#AND THEN I REMEMBERED BUT LIKE? NEVER GOT TO IT?

[justasmidgx]

So not counting Pokemon as a kid cause I didn't know the word "anime" back then, I mostly read manga before ever watching anime so uh

From my memory

My first anime was either Naruto....

Or Higurashi No Naku Koro Ni

So the most basic ass starter anime or the most fucking wild ass out there anime

That post about death note being "everyone's first anime" (untrue statement) made me curious and now I want to gather data for science

Can you reblog this and tell me where are you from and what was your starter anime?

[yanderenightmare]

Gojo Satoru

♡ TW: yandere, noncon, incest, blind!reader, twin!satoru,

♡ FEM reader

Overprotective twin brother Satoru…

He was born with an abundance of cursed energy, while you got none and no heavenly pact or anything at all to show for being a Gojo.

You can’t even see curses. In fact, you can’t see at all.

It’s as if in the womb, Satoru harvested everything for himself so that you would always depend on him.

He sees it differently, though. He’s the older twin—and that means everything to him. You’re his. His good half. You were born with the heart, and he was born with the rest, all in order to spare and protect you.

“The royal guard walks at the front to keep the princess safe” is something he started saying when you were younger. “That’s why I was born first. To keep my princess safe.” 

He always holds your trembling face in his hands while saying it. And although you can’t see, you still feel it, how he’s sticky and warm, soaked with the blood he’s spilled—all in the name of protecting you.

You don’t think you were scared of your twin brother when you were toddlers, but you’re not sure. You were still young when he learned how to use his techniques. He’d never had any tolerance to speak of and no mercy to spare when that non-existent tolerance was tested. Still, of course, he’d never ever think of harming you.

That’s not what worried you…

No, rather, it was the staff and any other unsuspecting visitor you feared for and how they might have the misfortune of crossing the hair-thin tripwire that triggered your brother’s cold-hearted rage.

Maids were fired every other day—often after having suffered at his hands, sometimes with limbs missing, sometimes with senses lost. None of them could ever measure up to his standards, especially when it came to you. You were to be treated like a goddess, not a child, despite that being what you both were. His sister deserved only the finest and was to be dressed to new perfection every day, hand-fed only your favorites, and never ever allowed to lift even a single finger yourself. That’s how Satoru saw it.

And if anyone were to fail to understand that, they’d meet with his swift judgment. Even being blind, you’d still see the awful glowing blue of his eyes before the screams and the sudden smell of rust all around.

You remember the first time it had happened. Your nurserymaid had insisted it was time the two of you no longer shared the same bed—said it wasn’t proper. You must have been about six years old. One second, she was there. Next, you were covered in her.

The two of you had slept in it. 

No. Satoru had slept, tucked snugly against you as if nothing was amiss. 

You had barely slept since.

You never stopped sharing a bed. You’d tried at a point to tell him how it wasn’t right, how it wasn’t something siblings should do. He’d only asked you who’d put those silly ideas in your head. And you’d been wiser not to raise the thought again, fearing for the lives he might decide were responsible.

Still, despite his lack of moral restraint, you’re older before he decides sleeping in the same bed just isn’t enough anymore.

You’d always known of the way he looked at you. You’ve felt it. Always there as a silent voyeur during your dress fittings and baths, studying you in a way a brother shouldn’t. You’d done your best to ignore that ever-present feeling of yearning coming from him in those moments he’d touch you, feeling his long slender fingers run cold over your bare skin, always insisting on giving you a helping hand, to dress and to undress, to eat, to walk. 

You’ve always known what he’s wanted.

Still, you’d thought some type of decency would hold him back from ever acting on it. 

You realize now how foolish you’d been…

As head of the Gojo clan, he makes decisions as he sees fit and announces your engagement before the entirety of its ranks and members as if it were only obvious. And under the pressure of his six eyes, no one dares even utter a gasp at the outrageous prospect. No, all they do is smile and clap while giving their blessings.

In the end, you’re the only one who objects.

“Satoru?” you ask after the assembly. Walking, or rather wandering, unsteadily on your plank shoes in the direction of his voice, hearing him talk about clan matters he’s never bothered to include you in—it’s not for you to worry about, is all he’ll ever say. Always treating you like a child despite being the same age.

“Princess!” he exclaims, rushing over to you, holding you up as if you were in danger of getting knocked over by a sudden draft. “What are you doing up? How many times have I told you, just tell the carriers where you want to go and they’ll take you there.”

You purse your lips and bite your tongue from sounding too chagrinned. Embarrassed enough already to want to cause more of a scene. Only muttering, “I can walk fine on my own–”

But Satoru isn’t convinced, nor concerned with the same matters as you, much too busy with protecting you from the terrors of standing on your own two feet. 

“You’ll exhaust yourself. Come,” he decides, dismissing the elders he'd been talking to.

You listen to them leave, lifting a hand to call them back, “No wait, but–”

But nothing. As always, Satoru doesn’t listen. Picking you up without further bickering. He lifts you off your feet and carries you away like an infant, back to the cozy den of pillows and blankets he insists you sit on during assemblies, calling it your throne despite it not being much different from your bed.

He doesn’t set you down. No, instead, he sits down with you, holding you in his lap as he gets comfortable in the plush nest.

“So, princess? Did you like my announcement?” he asks cheerfully. Already picturing you in wedding attire—so hopelessly incapacitated in the heavy layers, how you’d need his help every step of the way, even with walking down the aisle. 

“We can’t marry, Satoru…” You break his line of thought with a mumble. “You’re my brother.”

You're unable to say it with your chest—rather, you only muster enough courage to whisper it. Feeling anxious about his reaction. All he ever seems to care about is dolling you up so you can sit pretty next to him. And for so long, he hasn’t allowed anything else. You have no idea what to expect now that you’ve finally asked. 

Of course, you hope he’ll respect your words and see reason, but somehow, you doubt he’s ever really thought or cared about what you think you want—intent on making all those decisions for you.

“Silly princess,” he starts, closing the distance between the two of you by cupping your face as he so often likes doing, stroking his thumb over your bottom lip. “Who else would we marry if not each other?” 

It’s as you thought. He doesn’t understand, nor does he care to. And still, there aren’t many options other than you trying to reason with him. Despite only being brave enough to do so by mumbling, “It’s—it’s… not right...”

To that, he just hums, nose-kissing you despite how you try to duck your head away—his voice dumbifying your worry, saying “Don’t you love me, princess?”

It’s an unfair question… beside the point, and yet to him, it makes the point. Still, there’s nothing else to say but “Of course, I love you, Satoru.”

It comes out as a croak, somewhat choked in the feeling of hopelessness, all of which he just finds so endearing. Rubbing your cheek with his thumb as he watches those milky eyes of yours grow teary.

“Then who’s to say it’s wrong?” he croons, kissing your forehead as if you’re a silly child crying over silly things, and further explaining it to you just so, “We’ve belonged to each other since birth. Marriage is just to appease society's structures. It means nothing compared to what we already have and have always had.”

His other hand kneads your midriff, keeping you snug against him as if sensing how you wanted to leave. But you don’t try it. No, you barely manage to shake your head.

“I love you,” he says, but it isn’t the same way you say it. No, it’s something far more disturbing. “Sometimes, I wish we were the only two people on earth, like it was when we shared the womb together.”

You shudder, feeling his breath hit your face with your heart causing a ruckus in your chest, telling you to do something to stop what’s coming.

“I want to be close like that again. Just you and me and nothing else.”

You accept it for a moment—his lips against yours. Thinking you had no choice. But as you sit there, willing yourself to stay still, a sickness starts climbing up from the pit of your stomach, until you suddenly can’t stand it anymore. 

And with both hands pushing him away, you shriek, “Don’t!”

Prying yourself out of his embrace, you throw yourself back so fast you end up falling out of the elevated throne bed. Still, the pain in your rear barely registers as you wipe your mouth free of the spit your brother had left behind. Cringing at the stickiness, feeling nothing short of abhorred, as if it were the last thing that should ever touch your tongue.

“It’s disgusting. I won’t. I—” You’ve raised your voice now, for the first time in your life. Your brows furrow as you put all your might into the next words. “I refuse.”

And then, as if almost regretting it, you swallow thickly. Ears burning for any sign of his reaction, everything remains silent, deadly so, only disturbed by the heavy ups and downs of your own labored breath. 

Until…

“Disgusting?” he repeats.

And you don’t know why, but something about the edge in his tone makes you whimper and shuffle back. It was as if something about the very air changed, feeling heavy, crushing, all of a sudden.

“No… You don’t mean that, princess.”

You hear his steps come after you, soft first, stepping through the pillows, then light against the marble tiles, unhurried, knowing you’re not able to go anywhere. 

“You’re just reciting whispers you’ve heard,” he hisses under his breath. Then, darker, growling, “I ought to cut out everyone's tongue. That’ll teach them.”

“No–” you object, but he’s done now with listening to you. 

Shutting you up instantly with a dismissive, “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, princess. I’ll teach you too. This is how it’s meant to be.”

You kick off your plank shoes at that, struggling in your heavy dress as you twist around onto your hands and knees before getting up, holding the many fabrics in your arms as you run—only… you have no idea where. 

Anytime you’d snuck out of your room to explore the grounds, trying to map out a route you’d never dared admit was for an escape attempt, your brother had always come and collected you before you’d made it down the first hallway. And so, blinder than blind, you’re completely lost even in your own home. And the panic makes you slip on your skirt before you’ve even made it halfway down the assembly chamber, accompanied by the awful sounds of your own fumbling being echoed back as if mocking you.

You hear him sigh heavily behind you. And then his hand grips your upper arm, harshly—in a way you’ve never felt. 

It’s enough to make you yelp, starting to thrash—panic in your chest, you’re shaking your head, trying to pull yourself free by pushing him away. “Please, Satoru—please, let go–”

Before you know it, you’re pushed flat against the floor. Cushioned by your weighty dress, it’s like a soft bed, but with the way Satoru holds a hand over your mouth and forces you down, you feel as if you’re drowning.

“Keep this up, princess, and eyes won’t be the only thing you’ll be missing,” he barks. Not even giving you enough time for the freight in your chest to settle before worsening it. “Run away, and I'll take your legs. Fight me, and I’ll take your hands. Keep talking back, and I’ll take your tongue too.”

Balanced between your legs in the mess of your skirt’s many layers, bearing over you with his back hunched, he keeps you pinned as your whole body starts to quiver. 

“Is that what you want?” he questions. “Is that what it’ll take for you to behave?”

More tears flow then, in nothing short of a storm. Flooding down your cheeks, wetting the hand he’d locked over your mouth.

It brings a pang to his chest, and he realizes what he’d just said.

He peels his fingers off your lips, then cups your cheeks instead, shaking his head. 

“No, princess, I didn’t mean that—you know I didn’t. I would never hurt you—you know that—”

He kisses your forehead again, then your nose, then your lips, then your neck, where he nuzzles himself as he continues to coo at you, “Sh-shh, princess. Listen to me. Listen to your big brother. I just want to love you. Won’t you let me love you?”

You sob, shaking your head, trying to crawl out from beneath him and the tongue he has against your neck, sucking and biting at your collar with a mouthful of heated words, “Trust me, princess. I’ll take care of you. You’ll see. Just like always. And there’s never been anything wrong with that.”

♡ GOJO SATORU masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[leriexoxo]

Angry Boys - Chan

Now Be A Good Girl

Tags: dom chan, angst, blow job deepthroat, bondage, unprotected sex, edging, oral sex, slight degradation, smut 18+

Word count: 4k

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

ANGRY BOYS MASTERLIST

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You weren’t supposed to go out.

That was the only rule he gave you tonight.

He was busy working late in the studio, and when you texted “I’m bored,” he replied fast and sharp:

“Stay home. Don’t make me come get you.”

But you didn’t listen.

You got dressed.

Put on that little top he hates—tight, black, cropped way too high.

And you left.

⸻

You knew you fucked up the second the door closed.

Not slammed. Not banged.

Just… clicked shut.

It was quiet. You didn’t even turn around—you didn’t have to. You could feel him behind you. The weight of his presence. The fury he wore like a second skin.

The same fury he never said out loud.

That was the worst thing about Bang Chan.

He didn’t yell. Didn’t threaten. Didn’t explode.

He watched and he waited.

And when he was mad? Really, truly pissed?

He got quiet, scarily quiet.

Like right now.

You stood in the middle of the kitchen, fingers still wrapped around a glass of water you suddenly didn’t need anymore.

Your voice cracked first.

“Chan, I—”

“Where were you?”

Three words. Low. Measured. Like a warning wrapped in silk.

You swallowed hard, staring down at the countertop. “Out.”

“Not what I asked.”

You flinched.

He hadn’t even moved, and still, your entire body tensed like prey sensing a predator.

“I was with friends,” you said, softer now.

“Whose?”

You hesitated and he stepped forward.

Your breath caught.

“I told you not to go,” he murmured. “Didn’t I?”

You nodded.

“And you went anyway.”

You nodded again.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

You turned then, slowly, unsure why your legs were shaking. “I didn’t— I wasn’t trying to—”

“To what?” His head tilted. “Piss me off? Test me? Show me how little you think of my rules?”

Your mouth opened. No sound came out.

That’s when he smiled.

Not the sweet, boyish smile you were used to.

No. This one was sharp. Slow. Dangerous.

The kind of smile you’d never seen on him before.

It made your stomach drop.

“I see,” he said softly, dragging the words out like honey.

He stepped forward again. One step. Then another.

You backed into the counter.

He didn’t stop.

“I give you rules,” he continued, “because I know how this works. I know how you work. I know what happens when you get bored.”

“Chan…”

“And what do you do?” He was close now. Too close. “You run off to some guy’s house. Let him touch what isn’t his.”

“I didn’t— No one touched me—”

Chan’s eyes darkened.

“And I’m supposed to believe that?”

You stared at him, chest rising and falling too fast. You didn’t understand why your thighs were clenching together. Why your pulse was racing in fear—or was it something else entirely?

Then his voice dropped to a whisper.

“Take your clothes off.”

Your lips parted. “What?”

He leaned in. His breath hit your cheek. “Now.”

You didn’t move.

He exhaled a humorless laugh.

“Still so stubborn.”

Then, without another word, he turned around and walked away.

You blinked.

Where was he going?

But he didn’t leave. He went to the living room. Sat down in the middle of the couch. Then spoke loud enough for you to hear:

“You’ve got ten seconds to come kneel. If I get to ten, you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

Your entire body pulsed.

That was the moment you realized…

This wasn’t casual anymore.

This wasn’t the friends-with-benefits arrangement you thought you had control over.

This was Chan, taking the reins you dropped the second you disobeyed him.

And he wasn’t going to give them back.

You didn’t even remember moving. One second you were frozen in the kitchen, heart punching your ribs. The next, you were walking—no, drifting—toward him like your body knew what to do even if your mind didn’t.

Ten seconds had passed. Probably more. He hadn’t called out again. He didn’t need to.

You found him on the couch, legs spread wide, head tilted back, one arm draped along the backrest like a king on a throne.

Your place was already waiting for you.

On the floor. Between his knees.

You stopped in front of him, fists clenched at your sides, your pride flaring up in one last flicker.

He looked at you then.

Not your face. Not your eyes.

He looked down.

“You’re not kneeling.”

“I’m not a dog.”

“Then don’t act like one.”

That landed like a slap. Your breath caught. He didn’t take it back.

The silence that followed stretched razor-thin.

And then, slowly, like the smallest white flag—

You sank.

First to your knees. Then to your heels. Hands in your lap. Eyes cast low.

There was a sharp inhale. His.

A beat. Maybe two.

Then he leaned forward.

“You disobeyed me,” he said quietly. “And then you lied to me. And now you’re on your knees.”

You nodded once. Shame bloomed low in your stomach—but it curled up with heat too.

He reached out and tilted your chin up.

His gaze was fire and ice.

“Do you think I like punishing you?”

“I…” You swallowed. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t.”

His thumb brushed your bottom lip.

“But I will.”

You almost whimpered.

He stood up, moving around you like a wolf circling its prey. The air behind you shifted as he knelt, leaned in, whispered at your ear.

“I want you to sit with it,” he murmured. “The guilt. The tension. The ache.”

Goosebumps swept your skin.

“I want you to feel how different everything is now. This isn’t just casual anymore, is it?”

You shook your head, lips trembling.

“Say it.”

“It’s not casual anymore.”

“Why?”

You blinked, breath stuttering. “Because I broke the rules.”

His hand slid down your arm, slow and deliberate.

“Because you’re mine,” he said. “And you’re going to learn exactly what that means.”

“I’m sorry”

“You want to play games?” His voice was low—barely above a growl. “Then open that bratty mouth and show me how sorry you are.”

He didn’t wait for you to obey.

Chan stood up, pulled his cock free, and slapped it across your face with a sharp smack that made your cheek sting. You flinched, but he grabbed a fistful of your hair and forced you to look up at him.

“That’s right,” he sneered. “Eyes on me while I fuck that pretty little throat raw.”

You barely got your mouth open before he shoved his cock in, thick and heavy, filling your tongue and pushing deep without hesitation. You gagged around him instantly, but he didn’t ease up—not even a little.

“You thought you could act like a fucking brat and not pay for it?”

He shoved deeper.

“Now look at you. Exactly where you belong.”

You choked, drool already spilling down your chin as his hips snapped forward again—rough, punishing thrusts that didn’t give you space to breathe. His grip in your hair was brutal, controlling every movement of your head, using you like you were nothing but a hole to fuck the rage out of.

“Cry for me,” he bit out. “I want to see tears. I want you wrecked.”

And you were—mascara running, jaw aching, throat tight around his cock as he kept pushing deeper, harder. He slapped the base of his cock against your lips again just to watch you flinch and moan, then shoved it back down your throat until your eyes rolled.

“You hear that?” he grunted, voice ragged with control. “That sloppy little gag? That’s the sound of you being put in your fucking place.”

You gasped when he pulled out suddenly, your body sagging with the rush of air.

But it didn’t last.

He slapped his cock across your tear-streaked face again, then shoved it back into your mouth—deeper this time, holding your head still as he forced you to take every inch.

“Fucking useless unless you’ve got my dick in your throat, huh?”

You moaned around him. Shameful. Desperate.

“You better cum from this,” he growled. “You better be soaking the floor while I fuck your face or I swear—”

He cut himself off with a curse, thrusting once, twice—then groaning as his cock twitched deep in your throat. Your eyes watered harder, lungs burning as you swallowed around him like you were made for it.

And even as you choked, you reached between your legs, rubbing yourself frantically—because fuck, this was what you needed.

He yanked you off him with a wet pop, spit and cum dripping from your lips as he stared down at your wrecked face.

“You’re not done,” he hissed. “Get on the couch. Now.”

⸻

You were already begging and he hadn’t even touched you properly.

The sharp look in Chan’s eyes was enough to undo every ounce of bravado you had left. You backed up a step—then another—bare feet scuffing against the floor as you tried to put space between the two of you.

“Don’t,” you whispered, voice shaky.

His stare dropped to your trembling legs, then dragged up your body with slow, dangerous precision. His jaw flexed once—tight, controlled—before he moved.

You turned to run. It was pure instinct.

But you didn’t get far.

In seconds he was behind you, one strong arm hooking around your waist as he dragged you back against his chest. His other hand clamped down over your mouth as you let out a gasp, muffled and desperate.

“I warned you,” he breathed against your ear. “Didn’t I?”

You shook your head frantically, but he ignored it.

He lifted you—just picked you up like you weighed nothing—and tossed you onto the bed. Your breath caught, wrists scrambling to push up, but Chan was already crawling over you, his thighs caging yours in, his hand pressing between your shoulder blades to keep you down.

“Stay,” he said, low and clipped.

Your heart was pounding.

You heard him shift behind you, the sound of fabric rustling—and when you turned your head to look, he was already looping a long strip of black cloth between his fingers.

“No—wait, I—”

He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head, using the cloth to bind them together. His knot was tight and fast, practiced.

“Too late for begging now,” he said. “You wanted to act like a brat?”

You whimpered.

“Then I’ll treat you like one.”

Chan sat back on his heels behind you, dragging your hips up into the air with a single, rough tug. Your chest stayed flush against the mattress, arms stretched out above your head, wrists locked tight in the soft fabric. You could barely move.

