands seemed to snap out of it and began encircling round your head, the red cloth in his grip brought closer to your face. Thats when your eyes landed on the bottom of his red shirt (kemis). It was ripped.
Mehmed had torn his shirt to make a niqaab for you.
His eyes were focused on tying the makeshift veil, securing it before they landed on you.
"Y/n?" He called your name gently again, his concern growing at the sight of tears pooling in your eyes. He softly sighed as a his hand reached up to wipe a tear that escaped your eye.
"You're that scared of me?" After a few moments, you sniffled as more tears escaped your eyes and you shook your head. "Then?" When you didnt reply, or couldnt as you continued to cry mutely, he took it as a sign that you were humiliated because of Mihirmah removing your veil.
He took a deep breath and cupped your face gingerly before pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.
"My mind is occupied by you. I think about you all the time. Perhaps...I only think about you, moon." He wiped another tear with his thumb. "I love you, my moon. I fear I... I love you too much. My heart holds so much love for you, I can hardly call it my own anymore." He then kissed your teary eyes one by one.
"I know you... you dont love me yet, but one day, when you find yourself being generous, I want you to be the one holding my heart in your hands. Its yours, moon. Yours."
-
Baris waited with a few guards and servants outside Mihirmah's room, when Mehmed left the room with a satisfied smiled on his face. Baris noted the bottom of his torn shirt but before he could comment on it, Mehmed asked him where Mihirmah was.
"She went to see sehzade Mustafa. Shall I fetch her?" Mehmed waved him off, saying he'll go get her himself, after all- Mihirmah still had to finish her lesson with you.
Mehmed had just turned around the corner when you came out of the room.
"Y/n-" Baris called out to you but you sped past him, and he didnt chase after you when he saw your red eyes.
He'll tease you later, when you're not so sad. For now, he has to report the sight of this to someone.
-
Even if Mihirmah hadnt bumped into Mustafa and proudly showed off the broach he'd gifted you, the news would've still somehow made its way to him by the servants whispers.
"Oh this broach? Its pretty, isnt it?" Mihirmah smirked, showing it off to Mustafa. "Y/n gave it to me."
"She... gave it to you?" His gift. You gave it away?
She nodded. "Mmhm. She said it wasnt that precious to her, so she gave it. She was going to throw it away, but it went well with my dress so I took it."
You were going to discard his gift? Just like that?
"Mihirmah. There you are." Mehmed walked over to her. "Mustafa." He greeted his brother.
"Mehmed." He looked at his shirt. "What happened to your shirt?"
Mehmed grinned. "Nothing." He then looked at Mihirmah. "Come on, Y/n is waiting for you. I talked to her."
Mustafa could only watch the two siblings beam at each other as the taste in his mouth soured.
His broach. Torn shirt. Mehmed "talked" to you.
Mahidevran could feel her blood boil at the complaints Mustafa brought to her. Even if he didnt, the maids she'd hired to spy on you had already reported of everything they'd witnessed. You and Mehmed alone in Mihirmah's room.
Did you not understand a single word she said? Does she need to give you a more stern warning this time?
"Hurrem must've put them upto this." She muttered, before her gaze flickered to her worried son. She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Dont worry, Mustafa. I will fix this. You focus on Y/n, hm? You deserve her, my lion."
So? How was it?
this is so good i keep coming back to it
A Family Picture [Yandere Vash x Reader]
Title: A Family Picture [Yandere Vash x Reader]
Synopsis: Vash always wanted a family.
Word count: 2000ish
notes: yandere, possessive behavior, toxic relationship, pregnant afab reader, babytrapping
You thought you had known what it felt like to be shocked.
You were shocked when you came home from school one day to find your aunt in your house, with a sad but patient smile on her face, and the news of your parents death in a shootout on her lips.
You were shocked when you found out that the man you’d been flirting with all afternoon was Vash the Stampede, quite literally the most infamous man (if he could be called a man, technically speaking) on the planet.
But this? This goes beyond being surprised or shocked. This is something you were not expecting, ever, and it feels like you’ve been held upside down and shaken for a good long while. And then some.
“Miss?”
The doctor’s voice cuts unpleasantly through your shaking thoughts and you stare at him, feeling your gaze barely registering as you blink and blink and try to understand.
“Thank you,” you murmur, and the paper in your hands crumples as you grip it tightly and rush to get dressed. You ignore the doctor’s request for a follow up, and his remark about bringing the father in for a consultation as well.
That thought made you chuckle, bitter and breathy, as you hurried out the door of the office. Christ. You couldn’t bring the father into the doctor. Not unless you wanted to get surrounded by scientists, at best, or locked away in some lab at worst.
You had to get home. And then what? You didn’t know.
All you know right now is… you would have to tell Vash. There was no way around it.
You were pregnant with his child.
Keep reading
Virtual Breadcrumbs || Poly!141 x hacker!reader
Summary: A kinda prologue to Search History, While you're having your menty b back on base, a little bit from the boys' perspective. Specifically Simon. Alexa, play Mastermind by Taylor Swift.
Part One Next Part
CW: NSFW MDNI 18+ female pronouns , porn, porn, lots of porn allusion, the boys are all handsy with each other, Simon's lowkey manipulating the situation, again irl this is harassment, stalking warning to be safe? mentions of oral and vaginal sex, really just me being nasty from Simon's point of view
It took a long time to gain access to Simon’s inner circle. Simon Riley had a habit of being intense, all or nothing, especially for those he’s decided to care about. His captain and his sergeants were in that inner circle, and he cared deeply, implicitly, about them. Health, safety, happiness, and something Simon was especially attuned to was keeping them sated. A man of action and acts of service.
Simon was neither a poet nor a psychologist, so he didn’t spend much time or energy putting definitive terms and conditions on whatever relationship the 141 shared. He cared and he was cared for, it was intimate on all levels, and that’s all that mattered to him.
A bond forged in bombs, bloodshed, and loyalty above all else. Four soldiers at the top of their game, literally battle-hardened (double entendre completely intended). He was content with his little circle.
However, he couldn’t fault the boys for missing something a little softer. Something a little sweeter, something a little more pliant. Hell, Simon wouldn’t mind burying his nose in a neck that didn’t smell like sweat, blood, and gunpowder.
That’s where you came in. Simon’s sharp eyes didn’t miss anything.
He saw how Price’s signature little smile rested on you whenever your explanations turned a little rambling, the look of pride in his eyes when you cracked a hard encryption- he’d called in a favor from Laswell to recruit you after all. How the Captain didn’t scold you when your work outfits were outside the civilian regulations (which was often), not that Price minded the view when you’d drop something and bend over to pick it up in your pretty skirts and heels.
