#It's lonely here in the abyss | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

meiieiri · 7 months ago

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𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 | 00

"You know what hurts the most? I've lost our children too...but you...you're still alive...and I've already lost you."

synopsis: the chairman of the gojo group of companies, gojo satoru, is in need of an heir and quick. however, with a wife who is struggling to conceive and his subsequently crumbling marriage, he is forced to explore other options which now comes in the form of his wife's secretary.

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader

warnings: 18+ angst, smut, mentions of depression and miscarriage.

You and Satoru Gojo are cursed.

Your marriage began to fracture the day you learned you could never have children, each passing moment turning your marriage into a silent battleground of unspoken regrets and fading hopes. People would tell you that it’s probably just bad luck or wrong timing and that sooner or later, you and your other half would be blessed with your hearts’ desires. All you had to do was wait for the right moment, but no one told you that you’d be waiting forever.

“Your tie is crooked again.”

You step into the now empty groomsmen suite where your husband is peering at himself in the mirror. Just a few years ago, he played the role of the groom, anxiously waiting for the hour he’d be linked to you forever. Now, he’s a groomsman in someone else’s wedding and hopefully a happier marriage.

Satoru looks up at the mirror to see you standing there as if on ceremony, waiting for him to invite you in. Ironically, that pretty much sums up your entire marriage: your shared heartbreak has become a gaping chasm between the two of you. You and Satoru could only hope that his sister’s wedding wouldn’t end up like yours – as lonely and quiet as a solitary mountain lake.

“I got it. You should head down with the other bridesmaids.” Satoru unloops his tie, his heart stubbornly refusing yours.

A numbness coats your veins when he simply gives up, and unbuttons his white collar for a more laid-back look instead, of course he’d rather do that — do anything else — than accept help from you, than speak more than two sentences to you, than be anywhere near you. That’s just how things are now after running head first into a happily ever after that was never going to come. “Fine. I’ll see you downstairs then.”

“Sure,” Satoru says nonchalantly.

He half-expected you to linger by the door for another minute, but his heart caves in when he sees you’ve simply left. But what did he expect? The void that exists between the two of you had grown too vast, and the brighter days of your marriage had been swallowed by the abyss of unmet expectations, and endless heartbreak. And now, all that’s left of the chaos is two lovers who have now ventured into the realm of reluctant strangers driven apart by fate.

Satoru walks over to the now closed door, and somehow sensing that you were still on the other side, he presses a hand to the cold wooden material, as if to say, “I’m still here.”

He hears a soft sniffle, then the painful sound of your receding footsteps and Satoru is, for the first time in one thousand four hundred sixty one days of calling himself your husband, utterly alone.

“Time to go home,” Satoru says monotonously, his right hand buried in his pocket while his free one holds the now settled hospital bill. He looks at you blankly, almost as if he expected this. After all, when you showed him the positive pregnancy test fifteen weeks ago, unlike the preceding ones, Satoru didn’t bother to make it public.

“I-I’m so…” you trail off, your eyes brimming with tears. “...Sorry.”

“I know. You always are,” your husband curtly replies. He’s lost count of how many times you’ve been in this exact position: by your hospital bed with a medical abstract in his hand with the words “spontaneous miscarrriage” printed on it.

He was getting sick of it. It’s almost like a nightmare that never seems to end. This would have been your fifth child, and yet again, you and Satoru would never have the chance to hold them in your arms for even just a second until they’re brutally ripped away from you. He looks at you again and sighs when you don’t move a muscle, seemingly still in shock from the ordeal.

“If you’re not ready to go, I’ll just have our driver pick you up.”

“...Alright.”

“Okay.”

He turns to leave but then your broken voice cuts through the thick air of the hospital room. “Satoru…? You don’t blame me right?”

Satoru screws his eyes shut, that was the last question he wanted to answer. He couldn’t bring himself to tell you that he has never blamed you for miscarrying, that, in the four years since he married you and the four years he’s had to witness child after child slip through your fingers like it was never meant to be, he’s never felt a tinge of disappointment towards you.

He told you not to go to the dental mission today, since you were on strict bedrest with your placenta previa but you made all these bullshit reassurances that you weren't going to push yourself too hard. He wants to say that you should have been more careful, that you should have listened to him. Yet, even then, he also couldn’t bring himself to tell you, his poor wife, his hurting better half, all the resentment he’s been harboring, so, he does the only thing he can do.

He runs away, far away from you when you need him the most. You stifle a sob when he doesn’t even crane his head back to look at you like the act of doing so would make him sick. “Get some rest," he simply tells you, unaware that this would be the last real conversation you’d have for a while because the next two months would be weeks of gut-wrenching silence. "Today...must have been hard for you."

He was wrong, you think sullenly to yourself as he leaves you alone. Every day has already become unbearable for you, every breath has become debilitating. What right did you have to breathe when all your children, each one departing with a piece of your and Satoru’s hearts, had been denied that very right?

Looking back at it now, Sayuri’s wedding was just like yours. What else would you have expected considering that you helped with the preparations from the color scheme to the venue’s decorations? Sayuri valued your input, and with you, despite being the junior party, having gotten married first, surely, you must have known what you were talking about when it comes to weddings. Too bad you couldn’t say the same thing about knowing a thing or two about marriage.

As you watch the happy couple from the top table, you utter a silent prayer in your heart that Satoru’s sister will never have to face the trials you have faced.

Satoru stands up from his seat, guiding you to the top table with a hand on the small of your back to bid your farewells and final well wishes. “Sayuri, it’s getting late. Y/N and I should be heading back now.” A look of disappointment crosses Sayuri’s face but it is quickly overshadowed by understanding.

You watch with a small smile as your husband embraces his older sister, whispering something in her ear that causes her to land a jab on Satoru’s abdomen. Stepping forward, you kiss Sayuri’s cheek in a show of sisterly love. “Congratulations again, nee-san.”