“Look at you,” he muttered, staring down at your soaked thighs. “Soaked, and I haven’t even touched you.”

He palmed your ass, spreading you open, watching the way you clenched. You whined, trying to push your face into the sheets.

He landed a hard slap across your skin.

You gasped, body jerking.

“That’s not where your attention belongs.”

He spanked you again—harder—and then again, until you were crying out with every strike, breathless and squirming.

“You backtalked,” he growled. Smack. “You disobeyed.” Smack. “And now you’re gonna take every second of this.”

He leaned down, his chest warm against your spine.

“You’re gonna thank me for it too.”

You swallowed hard, barely able to think through the sting and heat of his hands. “Th-Thank you,” you whispered.

He chuckled—cold, low.

“Not yet.”

And then you felt it—his fingers, slipping between your legs, stroking through your slick folds, teasing you with slow, cruel pressure that didn’t give you what you needed. You cried out, frustrated, your wrists straining against the binds.

But Chan was patient. So fucking patient.

“You don’t get my cock,” he murmured, “until you’ve earned it.”

Your wrists ached in the best way—tied tight, stretched out, your whole body bent into a position you couldn’t fight even if you tried. Not that you would.

Not when you felt Chan kneel behind you again, his rough hands trailing up your thighs like he was deciding what to devour first.

“You’ve made a mess of yourself,” he muttered, running his thumb through your soaked folds.

You whimpered at the contact, body twitching.

“Didn’t even get fucked, and you’re already dripping down your legs.” His voice was low, dangerous. “What kind of girl are you, hmm?”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head back just enough to speak into your ear.

“Answer me.”

Your voice was broken, breathless. “Y-Yours—”

He shoved your face back into the mattress with a grunt. “That’s right.”

Then he dropped lower behind you, spreading you open like it was nothing—hands firm on your ass, forcing you wide, fully exposed.

You gasped when you felt his mouth.

His tongue licked a slow stripe from your clit to your entrance, teasing, almost gentle—but the grip on your hips said otherwise. Said you weren’t going anywhere.

And then he groaned.

The sound vibrated through your core, deep and feral.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “You taste unreal.”

And then he dug in.

His mouth was ruthless, tongue working in steady, unrelenting circles over your clit while his hands held you down. Your knees trembled under the force of it. You tried to rock your hips, to chase that pressure—but he just tightened his grip until you couldn’t move an inch.

He flicked his tongue faster, then slower, dragging your orgasm right to the edge before pulling back, lips slick with you.

You whined—high and needy.

“Thought you were bratty,” he said. “Didn’t realize you were this easy.”

He lowered again, this time sucking hard on your clit, letting his nose bump against your skin as he groaned into your cunt. Your moans were broken, loud, shaking into the mattress.

And when he slipped his tongue into you, thick and slow, you screamed.

Your thighs shook, the knot in your stomach pulling tighter and tighter until—

“Don’t you dare,” he growled, pulling back just enough to speak. “Don’t you fucking come.”

You sobbed into the sheets, shaking from the denial. “C-Chan—please—”

But he dove back in, tongue moving faster, lips pulling you apart until your vision went white and your body betrayed you—

You came. Hard.

He felt it instantly—your muscles clenching around nothing, the sob that left your throat, the taste of you spilling over his tongue.

And then he froze.

He pulled back slowly, breathing hard, his mouth wet with your release.

You barely had time to gasp before he was speaking again—calm, dangerous.

“You didn’t just do that.”

Silence.

“You really came without permission.”

Your breath hitched.

“Alright,” he said, voice low and final. “You want to act like that? Fine.”

And before you could blink— He was grabbing your hips, lining himself up, and thrusting in.

The sound he made when he sank into you was feral—a low, guttural growl that vibrated through your bones. He bottomed out in one brutal thrust, hips flush to your ass, so deep you could feel him in your stomach.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice gravel. “You really came without my permission?”

You tried to speak—but all that came out was a wrecked little sob. He grabbed your bound wrists, yanked your arms back, and used them as leverage to pull you onto his cock again. Harder.

“Answer me.”

“I—I’m sorry—!”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I—I couldn’t help it—!”

He laughed—cold, dangerous. “Then let me help you.”

He dragged almost all the way out before slamming back in, again and again, every thrust deeper than the last, until your breath stuttered and your thighs shook. You were already so sensitive, so overstimulated from the orgasm he explicitly told you not to have, and he was nowhere near done.

One hand released your arms only to close around your throat, pulling you up until your back was pressed to his chest, your knees barely stable under the weight of his body.

“You like being used?” he whispered into your ear. “Being just a hole for me to fuck until I decide you’re worth more than that?”

You whined—completely at his mercy.

He tightened his grip on your neck, choking you just enough to make your vision blur at the edges.

“I said,” he snarled, hips snapping into you with punishing rhythm, “do you like being used?”

“Y-Yes, Daddy—”

That name. That name.

He groaned darkly, slamming into you so hard your toes left the ground for a second.

“Of course you do. Fucking brat.”

His free hand came down hard on your ass—smack—then again, until the skin stung, and all you could do was take it, let him rut into you while you cried out into the sheets.

Then he bent you forward again, one hand fisting your hair this time, the other dragging down your back possessively. “Look at this,” he murmured, watching your body ripple with every thrust. “Taking me so well for someone who doesn’t know how to fucking listen.”

You were babbling by now, some mix of apologies and moans and desperate pleas for more—words you didn’t even know you were saying, your body already starting to tighten again, dangerously close to coming.

He noticed. He always noticed.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he growled, slapping your clit once, sharp and precise. You screamed.

“Please—please, I can’t—!”

“You can.” He leaned over your back, kissed your shoulder almost mockingly, then bit it. “You’ll come when I say so, and not a second before.”

Your hands struggled against the cloth binding you, but there was no escape—only the relentless rhythm of his hips, the stretch of his cock, the burn of need threatening to swallow you whole.

He pulled out suddenly, and you cried out at the loss—only to be flipped over roughly, legs pushed wide, knees to your chest. The look in his eyes was deadly.

“You want to come so badly?”

You nodded, eyes wild, begging silently.

“Then earn it.”

He shoved back in, deeper than before, and started fucking you like a man possessed. Sweat dripped from his brow, muscles tense, his voice a constant stream of filth between gritted teeth.

“Losing your fucking mind on my cock… Look at you. Crying for it.”

Your vision blurred with tears.

“Say it,” he snarled, grabbing your cheeks to force your eyes to his. “Say whose you are.”

“Y-Yours, Daddy—!”

“And who does this pussy belong to?”

“You—Only you—!”

He growled again, nearly folding you in half as he drove into you harder, faster, until you were screaming his name into the room, your second orgasm detonating like a bomb inside you, every muscle locking tight.

And this time?

He let you have it.

He watched you fall apart, eyes fixed on your trembling body as he finally gave in, pulled out just in time to stroke himself fast over your stomach, cum spilling hot and thick across your skin with a ragged moan of your name.

“Fuck… fuck—”

Then silence.

Only the sound of your shattered breathing, the tremble in your thighs.

Then soft hands untied your wrists. Warm fingers cupped your cheeks.

“Hey…” he whispered, thumb brushing away a tear. “You okay?”

You nodded, dazed.

“You really drive me insane, you know that?”

You smiled, weak and ruined.

“I like making you crazy.”

He laughed, kissed your forehead, and whispered, “Good. Because I’m not done with you yet.”

He stayed there for a moment, just kneeling between your legs, his breathing still ragged, sweat dotting his flushed skin.

You were a mess—trembling, legs spread, slick and cum coating your thighs and stomach. But the moment he looked at you again, all that brutal dominance melted into something tender. His expression shifted.

“Hey, baby.” His voice was soft now, impossibly gentle.

He leaned down, kissed your forehead. Then your cheek. Then your lips—slow and unhurried, like he hadn’t just ruined you minutes ago.

“You okay?” he murmured against your mouth.

You nodded, but your body was still twitching.

“I’m gonna clean you up, yeah?”

You hummed in response, eyes fluttering closed as his hands moved over your body—soft now, tracing bruises with guilt-lined fingers, kissing your wrists where the cloth had pressed into your skin. He wiped between your legs with warm, damp cloths, whispering apologies when you flinched.

“There we go… good girl. You did so well.”

You should’ve been spent, drifting. But then he kissed your chest—first out of affection.

Then again.

And again.

And then he lingered, mouth warm and open over your nipple, and your eyes snapped open.

“Chan…”

He hummed around you, tongue circling before he gently sucked, wet and slow.

“I thought…” you breathed. “I thought we were done…”

He looked up, and his eyes were anything but innocent.

“I said i wasn’t.” he murmured, switching to the other breast, dragging his teeth softly over the tender skin. “And I remembered how good these taste.”

You whined, arching as his hand slipped up your ribs, cupping one breast while his mouth worked the other.

“You’re still sensitive,” he said, almost in awe. “Still twitching every time I touch you…”

“Chan—!”

“You can take it. One more.” His lips curved into a wicked grin as he latched on again, tongue flicking fast against your nipple while his fingers rolled the other.

The ache between your thighs returned like a flame sparking to life.

Your hands found his curls, tugging, and he groaned softly against your chest, only sucking harder, sloppier now—like he couldn’t stop, couldn’t get enough.

Your hips shifted on instinct.

“You gonna come just from this?” he murmured against your skin. “From me sucking on your pretty tits like this?”

You moaned, and he didn’t stop—licking, sucking, kneading you like you were his personal obsession.

“I could do this all night,” he whispered. “Look at how wrecked you are already. One more, baby. Let me have one more.”

And honestly?

You were helpless to deny him.

His hand trailed down your stomach, fingers brushing over your puffy clit like a ghost. Just enough to make you jerk.

“Fuck, you’re soaked again.”

He chuckled darkly and sucked harder at your nipple, flicking the tip with his tongue before gently biting down—just enough to make your back arch.

Then his fingers returned, sliding over your folds, deliberately avoiding your clit.

“I didn’t even touch you yet,” he said, licking a circle around your nipple. “You’re dripping already.”

“Chan—” you gasped, but he cut you off with another deep suck, tongue dragging over the wet, sensitive skin as he slipped two fingers between your legs and finally rubbed tight circles on your clit.

Your whole body jolted.

“Oh my god—”

“There it is,” he purred, watching you squirm. “Look at you—hips rocking, tits bouncing while I suck on them and make you come on my fingers like a good girl.”

The pleasure was building again, sharper now, and too fast. He was sucking you like he was starving, moaning into your chest, fingers relentless on your clit while you writhed beneath him.

“C-Chan—!”

“You gonna come for me again?” he murmured, still flicking your nipple with his tongue. “Gonna soak my fingers while I suck on your pretty tits like they’re mine?”

You cried out, thighs shaking, hips jerking up as that pressure snapped.

You came—hard—legs trembling, moans strangled, head thrown back against the pillow while his fingers slowed down just enough to let you ride it out.

He didn’t stop licking your nipple, though. Didn’t stop dragging those sinful fingers in slow, wet circles.

You twitched again. And again.

Too much.

“Too much—!”

“Shh, I got you,” he whispered, lifting his head to kiss your mouth this time, swallowing your desperate whimpers. “So good. So perfect. I could fuckin’ worship this body all night.”

You collapsed, breathless, overstimulated, skin on fire—and Chan was still there, touching, kissing, whispering sweet filth like he had all the time in the world to love you apart.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Authors note: And we have come to the end of the Angry boys series! It was fun writing all that smutty angst lol 😂 NOW WE CAN START TAKING REQUESTS!

Taglist: @tsunderelino @innieandsungielover @inlovewithstraykids @reignessance @jeonismm @sttnficrecs @herejusttemporary @krssliu @sagestarlight @kenia4 @miilquetoast @thackery-blinks @leeminho-hall @suga-is-bae @butterflydemons @inejghafawifesblog @malunar28replies @minchanlimbo @mal-lunar-28 @breakmeofftbr @itvenorica124 @slut4junho @deepblueocean97 @thequibbie @yaorzu-blog @imagine-all-the-imagines @just-bria @mischievousleeknow @universeyuto @ifyxu @melanctton @thelostprincessofasgard @binniebb @sillylittlecat1 @darkwitchoferie @m-325 @headfirstfortoro @imseungminsgf @ihrtlix @vernorica123 @hwangjoanna @swordswallower2000 @niki007 @yxna-bliss

[yeah-decisions]

I am high, yes. But this is a sober thought as well. Clouds, like, they're crazy. Just... Picture the description. There's a bunch of water up in the sky floating in big frozen giant balls of gas and when they get really heavy or crash or have a temperature drop they just pout water on EVERYTHING. There's the ground and then BAM! Water. Get soaked.

It's just.... Crazy. We have water pouring randomly over our planet. And that water comes from our planet and..... Just look at that video. Imagine never having seen the rain and somebody tells you that buckets of water will drop just because. And it doesn't matter if you're in the open sea, if you're on a busy street or even if you're not there. The water will drop.

OP: so this is the ‘intense regional downpour’ on the weather forecast

[angelsknifeprty]

couldn't fight to save your life (but you look so cool) ❀˖꩜˚࿔ - e.w

loser!ellie x popular!reader | 3.2k words

a/n: guess who rewatched bottoms for the billionth time (me. it was me.) :p loser!ellie won't leave my mind and neither will crush by ethel cain so here's somethin' random i came up with, enjoy!

cw: cursing, bullying, a little violence, mentions of blood, two idiots that are obviously infatuated with each other, mentions of reader wanting to punch ellie for being too cute cuz they’re strange like that

˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖

you're an angel, she's sure of it.

ellie watches with glassy eyes, practically in a trance, as you absentmindedly play with your hair. she drinks in the way your perfectly curated outfit adorns your body; you always look flawless to her. you were laughing at something your friend had said, ellie's ears straining to hear the saccharine sound over the chatter buzzing. she just heard it, and god, what she would do to have a recording of it to listen to over and over again.

the two of you weren't friends by any means, but she knew you.

most of ellie's time was spent staring at you during class or when you passed her in the hallway. her eyes would shy away every time they met yours, the intensity of your gaze leaving her a flustered mess within seconds. 

when she wasn't looking at you, her head was buried into her journal, pencil dragging fervently across the pages. her entries always had your name embedded somewhere within their sentences. it was like you were all she could think about. when she would draw, the lines and curves always morphed into you, capturing a moment of you daydreaming in class or whatever other snapshot her mind had taken of you that wouldn't stop plaguing her.

she'd listen to your conversations when she was close enough to hear - not to be a creep or anything! but how else was she supposed to learn more about you?

sure, the obvious answer would be to talk to you, but she was a nervous wreck from just seeing you. you'd only had a few brief interactions before, and she swears she almost fainted when you remembered her name when you asked her for a pen once.

while she believed the popularity contest that was high school to be ridiculous, her very low place in the school's hierarchy was a definite set-up for failure, she was certain. ellie kept to herself, mostly, aside from her few friends, but that didn't stop her from becoming the target of relentless bullying from some of the other students, the ones at the top of the food chain.

you were well-liked amongst your peers, but your popularity never merged you with those people. you were known for your sunny disposition, whereas they tormented their way to the top.

you'd seen it happen a couple of times, the sound of their jeering always catching your attention, especially when you heard them say ellie's name in that disgusting tone that made your heart ache for her. in fact, it's what snapped you out of your current conversation as an irritated, "what the fuck, williams?" sounds throughout the hallway.

in her lovestruck daze, ellie hadn't been looking where she was walking, which conveniently caused her to bump into one of them - a girl you didn't care much for, quinn was it? all you knew for sure was that she was trouble.

ellie winced and scrunched her face at the sound of her voice, internally cursing at herself because now she had to deal with her. she opened her eyes to see that everyone was looking, including you.

"shit, sorry. wasn't looking where i was going, won't happen again," ellie's tone is curt, trying to move past her and continue with her day before things got worse.

but of course, she wouldn't get let off the hook that easily; that was just her luck.

"where do you think you're going?" she probes, moving to block ellie's path. ellie has to restrain herself from rolling her eyes in her face, not wanting to escalate things if she could help it. how naive of her to think that nothing could ever be easy for her.

"c'mon, dude. i apologised. can we move on and-"

suddenly, it feels like the wind was knocked from ellie's lungs, and she's… falling?

a little stunned, she looks up from her newfound place on the floor after quinn has shoved her to the ground. all because of an accident that could have been easily brushed off and forgotten about. such a dumb fucking reason, and yet it has ellie seething.

"you should watch where you're going, williams. always lurking where nobody wants you to be." quinn spits, taunting ellie to get a rise out of her. 

it was likely that ellie's indifferent reactions to quinn's bullying irritated her, unable to fathom why ellie wouldn't buckle and submit like every other one of her unfortunate victims.

while the teasing and mean remarks were an unfortunate constant in her life, this never mellowed ellie. she was always quick-witted, her slight temper always having her ready to argue back and stand up for herself, and this time was no different.

ellie rises from the ground and delivers an equally hard shove, an irate, "what the fuck is your problem?" leaving her chapped lips. being the drama-obsessed hive mind that high schoolers were, it didn't take long for people to start crowding around the two once things intensified.

you had been watching the whole thing from afar before a wall of people began forming, not realising it'd evolve into this. you heard a pained groan rip from ellie's throat after what you presumed was the first punch being thrown. now you are only able to listen to the commotion but not see the situation, making your anxiety skyrocket. 

you liked to keep an attentive eye on ellie from a distance despite your paths rarely crossing, feeling some strange obligation to watch over her. you knew quinn and her posse of assholes always gave ellie a hard time, but she seemed to handle herself just fine, sometimes hearing one of her clever comebacks that made you giggle.

while the brawl entertained everyone else, you grew increasingly agitated. you were never one for drama and kept a relatively peaceful circle of friends, but the idea of just standing and doing nothing felt like a personal failure.

so, before you knew it, you were excusing yourself from your friends and pushing your way through the crowd to get to ellie.

once you breached the crowd, you found yourself in the eye of the storm, your eyes wide. after a while of their struggle against each other, quinn was now situated on top of ellie as she delivered a particularly hard punch to ellie's cheek. the wounded groan she let out was what urged you out of your frozen shock, rushing towards the tangle of violent limbs, grabbing quinn's shoulder and pulling her off of ellie with a hard tug.

"get the hell away from her!" you yell, trying hard to ignore the disappointed groans of the audience as you interrupt their entertainment. "assholes." you thought to yourself. 

wiping the blood from her nose, the sight of the trickling crimson more satisfying to you than it should be, quinn looks at you confused, clearly not expecting you of all people to come to ellie's rescue.

"the fuck are you doing?" she sneers, looking between you and ellie, who is still on the floor, propping herself up on her elbows with the nastiest glare you'd ever seen on her face. "don't tell me you actually give a shit about this loser-"

"back off, don't touch her," you snarled, pushing past her to kneel beside ellie on the ground.

you had this untouchable air about you, something that was a little lost on you but not to quinn. she knew you had people to back you up, her targets usually being the loner outcast types, being the coward she is. the same ruthlessness ellie received was not given to you, an irritated scoff being all you heard from quinn. she was the least of your worries right now.

"are you okay?" you ask, a little breathless from the adrenaline of putting yourself in the middle of a fight in front of an audience. your brows furrowed at how quickly deep purples and blues had already started blooming around ellie's eye and her freckled cheek. 

ellie looked at you blankly, her mouth opening and closing like a fish, and she tried desperately to find any words to say to you. how was she supposed to think straight? the rush from the fight and now having her crush come to her aid rendered her speechless. her lack of answer only worried you more, pinning her silence on being stunned from the fight still.

"ellie, i need you to answer-"

you were cut off by the sound of the principal pushing his way through the mass, his stern voice demanding that the two battered girls follow him to his office.

you watch doe-eyed and nervous as ellie pushes herself off the floor with a wince, looking at you with eyes that have so much to say yet a mouth that cannot quite verbalise it. but she couldn't stay, so without a word, she reluctantly trudged behind the principal with her head hanging low, utterly fed up, and man, that one punch hurt.

˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖

you peered around the corner to the row of chairs lined up outside the principal's office, eyes fixated on ellie's slumped figure occupying one of them. you had been watching for at least a minute or two now despite there being the opportunity to approach her like any other normal person. but this was comfortable for you, familiar. if ellie believed she was the only person with a staring problem, and she did, then she was painfully wrong.

it felt routine for you to watch her like this from afar, a look in your eyes brimming with so much more than just innocent curiosity.

it was like you could sense her presence in a room, your gaze always finding her so easily amongst the hoard of other students. your eyes would rake up and down as you shamelessly drank her in, that camo jacket of hers that she wore like a safety blanket hanging loosely from her frame. she wore it infuriatingly well, paired with her unbothered demeanour that looked oh so good on her. a witty remark was always ready on the tip of her tongue when one of her tormentors dared to speak to her, her scarred brow furrowing into a scowl that made your stomach flutter.

you knew what cuteness aggression was, but that surely couldn't be what you felt now. but it made you mad how badly ellie affected you even from a distance, what was once just a silly hallway crush twisting into a near-violent obsession. you spied her fresh bruises, almost filling you with a little satisfaction. serves her right, your voice whispers quietly inside your head, as if you were scared someone could hear you. you almost wished you had been the one to give her the bruises only so you could plant two gentle kisses over the skin to soothe the sting afterwards. the deep plum colour blooming across her skin still somehow made her look pretty, and you had to take a moment to ask yourself if that was a fucked up thing to think. probably. 

suddenly becoming aware of how much of a creep you must look, lingering but not daring to approach, you decided to finally go check on her. it wouldn't feel right for you not to ensure she was okay.

ellie wonders how hard she was punched when she looks up to see you, a concerned and bashful smile on your face.

"hey, ellie. i just wanted to check on you after what happened with… y'know." 

ellie spends a moment in silence as she processes what's happening. you're fidgeting with your hands, rocking back and forth on your heels like you don't know what to do with yourself. she could have scoffed in bewilderment, as if you had any right to look so nervous standing in front of her, effortlessly beautiful and so sweet.

"ellie?" you repeat her name again, softer this time. ellie almost wants to stay silent just to hear you repeat it. but she needs to respond, fuck think, think, think-

"o-oh, hey. i uh- yeah, i'm okay. nothing i can't handle," ellie finally manages to get out. you nod in acknowledgement, tearing your eyes away for just a moment to compose yourself.

"do you mind if i sit?" you gesture to the empty chair beside her, which has her perking up almost immediately. ellie nods, a simple "sure," leaving her lips in a tone that sounded far more curt than nonchalant like she intended. really, she was just trying to focus on not bursting at the seams. you were so close to her, and now she had to keep her cool.

"thanks for stepping in earlier and pulling her off of me. you didn't have to do that."

"i wasn't just gonna stand there and watch it happen," you say it like that wasn't what anyone else would have done, what they did do. all more than happy to watch her get her ass beat just to spice up what otherwise would have been another boring school day.

"i'd say i held my own somewhat well," ellie quips, her tone a little lighter than before. you giggle softly, deciding not to remind her that she had been floored by the time you got to her. she had definitely lost the fight, and in her defence, that girl was notoriously scrappy, but fortunately for you, she made losing look so good. holding herself up on her elbows, the meanest look on her dishevelled face as she stared up at the girl with an unwavering glare.

"and what did the principal have to say about that?" you press for details, head tilting curiously. you looked like a puppy, sitting all cute and pretty next to her. ellie swore you were trying to kill her; such a simple movement made her heart rate spike. 

"got a firm slap on the wrist and the usual 'you're better than this' speech." you hum in acknowledgement, a breath of a laugh exhaling through your nose.

"well, for what it's worth, i think you gave her what she deserved." your statement caught her off guard, and she was not expecting you to condone any of what went down earlier.

"oh, you think?"

"oh definitely. the only time i see her is when she's making some poor person's life hell. i'm glad to see her get a taste of her own medicine."

ellie couldn't argue with that, shrugging in agreement as she tried to keep the pride bubbling up in her chest at bay.

"i am a little surprised, though. i wasn't expecting you to entertain a fight with her." this makes ellie raise her eyebrow inquisitively. did she not look tough enough to be in a fight or something? she knew she was nerdy, but surely she didn't look utterly defenceless, right?

"how come?" she questions, leaning back more comfortably in her chair, legs settling into her usual manspread that had you reeling just from seeing it from a distance, never mind being right next to her. your eyes darted around the hallway, desperately trying to focus on the conversation.

"well, y'know, i see you around, and you're usually so…" you trail off as you wave your hands in soft, fluid motions, whimsical and a little silly as you try to explain the softer side of her you had always noticed in what looked like some strange interpretive dance. 

"but back there, you were all like-" you're swinging your arms a little more frantically now, a poor recreation of some generic karate moves. you would feel like a total idiot and you very much do if it wasn't for the cheesy smile spreading across ellie's face at the sight of you.

"yeah?" she feels like she's getting lightheaded from how giddy she feels.

"yeah." you parrot back sheepishly, twiddling your thumbs to ground yourself. so cute.  

all ellie seemed to be good for was being riled up by the other students, so hearing that you had acknowledged her enough to make up your own mind about her made her feel like she was short circuiting. she was quickly snapped out of her temporary high when she felt a sharp sting on the side of her face, her sappy smile irritating her bruises.

"shit, are you okay?" you ask worriedly as she tries to brush it off with a wave of her hand.

"yeah yeah, i'm fine; this could've been way worse. you don't need to worry." her thoughts didn't quite match up with her words, though, silently begging that you'd keep doting on her. she was basking in having your undivided attention.

"ellie, these bruises are pretty big, i'm allowed to worry after i watched you get your ass handed to you," you ramble, ignoring her dismissal. 

"hey! she didn't have that much of an upper hand against me-"

you don’t reply, your hand absentmindedly reaches out to cup her jaw, being careful not to press into where it hurts as you inspect her injuries.

"has anybody checked over you yet?"

she feels like she's on fire, palms sweaty as she silently lets you examine her. she barely managed to respond to your question with a simple "no." she swore she could feel everywhere your eyes landed on her face, and fuck, your hand is so warm. the mess of a girl was surprised that steam wasn't radiating from where your skin met. 

as you give her face a final once over, you catch that frazzled deer-in-headlights look in her eyes and realise what you were doing, immediately removing your hand. if ellie wasn't frozen in place, she would have chased your touch, already missing the feeling of you on her skin.

"s-sorry, i just- i didn't mean to touch you out of nowhere. i was checking for my own peace of mind and got carried away-"

"no!" ellie interrupts a little louder than she meant to. "i mean, it's totally fine," her voice is shaking, "thank you for caring. you don't even really know me, and you're doing all this for me, so thank you."

her abruptness halts your apologetic rambling. you look at her wide-eyed for a moment before letting a soft little smile tug up the corner of your lips. if only she knew just how well you'd come to know her from all of your stolen glances, committing her to memory like she would disappear.

"don't mention it."

silence falls over you, both fidgeting shyly as you struggle to find something else to say. but that was okay. the giddy smiles you were both biting back said everything they needed to.

"i should probably get back to class, i've been holding this hall pass hostage for a while so i could come to check on you." you huff out a little disappointed sigh, reluctant to leave now that you'd finally been able to talk to ellie after so long spent longingly glancing in her direction.

"oh right, sorry. don't let me keep you, like i said i'm fine, really." ellie felt herself deflate a little now that she knew you had to go. the word pathetic came to mind when she realised how silly she must have looked, sulking like a kicked dog.

"i'm glad you're okay, ellie. i'll um… i'll see you around, yeah?" you couldn't help the hopefulness seeping through your words, and ellie noticed. the slight lilt in your sweet voice, your awkward shifting as you stood up, ready to leave.

"yeah, i'll see you around." ellie smiled up at you, ignoring the sharp twinge where her bruises were. maybe she should get beat up more often if it meant getting your attention.

[lighting-and-shadow]

Ikigai, Part 5

Summary: You’re desperately in love with a man who already belongs to another.

Ikigai (n.) (Japanese): "A reason for being," the thing that gets you up in the morning.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 6

You awake to Sylus next to you. You aren’t cuddled up in his arms like you were a few days ago. Rather, he cradles one of your hands in his. It’s surrounded in his warmth.

You’re half tempted to keep it that way, to soak in this little moment because you know that odds are you won’t be getting many of these in the near future. You ignore that part of you and carefully remove your hand from his.

He tries to resist, even while in deep slumber (the man’s always slept like the dead since you started regularly sleeping in the same room). It’s adorable, like he can’t bare to let you go so much that it shows up in his sleep. You smile down at him drowsily.

You move your other hand to stroke his hair. Sylus thankfully doesn’t stir awake. You need this moment to yourself. Because while you’re still hurt by his words, you’ve missed his touch. You’ve missed the quiet moments of intimacy the two of you would have with each other daily.

Somedays you’d curl up on one of the couches as you’d read a book to him, either because he was being lazy that day or because it was in a language he didn’t speak (you learned many languages during your time in the auction and wandering about). Others you’d just sit in the living room together, him disassembling and reassembling a gun while you cut a jewel he got you from a client. On rare occasions, you’d dance with him and the twins early in the morning playing some obscure vinyl record.

Small moments were what made up you two’s relationship. Small moments that mean the world to you. You twirl a lock of his hair on your finger, just letting yourself relax.

Sylus’ stirring shatters the quiet scene. You jerk your hand away as fast as possible. Seeing those crimson eyes again just reminds you of what he said.

“Have you awaken, sleeping beauty?” You tease.

Your voice is hoarse. And Sylus quickly moves to grab you some water. You take small sips, surprised by how abused your throat feels.

I wasn’t asleep for that long, was I?

Sylus, sensing your confusion, whispers, “You were screaming before you passed out.”

You flush at his words. Screaming? You don’t remember doing that.

You stare down at the cup in your hands. Despite Sylus’ gentle tone and expression, you couldn’t help but be embarrassed. Having a mental breakdown was bad enough. But screaming your lungs out to the point of hurting your voice? That was just pathetic.

“Maybe I finally cracked under the weight of my foolish boss and his many messes?”

Your words are meant to be light-hearted; they do the exact opposite. Sylus’ face falls, and you watch his thread thrash like a wild animal. It’s alive with a storm of emotion. And you caused it.

The more vengeful part of you is satisfied by this. He’s caused you so much turmoil over the past few days. A little pain could do him good. He’s lied to you, and broken your heart. Not that he knows the latter or how deep the former goes.

Because despite working and being with Sylus for so long, you’ve never told him the truth. Not about your abilities nor about your past. Sure, you’ve told him bits and pieces, little stories about your childhood and what you did for work before Onychinus. But not the hard stuff.

You’ve never told him about the depth of the abandonment, of the betrayal of so many. You’ve never told him how far your loneliness runs. You’ve never told him that you have no soulmate. You’ve never told him what you could see.

You’ve wanted to. Many times, in fact, have the words almost slipped past your lips. But you’ve never let them truly fall out. Because why would you tempt history repeating itself?

“You changed my clothes?” You break the tension with a silly question.

The large, fancy black shirt smells of him. Of his cologne, and the unique scent that is Sylus. It clings to your skin. You love it.

“We both know mine suit you better, Gamayun.”

His voice isn’t as steady as usual. It trembles.

“Are you insulting my preferences?”

You turn to him.

“No. Just saying that mine will always be better.”

He looks at you with a soft expression. His hands drift to yours, fingers encircling your wrists and allowing the rest of your hands to sit on his palms. His eyes never leave yours during this. He’s studying you for any discomfort or any sign of you not wanting his touch. As if you ever could.

When you accept his touch, his eyes light up. The smile he gives you melts your heart.

“Keep telling yourself that foolish man.”

It’s a beat of silence between the two of you.

“I’m sorry, Gamayun,” you almost don’t hear what he says. “I’m so sorry.”

Sylus’ head is bowed to you. He looks so small at the foot of the bed. You want to reach out and hold him, cradle him in your arms and let him be safe there. Just like you did the first time you two got drunk together and just talked about your pasts.

You think that was the moment you started falling for him: when you realized there was someone just as lonely and broken as you. Him, the last fiend, and you, the only person to ever be born without a soulmate. Him, blessed with the power to see people’s desires, and you, cursed to see the love which you can never have.

It’s poetic. And it hurts. It hurts how perfect you are for one another, but the universe decided against you two.

The feeling of Sylus’ eyes on you reminds you that you haven’t responded to his plea. He doesn’t reach out to touch you. It feels strangely empty. But you suppose it’s best you get used to this now rather than later.

“I don’t accept,” you force out.

You turn your head away from Sylus. Seeing whatever expression he has on his face now will weaken your resolve.

“Oh,” the small sound Sylus lets out is beyond painful.

“Yes, “oh,”” you dig your heart’s and your relationship with Sylus’ grave further with each word out of your mouth. “Did you think a simple apology would make me happy?”

Under normal circumstances, yes. If Sylus had said practically anything else to you during your argument, than an apology probably could’ve soothed you. But he said those words, those cursed words. The words that’ve torn through so many of your relationships. The words that rendered promises meaningless and time worthless.

He said those words. And thus, you don’t have it in your heart to forgive him.

“You can’t smooth this over like usual.”

Sylus wilts the more you speak. The large, imposing, figure he stouts shrinks upon your every word. You keep your eyes away from him, as if ignoring him will make the pain of what you’re doing soften.

“You’ve betrayed my trust, Sylus,” you say his name firmly as a reminder to yourself and him to not waiver and keep the boundary you’ve set up. “You’ve betrayed it in such a way I didn’t think you of all people could.”

Saying it aloud makes the hurt fresh all over again. It makes you go back to all the times where you’ve been in this position. All the times where people you thought cared for you hurt you the second they found their soulmate.

And the more it hurts, the more you laugh at yourself. You knew this would happen. You knew the second you fell in love with him this would happen.

But you still act like a victim. You still hurt the man you love because he committed the simple crime of loving his soulmate instead of you.

“I just need you to trust me on this. Please. This will all be over soon.”

Over because he’ll leave you, that dark, annoying, voice in your head whispers. Over because he’ll abandon you like all the rest.

“It is you who doesn’t trust me, Sylus. That’s how this all started. You didn’t trust me, which caused my trust in you to waver. I do not need to do anything for you.”

“How can I fix this?”

“Telling me the truth would be a start.”

He says nothing. You fall apart every second he doesn’t speak.

Why? Why are you so willing to protect her?

You ask the question despite knowing the answer: because soulmates are everything. You’ll never compare to her.

“Than can you even say you’re truly sorry? Or are you just trying to appease me?”

“Of course not. You know I never say anything I don’t mean.”

“So you meant to use those words exactly? You meant to shut me out? You meant to permanently warp our relationship?”

“That’s not what I—“

“Than what did you mean, Sylus?” You spit out his name like it’s poison; he flinches like you stabbed him. “Because that’s what I think you meant. We had a deal when I came to work for you, with you. And you broke it.”

Sylus whipped to face you. He has a wild look in his eyes, and his lips begin to quiver. It’s as if he can guess your next words.

“You gave me your word that you’d never lie to me. You promised me. And yet you’ve done exactly that.”

You take a shaky breath before you land the death blow, “I have every right to walk out of here, right here, right now.”

Sylus’ hand zip out to grab you by the shoulders. He forces you to face him. You could almost cry from how scared he looks. There’s an almost feral glow in his gaze, like the dragon he once was is bleeding into view again but just through his eyes. As if you’re some important piece of his hoard and someone’s trying to take you.

It burns you to do this to him. Because abandonment and loneliness is something the two of you bonded on. But broken trust is also something you bonded on. And he broke yours. And he’ll continue to break it for her.

“You either tell me the truth, or….”

“Or what?” Sylus sounds choked up, as if he’s about to cry.

“I don’t know yet. Maybe I’ll leave. Or maybe I’ll just stop being your Gamayun. I haven’t decided yet.”

You try to breath to steady yourself, your entire body vibrating with that one inhale, before finishing, “But none of that will happen if you just tell me the truth.”

“It is the truth. What I have with her and what I have with you cannot be compared.”

You say nothing more. You knew that; by God, you knew that. But it still hurts.

Why?

Why is he so willing to go so far for the woman who killed him? He’d risk you, his partner, for her. Lie to you. Hurt you. Betray you.

Leave you, a voice in your head says.

But not her. Not his killer. He’ll protect her no matter the cost. But you? You’re nothing. You’re nothing compared to the woman that he let take his life. Would he do such a thing for you?

No.

He knows she killed him. Murdered him. Shoved a claymore deep into his chest and ripped his life from him.

But he still loves her.

How could you possibly compete with that?

You quickly sit up further in Sylus’ bed to swing your legs to side of it. You needed to get up. You couldn’t stew in these thoughts any longer.

“Where… where are you going? Why are you running off?”

“And what would telling you accomplish? You have your secrets, I have mine.”

Sylus pulls back as if you’ve burned him. It’s a low blow, sure, but you’re no longer in a state to care. You just need to get out. So even though all you wear is his shirt, undergarments, and loose shorts, you leave the room. A brief glimpse of the closet you share with him reminds you that you’ll have to move your stuff soon.

Wouldn’t do good for Miss Hunter to see that. She’ll misunderstand.

Just like you’ve misunderstood. You’re not his. He’s not yours.

Author's Note: sort of comfort (?) next chapter. Not from Sylus though...

I'm so fucking mean.

Taglist: @eolivy, @rafayelridesfisheatsfish, @animegamerfox, @jasperjokester, @schrodingerskimdokja, @just--crys, @snowdynasty, @shi-thats-kiera, @mansonofmadness, @dwuclvr, @ameilli, @katiedoesstuff101, @everythingistaken00, @napa-the-yappa, @hanaluxx, @lovesick-sylus, @tenaciouszombiewombat, @ladyparamount, @applepi405, @midnight-reverie, @69-gojos-wife-69, @bellagrayson-wayne, @phisen, @idkmanimjusthorny, @munchychuusy, @autumn2534, @poptrim, @sillyfreakfanparty, @zaynesfirefly, @flamedancer13, @thissmartdumbass, @mrsllawliet, @jeondyy, @ssetsuka, @dels-page, @that-lost-one, @johnnysactualgf, @mariquitas-en-verano @toelady, @sinnamon-bunn, @yesbiaswrecked, @doggyteam2028, @little-rays-of-darkness, @albatrossblue, @vyntheria, @silverianni, @browneyedgirl22, @tiklestar, @beaconsxd, @pepperushia

[goodboysweatertm]

all's fair in love and medicine

Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x F!Doctor!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Dr. Robby teases you with some well aimed dirty talk before work and the two of you struggle to keep the building sexual tension from revealing your relationship while on the clock.

Word Count: 5,053

Warnings/Tags: Established Relationship, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Creampie, No condom but reader has an IUD don't worry, Dirty Talk, "Good Girl" is used liberally, Praise Kink, Slight Degradation Kink, Breast Play, Aftercare, one single spank

Not Beta Read

Note: Expressive Aphasia = a neurological condition where individuals struggle to produce language, even though they understand it.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Torture. That’s how you would describe this shift. 

Usually, you get lost in it. The never ending ebb and flow of the emergency department. A wave that carries you from one patient to the next, from one test of your knowledge and skills to another.

But today, all you can think about is what Robby whispered to you this morning when you were still half-asleep and tangled up in each other.

“Be a good girl today and I’ll fuck you so good tonight.”

It rattles around your skull as you walk between trauma rooms, as you sit at a computer charting, when you stop to take a sip of water. The silky grate of his sleep-ridden voice. The warm press of his lips on the slope of your neck. And the heat of his hard body leaving you cold and wanting in bed when he so viciously got up to start the coffee machine.

The seconds feel like minutes, the minutes like hours. There’s a hum beneath your skin, a coiling tension that seems to build and build no matter how hard you try to throw yourself into your work. 

Because he’s always there. His dark eyes finding yours across the room. The electric trail of his fingertips sliding across your back as you pass each other on the way to opposite trauma rooms. The stifling heat of his presence beside you as you assess a new patient. 

You’ve always worked so well together. Both of you are so quickly able to leave your relationship at the door, to focus on the work. Today, however, you can hardly think of anything but getting home and jumping his bones.

A couple hours into the shift he has the absolute gall to ask you, “You doing okay? You seem a little tense.”

As if he isn’t the reason you feel like crawling out your own skin. Or shoving him into the nearest on-call room and having your way with him. But you can’t do either and so you settle on giving him a taste of his own medicine.

You lean in close, closer than you should out in the open of the ER like this. And you whisper, sickly sweet, “I’m being a good girl, aren’t I?”