He saw how Gaz would lean over your shoulder, just a hair too close to be friendly, and watch in a little bit of awe as you worked, how the two of you spoke in code (literally) to each other. He would watch Gaz get a little hot in the face with your flirty little quips over comms, voice a little tight as he returned them. How the sergeant would bring you little pastries or coffees on days they were on base, how prided he seemed when your face lit up, and when you’d unexpectedly touch him- grab his hand or bicep with your pretty painted nails? Simon would notice how Kyle would excuse himself to go do something else, sometimes dragging Soap off with him.
And Johnny. He tried not to show it, the Scot was as loyal as they came. A dog, Simon called him often, a mutt when he was being obnoxious. Simon’d noticed Johnny literally sniffing around you, his head following the lingering scent of perfume and shampoo when you passed. He was touchy with you, passing it off as being friendly, hugging you just a bit too tight to feel the squish of your body against his- a kind of softness Simon, Price, and Gaz just couldn’t replicate. It was a sport for him, to get you to blush or stutter.
And, fucking hell, the banter. Your voice, slightly crackly through their headsets, leading and chiding them through missions. Something about the distance or facelessness of it made you bold and teasing. Soap would egg you on over comms, sending you both down teasing explicit rabbit holes, until Price would remind both of you that the brass had access to these audio files, and you’d get shy and go quiet, but not for long. Gaz was fairly smooth with it, not often getting out of hand until you clicked off and he’d adjust his pants and collar mid-op. Something about Price’s authority kept you a bit tamer on him, but sometimes you would slip, and the way you got all shy and apologetic, Price’s chest would puff up a bit, beard twitching with a smirk as he’d ’scold’ you.
Simon’s men wanted you, bad. But none of them were going to be the first to admit it, none of them wanting to be the first to want more. Their loyalty to each other was their greatest value, but it was holding them back this time. But Simon had a plan, all he had to do was plant the seed.
__
The 141 had holed up in a grungy safehouse to rest and recoup before moving on to the next portion of this assignment. ‘House’ was a bit generous- there was no central heating and it was little more than a kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom, the living room was basically just the foyer with a pull-out couch that took up the entire floorspace when pulled out. The mission hadn’t gone to shit, but it was proving tedious, and stretching into a longer commitment than they’d planned for. Price was miffed about the time commitment, but it wasn’t anything new, it happened all the time.
Waiting for transpo from Nik and information that you were working on. Even Simon felt the sting of disappointment when you’d told them you’d need them to quit calling, that the data Price requested from you was proving to be a challenge that needed undivided attention. They were bored. Price and Gaz had slipped off somewhere so the Captain could work out some of his irritation, which in turn got Soap huffy and touchy.
Which was why the Scot was sitting, spine curled into Simon’s side, laid across the sofa still in full gear, long legs over the side while Simon simply sat up straight ( "s’too fuckin’ cold f’ this shite", he’d muttered after they’d found the wood for the old fashioned wood stove was both wet and molding, "Body heat it is, fucks sake." ), military-issue tablet using the secure network you and Gaz had set up. Too tired to do much of anything, too mission-wired to truly relax, restless and a little homesick.
Simon wasn’t surprised that it only took two rounds of solitaire before the Scot switched to the browser and started to look through the homepage of a porn website he didn’t recognize. They both knew this strategy, get yourself off a few times and your brain releases enough ‘good’ chemicals that you might be able to get some sleep. Johnny did seem uncharacteristically indecisive, getting quickly squirmy and irritated, as he continuously clicked ’next page’ waiting for something to catch his eyes.
A sniper always sees a good shot when it lines itself up, time to plant the seed.
"Give it ‘ere." Simon gruffed, plucking the tablet out of Johnny’s hands, only smirking at the coarse language Johnny offered in return, though he didn’t attempt to get the tablet back. Waiting curiously and not so patiently for whatever Simon was going to produce, what a good dog. The lieutenant took a couple minutes to find the right seed to plant, using key phrases that produced the results he was looking for.
He let Soap peruse his yieldings. The actresses had some things in common, familiar hair and eye colors, familiar because they shared them with you. And the actors doing such filthy things to them? Well, that was the seed (double entendre not intended) Simon was planting, the bone he was throwing to Johnny, all the actors were Scottish. The sniper knew his shot landed when Soap muttered under his breath, taking the tablet back, hips shifting a bit subconsciously as he scrolled, watching the thumbnails give little snippet previews, "Steamin’ Jesus, Lt…"
"Seen you sniffin’ around our analyst. Pretty bird." Simon shrugged but his eyes were just as fixed on all the thumbnails, girls that looked vaguely like you in all sorts of positions getting rammed on Johnny’s- sorry, the actor’s cock. He saw the look of (Catholic) guilt on the sergeant’s face, swirling with lust and a pretty flush under his stubble, so Simon swooped in with another seed, motioning to a thumbnail where an actress with the same hair as you was moaning, "Bet our bird'd look better, bet she’d sound better."
The guilt was gone, the seed planted and flourishing in the Scot’s brain, Johnny’s lips growing into a wicked grin as he settled on a video, not bothering with headphones or squirreling away in the bathroom. One video turned to three, the two men taking turns chiding and teasing the other, and when his sergeant finally burst, it was your name he called out.
Yes, his plan was going to work beautifully.
___
For a quick two-minute search with the sole purpose of quickly getting Soap off, Simon hadn’t been displeased with his results. Neither had Johnny if the spring in his step and uptick in screen time was any indication. The actresses shared features with you, but he was positive there was a closer match out there. And since he couldn’t exactly ask you, their lass in the chair as Soap called you, he turned to their other tech guru and the next part of his plan. Kyle.
He was a bit more straight-laced than either Simon or Johnny, he’d be harder to convince. Simon didn’t know if he had it in him to debate the morality of purposely seeking out a porn star that was as close as physically possible to you… Or how that might affect the relationship amongst the 141… Ghost wasn’t known for being the moral backbone of the task force, and this wasn’t an issue that could exactly be bullied to be won.
So, when first met with some resistance even if Garrick’s face was flushed and he was shifting in his seat, ("Simon, that’s… I don’t know what but it’s not right. What if she finds out-") he delegated some orders to Johnny.
Simon didn’t know what the Sergeants got up to- that’s a lie, he had a pretty good idea, and he expected a repeat performance later- but when they came back, Kyle’s eyes were still a little glazed and his shoes were on the wrong feet.
"Well?" Simon raised an eyebrow looking up from the rifle he was meticulously cleaning. Johnny was smirking smugly, belt still undone, nudging the other sergeant to remind him to answer their lieutenant. Gaz was nodding wordlessly for a moment, running a hand over his hair, slumping back in front of his military-issue computer, and opening a private browser.