“Thanks for helping out again, Y/N,” Sayuri says sweetly, utterly grateful to all the assistance you extended for her special day. “I’m hoping you’ll help me for my next event, right?”

You return her smile with a slight tilt of your head; the two of you have been friends long before Satoru came into the picture, what with her being your ever supportive senior in university. The trust that you forged with Sayuri is often a running joke in the Gojo family. It’s often said that you got your husband’s sister’s approval long before you even knew each other. And it was true. The way she has stood as an older sister figure for you even during your darkest days fighting your loneliest battles is something you will forever cherish.

Satoru casts a look at new brother-in-law who is busy mingling with his own family; he makes a face at his sister’s remark. “You’re already planning for a second wedding when you’ve only been married for six hours?” your husband playfully jokes about his sister’s very questionable comment.

Come to think of it, that’s the first time you’ve seen Satoru smile in a long while, and when he did, it had to be because he joked about the tricky business of remarriage. It pains you to think that he has smiled so seldomly that you’ve almost forgotten how he looks when he’s not in a constant state of silent detachment, oceans deep in his chemtrail of thoughts. You were glad you weren’t a mind reader, dreading hearing his thoughts aloud: his silent hatred of you, the final goodbye having already materialized and rehearsed millions of times in his mind.

But couldn’t he see that you were still trying? You desperately want to hold his hand in a silent oath: “I’m still here.” but you think better of it, fearing that you might just lose him altogether.

Then again, a ghost of a mirthless smile appears on your lips for a brief second, if there’s anything you were good at, it was losing people.

You are pulled out of your thoughts by Sayuri’s sarcastic laugh. “Ha-ha. If I’m lucky, this’ll be my only wedding.” She sticks her tongue out at Satoru who merely rolls his eyes in response. “Anyway, as I was saying,” she turns to you with a hesitant smile, mulling over if this was a good idea given your circumstances.

Just then, her husband cordially approaches the three of you. “Hey,” he greets his wife with an affectionate kiss. “I got you this,” he places a champagne flute in Sayuri’s hand. “Alcohol-free, I swear.”

Satoru’s face falls momentarily. How long has it been since he kissed his wife like that? No, how long has it been since you put up those unscalable walls around the fortress that is your heart, blocking him out at every corner? He glances your way in an attempt to search your face – for anything to reassure him that your marriage was still salvageable, for anything to let him know you and him were still worth saving – he isn’t even surprised when you instantly turn your gaze away from him.

Guess he got his answer.

“Did you tell them?” your new brother-in-law asks with the same trepidation in his tone as his wife’s.

You make the cardinal mistake of asking. “Tell us what?” you ask, puzzled.

The next few words hit you like a tidal wave. Your prayers of Sayuri never having to experience the anguish you felt have been answered, in place of your own unanswered prayers for yourself and Satoru.

“That…we’re expecting.”

You don’t even notice that you’ve already muttered out a brief: “O-oh. I’m…happy for you.” As you numbly offer Sayuri her congratulations, you think back to all the times you and Satoru have had to hear: “I’m so sorry for your loss”. It wasn’t fair how happiness almost always helplessly slips through your and Satoru’s fingers in the form of a silent heartbeat at twelve weeks, or a fertilized egg that never truly grows into an embryo.

If there really was such a thing as “hell” or “damnation”, then yours came in the form of an empty nursery, an empty stroller, unused onesies, unsung lullabies and unflipped bedtime story books.

Satoru handles the news with an agonizing grace, his voice gruff and raw with held back emotions. He clears his throat, repeating the congratulations. “How far along are you?” he asks his sister, his demeanor shrouded with a profound yearning for the same thing, if not for him, then for you because if anything, of all people, you deserve that kind of joy too. Maybe even more so than him. He was fine with just having his wife back, after all. The succession of the entire conglomerate would always come second to you.

Even if you didn’t know it. Even if you no longer cared to believe him.

“Eighteen weeks,” Sayuri answers quietly. “I-I was gonna ask if Y/N would be interested in helping out with the baby shower but, I’d understand if this feels like a bad idea–”

“--It’s okay,” you defensively cut off Sayuri, refusing to hear another word of pity, another syllable along the lines of: “I’m sorry.”. You’ve had enough of that. “I-I’d be happy to…really.”

With your unconvincing words, your quartet falls into a tense silence. You and Satoru don’t dare to stay long enough for either of them to try saving the conversation, so, with a polite and final few well-wishes, you leave. Just as the two of you settle into the backseat of his car for the return journey to Tokyo, tiny droplets of rain begin to collect on the windows.

“...Why can’t we be like that?” you break the overwrought silence with a genuine question, a slight tremble in your voice.

“We were like that too,” he replies almost nostalgically, recalling the many precious hushed conversations each night in your marital bed, the mornings when you and him gaze at the other’s sleeping form, thinking to yourselves how lucky you two were to have each other, the warmth that came with being so in love.

It was an age long abandoned.

Now, you two were silent, your conversations not extending past two brief sentences, your bed is now empty and cold, and your luck had run out the same way your love died out.

“Once.”

You spoke of your union as if it were a house of cards that’s been torn apart by the wind, the two of you are now all but decimated, to the point where one can only wistfully pine after what had been lost that can no longer be restored. And after the many arguments that had erupted between you and him, unbearably, this was the one thing you could never argue about.

Satoru nods, echoing your words with a heavy heart. “Yeah…once.”

The fact is: no one knows what happened or rather, no one — not even your OBGYN — could have expected this. It was a normal day, you and Satoru, as excited parents-to-be, had booked the appointment and all the succeeding ones leading to your supposed due date ahead of time, so, you arrived at your usual schedule of 3:30 PM, and after a quick check of your vitals, the OB moves to conduct the standard ultrasound.

As you move to lie down on the bed, it seems you’ve only just noticed the bag Satoru was carrying. You look at it curiously. “What’s that?” you ask, pointing to the moss green canvas bag on his lap.