You pull away from Robby, and look up at him with the most innocent eyes you can muster. The change in his demeanor is instantaneous and almost imperceptible. He’s hyper aware of the fact that you're surrounded by watchful eyes and yet he can’t help but be affected. You can see it in the rigidity of his spine, the slight tick of his jaw.

You don’t even give him the chance to respond, turning on your heel and away from the nurses’ station. His hand reaches for you before he can stop it, before he remembers himself. You feel Robby’s eyes boring into your back as you stride down the hallway, turning over your shoulder for a brief moment before the hall bends to find him standing exactly where you left him.

The next time you see each other is in the heat of a code. You’re climbing on top of the hospital bed, focused solely on the rhythm of your compressions. The room is a flurry around you and Robby breezes into the chaos to ask what he can do to help. But you’ve got it under control. The patient’s stats are rising, rhythm returning to that steady and all too familiar beep. There’s a chorus of exhales and nurses and doctors shuffle out and onto the next. 

Robby reaches over to help you down from your position straddled on the bed, the warmth of his hands seeping through the sharp cotton of your scrubs. Before you know it, you're the only other people left in the room. A now stable patient seemingly in the hands of two very capable doctors. 

Save for an unconscious woman, it's the first time you’ve been alone since you arrived to work this morning. At separate entrances and 8 minutes apart, like always. 

The quiet of the room is deafening. You wonder if he can hear the pounding of your heartbeat. Neither of you say anything, the air thick with want.

You’re standing too close but you don’t move. You don’t dare look at his face, eyes focused on the string of his hoodie that trails down his chest. Scared of what you might do, what he might do now that you’re alone.

Robby fingers the hem of your scrub top and laughs, but there’s no humor in it.

“You’re not playing fair,” he grits out. You bite your lip but don’t say anything. He fists the hem of your top now and pulls you closer to him.

“Look at me,” he says, his voice low and dark. Your eyes snap to his, spine alight with anticipation. You know that voice and what it means. As much as his words read like a command, you can see the pure desperation in eyes. He’s a man hanging on by a very thin thread.

“I’m not the one who started the game,” you bite back. Raising your chin and baring your neck in the process. An invitation, a supplication.

Robby’s hand releases your top and presses into your waist, trailing upwards until it rests just beneath your bra. So close and yet so far from where you want it. You open your mouth, a plea on the tip of your tongue when Dana bursts in. 

“Incoming trauma. Two teenagers pulled out of a burning building,” she calls out.

You’re angled away from the door and you know that she can’t see where Robby’s hand rests. But she can see how close you stand and you can hear the mirth in her voice at finding you both in this position. 

“We’ll be right there,” Robby responds, his eyes never leaving your face. The door swings shut behind her and his jaw ticks as he shakes his head. He steps back and massages the bridge of his nose for a moment. When he opens his eyes once again they’re burning hot with need.

“You’re killing me,” he whispers. His hands placed on his hips to keep himself from reaching out for you again.

“How do you think I feel?” you ask, shifting between your feet. Wanting to move closer and further away at the same time. The decision is made for you when a stampede of nurses and doctors pass by the door, pulling you from the quiet tension of the room and back into the fray.

It’s not until there’s only two hours left in the shift that you actually have a chance to think again. And of course Robby is there to fill every open millimeter in your mind. You stand on opposite sides of the nurses’ station and he hasn’t quite noticed your arrival, stuck in conversation with an intern. 

The doctor turns to go and Robby reaches his hands up to clasp them, bending his arms at the elbows so his fists rest between his shoulder blades for a deep stretch. The movement causes his sweatshirt and scrub top to ride up, revealing the skin of his soft lower belly and the wiry happy trail that disappears into his cargo pants.

Your mind goes blank, flashes white hot with pure desire. You absent-mindedly lick your lips and when you finally tear your eyes away to his face, you find he’s already looking at you. You’re caught.

His eyes are unreadable but dark and Robby all but prowls around the station to reach you. He relaxes his back against the counter beside you, one arm bent to rest on the vinyl surface and the other one, the one closer to you, hangs down between your bodies. 

There’s a beat of silence before he speaks. His voice is low, and his words burn through you.

“I don’t know if you’re being good enough, honey,” he murmurs. Just barely loud enough for you to hear over the room around you.

You try not to react and you think you’re successful besides the way your knees wobble for a brief second. You think maybe you’re delirious and the shift is getting to you because he couldn’t possibly be saying this to you right here, right now. But Robby continues.

“I was gonna make you come on my tongue at least twice before I gave you my cock. But now, now I’m not so sure,” he says, voice as even and neutral as if he was telling you his lunch order. He doesn’t look at you and you don’t look at him. 

You gulp and your lips part but no words come out. He fills the silence anyways.

“Maybe you shouldn’t get to come tonight,” he whispers. “I’m not sure you deserve it after you’ve had me half-hard this entire shift.” 

Your eyes flash to his at that and you swear you can see glowing embers in his irises. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from begging.

“Maybe I won’t even touch you,” Robby rumbles. “Make you watch as I—” 

Your hand darts out to grab his wrist so fast it’s almost a reflex. Nearly your entire body is tense now. The thought of spending the night without his touch to ease the tension that has been building for hours is too much for your fried brain to handle.

“Robby,” you grit out. “Please. ”

The corner of his mouth quirks up, self-satisfaction evident in his face.

“Ah there she is,” his voice carries praise now. “Guess my good girl came to work after all.”

The words wash over you like honey, the sparking fire in your belly replaced by warm, ambling lava. Your shoulders finally relax and Robby’s hand pulls his wrist from your grip so that he can interlace your fingers and squeeze. After a second they slip away.

Your eyes narrow at him.

“You, Doctor, are inhibiting my work,” you admonish now that the moment has passed. 

His grin is full and he pushes off the counter with his palms up as a peace offering. 

“Guilty as charged,” he admits as he backs away.

You pick up your discarded tablet and try to remember what you were looking for when Robby interrupted. After a moment, Dana comes to stand in front of you.

“What was that all about?” she questions, eyebrows quirked over her glasses.

“Oh, just discussing a patient,” you lie through your teeth, hoping she can’t see the way your skin still burns.

“Sure kid,” Dana relents, a knowing smile on her face. “Whatever you say.”

She departs, fielding questions as a couple of residents return from their patients. You blow a deep breath out and glance at the clock. 1 hour 53 minutes left in the shift. You roll your shoulders. You can do this.

The promise of sweet relief finally comes in the form of Jack Abbott marching through the emergency department doors. His arrival means that shift change is thankfully upon you, and not a minute too soon.

The night shift shuffles in behind him, their rested and renewed faces a stark contrast to the dozen or so hours you and all your fellow day-shifters wear.

You make your way to the nurses station to return your tablet and find Robby and Abbott embraced in what can only be described as a “bro hug.” As you put the device back on the charger you overhear the two talking.

“Okay, so that’s all for me. I’ll see you in 12,” Robby finishes recapping the shift. You can almost hear the way he shoves his hands into his zip-up pockets from his voice alone.

“You’re eager to get out of here,” Abbott remarks, and as you turn around you see the way his eyes dart between you and Robby. “Got a hot date or something?”

Robby looks over to meet your gaze for a moment, and you see the promise of what’s to come in them. 

“Something like that,” he laughs, taut and almost painful, as you turn and make a beeline for the locker room.

You’re practically shoving your belongings into your tote, suddenly filled with renewed energy despite the draining shift you’ve endured. Robby enters the room as you’ve just about finished and doesn’t even check to see if he has everything in his backpack, just pulls it from the locker and slams the door shut.

In an uncharacteristic move, you make your way out of the emergency department together, forgoing the usual staggered exit by unspoken agreement. You’re so close your fingers brush with nearly every step but you don’t dare move further apart. You think the effort of doing so might actually kill you.

The silence between you stretches all the way to the car. Both of you a razor-thin edge away from losing control and knowing that if you break now, there’s no way you would make it out of this parking lot without scandalizing at least a couple of your coworkers. 

Robby still opens the passenger door for you and slips your tote off your shoulder to place it in the backseat with his backpack as he always does.

The car ride is silent too, the quiet before the storm. At a red light you lock eyes and can’t help but smile at each other. He leans over to press a kiss to your forehead. A tender moment in the eye of the hurricane.

When you finally make it home, he carries your bags up the steps as you unlock the front door. The buzzing under your skin returns in full force now. Sweet anticipation crawls up your spine as you watch him hang your things in the entryway.

“Shower,” Robby bites out, breaking the tenuous quiet. He takes a step towards you.

“Alone,” you add and he stops, his eyes nearly begging. You know what will happen if you take one together and you want him in the warmth of your bed. For hours. 

“Don’t even think about deep conditioning, Robinavitch,” you warn him and he struggles to bite back a smile as he scratches the back of his neck. You want, no need , to wash off the day but that doesn’t mean you can wait a second longer than you absolutely have to.

“Yes ma’am,” he agrees and you take off in opposite directions through the house, grateful for the guest bathroom in a way you never have been before.

You’re clinical and efficient as you scrub your body in the shower, not even waiting for the water to warm to your preferred temperature before jumping in. You barely towel off and definitely don’t bother to squeegee the glass shower door before you make your way to your bedroom, a robe haphazardly tied around you.

Robby is already there, pacing in just a towel tied loosely around his waist. The outline of his cock pushes against the fabric, half-hard, just like he said. Your eyes flick up from his waistline and you don’t bother hiding the smirk on your face.

“Guess you weren’t kidding,” you tease and relish in the tightening of his jaw.

“Jesus,” he groans and shakes his head, “You think this is funny or something?” 

He stalks towards you and his fingers tangle in the tie at your waist.

“Maybe a little,” you bait him, and he falls for it. Robby rips the robe open and off your shoulders. His considerable hands settle on the soft skin of your hips. He grips them and pushes you towards the bed, somehow gentle and insistent all at once as he lowers you down onto it. 

He follows a rivulet of water as it cascades down the slope of your tit with his thumb and quickly follows another with his tongue, deviating course to trace your nipple. You can‘t help the gasp that escapes you, and your back arches, pushing your body towards his open mouth. He gruffs a laugh out against your skin and now his whole mouth closes around your nipple.

He pops off one tightened bud and places open mouthed kisses across your sternum to reach the other. He doesn’t dare leave either wanting, his palm massaging whichever is neglected by the wet heat of his mouth.

It’s too much and not enough at the same time. You’ve been aching for him all day and he’s barely scratching the surface of the pure need inside you. You try to reach for the towel, hoping getting him all the way naked might speed things up. But he just swats your hands away.

“Greedy,” Robby mocks into your chest. He pushes up from your body and you feel the loss of him keenly. You buck your hips up into his but it doesn’t sway him.

“Good girls know how to be patient,” he chides as his thumb leisurely trails across your abdomen. 

“I need more Robby, please,” you whimper. You can’t control the shifting of your hips or the tight grip your fists have on the comforter beneath you. 

His hand trails further down your body, two fingers finally sliding down to your cunt to swipe through the pleasure dripping from you. 

“Oh she needs more does she?” Robby taunts. He can see your expression begin to shift before it even happens, that pout you get when he makes you wait. You’re on the edge and he can tell. 

“Okay honey,” he says and he gives it to you. Thrusts two thick fingers into your pussy without any warning and watches from above as your body arches obscenely off the bed, a moan pulled from deep inside you. The pace he sets is unrelenting and it’s exactly what you need. His other hand comes up to grip the back of your neck, grounding you. You grip his wrist. 

Without ceremony he adds another finger, not stopping to give you a moment to adjust. The burn is delicious, pushing you towards a long-awaited peak. He curls his fingers inside you.

“Fuck–uh–uh–uh,” you hiccup. “Yes. ” 

“My fingers feel good, baby?” he asks, breathless right alongside you.

You nod your head and don’t stop as his thumb moves to circle your clit. It’s the final push you need, your climax fast approaching.

“Was I good?” you whimper, thighs pressing together around his hand inside you. “Are you gonna let me come?”

You’re not sure you could stop it even if you tried but you don’t have to worry. Robby’s pace picks up, somehow, and the thumb on your clit presses down harder.

“Perfect,” he whispers, reverent. “You’re perfect.”

And that sends you over the edge. Robby swallows your scream with his mouth, your kisses messy and tactless but filled with aching passion. He keeps his rhythm through the aftershocks, working you through it as the pulses around his fingers taper out.  

He pulls away from your mouth with a final press of his lips and you pant into the warm air. His fingers slide out of you with a squelch and you whimper at the loss. Robby brings his fingers to his mouth, eyes closing as his lips do, as if savoring the taste.

You hum and your arms reach out for him but his mouth moves down your body, like he’s searching for more, for the source of you. He’s gentle as he bends your legs to rest your feet on the bed, settling between your open thighs with his wrists around your ankles. He descends on your cunt without preamble. His mouth moves between your clit and your hole with ease and precision. It feels good, amazing, but it’s not what you want.

“No, baby, ” you cry out through the pleasure. “I want you.”

Robby doesn’t stop. His tongue curls into you, around your clit. 

“I’m right here,” he murmurs when he comes up for air. His eyes peer up at you as his mouth continues its assault.

You push up onto your elbows and reach a hand down to thread through his hair. You tug his head back, pulling him off of your dripping pussy, mouth still hanging open and beard slick with you.

“No,” you command. “Inside me.”

That gets Robby moving, wiping your slick from his mouth on the inside of your thighs as he moves his body up yours. Your feet push at his towel, unraveling it from around him. He tosses it to the ground, careless.

He settles his weight over you. His lips press into your collarbone, into the slope of your neck, across the apple of your check. Finally he kisses you fully, deeply. The taste of you remains on his tongue. 

There’s a shift of Robby’s hips as he notches his thick head into your aching hole and then he’s pressing inside. Wide and heavy, and almost too much to bear even with the slick that eases his entry. The inches keep coming, stretching you open in a way that feels indecent.

When you’ve finally taken every delicious inch and the tip of him presses into that spongy spot inside you, his head collapses into the juncture of your neck.

“So fucking good,” he mumbles into your taut skin.

You wiggle your hips, searching for more. His hands press them down into the bed with a huff. You whine and Robby lifts his head to find your eyes.

“Just give me a sec,” he pleads, completely undone by the feel of you. You’d be smug about the fact that he’s struggling not to come from just pushing inside you if you could feel anything beyond the raw and unadulterated stretch of him.

You’re trying to be patient but every second he’s not moving makes it harder and harder not to chase the pleasure that simmers beneath your skin. You sneak your hand down between your bodies to circle your clit. You get maybe two desperate swipes before Robby shoves your hand away and pulls out of you.

He thrusts back into you so hard and fast you think you might actually see stars. The noise that leaves your mouth sounds inhuman even to your own ears.

“Nu-uh honey,” Robby tuts, as he sets a pace that has you gasping with every thrust. 

“Mine.” 

The word is gritted through his teeth. Your hands come up to grip his biceps. Your nails dig into the thick muscle, looking for something to ground you.

“You just lie back and be good,” he rumbles. The words send warmth rushing through you. You can do that. You can be good for him.

Your hands glide across his shoulders, down his chest, and to his back. You pull his body closer to yours. The friction between your nipples and the hard and hairy lines of his chest sends sparks of pleasure coursing through you.

You’re almost at the peak of another orgasm and he can feel it with the way your walls are beginning to close in around his aching dick. Robby’s hand hooks under your right knee and hoists it up and past your hip, pressing it into the mattress and opening you up even more for him.

It feels ridiculously good and the sensation of being so stretched open has you babbling. A string of whiny pleases and whimpering moans followed by a singular plea.

“Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop.”

Robby’s thumb traces over the knee he holds hostage. His tender and soft touch, a juxtaposition to the way his cock slams into you.

“Wasn’t planning on it, sweetheart,” he teases and leans down to kiss the furrow between your brows.

Your orgasm explodes through you, feet kicking out and head tossed back with the sensation. Robby’s pace doesn't let up, just carries you through the waves of pleasure washing over you. Only when he’s wrung out every last squeeze of your cunt does he slow to a stop inside you.

He peppers kisses across your cheeks and nose and forehead as you pant and return back to your body. His tongue darts out to cull the droplets of sweat gathering at your hairline. Your moans are content as you bask in the afterglow.

“Good?” Robby asks as he noses at your ear.

You nod and mumble an affirmation.

“Soooooo good,” you sigh, words slurring. 

He chuckles and suddenly you’re reminded of the fact that he’s still rock hard inside you.

“That’s my girl. I’m not done with you yet,” he rumbles as he pulls out of you, sticky and wet. 

You whine. Didn’t he just say he wasn’t done with you.  

Robby shushes you and he’s careful as he maneuvers you over and onto your knees. A warm palm on your back pushes your chest into the bed and you settle your cheek on a cool patch of sheets. Your spine stretches out as you relax into this new position.

“Just like that, baby,” Robby groans, settling behind you with a grip on your hips. “I’ve been waiting for this all fucking day.”

“Yeah? All day?” you ask, mirth back in your voice as you turn over your shoulder to look at him.

His jaw ticks and he presses his hard cock against the curve of your ass.

“You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?” he grits out.

“Actually,” you taunt as you push back against his cock. “I think you’re the one who’s a pain in my aa –”

Your banter is cut short as Robby pushes into your wet and waiting cunt. You think you should be used to it by now but the stretch of him always catches you by surprise, has white hot bliss spreading through you like wildfire.

“That’s what I thought,” he hisses as he pumps in and out of you. “All I gotta do is put my cock in you and you can’t even speak.”

You try to respond but all that comes out is a gurgle of moans. He picks up his pace and his thrusts have you moving up the bed a couple inches.

“Guess I should have done this when you were mouthing off to me at central,” he huffs, panting with the effort of the tempo he’s set.

“Asking me if you were a good girl in front of the entire ER.” His palm comes down with a smack across your ass. 

You keen and push back to meet his thrusts.

“Bet you would have liked that,” he laughs. “Come on baby, tell me what we look for when a patient presents with expressive aphasia.” 

Is he seriously fucking quizzing you right now? That smug bastard. Your brain struggles for the answer. It’s on the tip of your tongue but every time you get close to the answer his cock hits that spot inside you that has your brain going blank.

“R-Robby, I can’t…I don’t–” you whimper into the bedsheets.

“I know, honey,” he coos from above you. “Maybe you’ll remember how much of a mess my cock makes you next time you want to be such a fucking tease at work.”

You clamp your cunt down around him. He grunts and his pace stutters.

“You s-started it,” you cry out. You squeeze around him again.

Robby’s tempo turns erratic and you know he’s close. You can feel yourself riding the edge of a third orgasm and you want him to come with you. You know just how to get him there.

“Dr. Robby,” you plead, voice breathy and sweet. You feel the way his fingertips dig into the plush skin of your lower back.  “I want you to come inside me.”

He moans, breathes out a trail of curses. The way you say his name like that, the way you beg for his cum when you know it drives him fucking wild. Robby can no longer think of anything else.

“Please. I need it.” you beg.

With a final, brutal thrust his orgasm slams into him, and you shatter right alongside him. He spills deep inside you, warm cum coaxed from his impossibly hard cock by the fluttering of your tight cunt. Your name is a stuttered moan on his tongue.

He collapses on top of you, teeth finding purchase in your shoulder as you float back down to earth together. Robby eases his bite with a soft press of his lips and he’s tender as he rolls you onto your sides together. His hand slides up from your hip to splay across your belly and he nuzzles into the back of your neck.

You both hum when Robby slips his softening cock from you, his spend spilling out and down your thighs. He pulls you back into him as you stretch your legs out beneath you.

After your heart rates settle, Robby pushes up from the bed and stumbles into the bathroom. Knowing that if he’s done his job right, and he has, you won’t be able to walk over there by yourself just yet.

Warm and sated, you hear the tap run. And then he’s back, sliding a warm washcloth between your legs. You sigh at the care with which he cleans you, all the delicacy and precision of the incredible doctor you know him to be.

He settles back onto the bed beside you and pulls a blanket over your intertwined bodies. You nestle into Robby’s chest and his hands come to thread through your still damp hair, brushing it out behind you.

“I’m way too old to be trying to hide a boner at work,” he laughs into your hairline. You giggle and pull back so you can look in his beautiful, brown eyes.