"Yeah… Yeah, mate, I’m on it." Kyle was practically still panting from whatever Johnny had done to/for him. Simon smirked, going back to his rifle, until after a moment when Kyle’s voice was more level, he added his requirement, "If I find her-"
He paused, cheeks heating a bit as he reworded himself a bit, "A look-a-like, I mean, I get to taste her first."
Simon could work with that. 2 down, 1 to go.
____
Lastly, John Price. Saved him for last for a reason, but he was also the easiest. Simon waited until the assignment was on the up and up again. Summit fever to push through and go home had its claws in all of them. He knew it was a good time because, after the last firefight and subsequent march through the woods to a safe zone, all the boys were too tired to fool with each other... much. Price was sitting against a tree, that ridiculous hat of his resting on his propped-up knee, face illuminated by his cigar and the light of his phone.
Wordlessly, Simon crouched beside the captain and held his hand out expectantly for the phone. Price blew his smoke with a quirked brow but was curious to what the sniper had in mind, placing the device in the waiting gloved hand.
"What’re you up to, Simon?" Price inquired suspiciously, lowering his eyes to the light of the screen as it was handed back to him. His blue eyes, older looking than the captain really was, widened for a second before darkening in the low light of the forest, "So this is what the Sergeants’ve been on about, uncanny…"
Price watched the very short prelude, a woman who looked so much like you, wearing something a little racier than you’d wear to the office but as blood rushed elsewhere, Price found the realism didn’t matter much when if he squinted… it was you stripping off a cardigan and letting some sort of authority figure pop the buttons of your blouse before shoving you under a desk with your pretty painted lips wrapping around his- sorry, the actor’s throbbing cock…
Seeing the way John’s expression shifted, Simon smirked under his mask, raising back to his full height and returning to where he’d stashed his gear. His plan was almost complete, they were in the final stretch.
___
Simon was watching over Johnny’s shoulder, his hips occasionally rutting through his clothes into the scot’s back, a video that the sniper had chosen. Soap thought it was really funny that it happened to be from your doppelganger's Halloween playlist, but now was just as entranced watching the tall domineering figure clad in all black and mask absolutely ruin you her. The bed was a perk of finally making it to an actual base, with officer’s barracks, waiting for the official expo back to you home.
“Fuckin’ hell.” Simon groaned, biting Johnny’s shoulder through his mask and the sergeant’s t-shirt, as gloved hands twisted into hair just like yours. It was hard not to insert himself into the fantasy. A knock on the door made him growl, pulling him away from the delicious video and friction that Soap’s weight against him was providing. With more force than really necessary, Simon whipped the door open, only relaxing a little bit when Price was standing there with Gaz, both of them with their strategizing faces on. So, he wasn’t the only one making plans lately.
“See the new video that got posted?” Gaz questioned, looking down to unlock his tablet undoubtedly sharing it over to Johnny’s laptop still playing on Ghost’s bed. Both Lieutenant and Sergeant shook their head no. Johnny clicked on the share notification, releasing a breath that puffed his cheeks and raised his eyebrows as he read the title alone, the video still loading in the base’s less than ideal wifi (the 141’s latest habit undoubtedly eating up most of the bandwidth).
It was your doppelganger’s stage name accompanied by the words Barrack’s Bunny Gets Gang Banged!
“Fuckin’ Hell.” Simon repeated, words almost snarling his jeans chafing him as his cock twitched in his still buttoned jeans.
“We’re having a dinner at mine.” John decided cooly, seemingly unrelated, leaning in the doorframe. His demeanor was its usual casual confidence, but his eyes were dark with the kind of want that spelled disaster for anything that stood between him and his goal. The seeds Simon had planted were growing like invasive weeds, wild and quick, “She’s invited.”
“How’re we playin’ this?” Simon questioned relinquishing the reins to his captain, he was just as much of a soldier as the rest of them, he took orders well, watching as Gaz joined Johnny at the foot of the bed, both Sergeants watching the video together, hands already starting to wander, gear being unbuckled and unsnapped. Price smirked at the sight, adjusting himself through his camo cargos.
“Cooly. Don’t wanna spook th’ sweet thing.” He smiled, mostly to himself making himself comfortable on the tiny futon that had been cramped in Simon’s room as an ‘officer’s luxury’. The captain dwarfed it, and patted the limited space beside him for his lieutenant to join him, “We’ll have ‘er eating out of our hands. And then we’ll have her.”
Price said this with the same easy decisiveness as he’d have busting a terrorist cell, but the curl of his lip, how his legs spread to accommodate the growing erection in pants noted the difference for Simon, his captain nodding towards the Sergeant’s watching the video, their breaths already getting heavy. Kyle’s hands fisting the bed's blankets like he might slip away and Johnny’s hips were already rocking a bit. Price’s smirk grew, eyes flicking to Simon before looking back forward, “You’ve been busy, Simon. Never miss anything, do you?”
It was a mix of praise and teasing that, from his Captain, made Simon’s affirmative grunt a bit lower, something twisting in his gut, like a pet that wanted to be stroked more. Price chuckled deeply, nodding, “Bet that thick head’a yours hasn’t considered why you noticed alluv our infatuations with our little analyst, ‘ave you?”
Simon didn’t respond, watching how Johnny’s eyes lit up much in the same way they did when he was presented a puzzle (bomb) that caught his interest, how he moved Kyle’s hands aside and rewinded the video, once, twice, three times at something your lookalike did that scratched his brain just right. Mutt, Simon thought, waiting for Price to continue, knowing that the captain couldn’t resist teasing him just a bit. He’d expected as much, maybe a vulgar comment or two. He was not expecting a truth bomb that turned him both introspective and horny.
“Only reason you noticed how much we liked ‘er, cause you’re always watching her. You watch her just as much as y'watch any of us, wonder what that might mean?” Price shrugged, one hand working at his belt buckle before motioning for Gaz to turn the volume. The Captain actually laughed at the look in Simon’s eyes that most would miss before nodding back to the video and the Sergeants, “Now, watch the show."
Fucking hell.
__
Maybe it was that little bite of introspection or the flight home where they fleshed out every last detail of their plan to get you, the real you. (“Gaz and Johnny’ll do the leg work, play up the charm, and Ghost and I’ll work the opposite angle, strong and silent.”). Maybe it was how eagerly excited Soap was or how Ghost spent his extra time scrolling through your Instagram. Maybe it was the two brief interactions with you upon returning to base- how pretty your eyes were looking up at him through your lashes, how good you smelled, the movement of your skirt as Johnny spun you around, how you got jittery under his slightest touch in the briefing room…
By the time he found himself on Price’s couch, he was impatient. Knee bouncing, checking his watch, making Gaz track your location. When you’d been sitting out in your car for more than fifteen minutes, he all but growled, snapping at Soap, “Go get ‘er.”