“Your hospital bag,” Satoru says enthusiastically, already opening it. “See? I packed three pairs of socks for you, a sweater, your lip balm, hairbrush, lotion and — why are you laughing?” he asks when you snort with laughter. The OB is also shaking her head in amusement. Clearly, your oblivious husband kinda missed the memo.

“Babe,” you explain amidst your giggles. “I’m not having the baby today.”

“What do you mea—oh,” He awkwardly looks at the hospital bag. Satoru Gojo, the owner of the ever powerful Gojo conglomerate, the darling of Kabutocho and the Nikkei Index, a holder of a dual degree in finance and business analytics, further supplemented with an MBA from Wharton, looks flustered. He had forgotten that he’s only supposed to bring that during the delivery.

The OB chuckles as she lifts your shirt up to squeeze some of the ultrasound gel on the taut skin of your still mostly flat but slightly swollen belly. “Seems dad was a bit too excited,” she remarks. You shift at the cold gel, but relax after a while.

“Well, it’s our first, after all,” you glance at Satoru with a warm smile. He brings your hand to his lips and he sits down on the chair, his eyes altering between you and the monitor. You squeeze his hand as the probe glides over your midriff. The image shifts slightly on the screen and the OB zooms in on the small image of your baby.

She makes a note of the growth. “6.0 centimeters at 12 weeks,” the OB says, pleasantly surprised. “Now, would the two of you like to hear the baby’s heartbeat?”

You and Satoru share a brief look of happiness and nod simultaneously.

Instantly, images of what life would look like from now on flash in your minds: Satoru would constantly be chasing after the little tornado that would be your child, while you’d be too busy cleaning up after the mischievous duo. If it’s a girl — which is Satoru’s preference but he’ll never actually say that out loud — Satoru would be almost always willing to indulge them. Their little girl needs your lipstick to give her daddy a makeover? Say no more, he’s already rummaging through your makeup bag. Oh, she wants a tiara? He’s already on the phone with his ex-fling who also happens to be Swarovski’s top designer to commission a tiara piece for his little princess.

And honestly, the same can be said for you if the baby does turn out to be a boy. It would be a joy to have a little Satoru of your own. You’d shower them with kisses every morning, and every night before he went to sleep, never shying away from letting him know how much you love him.

Or at least that was the plan.

Call it a mother’s intuition but something doesn’t feel right. Worry pricks at your entire being when all you can hear is the drone-like hum of the examination room’s AC unit, the frequency adjustment of the ultrasound machine and the sound of your own hearts breaking at the sound of silence.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Gojo—”

“—What’s happening?” you ask frantically, your head abruptly lifting from the pillow in alarm to look at the screen. “What’s happening, ‘Toru? Why can’t I hear anything?” you look to Satoru for answers — no, perhaps you knew the answer all along — you simply looked at him, pleading with him to tell you that this wasn’t real, that you’ve probably just gone momentarily deaf or something, and that by some miracle, your baby was still there.

But as Satoru simply purses his lips, gently easing you back onto the bed, his eyes brimming with tears that were now falling in the crook of your neck, silently sobbing into your shoulder with you. You could faintly hear the OB amidst your sobs already paging the hospital pharmacy for a prescription of Mifepristone and Misoprostol to assist with emptying your womb. Not that it wasn’t already empty to begin with now that your baby is gone, and all they’ve left in their wake is a void in their parent’s hearts and a sense of confusion.

Why? Why did they just up and leave like that before you even got to hold them, to see their tiny face as they sleep in their hospital bassinet next to your bed? Did your baby somehow sense that you and Satoru would be horrible parents? Were you unworthy of their love, so unworthy that you’d never get to meet them?

“Shh, shh,” Satoru tries to soothe you in spite of his own turmoil, the thought of losing the baby too heavy on his mind to do anything other than attempt to comfort you. “I’m here…I’m right here.”

He was right. You both were still here but gazing back at the black and white image of your now sleeping angel, you’ll just have to learn to accept that they aren’t.

Satoru has been acting strange all day.

For one, he sent you a good morning text message wishing you luck with your patients today just as you were about to change into your scrubs when you arrived at your dental clinic in Tokyo Midtown, and just after receiving that message, your secretary, Kozue, happily enters your office with your takeaway coffee in one hand and a small gift box in the other.

“You know, Mr. Gojo would be a horrible secret admirer,” she remarks simply, placing the box above the patient records you were reviewing.

“Why is that?” you ask, finishing up on your 9:00 patient’s appointment sheet.

Kozue gestures to the Bvlgari logo on the small box. “He clearly has a thing for high-end jewelry brands, it’s either he sends you Bvlgari or Swarovski.” You breathe a small laugh at her keen observation.

“Looks like your observation skills are improving, pretty soon, I might just assign a patient to you,” you joke. “Anyway, it’s our fifth anniversary today, hence the gift-giving. I left him a new pair of Giorgo Armani loafers on the closet display this morning.”

“You two are so extra,” Kozue chortles. “My boyfriend and I don’t get to do all this.”

You nod sympathetically. “When’s he coming back again?” you ask as you carefully open the box to reveal a pair of Serpenti Seduttori diamond earrings with a blue sapphire on the head. Kozue watches you try them on with a soft smile on her face, it’s not often anyone gets to see you put your hair down.

“Around next year,” Kozue gushes. “But honestly, well, uh…don’t freak out, but—”

“—You plan to join him in Chicago once he gets his MBA,” you answer for her.

You’ve seen her often searching for apartments in the South Loop, indicating her future plans to leave the clinic and the country altogether for greener pastures overseas. You know that the long distance relationship has been hard for her, often using her breaks to speak with her boyfriend on the phone just as he’s about to turn in for the night.

It’s almost funny to think about: that Kozue and her lover, despite being forced into a long distance relationship due to their differing circumstances, were just about as close as literal soulmates get, while you and Satoru live together and yet you’re worlds away from each other.