“And whose fault is that, hmm?” you tease and the corners of his mouth quirk up. His thumb comes up to trace along your cheek. He leans in to press a soft kiss to your lips. 

“I wish I could say I was sorry,” Robby smiles, “but fuck baby, you drive me crazy.”

“Ditto, old man,” you agree and he rolls his eyes. “Next time, save it for a day off, or at least shift change.”

He grins and pulls you closer. 

“Yes doctor, right away doctor,” he sighs, always the theatric, in between kisses across your face. Now it's your turn to roll your eyes.

Bliss. That’s how you’d describe this post-sex cuddle in the bed you share.

_

Thank you for reading! This work is also posted on AO3

dr. robby save me.

...dr.robby.

save me dr. robby.

[lazy-ahh]

It would be cool if you wrote something for maskless mark x kryptonian!malereader

(YOU WERE) MY HOME

pairing maskless! mark grayson x (kryptonian) male reader

you memorized the exact shade of brown in mark’s eyes. the way his laugh crinkles his nose. how his hands always tremble after a fight. he memorized the way your body went limp in his arms when the kryptonite hit. how your blood looked smeared across his suit. the exact second your heartbeat stopped. (he’s not your mark. but when he kisses you like he’s drowning, you let him.)

taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff , @thebatsgreatestfailure , @roryroro

your earliest memory is fire—not the gentle kind, not the warm glow of a hearth, but the violent, screaming kind. the kind that eats metal and flesh alike as your family’s ship tore itself apart in earth’s atmosphere, the heat so intense you could feel it searing your skin even through your crash harness. the scent of burning circuits and something darker, something organic—your parents, still strapped into their seats, their bodies limp and wrong in ways your child-mind couldn’t name but understood instinctively. you remember the way your throat burned from screaming, the way your fingers trembled as you clawed through twisted wreckage, your tiny hands slick with ash and something wet that wasn’t yours. then—cold grass beneath your palms, the shock of it against your skin as you collapsed in a stranger’s backyard, the night air biting at your tear-streaked face. you didn’t know where you were. you didn’t know if you were dying. you just knew you were alone.

until you weren’t.

a boy—messy-haired, pajama-clad, eyes wide with curiosity instead of fear—peered down at you like you were the most incredible thing he’d ever seen. "whoa," mark whispered, voice hushed with awe, as if you were a fallen star instead of something broken. "are you an alien?" you didn’t answer. you couldn’t. your voice was lost somewhere between the wreckage and the weight pressing against your chest, but it didn’t matter because mark didn’t wait for one. he just reached out, small fingers brushing your arm like you were something precious, and you shattered. you clung to him, shaking, gasping, and he held you back without hesitation, his arms tight around your shoulders like he already knew you needed to be held together. neither of you understood what had happened—you were both just kids, too young for death, too young for the weight of the universe—but mark didn’t need to understand to be kind. he whispered soft, clumsy reassurances against your hair, rubbed your back in slow circles the way his mother did for him when he cried, his voice wobbling but determined. "it’s okay," he kept saying, even though it wasn’t, even though it would never be okay again. "i got you."

mark always had good intentions.

after that night, you were never alone again. the grayson household wrapped around you like a second skin—debbie’s gentle hands guiding you through human meals that tasted too rich, too warm compared to the nutrient packs from your ship. nolan’s steady voice explaining earth’s customs with patient amusement when you stared too long at things like skyscrapers or television. and mark—always mark—dragging you into his world with both hands, insisting you share his bed when the unfamiliar silence of your new room kept you awake. the mattress was too soft, nothing like the firm sleep-pods you were raised in, but mark’s presence beside you, his quiet snoring, made it feel like home.

cecil came later, all sharp suits and sharper eyes, but his grip on your shoulder was firm, not cruel, when he signed the adoption papers. you even remember cecil's expression softening a tiny bit when you finally mustered up the courage to look up at him. "you’re special, kid. you could do a lot of good in this world." he’d said, and you didn’t realize then how much that would cost you. the training was brutal—learning to control the way your fists could shatter concrete, how your vision blurred red-gold when anger spiked too hot in your chest—but you endured it. not because you cared about being a hero, but because nolan had quietly told both you and mark that he would inherit powers one day. and mark? mark already dreamed of it. of soaring through skies, of saving people with that bright, fearless grin of his. "we’ll be unstoppable," he’d say, bumping his shoulder against yours, and you’d nod, because all you ever wanted was to stand beside him.

you remember the little things most: the way mark split his peanut butter sandwiches with you in the cafeteria when you couldn’t stomach the school’s mystery meat. how he’d sneak you onto the roof at night, pointing out constellations he’d misname on purpose just to hear you laugh and correct him. the winter your fingers went numb during a snowball fight, and mark—without hesitation—pulled off his gloves and pressed your hands between his own, blowing warm air onto your skin until the feeling returned. "better?" he’d asked, cheeks pink from cold, breath fogging between you. you lied and said yes, even though your chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with the weather.

and then there were the bigger moments: the first time you flew together, mark whooping as he clung to your back, his laughter vibrating against your spine. the way he’d look at you after messy, early missions—bloodied but triumphant, grinning like you’d hung the stars yourselves.

somewhere between stolen lunches and whispered secrets, between scraped knees and shared victories, you fell in love. not all at once, but slowly, inevitably, like gravity pulling you into orbit around him—helpless, hopeless, a collision course written in the stars. and the cruelest part? you never even tried to stop it.

you memorized the shape of his name like a prayer, the syllables curling soft and reverent against your tongue every time you almost said it: i love you, i love you, i love you. it lingered in the spaces between your ribs, ached behind your teeth, spilled into every quiet gesture you couldn’t stop yourself from making. the way you’d fix his suit after battles, fingers lingering a second too long on the fabric stretched over his shoulders. how you’d always bring him his favorite snack after patrol, even when he forgot to ask. the nights you stayed up late just to listen to him ramble about his day, your chest so full it threatened to crack open.

you were brave in every way that mattered—except one. the words never made it past your lips, because you knew. you knew. mark liked girls. loved them, even. the way his eyes followed amber in the hallways, the soft, dazed smile he’d get when eve laughed. you watched it all with a hollow kind of hunger, wondering if maybe—maybe—you could be the exception. if his hands, so careful when they patched up your wounds, might one day cradle your face instead. if his laughter, bright and endless, might one day be yours in a way that wasn’t just friendship.

(you remember one night, the two of you tangled together on the couch after a movie, his head lolling sleepily against your shoulder. your breath caught, heart pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it. this is enough, you told yourself. this has to be enough. but then he shifted, his lips brushing accidentally against the curve of your neck, and for one delirious second, you let yourself hope.

he didn’t even notice. just yawned and mumbled, "g’night, dude," like you hadn’t just short-circuited entirely.)

you never overstepped. never pushed. you loved him too much for that. so you stayed—always giving, always there, hands outstretched but never grasping. and mark? mark never pulled away. never acted uncomfortable. just smiled at you like you were his favorite person in the world (and you were, just not in the way you wanted).

sometimes, you wondered if that was worse.

but of course, ever the giver, you stayed. continued to pour yourself into the spaces between his broken pieces after nolan left him shattered across that mountain. held ice packs to his bruises when his healing factor was too slow, stayed awake through his nightmares when the memories of his father's fists became too loud. every life he couldn't save weighed on him like stones in his pockets, and you? you became the water that buoyed him up, whispering "it wasn't your fault" into the hollow of his collarbone when he shook apart in your arms. and when he'd look at you afterward—eyes wet with gratitude and something unreadable but familiar, mouth soft with something you didn't dare name—you let yourself pretend, just for a second, that it meant more.

but then the drift began. slow, like the tide pulling back from shore—that subtle, inevitable retreat you didn't notice until you were already standing on damp sand, wondering when the water had gotten so far away. you told yourself it was fine. normal. that this was just what happened when two people grew up and became heroes, when the weight of the world settled across their shoulders like second capes. mark was drowning in responsibilities, just like you were—global crises that left blood under your fingernails for days, collateral damage measured in broken buildings and broken families, cecil's ever-growing demands that came with that particular tilt of his head that meant refusal wasn't an option.

you'd see mark across crowded briefing rooms, the shadows under his eyes darker each time, his shoulders tensed like he was still bracing for his father's blows. sometimes your fingers would twitch with the memory of how easily they used to fit between his shoulder blades, how he'd lean into your touch like a sunflower chasing light. but in the rare moments he surfaced for air—between missions, during stolen minutes in the guardians' lounge—he never reached for you. not like before. not with that easy, unconscious trust that used to have him slinging an arm around your neck before he'd even finished saying hello.

instead, there were new distances measured in centimeters of couch space between you, in conversations that ended just a beat too soon, in the way he'd sometimes look at you like he was trying to solve an equation written just behind your eyes. you told yourself it was the exhaustion. the trauma. the growing up. you told yourself it didn't feel like losing something you'd never really had in the first place.

(you remember that particular tuesday night with crystal clarity—the way the dim lamplight caught the exhaustion in the slope of mark's shoulders as amber's name flashed across his phone screen again, the third time in forty-seven minutes. the couch cushions dipped under his weight as he slumped against you, his forehead pressing into the junction of your neck and shoulder like he was trying to fuse himself there. you could feel the frustrated heat of his skin through your shirt, could count each uneven breath that gusted against your collarbone. "she says i'm never present," he muttered, the words cracking open like overripe fruit, all sticky vulnerability. your fingers spasmed against his back, nails leaving half-moon indents in your own palms as you fought the urge to fist your hands in his shirt and scream i'm here, i'm always here, why can't you see me? instead, you traced the familiar topography of his spine through thin fabric, your palm skating over the knobs of vertebrae you'd set back in place after countless battles. "then be present, mark," you whispered, the advice settling like powdered glass between your teeth. he never knew you'd rehearsed those exact words in your bathroom mirror that morning, watching your reflection mouth them until your expression stopped twisting into something ugly. never knew you kept a mental tally of all the times you'd talked him through his relationship problems like some masochistic saint.)

you were stupid. selfish. a fraud wearing a martyr's skin. because when mark and amber finally shattered apart—when you found him sitting on your roof outside your bedroom window in the rain, his hands shaking around a lukewarm cup of coffee you'd made him just how he liked—your grief came in layers. the first was genuine: the way your throat closed at his red-rimmed eyes, the immediate urge to fix what you couldn't. but beneath that? something rotten and hungry uncurling in your ribcage, whispering maybe now. maybe me. the shame hit like a solar flare, burning through your veins hotter than any kryptonian heat vision ever could—because even as you pulled him into a hug, even as you let him stain your shirt with tears, some treacherous part of you was already calculating if this pain of his might finally turn his gaze your way.

and then—

the words hit like a kryptonite blade between your ribs, delivered with that familiar, awkward scratch at the back of his neck that you'd always found endearing. "hey, so. eve and i. we're, uh. together." mark's grin was bashful in the way that made his left dimple appear, afternoon sunlight gilding the curve of his cheek like he was something holy. your fingers spasmed around the coffee cup—the one you'd brought him back from that paris mission last year—and you took a hurried gulp, letting the near-boiling liquid scald your tongue raw. the pain was a welcome distraction from the way your vision blurred. "that's great, man," you managed, the lie sticking like wet sand in your throat. you'd gotten good at this, at stitching your voice into something steady when everything inside you was collapsing.

he didn't notice. of course he didn't. mark never saw the way your breath hitched when he touched you, never caught you staring at the place where his t-shirt rode up when he stretched. now he was practically vibrating with the need to share, knees bouncing as he leaned forward. "she kissed me after the downtown mission," he confessed, voice dropping like you were co-conspirators in this joy. "like, right in the middle of all the rubble? and her laugh—" his fingers fluttered over his sternum, mapping the phantom flip of his heart, and you thought distantly that you could chart every fracture spreading through your own chest in real time. the ceramic mug creaked ominously in your grip, but you couldn't feel the heat anymore, couldn't feel anything except the terrible, perfect clarity of this moment: mark, glowing with happiness that wasn't yours to claim, and you, committing every detail to memory like a masochist preserving their own ruin.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

the sky isn't just red—it's hemorrhaging, great arterial sprays of crimson light pulsing behind thick, choking clouds that don't move like normal clouds should. below you, the streets gape open in jagged wounds, asphalt peeling back like the skin of some massive creature trying to escape its own bones. the air isn't just smoky—it's alive with the taste of burning copper and molten steel, each breath scraping your throat raw with the ghosts of a thousand shattered lives. your cape snaps violently behind you, a desperate thing trying to flee the carnage, while your heart jackhammers against your sternum with such force you're half-afraid it'll crack through and go tumbling down into the ruins below.

chicago isn't just burning.

it's being unmade.

again.

you've seen this city broken more times than you can count—watched it crumble under alien invasions, superpowered brawls, the careless collateral damage of beings who called themselves heroes. you know the drill by now: the screaming, the sirens, the way the news cameras always zoom in too close on crying children. you've memorized earth's sick little dance of destruction and rebirth, how it always stitches itself back together with temporary scaffolds and hollow promises of "never again."

but this?

this is different.

because the figures streaking through the carnage below—the ones reducing buildings to dust and civilians and heroes alike to red smears on concrete—they all wear his face. his jawline. his messy dark hair. they move with his fighting style, shout with his voice, even bleed the same shade of red. but their eyes? their eyes are all wrong. cold and chaotic where his are warm, empty where his always held that stubborn spark of hope.

none of them are your mark.

the sky weeps fire around you as you hover above the carnage, the acrid smoke stinging your eyes worse than the truth ever could. somewhere in this nightmare of broken concrete and broken bodies, the real mark fights for his life—while you're trapped here, your lungs burning with the cruel joke of it all. that in this city of a thousand twisted copies wearing his face, the most unbearable pain wouldn't be failing to find him... but reaching for him only to grasp another hollow imitation.

you don't know where your mark is. he's probably halfway across the world by now, his arm slung protectively around eve's waist as they fight back-to-back like some perfect, seamless team. while you? you're knee-deep in rubble, using your body as a human shield between collapsing buildings and innocent civilians—always the bridesmaid, never the groom. or something like that.

the irony tastes like blood in your mouth—metallic and thick, the kind that lingers after a punch to the jaw. you’d stood like this days ago in the guardians’ headquarters, your trembling fingers digging into your palms hard enough to leave crescent-shaped indents, half-moons of desperation carved into your skin. mark had been gearing up for another mission with her, his suit clinging to his shoulders in that way that always made your throat tight. his gloves smelled like ozone and sweat when you grabbed his wrist, stopping him mid-motion as he reached for his mask. your grip was too tight, your pulse too loud in your ears.

"you're always with her," you’d choked out, the words scraping your throat raw, tearing free like shrapnel. your voice fractured like the sidewalk now splitting beneath your feet, each crack exposing years of buried longing.

it all came tumbling out then—how you’d memorized the exact shade of brown in his eyes (warm, like earth after rain), how you’d counted every faint freckle scattered across his nose like constellations. how you’d give up your powers, your legacy, your name if it meant he’d look at you just once the way he looked at her—soft and awed, like she’d hung the stars herself. the confession burned worse than kryptonite, searing your tongue, leaving your mouth tasting like smoke and regret.

for one suspended second, mark’s face did something complicated—his lips parted like you’d punched the air from his lungs, his pupils blowing wide, dark with something unreadable before his gaze dropped to your mouth. your heart stuttered, a trapped bird slamming against your ribs.

you didn’t know why you’d said it. maybe it was the alcohol rex had shoved into your hands earlier, his smirk sharp as he’d muttered, "drink up, superboy. maybe it’ll make you stop staring at him like a kicked puppy." you’d swallowed it all down—the bitter drink, the bitter truth—and now here you were, spilling your guts like some pathetic, lovesick fool, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

mark had frozen like you’d hit him with kryptonite, his hands suspended in air, fingers still curled around the edge of his half-raised mask. the familiar crease between his brows deepened, his lips parting slightly—not in anger, but in dawning, terrifying comprehension. "what?" he breathed, voice barely above a whisper, and you saw it then—the exact moment realization struck. his breath hitched, his pulse visible in the jump of his throat, his gaze dropping to your mouth one again for one electrifying second before snapping back up, wide and startled.

in that suspended heartbeat between confession and consequence, you could have sworn something shifted behind his eyes—something warm and terrified and impossibly, dangerously like reciprocation. like maybe, just maybe, he’d been waiting for this too.

then the comms crackled to life with eve’s voice, bright and urgent, and whatever fragile moment existed between you shattered like the storefront windows now raining glass down around you. "mark? you there?"

he flinched like you'd caught him with his hands in the fire, his mask slipping into place with a sound that felt too final—like a coffin lid sealing shut. "we'll talk later," he muttered, but the words came out all wrong, cracked down the middle like his voice was splitting apart the same way your ribs were. you saw everything in painful clarity: the tremor in his fingers as they fumbled with his mask's edge, the way his adam's apple bobbed like he was swallowing back something thick and unsaid. then he was gone in a streak of blue and yellow, leaving you standing there with your heart ripped clean from your chest, still beating raw in your palms. you wondered if this was how icarus felt—watching the sun flee from him, knowing he'd flown too close.

you became a hero for him. learned to fly not because the sky called to you, but because it was where he lived. trained your fists to break bones only so you could be the one to set his afterwards. stood beside him through every battle, every loss, every quiet midnight where the weight of the world pressed too hard against his shoulders. always beside him. never with him. never the way you truly wanted—fingers laced together, mouths sharing breath instead of battlefield strategies.

now, as you wrench a sobbing child from collapsing rubble, their tiny fingers clutching at your collar like you're the only solid thing left in this nightmare, you wonder if that hesitation in his eyes meant he felt it too—that inexorable pull between you two, like twin stars caught in each other's gravity. or if you'd just shattered the best thing in your life for nothing more than a maybe.

a building groans nearby, its steel skeleton screaming as concrete rains down in deadly chunks. you move before you think, your body slamming into the structure with enough force to crack your spine. the impact knocks the air from your lungs, but you hold firm, muscles burning as you lower the crumbling mass inch by agonizing inch. people scramble free beneath you, their screams mixing with the distant wail of sirens. you don't have time to gasp before the shockwave hits—another explosion ripping through the street, sending you skidding backward through debris. smoke fills your mouth, your nose, your pores, but all you can taste is the ghost of his name.

that’s when you see him.

floating there like some half-remembered dream, blood painting abstract patterns across his cheekbones. but—no mask. no goggles. nothing to hide the way his face transforms when he sees you, his eyes widening like you’re the first real thing he’s seen in years. the moment his gaze lands on you, something fractures deep in your chest—not the clean break of a bone, but the slow, seismic splitting of tectonic plates—only to knit itself back together with golden thread when his lips part in quiet awe.

this mark looks at you like you’re the answer to a question he’s been asking his whole life. like you’re water after decades of drought, like you’re the first star he’s seen after being trapped in an endless night. his eyes trace your face like he’s memorizing it, like he’s trying to drink you in before you disappear again—and oh, god, the way his expression softens when he realizes it’s really you, like his entire body sighs in relief.

then he’s moving, closing the distance between you in a heartbeat, his hands coming up to cradle your face before stopping just short, trembling in the air like he’s afraid you’ll vanish once again if he touches you. "hey," he murmurs, his voice so tender it aches, the sound wrapping around you like sunlight. "it’s okay. i got you."

and suddenly you’re seven years old again, trembling in the wreckage of your pod, your tiny fingers clutching at the grass as the world spins too fast around you. you remember the warmth of mark’s small body pressing against yours, his arms tight around your shoulders like he could shield you from the entire universe if he just held on hard enough. the way he whispered, "it’s okay, it’s okay," into your hair like a prayer, his voice wobbling but sure.

this mark is looking at you with that same fierce protectiveness, that same unwavering devotion—but now it’s layered with something deeper, something older. something that makes your breath catch. he looks at you like you’re the axis his world spins around, like every scar on your body is a constellation he wants to worship. like he’s loved you in every lifetime, and will love you in every one to come.

a sob claws its way up your throat, raw and broken, because this—this is how you’ve always wanted to be seen. not as a sidekick, not as a best friend, but as the living, breathing center of someone’s universe. and here, in the middle of a burning city, with a version of mark who wears his heart as openly as he wears his scars, you finally are.

you let him carry you in his arms, let his fingers curl protectively around the back of your head as he tucks your face against the warm hollow of his neck. the wind screams past your ears as he takes off, but you don’t fight it—don’t even tense. your mission brief echoes dimly in your mind (neutralize all variants, show no mercy) but it feels distant now, drowned out by the steady thump of his pulse beneath your lips. let them see, you think hazily. let the whole world watch as he flies you away like something precious.

next thing you know, you’re perched on the edge of your bathroom sink, his hips slotting between your knees as he patches you up with practiced hands. he’d flown you high enough earlier that the sun could kiss your wounds closed, but he still fusses—dabbing antiseptic over the cuts that haven’t quite healed, his touch feather-light when you flinch. "still hurts here?" he murmurs, fingers hovering over your ribs. you nod, and he makes a soft, wounded noise in his throat before reaching for the salve.

you watch, hypnotized, as he cups the salve between his palms—the same way you've done for yourself a thousand lonely nights—letting his body heat soften it before spreading it across your aching skin. his fingers move with practiced ease, tracing the map of your wounds like he's reading braille, like every bruise and cut tells a story only he understands. "you know my place better than i do," you murmur, voice scraped raw from smoke and unshed tears.

his hands freeze mid-motion. when he lifts his gaze, his eyes are bottomless pools of ink in the dim bathroom light, swirling with emotions too complex to name. "of course i do," he breathes, the words spilling out like a confession dragged from his chest. his thumb finds the sharp angle of your hipbone, brushing once—a fleeting touch that burns hotter than any solar flare. "how could i not when i spent most of my life with you?" his voice drops to a whisper, cracking open like an eggshell. "when i spent years memorizing the way you breathe when you're hurting? the way you grit your teeth slightly when you're lying?"

the air between you grows thick, charged like the moment before lightning strikes. you can feel his pulse where his fingertips rest against your skin, rapid as a hummingbird's wings. the mirror fogs with your shared breath, obscuring your reflections until it's just this—just his hands on your body, his truths in your mouth, this fragile thing you've both been too afraid to name.

the confession lingers in the humid air between you, delicate as the steam spiraling from the faucet, as transient as the condensation tracing paths down the mirror. you ache to ask—how many realities exist where your fingers intertwine as more than friends? how many versions of himself experienced this moment with you? but then his calloused palm rises to frame your jaw, his thumb sweeping salve across your cheekbone with a tenderness that steals your voice. the medicine stings, but you'd endure a thousand cuts just to keep his hands this close.