And when Soap guided you inside, pulling one of those bright smiles out of you with his own jokes, and Gaz was helping you out of your coat like unwrapping a present, your cheeks already flushed all pretty from the Sergeants’ tag team flirting routine… He didn’t think he could wait for Price to put the steaks on the grill, he needed something to sink his teeth into, sooner rather than later. He was sure if he bit the curve of your neck, it’d be a lot like biting into a ripe peach… supple and sweet. Just like you.
Oh, his plan had worked, the seeds were planted and growing and overtaking every other thought in his mind other than making sure him and his boys were sated at dinner tonight, and you were on the menu.
____
To quote Sir Mix-A-Lot, "Little Does she know I'm a nasty DAWG."
Y’all are getting this because my writing app deleted what I had done on Search History pt 2. Reminder- the reader is loosely based on Penelope Garcia from Criminal Minds. The physical description is pretty vague, but lots of skirts and heels and makeup are mentioned, and I might have gotten carried away and implied
Once again: thanks to any and all tags and comments, i collect them and they will be buried in my pyramid when I die. seriously, they inspire me to keep going and I screen shot them to show to my friends :))))
Also so sorry if you got tagged twice im bad at taglists!!
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polluted geto suguru, gojo satoru, ryomen sukuna, kamo choso/f!reader word count: 11k warnings: 18+ MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT, recreational drug use (weed), dubious consent, slight sexual coercion, sex under the influence, gangbang, oral sex (f! and m!receiving), double penetration (oral and vaginal), biting, spitting, creampie, snowballing, pussyjob, fingering, choking, squirting, hair pulling, generally rough sex, implication of non-consensual filming/photography, shotgunning, college!au, no curses!au, slight dumbification, ft a cameo from nanami. a/n: this is a continuation of a drabble i posted ages ago (the first few hundred words of this fic!) feel free to skip that if you’ve already read it. also these tags alone are sending me to hell. enjoy! never talk to me about this again! crossposted to AO3
“D'ya want some?” Gojo asks up at you, his head in your lap as you tap at the screen of your cellphone idly, leaving a heart on a friend’s perfectly filtered photo that only makes you feel a little bitter when you look at it.
“Hm?” you ask, glancing down towards him as he peers up at your face. He has a bag of gummy candy resting on his tummy, and you part your lips and stick your tongue out slightly, asking for one of his sweets.
He lets out a little heh at your expression before popping a pink and blue candy–dusted with a sweet-sour crystalline coating–into your waiting mouth.
“I meant the weed,” Gojo answers your earlier hum only once you begin to chew the treat he’d just fed you. He sticks his thumb in his mouth, licking it clean of the tangy sugar that clings to it. “D'ya want some?”
“Oh,” you reply, eyes flickering to the other side of Gojo and Geto’s dorm room where Choso is seated on the floor, a pillow on his lap and an old DVD case on top of it. He’s diligently packing the ground up weed into a rolling paper–little bits of green clinging to the tips of his fingers like the sugar had to Gojo’s. “I don’t think so.”
You really shouldn’t.
Keep reading
The Alchemy vol. II
jason todd x fem!reader
aka the progression of your relationship with the red hood
part one
warnings: depictions of blood and injury, standard gotham violence, jason doesn't know how to have feelings, reader is angry, threats against readers life, implied concern of sexual assault
It might be a matter of deficiency in self-preservation skills, how the sound of your window sliding open does nothing to phase you. You don’t know if that’s your fault or his.
“How’s it goin’ down there?” You mumble, not sitting up from your position on the couch.
He pushes the window shut in his wake, huffing. “I am up here for a reason,” he says factually.
You crane your head back just in time to see him tug the red helmet off his head, setting it down on your side table. He has on his under-mask that covers the lower half of his face. You don’t like that one.
He glances around your apartment as he approaches with slow steps. “Why are all the lights off?”
“Forgot to turn ‘em on,” you tell him simply.
He frowns at you, confusion evident.
You pay him no mind though, taking an exaggerated breath and pushing yourself up off the couch before trotting over to the kitchen. You open the fridge and scrummage for a water bottle. Jason thinks it’s odd how long it takes you to find one in your own fridge.
Once it's (eventually) in your hands, you chug down several gulps and toss the half empty bottle towards the counter where it lands with a sloppy thump and rolls.
When you return, he’s leant against the armrest of your chair, watching you. You stop in the middle of the room, a contemplating stare on the floor. He tilts his head at you, wondering what you could possibly be thinking so hard about.
You take a deep breath before plopping down to lay on the carpet all in one go.
He peers down at you, barely trying to hide his amusement. “You’re drunk.”
You shake your head, “I’m not sober.”
“That’s—yeah.” He stands all the way, coming to lay down on the floor next to you, using significantly more coordination than you had.
He lays in between you and the couch, though it doesn’t seem you’d left him much room. If he minds, it doesn’t show. “What’d you do?”
“I jus’ went out with my friend,” you tell him, closing your eyes. “She moves pretty fast..”
It occurs to him that you might be laying on the ground because you got nauseous. He turns to look at you, scanning you over. “You good?”
“I feel great,” you keen. “I feel…swooshy.”
He gives you a bemused look. “Dizzy?”
You shake your head with a great deal of consideration on your face, “No, not even dizzy, just…swoosh.” You throw out a hand with a theatrical flick.
“Mhm.”
You pucker your lips to the side. “You come here a lot,” you comment, clearly working up to some greater observation.
“You’re in my neighborhood,” he shrugs.
Your head tilts, “You live here?”
He pauses before correcting himself, “My territory.”
You hum, “Still. There has to be other people around here you know. ‘Specially if you’re passing out on balconies on the reg.”
He frowns, “I try not to make a habit out of it.”
You continue on, “Why do you always go to my apartment? There’s—”
“I don’t always come to your apartment—”
You deadpan, “You’re here like three nights a week. And I don’t even help you that much anymore, you’ve used up my whole first aid kit.”
You can literally feel the eyeroll like you have a sixth sense for it. “That thing wasn’t exactly impressive to start with..”
“Did enough for you, didn’t it? Anyways, my point is: I think you like me,” you say with a nod.
That has him going absolutely rigid, “What?”
“I’ve heard you’re an asshole.”
“What?”
You nod, “Like, people that run into you. They say you’re kind of a dick. You help ‘em ‘n everything, but also while being a dick. Sometimes.”
“Okay...”
“But you’re nice to me. Sort of,” you squint. “I think you like me.”
He hasn’t felt this straggled in a conversation in a while. “I—well I’m not here because you’re a world-class medic.”
