SHAKESPEAREAN ROSE

SHAKESPEAREAN ROSE

Spencer Reid x psychiatrist!reader

Synopsis: Spencer Reid silently admires the new psychiatrist on the floor. WARNING: nothing, just fluff! A/N: Remember when I said I wrote more than what I posted for Doctors Across The Hall? This is it🤭 (I forgot to post it on aug 1, oops) I've decided to make Spencer Reid x psychiatrist!reader a series! It'll just be a bunch of fluff/angst/rare spicy stuff with psychiatrist!reader that happens in the same timeline but it's not in order. So, not exactly a story just tangents ??? Also I'm open to requests/prompts to keep this going hehe <3 Tell me what you think!

  “Guys, you’re so sweet! This is adorable!”

  Spencer’s ears perk up at the commotion. Curiosity thrums in his veins as he watches Derek hand you a rose. A small stuffed toy is clutched in your other hand. A wide smile adorns your face. A gorgeous sight on a late Wednesday morning. 

  Derek laughs, “Can’t take the credit.” He takes Penelope into his right arm. “Baby girl, right here strongly encouraged me.”

  Penelope gives you a bone-crushing hug, “Happy National Girlfriends Day, my favorite psychiatrist! Get ready for our sleepover! I have so many plans!” She squeals in excitement, inviting JJ in, who’d just discovered the similar objects on her desk.

  Your heart swells. Only two months into the bureau, and you’ve already found yourself a great group of friends. As the newly mandated psychiatrist in the building, it was nerve-wracking to enter the floor that seemed to reak of evil and know-it-alls. And although the BAU team is filled with know-it-alls, despite their constant denial, you managed to squeeze into their group as easily as befriending Penelope Garcia. Considering your office happens to be next to her lair.

  “Isn’t that day for couples only? For a girlfriend? Not a girl that's a friend?” You chuckle, taking in the aroma from the single rose.

  “Nah-uh,” Penelope wiggles her index finger. “All those boys are just piggybacking on girl power—” She turns to Derek, who’s about to object, “—You’re not included. You have been graciously influenced by moi. I’m just saying that I have my girlfriends, so I will celebrate the day the way I see fit, and that is with my gorgeous, gorgeous babes!” 

  As JJ begins to add her piece to the excitement parade, Spencer turns to Emily, who comes back from the kitchen, her stuffed toy in hand.

  “National Girlfriends Day?” He asks lowly.

  “What?” Emily furrows her brows for a moment before it flattens on her forehead. “Oh, that. Just a day some people celebrate to appreciate their girlfriends. Garcia’s excited about it—”

  Her voice quiets into the background in an instant. Spencer sits in his mind as he processes the information. National Girlfriends Day. The words echo in his head. A day to appreciate girlfriends…

— ✿ — ✿ ✿ — ✿ ✿ ✿

  Lunch is usually your highlight of the day. Not because of the time you eat but because of the time you spend listening to all the sizzling drama Penelope has to offer. It’s an interesting experience to have when you’re also the same person who listens to her cries every time the BAU team flies to yet another case in a different state.

  Today, though. It’s quite different.

  As soon as you enter the bullpen to check in with another agent’s inquiry regarding your services on the floor, a delivery man approaches you and hands you a huge bouquet of roses. Your newly found friends immediately hover around like shameless busybodies. Though, you never mind at all.

  “Oooh, yet another gift from your secret lover…” Emily teases, perching on Derek’s desk as she sips coffee.

  Derek joins in, eyebrows raised. “What is that—” He picks up a small note from one of the roses, rolling it open, “—Love looks not with eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind…” He waves the note with a mischievous grin. “We don’t know this guy, but he sure is cheesy.”

  Emily flashes a sheepish smile, “There’s one on each rose! How many roses are there?” She starts counting by eye.

  “It’s like Shakespearean roses.” Penelope quips after reading another note from a different rose, passing you the small poem that immediately makes your lips curl.

  “Shakespearean roses..? That's a thing?” You curiously inquire, looking over the vast red petals close to your chest. 

Penelope shrugs, “Not really, but it could be!” She beams at you.

  JJ smiles, joining in after a small detour to her office. “Oh, wow!” Her eyes widen, and her brows lift. “Another one of the noble Sir Rumple?” She coaxes.

  “Who is this Sir Rumple, anyway? I’m very curious.” Emily snorts, wiggling her brows at you. She doesn’t push past your clear boundaries but never fails to strike all her attempts to get a name out of you. She’s a profiler, after all.

  “Most importantly, when is she going to introduce us to her secret lover?” Derek teases, nudging you playfully.

  Just as you look up, Spencer Reid stands behind everyone, clutching the strap of his bag like usual. 

  His hair is short and untamed. Big hazel brown eyes spark under the fluorescent light. A thin, shy smile. And a familiar red cardigan. 

  You reckon it was the priciest clothing you’ve ever bought as a small thank you present. But Spencer doesn’t need to know, really.