"there," he murmurs, his breath ghosting over your skin like a summer breeze through open curtains. the scent of him—ozone and the faint metallic tang of blood—mixes with the antiseptic's sharpness. "good as new."

except you're anything but. you're a constellation of fresh wounds and ancient scars, your pulse fluttering wildly beneath your skin where your bodies press together. yet as his forehead comes to rest against yours, as his lashes brush your cheek when he blinks, the familiar ache in your chest doesn't feel like shattering.

it feels like dawn after endless night. like gravity finally pulling you into orbit. like the first full breath after years of drowning.

it feels like every cliché about home you ever rolled your eyes at—because home was never a place. it's the boy who learned your pain before he learned your favorite color, who carries the shape of your wounds in his hands like something precious.

the warmth of his hands on your skin feels like sunrise after decades of darkness—like finally breathing after being submerged too long. for one heartbeat, two, you let yourself drown in it, this dizzying sensation of being cherished, of being truly seen for the first time in your life. then reality comes crashing back like a fist to the gut, bitter and violent. this isn't your mark. can't be your mark. this is one of the invaders, the destroyers, the monsters who painted chicago's streets red with innocent blood. his hands may cradle you with familiar tenderness, but you saw what the other versons of him did to the city. what he's done too.

your muscles tense, fingers curling into fists at your sides. you should attack. should drive your fist through his chest the way cecil trained you to. should make him pay for all the lives lost today.

but then—

his lips quirk in that lopsided smile you've traced in your dreams a thousand times, the one that makes his left dimple appear just so. his eyes crinkle at the corners in that way you could recognize blindfolded, but there's something shattered in his gaze now, something ancient and grieving. "god, i missed you," he breathes, voice cracking like dry earth in a drought, like the words have been clawing their way up his throat for years. the sound of it—so raw, so painfully familiar—makes your traitorous heart stutter behind your ribs.

your breath catches. "what happened..." you swallow hard, fingers twitching at your sides. "to the me in your world?"

his face does something complicated. for a second, he just looks at you, his gaze tracing your features like he’s trying to commit them to memory all over again. then, softly: "we were together. properly, i mean." his thumb brushes your cheekbone, hesitant. "confessed to each other a year before i got my powers. it was... stupidly awkward. i tripped over my own feet trying to kiss you." a wet laugh escapes him, his eyes shining. "you laughed at me. then pulled me in by my shirt."

the image blooms in your mind—mark, younger, softer, his face burning red as he fumbles through a love confession. you can almost see it.

his expression darkens. "then the invasion happened. you fought—of course you did. even when that bastard pulled out the kryptonite." his voice cracks. "i was too hurt to move. could barely breathe. but you—you looked at me, right before..." he chokes, his hands tightening around yours. "you smiled. like you weren’t scared at all."

the sob tears through you like a supernova—violent, uncontrollable, leaving you trembling in its aftermath. before you can think, you're clutching at him with desperate hands, fingers twisting into the frayed fabric of his suit as if you could somehow stitch reality back together through sheer will alone. your knuckles press white against his ribs, nails biting into your own palms, but you can't loosen your grip. you'd crawl between dimensions yourself if it meant bringing his version of you home. because seeing him so broken like this... it just. hurts so fucking bad.

he collapses into you like a dying star, his arms locking around your waist with bruising intensity. his face presses hot and wet against the curve of your neck, his tears searing your skin as his shoulders shudder against yours. you feel the exact moment his knees give out, how his weight sinks into you—the great invincible mark grayson, brought to his knees by grief.

"we lose you... in every other dimension," he chokes out between ragged breaths, the words fracturing as they leave his lips. his fingers scramble across your back like he's memorizing your pulse points, your scars, the way your lungs expand with each shaky inhale. "and i feel so god damn jealous of the versions of me who didn't-" his voice shatters completely then, dissolving into something raw and wounded.

instinct takes over. your hands find their way into his hair, cradling his head as your thumbs sweep across his damp cheeks. "shhh, i've got you," you murmur into his temple, the same words he once whispered to a scared alien boy in his backyard. the irony tastes bitter on your tongue—how after all these years, you're still comforting each other through losses that never seem to end.

the salt on your lips could be from his tears or yours. you've lost track of who's breaking apart more violently, whose grief runs deeper. are you mourning the you he watched die? the mark who will never look at you this way in your own world? or simply the cruel joke the universe keeps playing—that in every reality, one of you is always left holding the pieces?

"please..." his voice cracks like a breaking spine as he drifts closer, hands hovering near your face but not daring to touch. his breathing comes in ragged bursts, lips trembling around each word. "come home with me." the raw need in his tone makes your stomach flip. "my dimension—it's quiet there, baby, so quiet. just us. no eve, no cecil, no him." his fingers finally brush your cheek, sticky with blood and tears. "we'll disappear somewhere where no one knows us. i'll build us a house with my bare hands. you'll plant those stupid flowers you love. we can even take a bunch of cats with us. i'll—fuck—i'll worship you like you deserve. please."

you want to. god, you want to. your traitorous body already leans into his touch, craving more of the warmth you've been starving for.

but—

"mark," you whisper, heart shattering at how his face lights up just hearing his name from your lips. "you've... you've killed people. innocent people."

he doesn't flinch. doesn't hesitate. just leans in until his forehead rests against yours, his breath coming in ragged, uneven puffs that ghost across your lips. you can smell the blood and smoke clinging to him, can feel the way his pulse races where your skin touches. "yeah," he admits, voice rough like gravel, thick with something desperate between shame and worship. "but i'd burn a thousand worlds to ashes before i let anything hurt you again." his hands slide down your sides, fingers digging into the curve of your waist hard enough to bruise as he yanks you flush against him. you can feel every hard line of his body, the way his heart hammers against his ribs where your chests press together. "i'm already damned," he murmurs, lips brushing yours with every word. "let me be damned with you."

you wince, hands coming up to push weakly at his chest. "mark, you're not mine—"

"i know," he interrupts, pressing his forehead harder against yours like he's trying to fuse your thoughts together. his voice drops to a whisper, raw and broken. "but i could be."

around you, the city burns. the air is thick with the stench of melting metal and charred flesh, the distant screams of the dying swallowed by the roar of collapsing buildings. somewhere beyond the smoke and ruin, your mark is fighting—whole, unbroken, untouched by the kind of grief that twists this version of him into something sharp and feral. somewhere, he's pulling eve close, whispering promises against her lips that taste like forever.

and here you are.

letting a ghost hold you.

this mark—this broken, beautiful monster—is on his knees for you.

you swallow hard around the lump in your throat. because despite the blood on his hands and the fire in the distance, you already know your answer.

oh my god, 6.1k words of pure, unfiltered angst and i am unwell over it. this one-shot clawed its way out of my soul like a demon possessed and i blacked out only to wake up with this masterpiece of pain?? i was absolutely feral writing this, fueled by spite, sleep deprivation, and the haunting echo of "what if mark loved him back but in the worst way possible? what if he did love him but never realised he did (but he did realise this in every other dimension except this one)?" and now here we are. sobbing. you probably thought this would be cute or wholesome. you probably thought, "oh, maskless mark? hot." AND THEN I HIT YOU WITH THE EMOTIONAL WAR CRIMES. but come on, it’s maskless mark—did you really expect anything less than soul-crushing, heart-stabbing, tear-your-ribs-open angst? be so for real. anyway, enjoy the suffering. i sure did. 😭💔

[sqgeism]

hey there!!! love your work sm eheheh

anyway, i was wondering if you could (perchance) do a vampire reader x dr ratio? preferably where the reader is STARVING and bites him lolol

stay safe and stay silly!!

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 take a look into my eyes | dr. ratio and anaxagoras (seperate) x gender neutral reader

💌 — ; can you feel the tension ? between us boy, i know you want this potion ! bloodstains : a course of how to have a vampire lover. written by anaxagoras and dr. ratio.

love mail — hi anonnie ! thank u sm for requesting >< misread the comment originally and wrote vampire anaxagoras b4 scrapping as i reread it (;´Д⊂) anaxa's is lowkey suggestive.. experimental fic.. and if you can give me criticism on that part i'd really appreciate it cus i don't write make outs often (´；ω；`) this was so weirdly long mama help

,to be quite frank, dr. ratio figured it out before you revealed yourself to him. it explained why you seemed to never sleep, or your fast regeneration, things like that. so when you two started dating, he kept an eye on how you satiated your appetite. even if you didn't like it.. fresh, red meat from butchers weirdly worked. instead of buying the packaged stuff—ratio accompanied you to a butcher every week to get a big slab of undrained cow meat. then it'll be your meal till it would no longer suffice.

unfortunately, not only did it not taste good, but it was barely enough to keep you functioning. you had enough strength to move and do usual tasks, but your power was significantly weaker, as well as regeneration. your body responds negatively to the lack of proper blood, but still accepts it as such. like forcing yourself to eat uncooked meat. (which is what you were doing)

and because of your weakening state, and having your arm chopped off after a battle.. it was regenerating, worry not (albeit very slow), you two got into an argument. "your cowardice is killing you." ratio began with a sharp tone, causing you to scoff. "what am i supposed to do, ratio? bite random people on the streets?" you retorted, and he lets out a forced, amused laugh.

"your solution stands before you, (name)."

he looms over you. "bite me, for aeon's sake. you think a measly bite will hurt, compared to the suffering you go through?" he's never sounded so.. mad, but gentle. his hand grips your unharmed shoulder, grip like a vice yet still tender. "bite me." he demands, yet also pleads.

dr. ratio begging is a sight you never thought you'd see, but his eyes pierce through you in complete seriousness. he won't let you leave this conversation without a bite mark on his neck, and you don't remember how long it's been since you've had mortal blood. "..f-fine."

in your weakened state, your legs force themselves to stand. your body really only has the strength to lean against him, as his arms wrap around you to keep you stable. your head weakly makes its way to his exposed bicep, and his hand guides you, knowing it likely won't hit anything vital.. and it's the easiest to access currently. after all, your other arm is far from fully regenerating, and ratio was starting to worry that the blood you had wasn't enough.

slowly, your mouth opens—revealing eager teeth but still hesitant. you hover over his arm for a bit, before slowly biting down.

he doesn't wince, not at all, but he does grunt at the initial bite. he listens to you slowly feed, feeling the blood drain from his body as he stands tall. and while he's faltering, you grow stronger. hell, your intact arm grips his hips as you dig deeper. little mumbles as you suck on his arm, like it's the last drop of blood you'll ever have.

you're brought back to reality as ratio's head slumps against yours and you pull your teeth out quickly, licking the bite and stopping any more blood with a cloth. "ratio!"

you don't even realize that your other arm has regenerated as you use it to stabilize him. guiding him back down on the chair you were just sat on as he groans. he can't speak, he's too lightheaded to try. but he feels lips press against his and a whisper of a sorry before he completely slips.

you care for him till he wakes up. feeling much.. much stronger, but needing to communicate how they'll go on forward. after all, you liked that a bit too much. and with the way ratio's heart was racing, you can make a wild guess that it was either adrenaline or attraction.

anaxa doesn't feel too weird about your vampirism. it explained the long sleeves constantly, big hats and umbrellas, fangs that came with sharp nails.. typical vampire lover packaging.

though something he found intriguing, was that you never drank raw, mortal blood. it was always blood bags.. nothing that had a beating heart. you were always so delicate that way.. even as your body physically withered, you wouldn't have your fangs get anywhere close to a human.. especially not anaxa.

but coming with you when you were hungry always.. saddened him. after getting your hands on a blood bag that are provided to keep those of your kind that aren't too far gone.. at least a little sane—you clearly never liked it. described it as too cold, bitter, and was the vampire equivalent of spoiled milk.

it didn't help all too much either. while it kept your hunger at bay, you were still much weaker compared to your full potential. you could transform, regenerate quickly, hide in shadows.. but you could only do the last one. and as previously established, even if regeneration is part of your abilities, it was greatly weakened. your body didn't have enough energy or blood to regenerate with, therefore straining your physical and mental.

and it was a great trouble for you, because the demands of an astral express member was starting to get rougher. all while you weren't regenerating in time to be able to meet what was expected of you. missions were getting rougher, injuries were worsening, and your body couldn't catch up to it all.

so that leads you here, a large gash in your face as you lay in anaxa's lap, waiting for the pain to disappear as you rustle and turn, unable to really rest due to the uncomfortable sensation. you can feel your muscles trying to pull themselves back together, skin sparing no effort to resort itself. and anaxa is doing no better. he pushes your hair away to see the full extent of the wound, and his heart aches. you're in so much pain.. yet you won't do what you have to in order to fix it. "my dove, please." you know what he's going to offer, and you'll refuse it every time. "anaxa, no. i swore i wouldn't bite after turning." yet you aren't getting any better. you've been like this for hours, and changing what you wear won't erase the wounds he knows are still healing beneath your top.

he doesn't want his frustration to get the better of him, but the scholar quietly seethes. you're being so stubborn—for what? too afraid to hurt him? he loves you for your selflessness, but he's not above begging you to be selfish for once.

in the silence of your struggles, his brain is racking to figure out a way to get you to drink his blood. considering his loss of morality and not necessarily caring if something is harmful to him, he doesn't think twice about what happens to him. just as long as you're okay.. staring down at your lips a little too long gives him an idea.

he taps your shoulder softly, and one anaxa's hand makes it's way to your back to slowly guide you back up to him, the other resting on your hip. "my love, i know it's a bad time. but may i kiss you? i know that you're in pain, and i'd like to do anything i can to make you feel better." you seem hesitant at first, thinking your bloodied wound would make you a little.. unattractive to your boyfriend, but it's anaxa, it makes sense why he wouldn't care. so you nod and barely get a breath in before he's all over you.

it isn't the short kisses anaxa has been known for to you, it's hungry. he's practically devouring you, the vampire between you both, might i add. it doesn't help that he's dipping down to you and keeping your head in place with his hand, effectively trapping you in his little plan. the other, while you're too busy melting against his advances, squeezes you—harshly. it causes you to make the sweetest noise that he's sure to relish, but more importantly—your mouth opens just enough for your fangs to be exposed. that's when he forces your lower jaw upwards, making you bite his lip hard enough to bleed.

he groans, no doubt, but he doesn't pull away. in fact, this is where he returns with much more fervor. you panic in realization of what he's done, but anaxa's grip is unforgiving. he's making sure that his blood gets and stays in your mouth.

your struggle doesn't last long, thankfully. because your worry turns into relief, as the long forgotten taste of human blood begins to flood your tastebuds. eventually he doesn't need to hold your head for you anymore, you've recovered from your lightheadedness and began to take initiative as well. kissing him softly and licking the blood clean off of his lips.

when you finish with one last peck, you look at your lover with a bit of conflict. unsure whether or not to be upset or.. thankful. because the pain has stopped, and you feel stronger. your body doesn't ache as much either. "you're a madman." is all you grumble, hitting his chest.

the scholar laughs, burying his head against your hair. "whatever you say, dove."

© sqgeism or wtv (^_^;)

[haneys]

if you're struggling with the need for constant stimuli and feel like reading isn't stimulating enough anymore (you have the need to reach for ur phone to scroll or play a video in the bg or you can't focus etc) try out putting brown noise/ your chosen hz in thr background and get a sensory stim toy you can fidget with. another thing that helped me to go back to reading more was spending the time during my commute to work and college reading. turns out the constant movement and hustle and bustle of trams and busses + white noise or lofi in earbuds was the perfect amount of "stuff happening" to let me lock in without feeling like I'm about to wither and die, even tho I never would've assumed I'd be able to concentrate on a book in such a place. remember, even reading just for 10minutes a day is great, and most of the time after you get over the hurdle of Starting you'll get into the zone and easily spend even more time than you planned. you've got this! also I'm sorry because this probably sucks to hear over and over again but also considering a detox from apps/bombarding yourself with information might be beneficial!

p.s. I menaged to get myself an old used Kindle for around 20$ I think. i know for many this isn't affordable, but if you're able to spare something and you really wanna read up, you can often find old kindles in good conditions listed on sites and REALLY you don't need anything fancier. I keep mine completly off wifi, I don't have an Amazon account or anything connected to it, I pirate download everything I want from the net and throw it from my computer to the device via a USB cable and viola! you can read anything ever. and everywhere!

my best tip for anyone trying to get back into reading is to remember that you can read books to avoid other responsibilities in ur life and it can become a vice if you play your cards right

[askoverkill]

"Oh, you'll see once you get farther. The Director likes to play games with us."

transcript below:

Oh, that's right, you haven't gotten to the first floor yet.

...Because nobody told me about the poison.

Uh-huh.

Darts is the first puzzle, do you remember the answer?

.....................No.

Dead eye. It's dead eye.

Got it.

Then it's checkers.

What's with that face?

...I've never seen Odile play it for you before, that's a smart move!

None of the other Siffrins had her play before?

No, they'd always worry over her too much!

I-I worry! I don't want her to do it again, apparently she's scared of falls?

Heights, but close enough. Maybe have Isabeau do it?

Isabeau???? He's good at checkers???

Why do you say that like you expect him to be an idiot?

He's, probably, not dumb?

Wow.

[deikshen]

Hear me out: a sort of spiritual communication array that works like a group chat of some Binghe's wives where they gossip and live together more carefree behind their husband's back... where the transmigrated and current rogue cultivator Shen Yuan is accidentally added.

Shen Yuan probably ignores all the messages at first as, well, fuck. A group of gossipy women. He's been in worse group chats, and the company is entertaining when he's been through more two weeks without a trace of another human being hunting a beast. However, you could send some useful answers, some knowledge about plants or medicines that they appreciate!! And they call him "Meimei", so Shen Yuan assumes that they have surely made a mistake with his communication array password... Which is weird, he suppose, because who uses "blessed heavenly pillar" as their password? Anyway. Shen Yuan appreciates the gossipy friends he's making.