But whatever, some people just get dealt a better hand.

“It’s alright. I really don’t mind if this would be our last year working together if it means you get to pursue your happiness elsewhere. The clinic is nothing compared to the world, after all.”

Kozue nods in thanks. This is just another one of the many things she admires you for. She knows that she isn’t as tenured as the rest of the dentists in the clinic, and honestly, she didn’t have a doctorate in dentistry either, but you still trusted her enough to be your secretary, and you never made her feel that she was in any way inferior to you or anyone else — it’s all just part of your caring nature even if you do have

“Now, you’re just making me wanna stay even more, boss,” Kozue pretends to wipe a tear from her eye, making you laugh.

Her loyalty is always something you’re grateful for and quite frankly, you couldn’t imagine the clinic functioning as well as it is without her. Sure, sometimes she’s annoyingly optimistic sometimes and just unbearably too happy in the mornings, but you had to hand it to her, in an office full of sleep-deprived dentists like yourselves, Kozue’s infectious enthusiasm is probably just as essential as good quality coffee beans. She always knows when to cheer everyone up, especially you.

“Well, that’s great, since you always know how to get me out of a tight spot,” you half-joke.

“Always!” she holds up her thumb in affirmation. The intercom suddenly pages her and she checks her watch. “Looks like our first patients are coming in, I’ll see you later. And happy anniversary to the two of you!”

The rest of the afternoon rolls by uneventfully and before you know it, Satoru is already picking you up from work like he always does except this time, he’s carrying a bouquet of pink camellias.

He removes his sunglasses just as he steps into the building and you stand there for a bit, a little starstruck.

It’s no secret that your husband is good-looking, but it feels like an eternity since you’ve actually properly regarded him. It’s like seeing him for the first time all over again: your heart thumps in your chest and a blush creeps onto your cheeks. How long has it been since you’ve felt this way? Since the two of you spent time with each other? Since you both made a courageous effort to mend the gap between you and him?

Satoru also stands there, relief washing over him when he notices you wearing the earrings he got you. “Hey,” he greets, striding over to you. The bouquet is placed into your waiting hands and you feel you’ve been swept off your feet when he leans down to press a soft yet somehow yearnful kiss on your forehead.

“Hi…” You shyly greet your husband like he’s some guy you met on a blind date. You then realize he’s wearing the Armani shoes you got him. “Do they fit well?”

What kind of a question is that? Satoru is a size twelve and a half, you should know your husband the same way he should know how his wife prefers pearls over sapphire.

Satoru forces a wry smile. The shoes do feel a little pinchy but you didn’t need to get the impression that he doesn’t appreciate your gift. “Yeah, they’re great.” He glances at the earrings with a soft smile. “You look beautiful.”

“Tell that to the patient who thought I was a mushroom when I gave them nitrous oxide earlier,” you chuckled. Satoru snorted in laughter at that. “Happy anniversary, ‘Toru,” you whispered.

“Happy anniversary, Y/N,” he pulls you into a tight hug, and your heart swells with an uneasy but welcome joy.

Your arms instinctively wrap around your husband’s form which Satoru responds to with an indiscernible sniffle. The walk to the car is quiet but not tense and maybe not peaceful either, years of emotional distancing are not easily forgotten after all. But — you look at your and Satoru’s interlocked hands, noting how for once, it felt like they fit a little more perfectly together right now more than ever — maybe it’s a start.

There’s a saying that goes: “There is no calamity greater than lavish desires. There is no greater guilt than discontentment. And there is no greater disaster than greed.” In a game of poker, it’s said the winner is the first to rise once he gets his betting sum back, and in chess, oftentimes it is the aggressive players that slaughter pawn after pawn who do not realize their own territory has already been infiltrated by their opponent.

With that being said, you shouldn’t have pushed it. You should have been content with the small yet meaningful progress you and Gojo made. After a night out at Tokyo’s Stellar Sky Garden Lounge, the two of you practically stumble back into the penthouse in an intense haze of lust, desire and a banal and reckless greed. In Satoru’s defense, with the way that you were responding to his touch, tilting your head back to expose the delicate flesh of your neck as he nips on the skin like a man possessed, he thought that, at the very least, you were ready to be intimate with him after what felt like an eternity of you choosing to sleep in the guest room rather than your marital bed.

“H-Hah–S-Satoru, mnhh…”

Satoru expertly wraps his lips around your nipple, suckling at it, his nose tickling your mound. His other hand catches your other tit, squeezing at the tender nub eliciting a languid moan from your lips. “Shhh,” he releases your nipple momentarily, his tongue flicking against the bud. “Let me take care of you, babe…”

His hand trails down to your core, collecting your slick, rubbing up and down your slit, plunging a finger inside. He bites his lip at your warmth, he could already feel your familiar and tight walls. And he wasn’t even inside you yet. The thought of being inside you again sends a shiver of excitement down his spine, and he pushes you onto the soft mattress.

It’s been two years since your last miscarriage, two whole years that you’ve denied him of sexual intimacy. And Satoru doesn’t blame you. Having to endure loss after loss, it was expected that you’d withdraw into yourself, closing everyone off as you healed. But can’t you see he was hurting too? That he has wept too? That he also has his own fair share of damp tear-stained pillows? That he has, on many occasions, locked himself in his C-suite office after having had to endure another sleepless night of your relentless sobs in the other room?

He looks into your hooded eyes, and he sees the future you two have lost: you carrying his baby in your arms, cooing to them as you bounce them gently in your arms – now, Satoru isn’t religious, but that image is his heaven. Burying his length into your cunt, he chokes, letting out a pleasured groan that mixes with your own breathless whine. Soon, the bedroom is filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin as he pounds into you at a desperate pace.

On your end, with every roll of his hips, tears prick your eyes.

This feels wrong.