  Time moves slowly at the brewing desire to have Spencer close. His shy smile and adorable averting eyes bring you the thought of domesticity. You imagine him coming home just like that. Messy hair. Giddy, tight-lipped smile. Exhausted features and yet the most handsome man in your books. A spatula in your hand, music in the kitchen, and the hem of his collared shirt swaying over your thighs. It's poetically a dream. Something you wish to have, to do for as long as you're breathing.

  “Maybe next time?” You say with blushing cheeks. The utter embarrassment of talking about a secret lover in front of your crush had your mind blown into overdrive.

  The group exchanges looks. But they don’t push further, indulging in the rare moment of your silent, sunny smile and hoping that you’re happy with whoever's been showering you with affection.

  “Okay, maybe not fully Shakespearean roses,” Penelope interjects, reading a corny joke that had the entire group cringe and you laughing.

  The joy in your laughter is like Clair de Lune playing through sunset. Spencer imagines warm tea in his hand, a book on his lap, and your little giggles across as you flip a page of yet another cheesy romance novel. Sunlight along your most beautiful features, which he insists is all of you. The cozy oversized shirt he owns covers the softness of your skin. A simple thought and yet has his heart racing in sheer bliss.

  Spencer smiles into his action report. “Shakespearean roses…” He whispers in a chuckle, shaking his head at the idea.

— ✿ — ✿ ✿ — ✿ ✿ ✿

  The day comes to a close with excitement and heartwarming joy. 

  “See you later at 9! Don't be late.” Penelope waves at you as the doors slide closed.

  You chuckle at her antics but quickly find yourself in a small predicament, struggling to carry all the tokens of love you’d received from everyone.

  “Here, let me help.” 

  Your eyes meet his. And you think you're having a heart attack. But you make sure to smile kindly with a not-so-eager nod.

  “Thanks, Reid.”

  He flashes his signature smile, taking the tall bouquet from your hands. 

  You fight yourself from biting the lower of your lips at the sight of his hand clutching the stem without difficulty. So, you breathe gently and indulge in his warmth next to you.

  “Looks like you had a nice day,” Spencer starts tentatively, swaying on the balls of his feet as he hoists your favorite thing of the day.

  You turn to him with a hum and a gentle bounce of your shoulders. “I did. I feel loved.” You confess.

  Spencer hides his blushing ears. Is it so wrong to wish you always smiled at him like that? Does a lifetime sound too much to ask? 

  “That's great,” He nods casually, letting the other patrons jump in and out of the lift.

  The doors open on the last floor. Both of you walk side by side as you trickle out of the lift into the parking lot. It's not a rule. But somehow, you and he always parked in the lowest lot despite the vast parking spaces above.

  He continues the conversation on smaller tangents that make you giggle. How did your sessions today go? How was the new lunch place you went to? 

  And you throw back the same curiosity with an enthusiasm he admires. Did you finish all your reports? Did you enjoy your lunch stroll? 

  Spencer hands you the bouquet back as soon as you settle your things in the passenger seat of your car. “See you tomorrow?”

  You beam at him, and his eyes soften, “See you tomorrow, Sir Rumple.” You giggle, stealing a quick peck on his cheek.

  Before you can turn around, Spencer stills your hips and steals a similar kiss, albeit on the softness of your lips.

  The two of you giggle at the silence. Butterflies flutter with tickling speed in both of your stomachs. Maybe keeping your relationship private isn’t as bad as you’d imagine. 

  He opens the door for you and waits until you're comfortable in your seat. “I think I prefer Shakespearean Rose now.” You announce as he leans on your window.

  He playfully pouts, “But I love Sir Rumple better…” He twists his brows. The telltale sign of his gears turning. “Maybe I can be both?” He comprises.

  “You can be whatever pseudonym you want,” You smile at him. “You’re the only Spencer Reid I want.” 

  Spencer’s cheeks tint a shade of soft red. He leans and kisses your forehead.

  “Shakespearean Rose it is.”

reid masterlist | masterlist

✤ FOREIGN AFFAIRS ✤

So this is a fic that literally nobody asked for but I've had it in my drafts forever and I thought it would be a shame to waste the idea. Whoops. Enjoy. CW: Non-Con, Cunnilingus, Brief mentions of spitting in mouth and spanking, Threat of pregnancy, Sort of implied American reader but you could read it as any english speaking country, though there is a dig in there that is pretty much aimed at Americans,

It’s hard being a foreigner in a country where you can’t speak a word of the language, harder than you’d expected when your job asked you to move halfway across the world.

Getting around is tough and it’s hard to remember all of the customs and formalities, but the worst part about living so far from home is how lonely it is.

At the beginning, you spent most nights curled up in your tiny apartment, crying and checking the time difference between where you are and home to see if it would be ok to call your parents. Things haven’t changed much since then. You know a little more of the language than when you got here but you still spend a lot of time crying and missing home. At least you’ve found a distraction…

Your hot landlord who lives downstairs. 