Apparently they all live in the same place, are they like, a community? Given certain comments and insinuations between them, perhaps a community of lesbians living under someone's protection? Cool! He was sure that the heavenly pillar definitely wasn't something that could treat lesbianism like a sick and "cure" it (even if he knows that the bastard Airplane would have considered it, nor would he have been capable of that disrespect), so good for them! He liked them too much to end up like part of that harem!! Although being Binghe's wife is a privilege, of course, but one in three hundred...

Shen Yuan doesn't talk much in the group, but he has his favorite "Jiejies"! They're all sweet and nice to him, and even the most unfriendly ones become fond of it after a good recipe for scented soaps or moisturizing creams. Sometimes they even ask him privately with any questions. Shen Yuan feels bad when he has to decline invitations to eat or go listen to music, because he's not even there!! In fact, at this point he's already embarrassed to admit that he was added by mistake and he remained silent about it!!

And, in the midst of one of his travels, Shen Yuan encounters the core of the world. Binghe! Emperor Luo Binghe! They share a small adventure hunting the beast — Luo Binghe looks quite haughty and arrogant, yet vulnerable when he's cooking, illuminated by the fire and with that tiny disheveled braid in his hair. Shen Yuan enjoys his meal and read in the chat, commenting that he remembered some flowers that can be used to dye fabrics, sending the specifications and receiving tens of happy comments about it.

Ah, actually, he doesn't have a bad life. He thinks so. He keeps randomly running into Luo Binghe on his travels, and his friends in the group chat are as gossipy and fun as ever.

And then, one day, Shen Yuan wakes up with an exaggerated amount of messages:

» "I think we'll have to add another one soon"

» "Another one? Damn. How many of us are there?"

» "Three hundred and twelve?"

» "Not everyone is here, in this group there are less than a hundred. The main wives have their own group, too."

» "I thought lady Mingyan was at the beginning?"

» "She was, but she got bored. Mingyan never wants to be in our groups since we criticized thata bad novel about the ice king and his spy"

» "Hualing neither, but she caused the first group to collapse with her rudeness"

» "But why add another one? You're getting off topic, ladies. Husband's been away again?"

» "Phew, honey. If only you knew. He goes off and comes back like a puppy. I've never seen that look on his face"

» "He looks young and adorable. Hualing was complaining about that the other day"

» "I mean, husband always looks handsome, but he has this glow. The glow when he's falling in love, again. I haven't seen him like that in a long time"

» "Me neither! I thought I'd never see him shine like that again after the third week of our wedding"

» "Same sis. Since the second one. It's nice to see him shine happily even if he's not looking at me"

» "Do we know who she is? From which realm? A demon? A cultivator? Details, details!!"

» "We need more demons, badass girls"

» "Husband says he's going hunting. He comes back with beasts and flowers. But also with that smile. So I'm guessing a cultivator"

» "Hell, more? They'll beat us by a landslide"

» "Girl, don't complain. More to bite on"

» "When you stop being being super close and eating together, we can talk about how we can't let husband ruin it with this?"

» "Why would a husband ruin it?"

» "He is our husband"

» "You're absolutely right. Fuck he's going to ruin it"

» "What should we do?"

» "First, find out about her! Warn her! Tell her that our husband is a fool but has a good heart deep down!! Who has permission to leave the palace? Has anyone spoken to Yingying lately?!"

» "We have to warn her about the size of his dick"

» "That too. I would have appreciated being prepared"

» "I married him after reading the yellow books about him, AND I WASN'T PREPARED"

» "No one is. My poor flower"

» "Too much information"

» "I'm not sorry"

» "Girls GIRLS GIRLS. For heaven's sake. YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT I JUST FOUND OUT."

» "If it doesn't have to do with our husband's new conquest, it's irrelevant gossip."

» "It has to do with"

» "SPIT IT OUT"

» "His new conquest is not a woman"

» "what"

» "WHAT?"

» "?????"

» "Listen, but it makes sense, right? Husband could be a cut sleeve that didn't notice until now. So that's why there are so many of us. None of us can be enough because we're missing something, you know, important."

» "A dick"

» "I was going to say a pillar, but you get the point."

» "Where did you hear that from?"

» "Our husband was telling General Mobei. That he should prepare a trunk of fine men's robes, that he would soon bring his new traveling companion to see the palace. That he plans to move him into his private chambers."

» "NO FUCKING WAYYY"

» "Hualing will explode"

» "I haven't seen a good attempt in years, do you want to bet?"

» "Do we know anything else?"

» "I don't know his name, sorry, that's all I have. He is a small rogue cultivator"

» "How small?"

» "By the measurements that husband requested for his robes, 5'6"

» "Damn it"

» "Short"

» "Oh damn, his poor chrysanthemum"

» "OH FUCK"

» "NO WAY"

» "HOW THE HELL DOES OUR HUSBAND'S COCK FIT IN SOMETHING SO SMALL? FUCK"

» "I will put incense in the name of his hole"

» "Oh girl, me too"

Shen Yuan stops reading with a mixture of horror, shame, and panic. What. The. Fuck. HOW THE FUCK DID HE END UP IN THAT GROUP? In the DAMNED BINGHE WIFE GROUP. Fuck. Oh fuck.

And yes, HE HAD agreed to visit Luo Binghe's palace, BUT only because he had mentioned that it had been a long time since he had slept in a bed and had a nice hot bath!! And Luo Binghe had been an exceptional gentleman and good friend offering to visit the palace and receive some care! Nothing perverted like those wives talked about!!

Oh, those wives. Damn. How come he'd been infiltrating that chat for MONTHS without realizing it!? Yes, it was true that when there were MANY messages he would ignore them and just skip them... But he would have stopped immediately if someone had mentioned Binghe directly!! But FUCK. They only mentioned him as "husband" and Shen Yuan's radar on anything where Binghe was mentioned didn't go off. Fuck.

Well, that's fine. He's not... a conquest. Nothing like that. Shen Yuan is sure of that! The protagonist is 100% heterosexual, no matter what those wives say!!! They're his wives damn, they should know how straight he is!!

He'll go to that palace, prove that he's just a good friend of Binghe, and that's it!

(In the future, when he is already married with Luo Binghe and one of Binghe's many wives asks for his communication array password to add him to a group chat to, he know, chat and share, Shen Yuan runs away with a red face. That same night, everyone is saddened because the kind and sweet Meimei who knew a lot about beast, flowers and remedies left the group.)

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

BURN YOU ! ☆ minors do not interact.

paring : firefighter mydei x fem!reader

warnings : nsfw / smut, creampie, messy sēx, cock warming, breeding kink, spitting, nipple play, dumbfaction, size kink, pet-names, tit play, hair pulling, rough sēx and gentle aftercare.

synopsis : You should’ve died in that fire. Mydei made sure you didn’t. Now you owe him a thank you you never wanted to give. Everything you built, burned to the ground. And the bastard who saved you? He’s smug, too rough around the edges, and doesn’t know how to back off. But maybe that’s exactly what you need—something to shove against, scream at, fall into when the world turns to ash. He doesn’t say sorry. He doesn’t ask for permission. He just takes, and god help you—you want him to. (modern au)

You don’t remember the flames. Not really.

Just the heat, choking. The sound of a man’s voice shouting your name over the crackle. Then hands—strong, harsh—hauling you against a chest that smelled like sweat and smoke and something older, darker.

That was two weeks ago. The warehouse—your family’s last remaining property—was gone. Along with your savings. Your job. Your plans. You’re living in a borrowed apartment with nothing but the smoke-stained clothes you had on that night.

And him.

Lieutenant Mydei. Firefighter. Asshole.

You didn’t expect to keep seeing him after the fire. But somehow, he’s always there. Bringing you coffee without asking. Fixing your apartment door like it’s his. Picking you up when the nightmares hit and you end up crying outside in the cold.

You never asked him to stay. But he does.

Tonight, the power’s out. Summer thunderstorm. Sheets of rain smacking the window. You’re sitting cross-legged on the couch in shorts and a tank top, phone dead, candles flickering. A sharp knock makes you flinch.

You already know who it is.

When you open the door, he’s soaked through. His uniform clings to him, navy shirt nearly black with rain, reflective pants low on his hips. Drops slide off his lashes. His jaw clenches like he’s been holding back something bigger than words.

“Got power?” he grunts.

“Nope.”

“Generator’s fried. Substation’s out. Might be a while.”

You blink at him. “Did you come here just to say that?”

His eyes rake over you—bare legs, soft thighs, the stretch of your shirt over your chest. You feel hot and cold at the same time. His voice dips.

“No. I came ‘cause I knew you’d be scared.”

Your stomach flips. “I’m not—”

He steps inside. Closes the door with a heavy thunk. Rain slicks off his shoulders as he shrugs off the jacket and hangs it, steam rising off his body like he’s still burning from the inside.

“I can leave,” he says. But he doesn’t move.

You swallow. “Stay.”

You’re sitting beside him on the couch. There’s a candle flickering on the table between you, casting gold across his face—his cut cheekbones, the muscle ticking in his jaw, the little scar just above his brow. He’s got one leg stretched out, one arm slung behind the couch. His fingers brush your bare shoulder without meaning to. Or maybe he does mean to.

You keep catching him staring. You try not to stare back.

It’s quiet. Too quiet.

“I never said thank you,” you whisper.

He looks at you, slow.

“For the fire.”

He snorts softly. “Didn’t need it.”

“I screamed at you for not saving the building.”

“Yeah. You did.”

“…Sorry.”

He leans closer, resting his arm on the back of the couch behind your neck. He smells like leather and rain. His voice is lower now. Rougher.

“You were in shock. I get it.”

You shake your head. “I wasn’t just angry about the fire. I was angry ‘cause…”

“‘Cause what?”

“…You touched me like you owned me. Like I was yours.”

Silence. Heavy. His gaze drops to your lips.

“Maybe I wanted you to be,” he says.

It’s not gentle.

The kiss comes hard and messy—his mouth slanting over yours with teeth and tongue, one hand cupping the back of your neck while the other grabs your thigh and pulls you into his lap. You gasp against him, and he groans, low and guttural like he’s wanted this for too long.

He’s already hard beneath you, thick and heavy, straining against the wet fabric of his pants. You grind against him instinctively, whimpering into his mouth as his hands squeeze your ass and pull you tighter.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “You gonna let me have it, baby?”

You nod helplessly.

“Use your words.”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please, I want it—want you—”

He pulls your tank top up, baring your tits. His hands are huge, calloused and greedy, thumbs swiping over your nipples until they pebble hard. He spits on them—hot, dirty—and watches it slide down, then leans in and sucks, hard, his teeth grazing. You moan, arching.

“Such pretty fuckin’ tits,” he murmurs. “Bet you’d look even better bouncin’ on my cock.”

Your face burns. Your pussy clenches.

He lifts you like you weigh nothing, laying you back on the couch, then drags your shorts and panties down in one pull. He stares at your soaked cunt like it’s a feast.

“Spread.”

You do.

He doesn’t go slow. He devours—his tongue lapping and flicking, lips wrapped around your clit, two thick fingers pumping deep. You’re crying out, legs shaking, clutching at his soaked hair as you come hard with a scream, and he doesn’t stop—just moans into you, ravenous.

“Can’t wait,” he growls, standing and undoing his belt. “Gotta be inside you.”

His cock springs free—massive, veiny, flushed dark. You gasp.

“Too big,” you whisper.

He strokes it, slow. “You’ll take it. I’ll make you.”

He lays back, legs spread. “C’mere. Climb on.”

You straddle him, nervous, shaking, but he grabs your hips and guides you, letting your slick pussy slide along the thick head.

“You’re drippin’, sweet thing,” he groans. “Look at that. Already beggin’.”

You sink down, inch by thick inch, moaning loud as the stretch burns and fills you in ways you didn’t think were possible. Your hands claw at his chest, nails digging into his rain-soaked shirt as his cock spears deeper, slow but insistent.

“My—dei,” you gasp, broken, barely able to breathe. “S-so deep—”

“That’s it,” he growls, voice thick and possessive, his hands bruising your hips. “Take it. Every fuckin’ inch. You were made for this cock.”

He doesn’t let you rest. Doesn’t let you think. His hands come up to your tits again, squeezing, thumbing your nipples until your back arches like a bow. You’re so full it’s dizzying—so full your mind starts to go soft around the edges.

“You’re shakin’,” he murmurs, almost amused. “You dumb on my cock already, baby?”

You nod, whining, tears pricking your eyes from the stretch and the pleasure and the way his cock pulses so deep it kisses your damn cervix. He lifts you halfway and slams you back down. Again. Again.

“Fuck—fuck—you’re tight,” he groans, eyes wild as he watches your tits bounce with every grind of your hips. “Squeezin’ me like you wanna milk me dry.”

“I—I do,” you babble. “Want it inside. Want your cum—”

His expression twists, something dark flashing in his gaze. His hand comes down on your ass—smack—loud and sharp.

“Say it again.”

You whimper. “Want your cum. Wanna be full. Wanna be—bred.”

“Dirty little thing,” he hisses, rutting up into you hard enough the couch creaks. “You want me knockin’ you up? Swellin’ your belly with my fuckin’ load?”

“Y-Yes—”

He grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back, exposing your throat. “Then ride, bunny. Show me how bad you want it.”

You do. You ride like you’re starved for him, like your body’s not yours anymore but something that belongs to him. You bounce, hips clapping, cunt sucking him in again and again until you can’t think past the drag of his cock and the way his fingers twist your nipples between every thrust.

“Look at you,” he pants, watching you fall apart. “So full of cock you can’t even talk.”

You nod, mouth open, tongue peeking out. He spits—hot and messy—right onto your tongue.

“Swallow.”

You do. Moaning.

He wraps his arms around your waist and fucks up into you, hard and fast, making your thighs shake and your eyes roll back. One of his hands moves to your throat, not choking but holding—possessive, grounding.

“You’re mine,” he growls. “You belong to me.”

“Y-Yes, yes—Mydei, I’m yours—!”

He grits his teeth. You feel him swell inside you, cock twitching.

“Gonna fuckin’ cum—where do you want it, baby?”

You choke out, “Inside.”

That breaks him.

He growls deep in his chest like an animal and slams up once, twice, three times—and then he’s spilling inside you, thick, hot, endless. You feel it flood your insides, dripping around his cock as he pumps you full.

You both go still. Breathless.

You’re trembling, body still fluttering from the aftershocks. He strokes your thigh, gently now. Reverent.

“…Still okay?”

You nod. Snuggle into his chest, cock still buried deep inside you. You don’t want him to pull out. Ever.

He smirks, voice hoarse. “Cockwarming me now, huh?”

You hum. “Feels safe.”

His arms tighten around you. He kisses the top of your head.

“You are safe,” he murmurs. “Long as I’m here, sweetheart—nothin’s gonna burn you again.”

You’re still perched on his lap, stuffed full, his cock pulsing deep inside your overstretched heat like it owns you.

And it does.

You twitch when he shifts his hips — just a slow, grinding roll that makes your breath hitch and your whole body clench.

“Still warm,” he murmurs, voice wrecked and low against your temple. “Still squeezin’ me like you never wanna let go.”

You can’t respond. You’re too gone. Brain soft, eyes glassy — a hazy, cock-drunk little thing melted against his chest.

He chuckles. It's dark. Possessive.

“Look at you. Cross-eyed and droolin’ like a bitch in heat,” he purrs, cupping your jaw and forcing you to face him. “Not a single thought left in that pretty little head, huh?”

Your lips part. A whimper slips out.

That’s all he needs.

“Open,” he growls.

You do.

He spits—messy, wet—right onto your tongue, and watches you swallow with a broken sound.

“Good girl,” he snarls, hand sliding up into your hair. “Now stay open. I ain’t done with you yet.”

And just like that, he snaps his hips up hard.

You scream.

Your hands scrabble at his shoulders, your whole body convulsing as he begins to pound into you, no rhythm—just raw, brutal force. Your thighs tremble violently. Your eyes roll. Every drag of his cock splits you wider, shoves the breath right out of your lungs.

“Gonna fuck you stupid,” he snarls into your neck. “Gonna break you right here, stuffed full on my cock like you were made to be bred.”

You try to answer — you really do — but all that comes out is a choked cry, a garbled sob of "yesyesyesyes—"

He grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back, exposing your flushed, tear-streaked face.

“Say it.”

“Y-Yours—m’yours—breed me—please—!”

Your eyes flutter, crossing again when he thrusts up so deep your legs spasm.

“Dumb girl,” he growls, his grip in your hair tightening. “Can’t even think straight with a cock inside, can you? All you know is takin’ it. Beggin’ for it.”

You sob, nodding frantically, nails digging into his back. Your body trembles with every brutal thrust, the couch beneath you groaning from the force.

“Look at this,” he hisses. “Your fuckin’ belly’s bulging around me.”

He presses a palm low on your stomach — right where his cock hits deepest — and you shatter.

The pleasure blinds you. Your toes curl. Your thighs lock around his hips as you scream through your orgasm, convulsing around him like your body’s never gonna stop milking him for more.

But he doesn't stop. Doesn't let you come down.

“Take it,” he growls. “You want bred like a bitch in heat? You better fuckin’ take it.”

Your head lolls. Your lips are parted, moaning endlessly as he drives up into you again, again, again—

Until suddenly—

He slams up one last time and holds.

You feel the heat flood into you. Thick, hot, and endless. His hand’s still fisted in your hair as he groans deep in his chest, his cock jerking inside you as he spills everything into your wrecked little body.

You’re both panting, drenched in sweat and soaked in everything else. He lets your hair go gently, guiding your head down to rest on his shoulder.

“You took it all, baby,” he mutters against your temple, still inside you. “Just like you were made to.”

And you? You can’t even answer.

Your eyes are still crossed.

You’re trembling in his arms. Legs twitching, breaths short, body still split open and full of him—but you’re not scared. Not overwhelmed.

Just… gone.

And safe.

Mydei doesn’t move for a long time. He just holds you, big arms wrapped around your small, spent frame while your heartbeat thuds against his chest like a trapped bird trying to settle. His cock is still buried inside you, twitching now and then, but all the fire’s gone from his touch. What’s left is only warmth.

“Hey,” he murmurs. His voice is rough, low, but there's something gentle in it now—like he’s afraid you’ll drift too far if he doesn't keep you tethered. “You with me?”

You nod, or try to. It’s more of a sleepy nuzzle into his neck, your lips brushing the line of his jaw. You breathe him in—smoke, rain, salt, and him—and melt just a little more.

He smiles against your hair.

“Did so good, bunny. Took me so well.” One of his hands strokes your back slowly, grounding you. The other stays curled around your waist, fingers splayed like he doesn’t want to let you go. “You’re safe now. I got you.”

You hum—barely a sound. It makes him chuckle softly, and that sound rumbles through you like thunder in a storm you never want to leave.

After a while, he reaches down with strong, careful hands, lifting you just enough to slip out of you with a low hiss. You whimper at the loss, and he kisses your cheek.

“I know, baby. I know.” His hands are already there, gently cupping between your thighs, catching the slow leak of everything he poured into you. “Made a mess of you, huh?”

You nod drowsily, lips slack and eyes barely open.

He kisses your forehead. “Let me clean you up, yeah?”

You don’t fight him when he lifts you, carries you bridal-style toward the bathroom. You cling weakly to his neck, trusting him completely.

And when he kneels beside the tub, warm water running, soft towels laid out, he looks down at you like you’re something fragile and holy. Like you’re not just the girl who rode him raw into the couch—you’re his girl.

“You did so good for me,” he whispers, brushing your hair from your face. “I’ll take care of everything now.”

He washes you slow. Dresses you in one of his shirts. Carries you back to the couch and wraps you up in his arms, blankets and all, like a cocoon.

By the time your eyes finally flutter shut, one of his big hands is stroking your hair and the other is pressed protectively over your tummy.

And right before you fall asleep, you hear him say it—

“I ain’t lettin’ you go, sweetheart. Not now. Not ever.”

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

[lunar-pantheon]

recently sterilized and here to say YOU SHOULD GET A BISALP!

pros of getting one:

-bilateral salpingectomy is the most reliable and best form of sterilization/birth control.

-it's not a hysterectomy, you do not need to take hormones after getting it done, your ovaries stay fully intact.

-it decreases the chance of cervical and ovarian cancer by a pretty significant margin. many of these types of cancer start in the fallopian tubes.

-YOU CAN STILL HAVE CHILDREN BY CHOICE! ivf is not only still possible, it's more likely to be successful because there's no chance of the egg becoming ectopic.