You scoff, “There’s no world-class medics..” But then your tone switches up, into something lighter. “We’re friends aren’t we? I think we’re friends.”
He shakes his head, staring up blankly. “Sure, we’re friends.”
“We’re friends and you like me,” you reiterate.
He really wishes you’d stop saying that. “Okay.”
“I like you too. Even though you’re kinda sketchy.”
He doesn’t know what to say to that.
You hum into the silence, looking up at the ceiling. “J…James, Jack, John…”
He smiles, gaze dancing across the egg-whitened popcorn texture of the ceiling. “I’m not going to tell you.”
You ignore him, “Jake, Jaden, Jason, Josh, Joe, Jesse…”
You’re about three shots too drunk to notice the way he briefly stiffens.
“Juuhhh…” you lull your head to the side, the letter fading out slowly as you look into his eyes. If you focus, you think you can make out a few of those little specks of green again.
He seems to already be running his own study on your irises, his eyes now softer than you can remember seeing them before.
His next words are whispered, the sounds barely escaping. “You’re pretty.”
What?
“What?”
“What?” He seems taken aback by his own words, like he also wasn’t expecting them to climb out of his mouth.
You can literally feel sobriety seeping back into your blood. “I’m…pretty?”
He blinks a few times, apparently trying hard to decide on what position he’s going to take here. “I—well…yeah.”
You blink once, relaxing. “I think…I think you’re pretty too.”
“What?”
“We can’t do this again.”
He breaks eye contact, looking almost dejected.
You turn your head down to where his hand thrums against the carpet. “I mean, I know I haven’t seen your whole face in one go, but I see the top half now and the bottom before, so I…maybe I shouldn’t be saying this.” You reset with a shallow breath, “I don’t know what your whole face looks like.”
“That was,” he blinks, eyebrows raised. “Fascinating.”
“Thanks,” you say flatly. You close your eyes again, though this time you remain facing him.
He feels a slight pang of guilt for the way he continues to ogle at you, eyes tracing over every detail of your face. But that ounce of guilt does nothing to outweigh the reward of gazing upon you. He didn’t mean to say it but he definitely meant it: you’re really fucking pretty.
Your eyelashes flutter for a moment before stilling, a display of peace washing over your features. It’s when your breathing steadies over and your face relaxes completely is when he starts to feel like a creep. It takes a lot of strength for him to force his eyes shut, depriving himself of the view.
And he doesn’t do it on purpose, but after a few moments his inhales and exhales take to the same rhythm of yours. The thin layer of the rug isn’t doing much to protect his back from the hardwood below and he’s pretty confident later he’ll curse himself for lying like this for so long.
But as he lays, he doesn’t find himself focused on the dark red-gray of his eyelids like usual, so much as the warmth from the proximity of your bodies. He’s usually so concentrated on whatever the hell is going on in his head and it prevents him from really truly resting, but now, the only thing taking up his attention is physical sensations.
He feels this warmth in his heart that if he didn’t know any better, he’d call burning. His hands feel numb and he can distinctly feel the beat of his own heart in his chest, thrumming away.
He presses his lips to your forehead with a feather light touch, slow to pull away. He doesn’t make it all the way back to his original position before his movement lulls and his body relaxes again, joining you gladly in unconsciousness.
Gotham City has a particular gift for inconveniencing you at the worst possible moment and doing it multiple times a week.
Tonight's round of problems resulted in an entire city district getting shut down, the district which is regrettably right between your job and your apartment.
So on top of having to hole up into your work for two hours longer than you were supposed to, it took you an extra 45 minutes getting home while trying to maneuver around every other person in the same situation. And just to cement the quality of this night, the door to your apartment building slams nice and hard against your side and the light in the hallway is out.
You groan when you fail to get your key the lock the right way for the third time, lodging it in a final time and shoving the door open. You flick on the kitchen light and dump your bag onto the counter, kicking the door shut behind you.
You take a deep breath, eyes closed, as you lean your head back against the wall. The second you crack your eyes open again, a pile of red mass on the floor behind your couch catches your attention and startles some energy right back into your chest.
“Oh, shit,” you scurry over towards the window, crumbling down onto your knees in front of him. Your eyes dart across the red helmet, trying to makeout any signs of consciousness. “Hood?”
There’s no response from him, no movement. You tug his helmet off, finding him eyes-closed with blood running down the side of his head. You push a hand down on his chest armor, shaking him. “J? J!”
His eyes flutter open slowly under his domino mask, adjusting to the light. With the disorientation on his face he looks younger, more his age. His hair is tousled up and you can make out some distinct curls in it when it's undone like this.
He grimaces, gloved hand coming up to his head. He looks wearily at the blood on his fingers, before plopping his hand back down and blinking up at you. “Hey..”
You sit back on your heels with a sigh, “What the fuck?”
He makes a strained effort to sit up on his own so you try to heave him up by his forearm. As he comes up all the way you glance behind his back at a bag crumpled discarded on the floor. You can barely see some sort of fabric poking out the top. “What is that?”
“Huh?” He throws back a tired glance, “Oh. They're..curtains.”
“Explain.”
He looks at you blankly, “You don’t have any curtains.”
You blink. “Explain.”
“It’s dangerous for people to just be able to look in and see you. So. Curtains.” For a guy who reads Dostoevsky, he’s not much of a wordsmith. Though that could be the concussion.
You reach around him and pull some of the fabric out of the bag, inspecting the linen. They match the theme of your living room.
You set it back down, blinking. “Thanks.”
He only gives a half-hearted shrug.
You look back at him, “How bad is the…?” You gesture to the side of your head.
He feels at the blood again, “It’s mostly just a cut. Shoulda stopped bleeding by now.”
You nod, “I’ll, uh—I’ll clean it up.”
He looks at you, shaking his head. “You don’t need to. Your kit’s almost empty anyways.”
“I restocked it,” you tell him, rising to stand. He lets you go retrieve your aid box without protest, listening blankly to the faucet run in the bathroom while you’re gone.
You return momentarily, damp rag in one hand, kit in the other. “Here, sit on the couch,” you tell him, nodding him up.
He lugs himself up off the hardwood and onto the cushion with a groan. You position yourself on the cushion next to him, leaning over to inspect the cut. You brush through his hair as gently as you can, though you have to suspect he wouldn’t have minded either way—if only based on the pain threshold you know him to have.
As much as you are completely in his space, you’re having trouble getting all the access you need to fix him up right. You turn and adjust your angle this way and that but none of it works.
You huff, sitting back. “I can’t..”