No, this feels excruciating and terribly hollow. He’s never touched you like this. Sex with Satoru was always passionate, and loving. His hands would always intertwine with yours as he catches your lips in a searing kiss. He’s never like this. His captivating sapphire eyes held a loneliness to them.

As he’s bullying your cunt, you could feel yourself sinking into oblivion.

“Aah–” Satoru groans softly, his forehead pressed against your shoulder as looking at you was so painful for him right now. He doesn’t want to hate you, but he seems unable to love you all the same. What should he do? What can he do?

Suddenly, as he’s approaching his high, his hips melding into yours a little more forcefully and erratically, a dam of tears bursts wide open and you push back against him.

“Mm…’m getting close–ngh—gonna make you a mommy again, all round with my baby, you like that huh?” Satoru lifts your legs to his shoulders, thrusting into your weeping pussy, oblivious to the turmoil in your head. Two seconds ago, you wanted this. Now, you feel like you were gonna be sick at his ramblings of getting you pregnant again.

Fuck. You can’t do that anymore: getting pregnant and being led to believe that by some miracle, you’ll carry to term. Please just make it end.

“Satoru, d-don’t–ngh–p-please stop–”

“Shhh, ah…Y/N…gonna cum…gonna give you my baby—agh–”

He doesn’t seem to hear you. No, he pretends not to hear you outrightly rejecting him.

On your end, you felt like you were dying, with the overwhelming self-loathing in your heart, you couldn't even see Satoru’s desperate effort to restore the normal intimacy you two shared during the early parts of your marriage. But you didn’t care. Satoru didn’t deserve to make love to someone who’s already gone, to stick around for someone who can’t give him the happiness he deserves.

“Satoru, PLEASE STOP!”

“Fuck!” Satoru pulls out mid-thrust. Your heart clenches when he looks like he’s been slapped right across the face. He hastily finishes himself off and upon his release, he groans in frustration. He should have known you’d be this way. And fuck, he was angry at you. He was angry at himself for stupidly hoping that things were gonna get better. “You’re impossible!” he fumed, already pulling on his clothes, ready to abandon you.

“Satoru, wait! Where are you going?!” you pull the blanket to your chest, draping yourself as you follow him to the door.

“Anywhere! Anywhere but here!”

“You’ve never been here!” You accuse him without thinking and instant regret overruns you when Satoru lets out a scoff of disbelief. “Satoru, wait, I’m sorry!”

“Never?” Satoru’s jaw tenses. “What do you mean I wasn’t here?” He’s on the edge of losing it completely now. You had some nerve accusing him of that when he had to pick up the pieces — your pieces, the pieces of this shattered marriage. “Say it again, Y/N. Tell me exactly how I was never here.”

It was wrong of you to say that.

Painful memories begin flashing into your mind like a tragic montage: the uneaten and cold tray of food Satoru would leave outside the guest bedroom for you on the hardest and loneliest days of your life, the many instances he’s had to coax you to get out of bed by taking you to the places the two of you used to love, the countless nights he’s had to hold you, staying awake to hush you when you wake up sobbing from another nightmare.

“Satoru, no, I–I didn’t mean…that…”

He turns around to look you in the eyes, rage seeping through his usually calm ocean orbs. “You didn’t mean that? You sure sounded like you did!” He takes a step towards you, and you inch backwards, drawing your gaze to your feet in shame. “It’s fucking amazing how you don’t ‘mean to’ do anything! You didn’t mean to stand me up during our anniversary date last year too, the same way you didn’t mean to start sleeping in the guest bedroom every night–”

You flinch at the accusation dripping from his voice as he unloads all his heartache on you. “Stop…please stop–”

“And let me guess you didn’t mean to lose our children too!”

Your hand connects with his cheek and Satoru is stunned. Not at your slap. But at the vile words that just left his throat. He stares at you in shock, guilt written all over his face.

“Don’t you dare bring our children into this. You think this has been easy on me? Feeling a little life grow everyday in your womb only for them to just…be gone…one day when you wake up? You don’t know how difficult it is to lose a child!”

“And you don’t know how difficult it is to lose your wife!” Satoru retorts, his voice thick with exhaustion.

His eyes bear the scars of your shared heartbreak. He knows you’ve been struggling. Truly he does. And he wants nothing more than to take all your pain away from you, to spare you from the hell that you’ve been unfairly sentenced to. But why can’t you realize that you aren’t the only wounded party here?

“And you know what hurts the most?” His eyes gleamed with unshed tears, his voice cracking mid-sentence.

His gaze falls to the locket that held a small sonogram picture of your would have been fourth child which you wore everyday.

“I lost our children too. I grieved for them too. But you…you’re still alive but I’m already grieving for you like I've already lost you.”

Satoru doesn’t return to the bedroom again that night and the next morning, you both awake to a wedding portrait that now. sheltered a heartbroken wife’s teardrop stains, and a box full of baby items for disposal packed by a husband who has now, by all intents and purposes, given up.

Satoru slips out to the five star hotel's rooftop for some much needed air. Hopefully none of these pesky journalists saw him on his way here. But that probably just comes with the whole experience of celebrating the conglomerate's tenth anniversary. He finds you in the garden, seated on a bench next to a potted plant. Satoru approaches you quietly, sitting down next to you. "I thought I'd find you up here."

"Hmm? Yeah, it was starting to feel suffocating in there," you chuckled. "I think it was nice of you to choose the Tokyo Children's Hospital as this year's beneficiary," you nudge him lovingly. You were already excited for the upcoming courtesy visit and celebratory turnover of the 20 million yen donation from the Gojo clan's multinational conglomerate.

Satoru plants a loving kiss on your temple, pulling you close to his form, his head resting atop yours. It's been a year since you've gotten married and already, people were already getting antsy for a baby, but maybe none as anxious as your families who are more than excited to have a new little one running around their respective estates. "So, walk me through the event next week. What have you got planned?" he asks you candidly about your plans for the turnover.