He doesn’t speak a lick of english, but you don’t need to speak the same language to fuck.

You aren’t quite sure how your arrangement came to be. One minute you were handing him rent money and the next he was lapping at your cunt like a starved man. It doesn’t matter. You're content knowing that if he’s waiting on the staircase when you get home from work, it’s going to be a good night.

He’ll pull you down the hall, hands tangling in your hair and lips crashing violently against yours, fumbling clumsily with his keys to unlock the door to his apartment, all but kicking the door open and carrying you inside.

His kisses are hungry, greedy. Filled with a passion that you’ve never felt with boys back home. Maybe it’s just the fantasy-fulfillment aspect of having a hot foreign lover, but if he’s anything to go by, the rumors of men overseas being better at sex are definitely true.

Before you can even make it into the bedroom, your clothes are peeled off and shed on his kitchen floor. He's all over you the minute you’re naked, grabbing and touching you like he wants to commit the feeling to memory, worshiping every nook and cranny like he may never feel you again. 

You and him will somehow stumble into his bed in between hot kisses. Sometimes he’ll chase you playfully, sometimes he’ll lead you by the hand, sometimes he’ll scoop you up and throw you onto the mattress; mumbling something in his language that you don’t understand but sounds pretty hot anyway. 

Then he’ll climb on top of you and take you apart piece by piece. Suckling gently on your nipples while his fingers work your clit, nibbling little love bites on your thighs before lifting your hips so he can bury his face in your cunt, pressing teasing kisses down your body, mumbling what you assume to be praise of your figure in between each one. 

He just understands your body. He's attentive, a quick learner. It only took about a week of sleeping together for him to know exactly how to unravel you. He’s a generous lover. You’ve never slept with him without orgasming at least once. You’ve never had to fake an orgasm either, which is a massive improvement from the past men you’ve been with. 

It's not lost on you that the way he treats you is kind of strange for a fuck-buddy...

...But damn if it isn’t hot when he gets down on his knees and mumbles a prayer of adoration into your stomach.

Once it’s his turn to receive it can go one of two ways:

He’ll either be gentle, caressing you like fine china as he rolls his hips into yours, making love to you slow but passionately, letting your moans guide him on how to touch you. He’ll cum with you, holding your hand as you both tumble over the edge, then pull you into his chest as the two of you prepare for round two, nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

Or he’ll be rough and relentless. Pounding into you unforgivingly, tossing you into whatever position he pleases before fucking you hard enough to make the headboard bang against the wall. He’s quite kinky, you’ve learned. When he’s in these moods he likes spitting in your mouth and pulling your hair, calling you filthy names as he sends you over the edge for the third time.

You’ve learned a few new words in his language because of your arrangement: faster, slower, slut, fuck, and I’m going to cum.

Not very practical for day to day use but still nice to know.

Once the two of you are spent, you’ll shower and he’ll pour you a glass of wine, then you'll sit on his small balcony in silence, looking out at the rooftops of the surrounding buildings. 

It’s…nice. Peaceful. It’s strange that you feel so intimate with him when the only real conversation you’ve ever had was a google translated text message about rent. 

But just like any good drama with a foreign fling, you eventually have to leave. 

As great as he is in bed, this country isn’t your home. You miss your family and friends and being able to ask for directions without feeling like an idiot. You’ll miss him—no doubt lie in bed sometimes and wonder what he’s doing, if he still thinks of you—but it’s better this way. You don’t belong here, you never have.

You’re sitting on his balcony basking in afterglow about three weeks before you’re set to leave when you drop the news. It’s better sooner rather than later, you decide. It’s not like you could irish-goodbye him, he is your landlord.

“Leaving…” his brow knits. He says it like the word tastes sour in his mouth.

“Yeah, in three weeks.” you smile, holding up three fingers for clarification.

He puts his cigarette out in the ashtray, shaking his head and mumbling something that you can’t understand. He looks…distressed. You hadn’t expected him to be thrilled by the news, but he looks like someone just punched him in the gut.

“Are you alri-”

“You aren’t leaving me.” he snaps, grabbing your wrist hard. Possessively, as if he’s nervous you might run away from him.

You're surprised by his hostility, but more so by the response he gave you. It was heavily accented and short, but it was grammatically correct English—something he’d never given any indication of knowing. 

“What are you-” 

You're cut off by a searing hot kiss. Ravenous and passionate, full of teeth and tongue—but not in the way they normally are. This one is… darker, like he’s trying to establish his dominance.

You squirm and try to push him off of you but he won’t let you go, fisting a hand in your hair to hold you in place as his mouth claims yours.

“Did we mean nothing?” he asks, backing you against the wall, pinning your wrists above your head, “We’ve been making love for months and you want to leave?”