-added bonus- while ivf is expensive, it means that if you can afford to have ivf, you can afford your kid. no accidental babies you can't afford to have.

-ive had my tonsils out and my tubes out. my bisalp actually had an unlikely complication where i had some bleeding and it still was ten thousand times less painful than getting my tonsils out i am so serious. it genuinely felt like i did too many crunches for 4 days and then i was just tired for a few more days.

they gave me the big pain meds, i just needed tylenol. it was so stupid easy. i regularly have headaches more severe. my biggest issue was remembering to take it easy because they stole a body part because i genuinely felt fine

-they have to blow you up like a balloon to do laproscopic surgery and i think thats funny. youll be comically belching like shrek for like a week. its so funny

-I NEVER HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT SOMEBODY DOING SOMETHING TO MY BODY AGAINST MY WILL AND NOT BEING ABLE TO GET THE CARE THAT I NEED. as a rape survivor this has always been my worst fear and the relief in my body after the fact is un fucking real. no matter what someone does to me, they cannot make me have a kid. it won't happen.

-the recovery time is kind of crazy fast as far as surgeries go. i was good to go back to work with limitations within 1-2 weeks and that was with a complication

-i got it for free. most insurances have to completely cover one form of female sterilization to comply with some organization, and because bisalp is the recommended standard thats most likely whats covered

cons:

-if you want a kid you have to cough up a hunk of money either with ivf or adoption

-it doesn't stop periods

-for insurance if youre trans MAKE SURE YOUR DOCTOR INPUTS IT AS REQUEST FOR STERILIZATION, N O T ANYTHING RELATED TO GENDER AFFIRMING CARE. DO NOT MENTION BEING TRANS AS PART OF YOUR REASONING. JUST SAY YOU DONT WANT KIDS AND YOURE AWARE THAT THERE ARE LESS PERMANENT METHODS OF BIRTH CONTROL AND YOU STILL WANT THE BISALP. USE CHILDFREE REDDIT LISTS TO FIND A LOCAL DOCTOR WHO WONT GIVE YOU SHIT. if its filed under gender affirming care your insurance will likely use it as an excuse to not cover it. i know it's unfair.

-thats kind of it

✨️get a bisalp i have never regretted anything less✨️

Yep, here they come

Been thinking about an IUD? Go get it. Don’t wait.

[i-messed-up-big-time]

Someone Precious II

Caleb x Non MC Reader

a/n: seeing all of you guys really like the first part defo made me feel all warm and giggly! so thank you for all of your lovely comments! also i am not well versed in the realm of medicine/hospitals and stuff so please bear with me as i write the scenes dealing with those, i most likely will briefly touch on those and not go into too much detail. also i finally got a desk and a monitor so now i can do all my writing in comfort rather than hunched over on my bed! Also this part doesn't really have much Caleb unless you include reader thinking about him. another side note, this part will be short but i will write more for the other parts, i just needed this one to be on its own focusing on the pregnancy a bit so that in the other parts i can focus on the relationships with MC, Caleb etc.

also i dont think i mentioned this in my previous part but ill make sure to add it to my masterlist description, the setting of this series will be taking place in a world where ever, evols and wanderers do not exist. some aspects of the characters and how they met have been tweaked to fit with the plot, so pls dont come at me if something isnt how you remember it in the game.

Divider creds @/cafekitsune

tags: angst, hurt/comfort, reader is female and is AFAB, pregnancy,

word count: 1.7k

masterlist

series masterlist

taglist: @aneertawrites @eurydiceknowshesloved @angelichiaro @nommingonfood @ynovaes @animegamerfox @melonssoup @iamawkwardandshy @novthirty @rosevelt632 @sleepless-cloudy @justpassingdontworry @sleepykittyenergy @ijustwannabeyourmuse @iiyumii @eolivy @asakiyu

You sat there numb, your thoughts were a broken record.

'I'm pregnant.'

That's all your brain could handle at the moment. MC sat next to you in silence, rubbing a soothing hand on your back,

She knew that right now what you needed was comfort through gestures and not words, so she just waited patiently until you were ready to say something.

No matter what decision you made, she was ready to support you.

●・○・●・○・●・

A couple of hours had passed, you still hadn't spoken up but you had moved to lie in your bed.

MC had gone out to get some lunch, which left you alone with your thougthts.

If there was one thing you had come to a conclusion for, it was that you were going to keep the baby.

Call it a motherly instinct, but you didn't have the heart to abandon an innocent soul.

It wasn't long before MC came back, calling you to come to the dining room. She had gotten your favourite takeaway hoping that it would cheer you up a little bit, and it did.

You smiled as you helped her set the table. As you guys were unpacking the food you decided to finally tell her what was going through your head.

"I'm going to keep the baby. I don't want to abandon an innocent soul and I've always wanted a child, it just didn't happen the way I would have hoped."

You said with a sad smile as you placed a hand on your stomach.

You had dreamed of having a family, more specifically with Caleb. In a way you got your wish, but it felt like fate was cruel for granting it the way they did.

You're still young, you don't even know if you'll even be a good mother. But there's one thing for sure, you have the best possible support system you could ever ask for.

MC's smile mirrored your own.

Dinner was spent in silence, it was comfortable. MC didn't push you for a conversation and you were grateful for that.

●・○・●・○・●・

It had been a week since the news, and now you were here standing in front of Akso Hospital.

You were feeling nervous, a part of you felt like you would be judged for the reason of your visit, but you knew that was just the anxiety talking.

Taking a deep breath you walked in, it was now or never.

The nurse at the reception desk was sweet, her tone and gaze held no judgement as she guided me to the examination room.

You got settled and just laid there staring at the ceiling, you tried to keep your thoughts positive and light, but your thoughts kept drifting back to Caleb.

What it would be like to have him here with you. Would he reassure you? Would he be as nervous as you are?

All these 'what ifs' that'll never become a reality. You could only hope that you could be enough for your child.

●・○・●・○・●・

Your appointment confirmed exactly what those pregnancy tests said, you were six weeks pregnant.

You knew Caleb was the father. He was your first, and honestly your last.

At this moment in time your heart didn't have the ability to love another. He was everything you wanted in a man.

Maybe I should re-evaluate what a man is.

You thought bitterly, but you chided yourself just as quickly as that thought came.

You didn't want to think of him that way or think negatively at all, not wanting those feelings to affect your health and bring any complications for your child.

"It's ok my baby, mommy and Aunty MC will make sure you never feel insecure about not having a father."

Your words were not only to comfort your child, but also to comfort yourself.

●・○・●・○・●・

6 weeks later

You were back at Akso Hospital again, this time it was for a follow up appointment.

MC had taken time off work to come with you this time, saying how it's part of her aunty duties.

It was cute, and it never failed to put a smile on your face when she would talk excitedly about all the things she would do with her future niece or nephew.

You had assumed this check up would be the same as the first one, just a normal procedure to make sure that the baby and mum are doing ok.

Boy were you in for a treat.

As your doctor moved the wand around your growing belly you noticed something on the screen that you didn't see last time.

"Congratulations! It seems you'll be having twins."

MC let out the loudest squeal known to man at the news, you could practically feel her excitement radiating off of her.

You matched her energy with a smile on your face.

I guess my little family just grew by one.

You thought to yourself.

"Would you guys like to know the gender or do you want to keep it a surprise?"

Your doctor asked. You personally wanted to keep it as a surprise because you could already see the gears turning in MC's head.

You knew exactly what she was planning and in all honesty, you wanted to let her have her way.

She was your rock and sole supporter through all of this, you would feel bad if you didn't let her do what she wanted.

"I'd like for it to be kept a secret but by all means let her know, I can tell she's dying of curiosity."

You let out a soft laugh, your doctor cleaned up the gel and helped you up.

MC gave you a big hug before you made your way outside.

It didn't take long before MC came skipping out the room, her smile was so bright you thought you might go blind.

That night MC treated you to dinner and insane amount of sweets, which totally satiated the cravings you were having.

●・○・●・○・●・

6 months later

You were in your final trimester, it was a relatively easy going pregnancy, if you ignore the fact that you feel like a walking balloon.

Most of your days were spent in bed as the weight of your stomach made it hard to move around too much.

It was times like these that it made you think of Caleb. Even though you had promised yourself that you wouldn't, but at the end of the day you were still madly in love with a man who ghosted you after your first time.

Crazy isn't it? Your heart was a fool in love while your brain tried to be the rational one, but every now and then you would give in to the thoughts of what would have happened if he didn't run off.

Would he be here helping you through all of this? If he were to come back, how would you confront him?

You could only pray that he didn't show up in front of you any time soon, because the moment he did you would give him a beating of a lifetime.

Your due date was somewhat nearby but not close enough yet. You had your hospital bag packed and a baby carrier all ready to go right by the door. That way you and MC wouldn't be scrambling around last minute trying to find everything.

You were feeling nervous, you didn't know what the delivery would be like and you worried for your babies, wondering if you could make up for the lack of father figure they would have in their life.

You had taken a look at the time and had noticed it was quite late and MC had yet to come back from work. Just as you were about to give her a call, you heard the sound of the door being unlocked.

MC walked in holding a multitude of things, the most obvious one being balloons that read Boy or Girl?

"Surprise!"

MC exclaims, you don't know if it was just you or the hormones but you started bawling. The love that you felt was immense, no words could explain it.

You waddled over to MC to help her but she waved you off and told you to take a seat on the couch as she set things up.

You waddled back to the couch and settled in to the cushions as MC worked quick with her set up.

As soon as she was done she set up her phone so that it would capture the background and us.

"We're gonna do this trend I saw on social media, so just follow my lead."

MC gave a brief explanation and you nodded in understanding.

"Hi I'm your Aunt MC and I think you guys are gonna be two beautiful baby girls."

You giggled, you knew that she already knew the genders but thought it was cute that she wanted to at least pretend that she didn't know.

"Hi my babies, I'm your mommy and I think you guys will be beautiful boy and girl."

You always wanted a daughter and a son, but you also would be happy with either gender as long as they were healthy.

"Okay, now we're gonna do the gender reveal. Take this glass and close your eyes, on the count of three we'll push it into the cakes and see what the genders are."

MC pushed one cake towards you and placed the other one in front of her.

Following her instructions, you placed the glass over the cake and closed your eyes.

"One, two, three!"

You brought the glass down and prayed you actually got some cake in there and not just frosting.

"Ok open your eyes!"

You could hear the smile in her voice.

You opened your eyes and looked at your glass and then MC's, they were both blue.

You pulled MC into a hug, you don't know if it was the hormones or the situation but you started crying, they were happy tears.

You felt so happy that you had such an amazing friend by your side, you didn't even wanna think what life would've been like if she wasn't in it.

In the midst of all the emotions and excitement you didn't notice the seat under you getting wet until you started to feel like you may have peed your pants.

You pulled back from MC and said,

"I think my water just broke."

[vargrblood]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎page ──── one

약한영웅 characters as romance tropes ˳ ۫ 𓈅

includes class 1&2! 𔓕 gn!reader 𔓕 w.c 2k+

genres — romance, fluff, angst, comfort

click to continue reading!

──────── ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ yeon sieun

( academic rivals to lovers )

You were a top student— coming second to only Yeon Sieun. Regardless of how much you studied, prepared and revised— the rankings would never budge. No matter what quiz or competition you would take part in, Sieun would always seize the gold.

This was a start of a one-sided rivalry that not even Sieun was aware of. Poor boy was always confused as to why you glared at him in the hallways and why you would always turn sour everytime you saw him in the cafeteria.

Your anger and jealousy towards the pretty eyed boy soon turned into appreciation and awe after you realised how hard he studies and how many hours he pours into his notes. However, you still considered him your rival and desired to triumph over him.

You sighed dejected, looking at the equation in front of you. You were in the library after school. No matter how many times you tried, you never got the same answer as the answer booklet. You stared at your notebook, hoping that the answer would appear out of thin air or that the equation would solve itself.

“That’s not how you do it.” You turned towards the source of the voice, only to find yeon sieun, your sworn rival, standing behind your seat holding a physics workbook. You didn’t respond, only stared at him, tilting your head and prompting him to continue.

“Let me help you.” Sieun said as he pulled the chair next to you, you looked at him as he met your eyes, realising just how pretty his eyes are. Meeting his eyes flustered you, so you turned your head quickly towards the notebook as you slided it towards sieun and uttered a shy thankyou.

──────── ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ahn suho

( amnesia )

One year and nine months. That’s how long Suho was unconscious for. You had imagined him waking up everyday, he would take your name and ask you if you missed him. You had created multiple scenarios of what you would do when he would wake up. But never in your wildest dreams had you expected him to wake up with amnesia— forgetting who you were.

The ache in your heart was equal to the relief that had come with Suho waking up. Suho was devastated and utterly remorseful for not remembering you or the memories he had shared with you. It’s not your fault. It’s okay. You had told him as you tried to swallow the lump in your throat. Suho had vowed to make sure he never forgot any of the new memories he made with you from now on.

“You know,” Suho starts as you push his wheelchair under the shade of the tree. “I am going to think of this as a blessing in disguise.”

You look at him as he continues. “I am going to think of this as an opportunity, because i get to fall in love with you twice.”

His soft smile made blood rush to your cheeks.

──────── ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ oh beomseok

( lovers to enemies )

What started out as an innocent romance had turned into a frustrating relationship. You genuinely liked beomseok, more than you could accept out loud. You found him charming and endearing. You loved his smile and how his eyes would close every time he did so. You loved him.

You always wondered how people could support their partners regardless of their choices, and by finally getting into a relationship, you had found out how. You were ready to support beomseok in whatever he did, cheer him on and praise his accomplishments. You were ready to follow him to the end of the earth.

However, his actions had crossed the line, you could no longer look at him the same after what he had pulled. Your heart ached every time you looked at him, he had turned into a monster. You could no longer stay in a relationship with him.

“You are supposed to be on my side.” He spoke, full of anger and harshness, he felt betrayed— you, his own significant other, found his actions wrong.

“I can’t be on the side of someone who cuts of brakes of his frien–” “He’s not my friend.” He cut you off.

That moment you realised, the boy you cherished oh so deeply, the boy who would sacrifice his well being for his own loved ones was long gone.

──────── ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ jeon seokdae

( the boy next door )

You lived on rent in a one bedroom flat, the rent was cheap and the area was not bad— a clinic, a convenience store, a bank were all in the close proximity of the apartment complex. Not to mention the area was safe too. A cute guy moved next door and you couldn’t ask for more. He had long hair and a cute nose and everyday you wished you could catch more than just a glimpse of him.

Fate must’ve been in your favour, you were sharing the elevator with him! You tried to start small talk with him but his responses were small and curt. You had hoped to get to know him better but it didn’t work out. However, a few days later, he had knocked on your door asking for some salt. After a few days, it was sugar, then milk, then a cup of rice. This soon started a small friendship between you.

“Are you free this saturday?” Seokdae asked, not meeting your eyes and instead focusing on the potted plant in the hallway.

“Yeah, why?” You asked as you put in the passkey of your door, wondering if it was about the upcoming baseball match of your favourite team.

“So what about a dinner date? I’ll cook.”

──────── ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ youngyi

( coworkers to lovers )

You worked part-time at a boutique. A girl a year younger than you had joined, and as you were more experienced than her, you were tasked to teach her everything about the work. Youngyi was cheerful and worked hard and was kind of cute too, so you looked forward to working with her everyday.

Today was a specifically busy day, several clients had walked in and bought stuff, it was honestly kind of hectic. Youngyi had gotten in trouble for giving an attitude to a rude customer and was scolded by the owner for the same. You were in the staff lounge with her as she sobbed.

“It’s okay, Youngyi-ya. In this field of work it happens sometimes. Let me treat you to dinner today.” You said patting her back.

The idea of free dinner must’ve excited her because her tears had now stopped and she had excitedly said how she can’t wait for the boutique to close for the day.

“If it wasn’t for you, I would’ve quit way back.” She said as her eyes shined.

──────── ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ seo juntae

( tutor x tutee )

Juntae could not understand why you had insisted that he tutor you chemistry instead of the Yeon Sieun. It was simple. You were truly smitten by the cute boy and his cute mannerisms and you wanted to get to know him better and rizz him up.

Your lessons would’ve been helpful if you paid attention to what Juntae said instead of focusing on how he often spoke with a pout, how often he stuttered when your eyes were on him and how often he would ask you if you were paying attention or lost in your thoughts.

“Did you understand?” He asked, honestly you didn’t even listen to what he said, you were too focused on how he pouted when you asked him about this specific equation and how his eyes squinted as he thought and then when he began actually explaining- you were too focused on his cheeks.

“Are you a carbon sample? Because I want to date you.” You uttered shamelessly.

“What?” Juntae choked on his spit, ears getting redder every passing millisecond.

“You must be made of copper and tellurium because you are so damn CuTe.”

──────── ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ go hyuntak

( childhood friend to lovers )

You had known Go Hyuntak before you knew what friends were. Your moms were friends and neighbours, you were the same age, so it was only natural for you both to grow up together and be so close. You both were always there for each other.

Be it you getting rejected by the senior you confessed to or one of those days where Gotak thought of himself being lesser than others, you both were always there to comfort and support each other.

“You absolute fucking idiot.” You cursed out Gotak as you disinfected his wounds.

“You’re overreacting, I am totally fine.” He tries to soothe you with his words and smile but his smile soon turns into a pained expression when you spray disinfectant on him.

“Your definition of totally fine just encompasses being alive.” You bite.

He is about to respond smugly but he stops himself when he notices the tears brimming in your eyes. He envelopes you in a soft hug and pats you.

“I am sorry.”

──────── ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ park 'baku' humin

( persistent admirer x tired employee )

You were just a convenience store employee. Park Humin was a regular. He often bought snacks and always flirted with you. You would have reciprocated his attempts if it was not for his reputation as a delinquent in your area. You were not looking for any trouble.

His attempts to woo you with his sub-par pick up lines always failed, however you would be lying if you said you did not find them cute or endearing. One day he had barged in and bought nothing, he had told you that he had a big fight tomorrow and if he won, you would have to go on a date with him. Other customers were watching and you had hastily agreed to it.

He entered the store, bloodied and bruised, but he smiled so brightly.

“I won, so go on a date with me. You promised!”

You were concerned, surprised and flattered altogether. How could you not be? The first thing he did after winning the fight was rush to you. And he was still very badly hurt

When you nodded and smiled he went red.

“Now, come here, let me patch you up.”

──────── ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ geum seongje

( hate to love you )

Geum Seonje was a mystery to most. He was someone to be feared. He was rash and impulsive and did anything and everything he wanted without caring for the repercussions. He was a boy of doom, who would only bring destruction to those around him.

But he smiled so beautifully, how could you not fall for his face? He was a man of ideals and followed his ideals only. He only did what he found worth the chase or romantic. You happened to be both. So he won you over. But there was no denying that he was a piece of shit. You hated him and everything he stood for.

“I hate your ass so much.” You spoke out crossing your arms and leaning on the wall.

Seongje didn’t say anything as he pulled out a lighter to light his cigarette.

Because you both knew, you loved him more than you hated him.

──────── ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ na baekjin

( right person, wrong time )

You had a crush on Na Baekjin. That was a fact. He was an enigma and people are always drawn to what they don’t know. And so were you. Not to mention, Na Baekjin was kind of cute. He had pretty, cat-like eyes and was good at studies.

You would often put some snacks and beverages on his desk when no one was around along with some notes of encouragement and reminders to take proper rest. You were doing pretty great as a secret admirer.

Baekjin knew it was you, but he pretended not to know and played along. He would always have a small smile every time he saw something from you on his desk.

You finally gathered courage to come out and confess it was you.

“I reciprocate your feelings, I do like you and appreciate everything you've done for me. But I can't date you, I have too many responsibilities on my shoulders right now.“

You feigned understanding and nodded along, you said it was okay, and that you were fine.

“I am truly sorry.” He bowed and looked in your eyes one last time before he left. You couldn't meet his eyes.

He left you to pick the broken pieces of your heart. You were not fine.

note Ꮺ

this is my first time writing 'x reader scenarios', so it might not be perfect but i worked hard on these! i hope you enjoyed! likes, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! (˃ᴗ˂) ഒ please comment if you wish to be tagged on my future weak hero fics!