"Well, I already contacted a catering company for the children's party, oh and of course, there'll be games and storytelling sessions," you share eagerly. "I even hired a magician and facepainter!"

Satoru hums at your plans. "Of course, it can't be a children's party without some facepainting action."

"You know facepainting isn't limited to children," you flash him an impish grin. Understanding the implication of your words, Satoru immediately shakes his head in adamant refusal. "Oh come on, as the Gojo Group of Companies's chairman, you have to lead by example, right?"

"They aren't my employees!" Satoru laughs. Before you could even pull your signature pout, he pecks your cheek. "But if that's what my wife wants, then, I'll have them paint my pretty white hair too."

You laugh along with him, sighing contentedly at this peaceful moment. "Hey, Satoru? Why don't we...make them a part of the permanent beneficiary list?" you suggest quietly. "I mean, we still have some room for them, right?"

Satoru contemplates the possibility of having the Tokyo Children's Hospital as a permanent beneficiary of the Gojo Group, yet, he agrees nonetheless. "You know what? I don't see why not, I'll be sure to talk to PR about it," he smiles softly. "We can even make it a tradition - having a fun get-together with the kids and their parents." Satoru's heart swells at the idea of one day bringing your own child along to these events, teaching them the importance of being altruistic and compassionate to others. You nod, seemingly sharing his thoughts. "Maybe someday, we can bring our own little one into the mix."

You nod against Satoru's warm embrace with a wistful smile dancing on your lips. "I'd like that. Logistically, it'd be faster for the two of us to distribute the goodie bags if we had an extra little pair of hands."

"It's a plan then," Satoru concurs joyfully.

——————

little fireflies everywhere taglist: @lvstyangel @harlamarie @forever-war @indecisive-capricorn @sammytheotakunerd @krokietino @bloopsstuff @polarbvnny @satxoru @aishies-stuff @catowru @chilichopsticks @bleppt @wizlizliz @ssetsuka @kouyoumarryme @ryumurin @gentlebeari @3lushkiii @reine-son @sleepyyammy @alwaysfreakingout @iwanttohitmyself @an-ever-angry-bi @itachiiwrites @monserrath0730 @r0ckst4rjk @reagan707 @chrimsychrism @peachipeachy @manyno @3keros3ne @kazehayaaa @leafynightmares @allofffmypeaches @straberry-cake @ladytamayolover @kirashuu @sad-darksoul @chauchirem @ghostlytravelerface @kittykatz777 @dazailover1900

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comatosebunny09 · 2 months ago

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carpe noctem [ conflict ] | sylus

— summary: whatever they have is cosmic. which is why you quietly bow out, thinking you never stood a chance. — cw: reader is not mc, reader implied to be femme, assassin!reader, obligatory club scene, alcohol consumption, unrequited feelings, jealousy, sisterly love, self-loathing, suggestive, stream of conciousness, not proofread, mdni — notes: thank you for reading! [ part 1 | part 3 ] — now playing: bad girls like you - tobii

—of course, by unwinding, you assumed Ms. Hunter meant the celebratory clink of whiskey glasses together, with something murky and vicious sloshing around inside. Something to take the edge off, to dull your senses, and to assuage the ache in your muscles where the painkillers couldn’t.

A club was the last place you expected to be after blowing an arms dealer and his men halfway to hell.

Then again, you’re not complaining, swathed in the subdued glow of red strobe lights and fog. You’re in your element, surrounded by sweat-slicked bodies and people just trying to feel.

The club reminds you of Lux, minus the cheap upholstery and subpar drinks. You’re at least 1,000 miles from Linkon, settled on some floating oasis in the middle of glistening aqua waters. You’ve barely had time to enjoy yourself, your trio hitting the ground running as soon as Sylus’ jet touched earth. You’ll be leaving in the morning, swept back into the lonely, glacial abyss of the N109.

So you dance like tomorrow isn’t promised. Like you’re performing onstage, garnering the lust and envy of those around you. You always do, the art of seduction practically ingrained in your DNA after using it to your advantage for so long. Years of luring men to their demise inhabit every sway of your hips, every roll of your body, every sultry curl of your lips.

Besides, being here is also a nice little distraction from the cacophony of your mind, replaced by good music thudding beneath your feet, and your cheeks aching with a tipsy smile. You grab the hunter’s hips. Bring her closer until your chests collide, and she’s wide-eyed with parted lips, unsure of what to do with her hands.

“Relax,” you soothe, your voice slurry as you encourage her to sway. To loosen up. She’s stiff at first but catches your drift, letting you control her with a wonky grin as her wrists cross behind your neck. That’s more like it.

You fed her a few drinks to ease her nerves—it was her idea to come here. And after the three of you cleaned up and rested at the hotel, she suggested it over dinner. You and Sylus traded looks, your faces bearing different degrees of amusement. Ms. Hunter babe isn’t much of a social butterfly, but the pair of you relented, figuring you could use the diversion.

You’re playing up her allure. Whispering praise against her bangs, encouraging her to release her inner sexy.

He’s been watching her from the VIP section since you dragged her to the dance floor. Scarlet eyes peeling through the smog, tuned to her every move. You wish it were you he eyed like that, but you shove those green-eyed thoughts onto the backburner, dancing, grinding, laughing. Losing yourself to the music. You’re on a mission to get her boned tonight. Living vicariously through her, knowing that it’ll never be you he beds. At least one of you can end the night on a good note.

The song slides into something sultry. Ms. Hunter slips out of your grip, a giggling mess, stumbling towards the red velour couch where Sylus sits. You watch her plop down beside him, the cocktails slackening her grace. You can’t make out what they’re saying when he angles closer to hand her a drink. But he’s wearing that customary tilt to his lips, sweeping some hair behind her ear, where he eases in to murmur something against the shell of it. Whatever he’s on about, it makes her laugh, and she playfully smacks the devastating stretch of skin peaking through the slit of his silky button-down.