“English…” your eyes tear up as he nips at your neck, “I thought you…”

“I’ve known it the whole time,” he lets out a small laugh of amusement. “They teach us English in school. We actually have good education here.” You cry, feeling his hot breath on your skin as he alternates between making out and nibbling at your neck, “I thought you'd think it was romantic, having a foreign lover.”

Each kiss steals your breath, makes you dizzy. He licks his lips, eying you hungrily, “I was going to pretend to learn english for you. I thought it would be a cute story to tell our children…”

Your eyes widen. Children? He wants to have kids-

Your thoughts are interrupted by him rising to his feet, hoisting you up with him and walking you to his bed. He tosses you on the mattress, climbing on top of you, hissing something quietly in his language that you don’t understand as he rocks his hard erection against your thigh.

“You aren’t leaving.” he growls, “I’ll handcuff you to this damn bed if I have to. There is nothing in where you came from that you don’t have here”

You writhe as he kisses down your torso, bucking and squirming, trying to push him off of you. He tugs your hips down with a growl, sinking his fingers into the squishy flesh to keep you from squirming. 

“P-please…” streams of tears roll down your cheeks as he tugs down your pants, “M-my home… My family.”

“This is your home now,” he growls, holding you down with one hand, fumbling with his pants with the other, taking out his hard penis. He snickers to himself and lines up with your hole, murmuring the next part against your lips as he pushes himself in.

“And I’m gonna give you a brand new family tonight.”

They say foreign men are better lovers. 

Guess it depends on which one you run into.

suguru geto, satoru gojo, levi ackerman, eren jaeger, bakugo katsuki, keigo takami, shouto todoroki, atsumu miya, osamu miya, tooru oikawa, kuroo tetsuro, kiyomi sakusa, keishin ukai, cameron beck

TW: implied nsfw, implied noncon/dubcon, poly yanderes, sprained ankle, captive reader, apocolypse au, talk of fertility, murder of unnamed characters, mentions of potentially killing reader

fem reader

Just thinking about the apocalypse, the two army men who’ve long survived it in their shelter with barely any trouble, and then you, a poor girl trying hard to outrun your last captives only to run into them.  

You didn’t realize back then that it was like trading piranhas for sharks, too caught up in begging for their aid to think better of it. You should have just kept running, but your ankle was sprained badly, maybe even broken, and you were wearing so little you would most likely have died from the cold during the night if they hadn’t taken you in.

It seems unfair of them to have kept the giant bunker all to themselves, only the two of them, but you don’t judge. You would likely have kept it all to yourself as well. 

This new world has bred new humans, and they’re all monsters. It’s honestly quite surprising they’d even let you in, given this is what they’re protecting, this sanctuary from the past, a comfort most people would kill their closest friend in exchange for.

Trust is all but dead, and so is honor or any other morality—you would know, you’ve lived out there for it all, only having survived by spreading your legs at the right moments. It’s a shameful tactic, and many times, you’ve wondered if it wouldn’t have been better to spare yourself and just die. What was the purpose?

This—you think. This must be it. They have showers and working hot water.

You don’t know how it’s possible—the original owners of the shelter must have been some type of millionaire. You haven’t had a warm shower since the world went to shit—years ago. It’s been a choice of waiting for rain or finding a lake, hoping it wasn’t rancid. Meanwhile, they have soap—scented soap, the lush kind you’d forgotten existed. It feels so nice you have to cry—rejoice—sobbing while lathering yourself, watching all the filth go down the drain, leaving you smooth-skinned once again for the first time in forever. You can’t remember having ever been so clean before, feeling reborn.

They have fresh clothes for you too—new socks and underwear, all clean fabrics, so much more than what you wore—pants, a shirt, and a sweater to keep warm. You didn’t know there still existed people who lived like the old days—you’d thought it was long gone, a bittersweet dream you sometimes have the pleasure of at night instead of the usual nightmares. Never had you thought you’d experience anything even remotely similar, but here you are—looking yourself in the mirror after so long, surprised to see a human looking back at you.

And they feed you. Not scraps, not leftovers, not rot, or days-old flesh from the last successful hunt—but freshly baked bread, vegetables, fruit—for fuck’s sake, they even have juice. You cry again while eating, and then you find yourself begging them again, “Please, let me stay—please, I’ll do anything. I can cook, clean, work—anything at all, I can do it, just please let me stay…”

You’re on your knees, forehead pressed to the heated metal floors—toasty and comforting, you think you could sleep better than ever right there.

“We’ll think about it,” one of them mutters as he gathers the plates. His voice was so harsh he might as well have said, not a chance. It’s clear by his sneer that he’d rather send you right out again, leave you to the monsters.

“We’ll at least let you stay until your ankle heals, so don’t worry.” The other is more sympathetic, helping you up. “For now, let’s get you to bed. You must be exhausted.”