He nods his permission at you without delay, and you shift yourself over to sit fully on his lap, straddling him on the sofa. You put your focus into cleaning his wound, but you have to notice how deep he’s breathing and how he’s seemingly trying very hard to avoid eye contact. You’re sure your own breath is uneven and telling, and frankly you’re kind of hoping he has a concussion just so he might not notice it.
An unexpected sting has him flinching and grabbing your hips on instinct, a certain heaviness lingering in the air after contact. His hand tenses and he’s about to remove them from you completely when you manage to catch his gaze, and the few moments of silent eye contact are enough to convince him to stay. He forces his hands to relax against your waist, his fix on your face wavering before fizzling away completely.
You go back to dabbing at the blood and it’s clear that his thoughts get the better of him quickly. “You should move.”
“But then where would you go?”
He makes a rumbling noise from the back of his throat at that, saying nothing more.
You continue to wipe away at the blood until you can’t see it anymore, beyond the slice of the cut. You misjudge your own spatial awareness as you pull back from him, and the tips of your noses graze. Though the contact surprises you, you don’t move away from it. You become very acutely aware of his touch on your waist, how warm it feels atop your shirt.
His head leans forward just barely before stopping. He retreats slightly and his body ultimately decides to come closer. He doesn’t stop until his lips, slightly parted, skim across yours.
Your breath catches as he looms nearer, lips touching against yours softly. He tests that pressure out for a moment, before moving to kissing you with more intent. You kiss him back, and though there’s an increasing resolve on both of your parts, the connection itself remains gentle, reposeful.
The last slight movement of his lips gradually slips away as he rests his forehead against yours.
A long beat passes before he’s tightening his grip on your waist and pulling you up to stand. You aren’t given the time to process the shift as he’s moving straight past you, head down. He pauses only when he gets to the window, back turned to you.
“Sorry—I’m…” his shoulders drop, “Sorry.”
He climbs out and scales the fire escape in total silence until he’s gone completely.
You stand frozen in position, staring at the window with incredulity burning across your face.
What the fuck?
Two weeks pass of voided midnight visits.
You’re not sure what to make of that. He kissed you, not the other way around. You couldn’t possibly have done something to upset him or throw him off since he’s the only one who did anything. All in all, it’s a little disappointing.
There had been tension there and it wasn’t shocking for you to learn that he wanted to kiss you. It was a bit of a surprise for him to actually do it, though not a bad one. But you were thrown for a grand fucking loop when he immediately bailed out.
Maybe you can’t read him as well as you think because you’d expected him to at least say something about it. It was a borderline given that he would come back and there would be a bonus surplus of tension but then there would be a resolution. Because he wouldn’t kiss you and then never come back. Nobody would do that, it doesn’t make sense.
It’s a little more than embarrassing to admit that you’ve been purposefully staying home in the hope that he’ll drop in. After fifteen nights of disappointment, you decided to put your focus elsewhere.
You’d asked a friend of yours to go out with you tonight, and never one to decline a night out, she agreed happily.
The bell above the door jingles as you crack it open, peaking your head in. You find Chloe quickly, stood behind the bar with bottles in hand.
“Hey gorgeous,” she smiles at you, waving you in.
You step in, air conditioning hitting you hard. The sparkles on her cocktail dress catch your eye as she turns this way and that, trying to find the right spot for the whiskey.
Chloe hums to herself as she searches, honestly taking a bit longer than she should. “You been cool?”
You nod, “Yeah, just—you know…” She doesn’t. Your affiliation with the Red Hood is something you’ve kept to yourself, though you don’t know why. It would be safer, more responsible to let someone else know about these drop-ins, but something about it feels personal. A strange feeling to tack onto it, you think. A regrettable one, at least.
You take a deep breath, “You’ve been busy. Jessie call out again?”
She laughs dryly, “Oh yeah, of course. But it's fine, I love staying over an hour after close.” She sighs, “I’m almost done anyway.”
You circle around the bar, looking over the several yet-to-be-sorted bottles. “You need help?”
“No, there’s—” she cuts herself off as she looks over at the front door, face dropping. “Oh, shit. Duck.”
“Wha—” she yanks you down to the floor to crouch awkwardly behind the counter.
You hear the bell ring as the door swings open, followed by several pairs of footsteps and low voices.
“—Christ, if she forgets to lock the door one more fucking time I’m gonna kill her.”
You look at Chloe through furrowed eyebrows, her grip on you still tight. She shakes her head and puts a finger to her lips.
A second man mutters something you can’t make out.
The first voice continues, “Go around back and lug the crates in, we gotta start packing that shit.”
Another voice, “The crates? They’re not here..”
There’s a heavy beat before the first voice speaks, “What the fuck do you mean they’re not here? She needs them now.”
“Well…the first shipments will be in later this week. The next batch’ll take until the end of the month, probably.”
A sigh, “Dumbass…”
The first voice huffs, “The end of the month? Are you fucking kidding me? I told you to get that shit ready weeks ago and you’ve got it coming in at the end of the month?”
“I’ll…I’ll see what I can do to get it sooner.”
“Yeah, you do that,” he grumbles. “Motherfucker. I need a drink. Get a bottle of something.”
One of the men rounds the counter, tracks falling short at the sight of you and Chloe huddled against the counter.
“What the fuck?”
You and Chloe are wide-eyed and frozen as he sneers down at you. Still, he looks like he’s trying to be tougher than he is, compensating for size that he does not have, with an attitude that doesn’t match up with the way he sped around the counter to get the other man a drink.
Another guy comes around and you quickly recognize him as the man in charge. He frowns at Chloe, sighing, “You’re not supposed to be here still, Chloe.”
She shifts her weight, “I was just…finishing inventory…”
The bossman’s eyes move to you, laced with nothing but inconvenience. “Oh and you brought a friend. Great.”
“Mr. Murray, we were just ab—”
He’s quick to cut her off with a hand, “Chloe. Stop talking.”
Her face falls flat and her words die off without hesitation.
“Get up.”
She’s pushing herself off the ground instantly while you’re still on the floor catching up with what the hell’s going on. As she moves out from behind the bar, you scurry to follow her. Your arm bumps against hers as you fiddle with the seams at the bottom of your outfit.
You dressed to go out with your friend on a Friday night, not to meet three mobsters in a closed bar with no witnesses. That’s to say, you’re feeling a little exposed.
You stand in the center of the bar, the three men looking various degrees of annoyed looks across their faces. Though the oldest looking of the bunch has something else in his eyes as he looks you up and down, in no rush to hide his engrossment in your bare legs.
“How old are you, honey?” Even without the blatant ogling, that’s never a good question to hear from a fifty year old man.
Your eyes avert to the floor, lips pursing.
“Hey, don’t be rude. I asked you a question.” He nudges your chin up a bit rougher than necessary, forcing you to look him in the eyes.