Your lips twitch, smile falters. Everything around you morphs into a Gaussian blur, the music muddled as what’s left of your senses home into the scene. You swallow against the swell of feelings burbling up when Sylus pulls her closer, a long arm slung around soft shoulders. They exchange a look before the hunter glances up, shaking you from your trance. She raises her glass to you in a quiet toast. As if to convey, I’m alright in case you were wondering. Of course, she is. Why wouldn’t she be when he handles her like glass, the fondness in his eyes as palpable as the bitterness scorching your throat?

Sylus’ gaze tracks to yours. You offer a quiet smirk with a tilted brow, tamping down your envy. Wearing that playful front once more, turning back towards the dance floor.

At least your plan is working, you muse, swallowed up by the crowd of writhing limbs and lust. She’s definitely going to get some tonight if the idle stir of his eyes whilst he painted a triangle between her lashes and lips is any gauge. You did your job. Well at that.

So why do you feel so shitty?

A virile arm snakes about your waist, siphoning your breath as it drags you against a hardened body. You tuck your inhibitions away as the stranger who grabbed you grins, dark hair sweeping over manicured brows. You let him guide you into a slow wind, grateful for the save.

And you’re utterly oblivious to red eyes scrutinizing the stranger’s hand as it splays against the space between your shoulder blades.

—

It’s quiet on the executive floor of the hotel. Then again, it’s a quarter to 2 AM, and you’re sure everyone occupying these rooms is sound asleep. So, you shush your hunter friend for the umpteenth time, stumbling beside her as she giggles drunkenly into your ear.

You can’t help the crack of a smile, her arm slung about your shoulder as you guide her towards her room, and she throws her head back, singing something that makes her voice crack and you wince.

“Quiet,” you chide, your intermingled voices bouncing off the walls. You must be quite the sight. Two barefoot beauties stumbling down the hall, trying to make sense of the world.

The embossed letters of her room pan into view. She laughs as you cautiously frisk her for the keycard after propping her against the door. She’s a little worse for wear. You feel bad, having overdone it with the cocktails. Not your fault you could hold your liquor a little better than she could. So when Sylus left you to close out some “business,” as he so cryptically put it, it was up to you to ensure Ms. Hunter made it back to her room without a hair out of place.

So much for her getting laid tonight.

Finally, you procure the card. You swipe it, taking the hunter by the waist before she barrels in. Instinctively, her arms snake around your neck, and she stumbles into you, nearly knocking you off kilter. She’s all sloppy-grinned, the alcohol on her breath pushed into your nostrils. She blinks sluggishly at you, and you bite back a laugh. Never would you have imagined seeing Ms. Hunter, all prim and pretty and carefully constructed, looking like this.

“You’re pretty, you know that?” she breathes, tapping your nose. You scoff, maneuvering yourself to herd her into her room. She carries on spewing nonsense as the pair of you toddle beneath the dim lighting of the room’s entryway. The king-sized bed slides into focus. You let her fall onto the mattress, steadying her before she can slide off. Her hair falls onto her face, a new onslaught of laughter dribbling from her lips.

You kneel to grab her ankles, almost losing your footing yourself. You might not be as trashed as she is, but you’re still a little loose-limbed. A little tipsy, teetering on that slurry edge, having tamped down your inebriation to play big sister.

“You’re gorgeous,” she continues when you stand, positioning her legs on the bed as comfortably as you can.

You tuck her beneath the heavy blanket, ignoring her nonsensical talk. Scoop dark tresses away from her face, beholding red-speckled cheeks and swollen lips. It’s no wonder Sylus fell for her. She’s a marvel, girl next door pretty. The heroine of a romcom, where you’re a sex symbol, molded to be used and envied rather than exalted.

Ms. Hunter teeters in and out of sobriety, sleep beckoning to her with its ghostly croon. Before you depart, she speaks to you again, her voice abrasive with exhaustion.

“The prettiest girl around. No one could keep their eyes off you, not even Sylus. He was practically drooling. You see that?”

You stiffen, your hand closed around the glacial brass of the door handle. You cock your head towards your shoulder, something warm flushing over your skin. She talks a lot for someone under the influence. But it’s as if she’s read the inner turmoil coloring your mind, not like you do the best of jobs masking your feelings.

It wasn’t me he was drooling over, you want to say. It never would be. He’s too swept up in her. Their history, their past. You’re merely an afterthought in the grand scheme of things. Something disposable. Something pretty to further his agenda. Even if he was looking, it was probably to ensure you weren’t getting into trouble.

He’d have a hell of a time finding someone on short notice to fill your shoes. His pretty little femme fatale. It just so happens you’re unconsciously grooming your replacement, treating her more like an ally than a rival.

You wait until her breaths even out. Until she’s sunken below the depths of unconsciousness before you slip out of her room, your chest heavy as if weighed down by an anvil and a bitter twist to your lips.

Before you can make your grand escape to your room to nurse your impending hangover, a familiar voice curls around the vowels of your name. Of course, he would have a room across from hers, and it is with bitter realization you look up at him from the floor, schooling your expression into one of indifference.

Sylus leans against the doorframe, so very massive in comparison to it. You try to ignore what the playful cant to his lips does to you. How his pretty, scarlet-spun eyes dance when he studies you. Ignore how the tendons in his neck flex when he swallows, how his Adam’s apple bobs. The slither of tanned skin stretched over his pectorals calls to you. Your fingers twitch at your side with the need to touch. You stifle the feeling, barring your gaze from slinking lower. He’s devastating, and you don’t trust yourself not to make a move you’ll later regret right now.

“How is she?” he asks, the husky grit of his voice furling in your chest. Your heart sinks. Of course, he wouldn’t ask about you. You’re a big girl, more than capable of fending for yourself. To inquire about your status would be an insult according to him. You square your shoulders, sighing with that infuriatingly artificial smile to your lips.

“Hammered, but she’ll survive. She’s sleeping it off now.”