It hadn’t crossed your mind that they’d have beds—actual real soft downy mattresses and duvets and pillows. The two of you help make it together. It feels so foreign that you wonder if you might have died earlier. Some years back, you wouldn’t have thought heaven would resemble a prison cell, but now it only made sense—safe metal walls and a bed. What more could one possibly want in the world?

“I’ll wrap your leg for you if you sit.” He holds out a bandage roll, gesturing to your ankle.

Blinking, you can’t even register what he’d just offered until he’s getting down on his knees before you.

You panic, then. Bandages are hard to come by—it hardly seems worth it. “There’s no blood, you shouldn’t waste it—”

“It’ll heal better and faster this way,” he adds reassuringly. His voice is so soft and compelling that you find yourself sitting down without further quarrel, even when it makes you feel spoiled.

He’s gentle with you—holding you steady while wrapping it just tightly enough to be supportive. There hasn’t been a man who’s touched you like it.

“Does that feel okay?”

You can barely tell he’s talking to you. It’s all so lost on you that you can only wordlessly nod your head.

He fastens it just as carefully before standing. “Is there anything else you might need?”

You shake your head just as wordlessly. You can’t believe how nice he’s being. It makes no sense at all. Not in this world. Not anymore.

“I’m sorry, but I’m gonna have to lock the door,” he apologizes with a sheepish look once standing on the threshold.

You’d been stuck thinking about how warm the room was, trying to remember a single time you hadn’t been freezing during the night. “That’s okay, I understand,” you say. After all, what’s a locked door in comparison?

“Good,” he smiles—it’s likely the kindest smile you’ve ever seen. “Alright then, good night.”

Once again, you’re left stunned. The last time you’d heard those words spoken must have been from a loved one long since dead. It makes your lip wobble again as you say it back, “Good night.”

It's strange—they could have left you for dead but didn’t. They don’t seem gullible—they can’t be if they’ve managed to protect this place for so long—but you suppose there still exist men who have a soft spot in their hearts for helpless damsels in distress.

As you sink into the comfort, draping your duvet atop your battered body, you don’t even care about the camera in the ceiling—blinking red while watching you.

“Did you have to bandage her up?” he grumbles as the other walks into the bedroom after having said his goodnights to you. 

He’s already in bed, observing through the cameras on a tablet—you were currently curling into the duvet, wrapping it around you close for comfort. You’d likely not slept on anything so soft in a while—it wouldn’t surprise him if you preferred the floor. But no, you drift asleep quite quickly.

“You know how badly things can heal without proper support,” the other answers, regarding it as no big deal. “And besides, it’s not like we often need it—we have plenty to spare.”

He removes his clothes and crawls onto the bed as well, lifting the covers to slot himself right next to the other man, who still has a scowl on his face.

“Oh, come on…” he drawls. “She’s exactly what we’ve been talking about, isn’t she?”

The grump doesn’t answer, still with keen eyes watching you, even as you’ve fallen asleep—as if waiting for you to do something befitting a wild animal in a cage. The other’s eyes fall to the screen as well, but he only awes in delight.

“Look at her, already fast asleep,” he purrs while zooming in on your face. “I mean, did you see how she was begging earlier, what she said? I’d do anything,” he continues, almost whining. “So cute, I could have fucked her right then and there.”

The other man sets the tablet aside with a disagreeing sigh. “We’ll wait at least a week for her system to detoxify from the wasteland,” he says strictly. “I’m not touching her before then, and neither are you unless you want to sleep alone.”

The other groans then, flopping down on his back. “Yeah, yeah, you and your safety precautions,” he dismisses before a smirk creeps up his face, glee twinkling in his eyes as he looks up at his grouchy counterpart. “But then we keep her, right?”

“Tch—we don’t even know if she’s fertile. The wasteland could have made her barren as long as she’s been out there,” the other shuffles down into the sheets as well, turning to look at his partner and the awfully keen look on his face.

“So we test her. Give her a medical check,” he says, again as if it’s not a problem, even when it very well could turn out to be.

They’ve already broken quarantine rules by letting you in here—and who knows what your real objectives truly are.

“I don’t trust her,” he states.

The other pouts. “I don’t see what one little lady can do—she’s hardly a threat. And we already purged the group that was following her. I doubt any of them made it out alive.”

True, he had gone out and sent several gas grenades into the settlement. Surely, none of them managed to escape, but then again—

“Pest control only works when you kill them all, and we’ve just let one inside our own house,” he grumbles.

The other one sighs. “Okay, so if it turns out she isn’t as cute as she looks, we’ll deal with her like the rest. But if I’m right, and she really is just a harmless little thing, we keep her, and I get to have the first go.”

Suppose there isn’t anything better to do aside from killing you right away, which would only have been a waste of food, water, clothes, and bandages. 

“Fine.”

The other grins at the agreeance, humming, “I guess until then, we’ll just have to make do with each other—I've been hard since we watched her shower.” He leans forward for contact but is shut down as his bedmate rolls around with his back turned to him.