Somehow, you feel like there’s no answer here that would help you.
The man at the bar serves as an unexpected saving grace of sorts, muttering, “We don’t have time for this.”
Your pursuer shakes his head, looking you over in a way that makes you feel very small. “I think we got plenty of time.”
“I disagree.”
All heads whip to the doorway where the Red Hood leans against the frame, checking his phone. A never invited but always welcome addition to the party. At least for you.
The man in front of you instantly steps back, putting some distance between the two of you. Hands across the room instinctively fly to holsters only to begrudgingly relax at their sides, probably figuring drawing on Red Hood isn’t in their best interest. Though your focus lies on the bell above his head that didn’t make a peep whenever he came in.
Hood shuts his phone off and puts it away with a quiet sigh before glancing up at the tension-filled room. He literally double takes when his helmet scans past you. You somehow feel more in trouble now than you did two minutes ago.
“Hood..” the bossman says measuredly. “What are you doing here?”
He stares at you for a second longer before tearing his gaze away. “Just thought I’d check up on you, Murray. Make sure you’re not causing trouble in light of our agreement.” He makes a point of looking back at you and Chloe at that last part before looking to Murray expectantly.
He waves that off easily, “This is nothing. Just two late-shift employees.”
Hood takes a piqued breath. “You picked a bad time to lie to me,” he says flatly.
Murray shakes his head, “Look, we’re just cleaning up a mess. No harm.”
“Really?”
“This clean up benefits you too, they heard too much. The one girl—Chloe, get out. She’s fine, she’s not talking.”
Chloe wastes no time exiting hastily. Bye Chloe.
He continues, “We only need to kill one of them.” He says it like this is an ideal compromise. You’re feeling differently.
Hood huffs, pulling out a gun from his holster. “I’m thinking it’s implied that killing innocent people is a form of causing trouble. Which is in direct violation of our agreement.” He cocks the gun, pointing it at Murray’s head.
Murray steps back dramatically, throwing his hands up. “Hey, an alliance is an alliance!”
Hood wavers his head to the side, “Alliance is a strong word. Temporary tolerance maybe…”
The short man pipes up, “Okay, calm down, calm down. Nobody needs to get killed. We can cooperate.”
“That’s the spirit,” Hood quips, lowering his gun.
The older one shakes his head, “We don’t have anything on her, she’ll talk.”
The short man demurs, “We don’t know that—”
“She saw too much, we can’t have her walking around with that information,” Murray says, moving towards you.
Hood puts his hands up like some kind of mediator, “Nobody’s killing anybody.”
Murray scoffs, “You were gonna kill me!”
Hood's hands drop as he stands in full, “And I still might!”
Boldly, Murray steps up to him.
But Hood looks down at him, easily a full head taller than him and at least twice his muscle mass. “Let's weigh out your odds here, Murray. Is that a fight you’re winning?”
The look on Murray’s face tells you it’s not and he struggles to maintain this chest to chest confrontation.
It only takes him a moment of wavering to decide to back off, though he sure as hell doesn’t look happy about it.
Hood pushes past him, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you towards him.
Murray splutters, watching you go. “You can’t—I-I know people.”
“I am people,” Hood grumbles, steering you towards the door.
Though you can be sure they have them, no one voices any objections aa he pulls you outside.
His stride doesn’t even falter as he marches you down the sidewalk in the direction of your apartment. Aside from the sound of the breeze wisping past your ears, it’s silent between you.
After two blocks you get the strong impression that this muted exchange of energy is just going to keep on, so you force yourself to find something to rattle off about. “That uh, that seems like something he’s gonna be mad about.”
He huffs, “Yeah, well he can get over it or die so I guess it’s a personal choice.”
You frown at his tone, “What’s your problem?”
That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say as his head snaps in your direction. “Why the hell are you out here?”
His sharp attitude has you stumbling a bit. “Why are you out here? You have a concussion.”
“I don’t have a concussion,” he grumbles. “And I just saved your life so maybe complaining about it isn’t your best move right now.”
You try to stop and face him but he doesn’t let you, keeping you moving along with him. “That’s what we’re doing? Really?”
Are these about the social skills that you had expected from him based on your first meeting? Yeah. But that first meeting was months ago. He’s proven again and again that he has half a brain and the ability to read a room so you’re really not fucking sure what the hell his problem is. He won’t acknowledge that he kissed you and all but jumped out your living room window, but he will snap at you for asking about his concussion that there’s no way he doesn’t have. Especially if he’s acting like this.
He ignores your comment, blatantly at that. “Did they say anything about a drug shipment?”
This is what we’re talking about? Sure. Fine. At least you’re talking.
You open your mouth briefly before closing it again, eyes narrowed. “I don’t know.”
He tries again, “What about Nocturna? Did you hear that name?”
“I…I don’t know.” You weren’t exactly taking notes behind the bar counter.
His head drops down heavily, “Okay, I think I’m seeing a trend for how this conversation’s gonna go...”
You gawk at him, astonished that he thinks it’s you who’s handling this discussion poorly. “You cannot be serious right now.”
He sighs, slowing as you approach the steps to your building, “Just—why’d they let Chloe go?”
You blink a few times, “I mean, she has a drug problem…” You guess that might be where she’s getting them from…
He nods solemnly, “Okay.”
You huff, turning to walk up the steps, shoulders heavy. You hope he’ll come up with you and maybe, just maybe, address the elephant in the room.
“Are you—” you turn around to face him again, met with nothing but vacant air.
A deep, tense, breath from you before calling out, “Really?”
One month. One month. And he decides to show up tonight like it’s no time lost. But there was some fucking time lost.
Count ‘em up, that’s one period, two paychecks, three grocery trips, four laundry days, and thirteen showers. And that stupid fucking vigilante ransacked your head during every single one.
You went through the five stages of grief for this bizarre, undefinable relationship and then discovered about six more while you were at it.
So when you walk out from the bathroom, you’re a little pissed to see him sitting there on your living room floor, helping himself to a glass of water.
Maybe it’s his domino mask that gives his expression the illusion of neutrality. Or maybe he really has no idea how insane it is that he would occupy your apartment like this after skipping out on you for an entire lunar cycle.
He leans against your armchair, inspecting a scratch on his lower arm. You enter silently, watching him the whole time as you make your way over to the far end of the couch.
He doesn’t look up at you though, not until after a minute or two of silence.
“You got any bandages left?” he asks, throwing a glance over his shoulder.
You stare at him incredulously.
After ten seconds with no response from you, he turns around fully, frowning. “What?”
“Are you kidding me?”
“I—” he squints, eyes flickering across your face. “No?”
You continue to gawk at him, not trying for any words.