“Tch—take care of it yourself.” Tonight has been too stressful to tug each other’s dicks. 

He can hear him whine behind him, but he settles down soon enough.

Suppose it would be nice fucking a woman again. It’s been so many years he figured he wouldn’t need it anymore. They’ve made do with each other so far. But even he can’t deny, once you’d washed all the blood and muck off, once he saw the dewy hue of your soft skin and the silk of your hair, not to mention that awfully sweet look on your face—he felt the tug in his pants too.

He'll do a medical check on you tomorrow. He hopes you’re fertile. But even if you’re not, he might give in to the other’s wishes and keep you anyway. After all, they might have many luxuries, but the comfort of pussy is one they haven’t had in a long, long, long time.

♡ BNHA – KiriBaku, BakuDeku, ShinKami, DabiHawks, EndHawks, ErasurMic ♡ JJK – SatoSugu, ItaFushi, SukuIta, ♡ HQ – Miya twins, KageHina, BokuAka, ♡ CSM – AkiDen, YoshiDen ♡ BLLK – NagiReo

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𝘐𝘯 𝘈𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘓𝘪𝘧𝘦

𝖲𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒: 𝖨𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖯𝗂𝖾𝗍𝗋𝗈 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗂𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋. 𝖨𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾, 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎. 𝖠𝖽𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇’𝗍 𝖻𝖾 𝗌𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗂𝖿 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇’𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖩𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝖯𝗈𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋; 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗎𝗇𝗇𝗒, 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗈𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗍.

𝖯𝗂𝖾𝗍𝗋𝗈 𝖬𝖺𝗑𝗂𝗆𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗑 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 | 𝖩𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝖯𝗈𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗑 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝖯𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖮𝗇𝖾 𝗐𝖼 𝟥.𝟦𝗄

𝖯𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖳𝗐𝗈 𝗐𝖼 𝟥.𝟤𝗄

𝖯𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖳𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖾 𝗐𝖼 𝟦. 𝟥𝗄

𝖯𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖥𝗈𝗎𝗋 -𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯

[ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛs ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀᴅᴅᴇᴅ]

The Reaper | Jungkook x Reader

Pairing: Yandere Mercenary Jungkook x  Reader 

Word Count: 14.6k

Warnings: 18+, Yandere, Obsession, Fear, Non-Consensual Touching, Symptoms of Panic/Anxiety, Stalking, Murder, Lots of Blood, Attempted Sexual Assault (Not By Jungkook), Mild Smut, Dub-Con, Cunnilingus, Decapitation, Throats are Slit, Wolf Attacks 

I do not condone the acts displayed in this story nor do I believe any members of BTS would actually engage in this type of behavior. This is simply written for entertainment purposes and should not be taken as a reflection of my own values, opinions, or morals. 

Preview: “With your skirts drawn up over your thighs, the skin raised with goosebumps from the cool spring air, his hand retreated only to return with what looked like a stamp but where the rubber should have been, there were instead tiny needles all coated with bright red ink. Before you could begin to squirm again he quickly pressed it against the side of your thigh pulling a pained cry from your throat.

When he removed the faux stamp beads of blood rose to the surface of your skin, blending with the red ink that has been left behind. But the image imprinted on your skin was clear as day, a symbol your town had come to associate with fear: a skull pierced by a sword and ensnared by a snake. It was the mark of the reaper. 

You had been marked for death.” 

A/N: Here I am at almost three in the morning again lol. This is super UNEDITED but I will edit it tomorrow so please bear with me when it comes to any grammatical errors. I HUSTLED to get this done before classes start Monday so hopefully the quality did not suffer. This also ended up being 4-6k longer than intended. Very on brand. Anyways, I hope you enjoy and I can’t wait to see you in my inbox and the comments, love you 💜💜💜

It was supposed to be the happiest day of your life, but your stomach was twisted in knots. 

You were one of the lucky ones, at least that was what your father had told you when he excitedly grabbed hold of your hands with a winning smile. 

“A diamond in the rough,” He had whispered in awe, “How lucky I am to have had such a beautiful daughter born out of this village.” 

It is true that none of us have a say as to what family we are born into, and that couldn’t be any more true for you. You were born into a poor family in a dilapidated village in the woods, you had been destined to live a destitute life like everyone else who had come before you. But you were happy. You enjoyed your spring days running barefoot through the Brooke, the lingering heat of summer nights beneath the stars, the crunch of autumn leaves underfoot, and the bite of cold winter wind against your cheeks. You adored the simplicity of the only life you had ever known and you never wanted for more. 

But oftentimes, parents desired more for their children, more than they ever had. And that was why your father had jumped at the chance to marry you off to a visiting lord. 

Had you not entered the forest that day to forage, maybe you would not have ended up in this situation. But you had so there was no point in dwelling on the alternate possibilities of what could have come to pass rather than what actually had. 

Keep reading

Pairing- VampireKing!Jungkook × Human!Reader

Genre- Arranged Marriage AU (Sort of?), Enemies to Lovers, Soulmate AU

Summary- Jeon Jungkook was known to be a tyrant, destroying anything and everything to get what he wanted. And this time, he wanted you.

Warnings- Mentions of blood, gore and murder scenes, eventual smut, JK is definitely a hard dom and mad possessive, vampire bites and blood sucking.

A/N- Even though I have tagged the people who asked to be tagged, there will be no taglist for this series from here on. I only tagged you guys to sort of let you know this series has started. It's a big struggle to keep all those usernames up to date so you might wanna turn on the notifs :)

Please find the introduction to the world of Amour Mort here!

You ran through the forest, tears in your eyes making it difficult to see the path ahead, but you could tell you were venturing deeper into the more dangerous side. At the back of your mind, you were very aware that you shouldn’t be here past midnight, and that if someone found you breaking curfew, you would probably be executed by the throne, thinking you were some sort of rebel revolting in the recent uprisings. But all of that paled in comparison to the despair gnawing at your soul.

The branches clawed at your skin, leaving angry red marks, but you didn’t slow down, only realizing you had come here barefoot when tiny stones began hurting the bottom of your feet. You were being chased—not by a person, but by your own thoughts and the relentless ache in your chest. Your father’s words would not stop playing in your mind, your palms pressing against your ears as you closed your eyes in an attempt to silence his voice.

"You're nothing but a burden to me. I wish you had never been born!"

Suddenly, a sharp pain seared through your right foot, sending you stumbling and falling to the ground with all the air being knocked out of your lungs. You winced, letting out a whimper as you managed to look back, gasping at the bear trap that had clamped around your foot. Its teeth dug into your flesh, and blood pooled on the dead leaves beneath you.

“No…” you cried out, sobbing at your misfortune, the pain from your wound shooting through your leg in waves. A thought came to you: maybe this is how you die, completely alone and unloved, with no one to care that you weren’t at home right now.

‘That’s not true! Lila cares…’

Your mind screamed at you, your sister’s pretty face popping into your head. Well, this was true; your sister did care about you. But really, there was only so much she could do when your father did not even acknowledge you as his daughter. You still remembered the party where a guest mistook you for a maiden working in the mansion. It had truly hurt you, but there was nothing you could say, not when that is probably what your father wanted the world to think. A part of you thinks he hates you because your mother died just five days after you were born, but how could you, a mere baby, be at fault for that?

Gathering all your energy, you began to drag yourself to a tree nearby, wincing and whimpering with every wave of pain that washed over you. You could even feel the burn on the skin of your forearms where it rubbed against the rocky and muddy ground, convinced that the sleeve of your dress was beginning to tear. Were you even going to make it back home? Did you even want to make it back home?

Upon reaching the giant tree, you pushed yourself up, managing to rest your back against the trunk, finally getting a good look at the steel trap wrapped around your foot. Meant for animals, it was likely a tool for the poorer vampires who couldn’t afford human slaves and fed on animal blood instead. It was the one law that favored humans: vampires were forbidden to feed on them freely. But nonetheless, it was always the innocent ones who had to pay the price. The night-walkers were given the gift of strength and brutality that they used against the weak, be it you or an animal.

Your chest rose and fell quickly, your breathing growing harsh, and your vision growing blurry. It was the blood loss, and you couldn’t even feel the pain anymore. Either you were getting used to it, or your body had started focusing on the fact that you were dying instead. Whatever was happening, it was not good, and you had no idea how to help yourself.

“You shouldn’t be here. Not at this time.” A voice broke through the darkness, making you jump in surprise, your eyes immediately landing on a man’s silhouette standing just a few steps away from you. Your heart hammered in your chest, and, swallowing thickly, you pressed yourself further against the tree, hoping that would make you disappear.

Was this someone who was going to turn you in? Maybe the cause of your death was going to be execution and not a bear trap?

Your silence only prompted the man to move closer to you and into the moonlight filtering through the trees, your lips parting as you took in his face. He was truly breathtaking, with black hair that fell across his forehead and eyes that seemed to pierce through the night. There was black ink peeking at you from under the collar of his black shirt on his neck, more patterns emerging from under his rolled-up sleeve right up to his knuckles, making you wonder just how much of his body was tainted like this.

“N-neither should you,” you said bravely, though your voice was small and weak.

He chuckled in response, making you purse your lips as you watched him kneel down beside you, your body subconsciously shifting backward even though there was nowhere to go, every single thought in your mind long gone in the presence of this man.

His eyes slowly moved across your body, taking in your tear-stained cheeks, your tattered dress, and your bloody foot, tutting at the condition of your wound.

“This is why you shouldn’t be here, little human,” he said, your eyes widening as you caught a hint of amusement on his face, your blood running cold at the realization. Your breath was caught in your throat, and you were suddenly very aware of the blood you were soaked in, your eyes nervously flitting between him and your poor foot. If you had to die, you didn’t want to do so at the hands of a vampire. In fact, you couldn’t even imagine the pain that was probably about to suffocate you when he ripped your heart right out of your chest.