He stares back, eyes wide. “I don’t know what you want me to say...”
You tear your gaze from him, preferring to stare at the wall. “You know what, I think I know what your problem is.”
He gives a laugh with little life to it. “I only have one?”
You bite down on your lip, “You only have one I’m ready to kill you over.”
He sits with that for a minute. A long minute, before asking softly, “What is it?”
You shake your head, glaring at an unoccupied nail in the wall. “That you’re an idiot,” you mutter. You start to walk away before turning around again after a few steps. “Where the hell have you been?”
He blinks, “Uh, there’s just been a lot of—”
“Bullshit.”
He’s about to argue his point, but quickly decides to concede, “Yeah.” He takes a deep breath, sitting back. “I…wasn’t prepared for this conversation,” he says carefully.
You scoff with a nod, “Yeah, neither was I, but it’s happening. I m—what did you think was going to happen here? I—you kissed me, you kissed me!”
“No I—” he huffs, “I shouldn’t have done that, okay?”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
He sighs, throwing his hands up at his sides. “What do you want me to say?”
You shrug without genuinity, “Anything that could possibly rationalize that sequence of decisions. You kiss me, run away, ghost me for a fucking month, and then show up again like nothing happened.”
He shuts his eyes, shaking his head. “I know, I know, I’m sorry!”
“I’m not asking you to be sorry, I’m asking you to pick a fucking lane and stick to it!”
He falls silent at that, eyes on the floor. It’s quiet for long enough that you start to think he’ll accept the silence as his cue to leave. You’re not sure if you want him to or not.
You take a deep breath, eyes closed. “I need you to start being straight with me. Now.”
He doesn’t look up, taking his time to find his words. “I am sorry,” he tells you. “I…I’m not good at this. I’m not good with words so I shouldn’t have fucking done it.”
Honestly you weren’t expecting him to actually come up with a reason, so you’re not prepared to weigh out whether or not it’s a good one.
“I like you...a lot. And I didn’t know—I don’t know—what to do about it so I kissed you and I didn’t think it through, and…I guess I panicked.”
That’s more than enough for you to warrant looking back over at him. It doesn’t take long for your gaze to start shifting around awkwardly while you scratch at your neck. “I would’ve taken you for more of a fight over flight kinda guy.”
He nods to himself. “Jus’ depends..” he says quietly.
And then it seems neither of you have anything else to say. You’ve run out of angry words to spit and he’s run out of apologies and excuses. But neither of you feel like you’re done.
The quiet lingers on for a painful amount of time. Your annoyance dissipates into something else, something more uncomfortable, but you couldn’t find a name for it. It’s got your thoughts going faster though and your chest feeling more hollow. Maybe not hollow…maybe just softer.
He cuts through your thoughts before you can, “Are you mad that I kissed you?”
You shake your head, “No. I’m mad about what happened after.” You’re just mad about what happened after. Should’ve said just.
He thinks about that for a moment.
“I can be honest with you,” he tells you. The way he says it, it’s somewhere between a peace offering and an assurance to himself.
You look at him again. He reads oddly vulnerable for a man his size with his reputation. You believe him.
He goes on, “I trust you, you know? I want you to trust me too, if you can.”
You blink a few times, processing. “I…I don’t know anything about you.”
He nods, an anxious aura radiating around him. He leaves you hanging for longer than a few moments, getting you convinced that the conversation is just going to end there.
It doesn’t though, and after a few minutes, he sits up and reaches up to his mask.
It has you sitting up too, like he just pulled out a gun. Your hands fly up instinctually, as though this is completely uncalled for, as if he’s crazy for doing it.
He pauses his movements for a moment, making eye contact with you. His eyes reaffirm his words. He trusts you and he wants you to trust him.
You allow your hands to relax onto your lap and he continues on, taking his mask off.
You’re not revealed to much more of his face than you’d already seen before, but entirely in view like this, he’s a sight. You try not to stare but there’s little reward to removing him from your sight whereas the alternative…
All together like this you can see how his features balance his face out so nicely and make for a warm countenance, if not rough.
He takes a deep breath, setting his mask to the side. “My name is J…” he says with assurance. “Todd,” he tacks on.
You don’t mean to, really, but you’re sure the frown on your face is evident as puzzle pieces start forming and connecting in your mind.
J…Todd…J…Jay…Todd…Jason…Todd…
Your mouth hangs open, “You’re Jason Todd. You’re de—” Well a couple things are starting to add up. “How are you…how are you not—”
He waves that away, tiredly. “It's a long story. Not particularly happy, either.”
Autopsy scar. Fuck.
“I mean, I’ll…” he hesitates, “I’ll tell you if you want me to.”
He says it, but discomfort is painted across his face. You’re quick to shake your head, “It’s okay.”
He nods, likely relieved.
You stand up from your seat, crossing the room to sit down next to him. You’d half-expected him to tense up, but his body relaxes when you lean back against the chair.
You close your eyes before asking, “Who’s Nocturna?”
“She’s just this woman that’s been causing trouble for us.”
You don’t say anything and he continues on, shaking his head. “She’s more annoying than anything.”
You open your eyes, looking over. “Yeah?”
He shrugs, “Just trying to take over the underworld, the usual stuff. Nothing you need to worry about.”
You give a laugh that’s barely more than an exhale, relaxing your body completely..
There’s the slightest lull in activity before he sets his hand down on the floor, right on top of yours. The sounds of your breathing are the only thing that fill the room for a few minutes, save for the occasional car horn.
He glances at the clock on the wall, nearing midnight. “I have to go...” He says reluctantly.
You try not to let the disappointment show through your body language. “Go where?”
He pauses before telling you, “A cemetery.”
You nod vacantly, “Oh. Just for fun, or…?”
He gives a dry laugh, “Just meeting an associate. They’re a bit dramatic, so.”
“Yeah, I’d say.”
“I’ll come back—I’m going to come back,” he mutters against your hairline.
You don’t respond, but you both know he’s good for his promise.
He looks around your apartment for a second before seemingly getting an idea. He pushes himself up off the ground and heads for your kitchen. You watch as he rips a sticky note off the deck on your fridge and scribbles something down on it.
He returns to you, kneeling down and pushing the square of paper into your hand. “Here,” he says, looking you in the eye. “If you need anything. Anything.”
You engulf the note in your palm, nodding sincerely. His eyes flicker across your face, like he’s thinking about something. He hesitates for a moment, turning towards you, away from you, then towards you again. He holds the back of your head tenderly before pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead.
You look at each other up close for a second with nothing short of starry eyes before he turns away and ducks out the window.
You open up your palm and look down at the paper, at the ten digits scrawled across it.
Huh.
Must be official.
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