“Please don’t kill me,” you begged, staring into his eyes with tears in yours, shaking your head when he smirked and leaned in closer to you. Closing your eyes, you let the tears fall freely and turned your face away from him, his breath fanning your neck and making you whimper.

“You must taste exquisite.” He inhaled deeply, your chest heaving as his words made your heart thump harder in your chest. This has to be it. He was going to drain your body right now, and no one was going to find out ever.

Preparing yourself for the attack, you closed your eyes shut and gripped the skirt of your dress, thinking about your family for the last time before your life was taken from you.

“But I’m not going to do that.” Came his voice, your eyes slowly opening as you glanced over at him, noticing the sudden distance he had put between the two of you. A frown etched on your forehead, your tears drying up on your cheeks as you processed his words. He was not going to hurt you?

“I’m too old to lose control over a bit of blood.” He gestured nonchalantly towards your foot, shocking you at how he thought this was just a bit of blood. You were literally going to pass out soon.

“Wh-why are you here?” you stammered, biting your tongue when his expression hardened, his eyes sending daggers your way and letting you know that you shouldn’t have asked him that. Silence engulfed you both, your eyes failing to look away from him. It was almost as if he was holding you prisoner under his gaze, a flash of guilt disappearing from his dark eyes as soon as it came.

“I had to get away before they caught up to me,” he confessed, a cool breeze ruffling his hair as he stood up and stared down at you, his eyes reading the confusion in yours.

“Who-”

“My sins,” he responded before you could even ask, his thick boots crunching the leaves on the gravelly path as he walked in front of your stretched-out leg and sat down on one knee. A flash of lightning struck through the sky at that very second, as if to show that the heavens had heard his confession too. And when the thunder illuminated his face, you could swear you had seen the very face of evil.

“Are you scared of me?” he asked, tilting his head as you swallowed thickly, shaking your head hesitantly. But you knew he didn’t believe you when he let out a small laugh. It sounded bitter to your ears, like he was mocking you for being so weak yet trying to fool him at the same time.

“Well, you should be.” In one quick motion, his hand ripped apart the trap into two pieces, your flesh being freed from the sharp claws that were jammed into it. Dots filled your vision as your lips parted in a silent scream, your chest hurting as if you were having a heart attack, and maybe you were because you felt your body go limp as your eyes rolled back into your head.

Strong arms held you before you could hit the ground, your head suddenly resting against a firm chest as your breath came out all raggedy. You could feel sweat beading on your forehead, your body not having any energy to even let you open your eyes for a second.

“W-why…” you breathed out, your voice a bare whisper in the night. And the next thing you knew, you felt a hand pressing against your lips before a metallic taste filled your mouth. With all the energy left in you, you opened your eyes wide and grabbed the tattooed arm feeding you blood, your attempts at pushing it away failing miserably.

“Sshh, you need this. You need me,” the vampire whispered above you, his chin resting atop your head as he ran his free hand through your hair. Knowing that you couldn’t fight him off, not like this, you gave up and swallowed the disgusting liquid that made your body feel warm all of a sudden. You could hear your heart pumping and your breathing steadying as the blood worked its way into your system, your senses sharpening, and your strength slowly returning.

After what felt like an eternity, he pulled his arm away, and you let out a string of coughs, gasping for air while the awful taste lingered on your tongue. It was truly ironic how the blood of someone dead could heal a living being. How a killer could give life to someone. And you were sure that this man who had saved your life was a killer too. Why else would he talk about his sins catching up to him?

“What did you do that you had to run away?” you asked as soon as you found your voice, your tired eyes glancing up at the man holding you. His eyes flitted between your eyes and your lips, sending shivers down your spine when he brought up his thumb and rubbed away some blood from the corner of your mouth.

“What’s your name?” He avoided your question smoothly, pretending you hadn’t spoken a word to him. Frowning, you thought about it for a moment, wondering whether it was a good idea to tell him who you were. But at the same time, you weren’t a very valuable human. There was really nothing he could want from you that would make him hunt you down.

“Y/N,” you said, averting your gaze to your foot, which was now void of any wounds. Your skin looked completely smooth and untouched except for the dried blood staining it, leaving you staring in awe.

“Well, Y/N,” he started, regaining your attention, “you’re gonna find out tomorrow.”

You frowned at his words, wondering if this implied that he was going to see you tomorrow to tell you what sin he had committed. Too lost in your head to notice that he had stood up, you saw him offer his hand to you. Your fingers hesitantly took hold of his cold ones. With ease, he pulled you up as you slightly lifted your dress and examined your foot, pleased with the fact that there was absolutely no pain anymore.

“This is-” You turned to glance at the man, only to be met with darkness. The vampire was gone, the forest was silent, and you were alone once again.

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