He snorts, shifting his weight between his feet. “Of course. Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to go out after the day we had.”

You nod, suddenly hyper-aware of everything—your pulse thrumming in your ears. Your throat constricting. You toy with your fingers, taking this time to dismiss yourself before you spout out some nonsense.

“Gonna go get some sleep myself. See you in the morning, bossman.”

“Need some help getting back to your room?”

You peer at him from your shoulder, eyes slightly widened, mouth open, working around words that refuse to come. Something indiscernible lurks in his gaze. It’s as if he’s searching. Looking for something, though you’re sure you’re mistaken.

“I’m alright,” you say with a sticky laugh, starting down the hall towards your room. All the while, your nerves scream through your inebriation, and you squint when you reach the door around the corner, inwardly admonishing yourself for turning him down.

A delusional part of you believes there was more to his offer than what was presented at surface level. But you were too stuck in your head to read between the lines. After all, Sylus would never settle for someone like you. Not when you’re mere costume jewelry in comparison to uncut gems.

You throw yourself against the bed once you’re inside your room. Peer up at the ceiling, studying its texture until your vision slides into a vignette around the corners, and then you drift into the violet embrace of sleep, deciding to deal with this new swirl of feelings later.

preface | masterlist | rising action

#sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus angst #carpe noctem series #limerence series

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ilium-ilia · 1 month ago

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All Yours

Paring: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Reader

Synopsis: Your friends always tease you for being a virgin, so you decide to go home with someone they point out in the pub. Kyle seems kind enough, but he isn't very keen on letting you go.

Tags: smut, oral sex, PIV sex, virginity loss, hymen breaking, alcohol, possessiveness, implied break in, a hint of non-con touching at the end, Kyle is a little barmy but we can look past that, i did not edit a single word in this i had an idea and the energy to write it and that's it.

Liquor coats your tongue the same way it always does—alluring and biting. It sinks its teeth into the wet muscle and burrows down your esophagus until its created a lovely hibernaculum in which to rest in while it festers in your bloodstream.

Pain, and comfort.

That’s what tonight seems to be comprised of. As are most of your nights, these days. Bored fingers tap along the bartop as your friends indulge one another with debauched stories of their sex lives all while you smile and nod as if you understand the feelings they describe or the frustrations of laying in bed with someone who fucks like a cactus in a wind storm.

Their gazes aren’t lost on you. It’s only natural for their eyes to wander over to the only virgin at the table. They look at you adoringly, as if you’re some mythical creature they often don’t happen across—something to be gawked at. Mortification joins the alcohol in your stomach as you tell yourself to ignore their gentle cooing and playful taunts.

It’s not that deep.

But it feels deep. It’s an abyss that swallows you whole—this idea of sex. They tell you it’s infinitesimal yet every time you attempt to wade through the waters you find your fingers clawing through the air as you attempt to keep yourself from drowning. You’d like to toss away your virginity just so it no longer hangs over your head like some thunder cloud ready to dump rain on your body, but you can’t quite get yourself to brave the blood that would follow after you cut it free from your body.

What about him? He looks like a good lay.

They point towards a man on the other side of the pub. He’s made himself comfortable at a table meant for two as his fingers choke the bottom of his pint. Short cropped hair lies close to his skull in thick curls while earthy brown eyes focus on the football game roaring on the television on the wall above him. His skin looks velvety smooth even with the faint scar on his cheek, and his face looks kind beneath the glow of the monitor.

It would be a lie to say he wasn’t attractive. Between his broad shoulders and chiseled hands, he’s the poster boy for the models they used to plaster pictures of in the magazines meant for teen girls you used to read as a kid.

He looks lonely.

You echo the sentiment when you approach his table with pursed lips, already awaiting your rejection. He looks up at you and his lips pull into a wide smile over pearly white teeth—you don’t notice how sharpy they are through the sheer beauty that beams before you.

“I might be,” he says, indulging your poor attempt at a pickup. His eyes flicker to the seat across from him for a short moment before he nods at you. “Gonna fix that for me, love?”

His name is Kyle. You feared that the moment you sat down with him and he opened his mouth, he would do something to make you regret wandering over here in the first place, but he doesn’t. Each syllable that rolls off of his tongue is silky smooth with a voice with just enough vocal fry to haunt your dreams. He buys you another drink when you’re finished with your first one, and you find yourself giggling with him more than you ever do with your friends (though, it remains to be seen if it’s because of him, or your intoxication).

Wanna get out of here?

His apartment is quaint. Various video game consoles lie in perfect organization beneath his TV stand, and a few of the controllers rest on the coffee table next to the remote. Each counter glistens beneath the stove light, save for a few crumbs from a sandwich he had eaten for lunch earlier that day. There is a faint aroma of bleach, sandalwood and—

—iron?

Kyle does not give you much time to mull over the state of his apartment before he’s got you buried in the duvet on his bed. Like a rocking boat in the ocean, you follow his whims as he strips you bare before him, body on display in the pallid light of his bedroom. Anticipation rears its head as your stomach churns. You’ve seen the films. You know how this is supposed to go.

Still, you are pleasantly surprised when you find Kyle’s head between your thighs. He curiously thumbs over your clit a few times just to watch your body jolt, and he grins as you throw your head back into his pillows. When his mouth replaces his thumb, you feel your desire pound against your chest, ready to burst free into the cold air around you.

His tongue swipes over you, not even bothering to temper you into the pure pleasure he plunges you into. All his efforts are focused onto one spot, the very spot that pulses with needy want as your hips twitch and buck against him. He chuckles, then hums lowly as his hands grip your hips to roll you along the flat of his tongue. Desperate fingers push at the back of his head. None of your friends described sex like this—wet and lewd. None of them ever talked about dancing on the tongue of their lovers like you are now.

“Kyle, that- that feels so good,” you croon.

He groans when you say his name. It bleeds between your lips like a hushed confession—a secret between you and God. His tongue quickens along your clit and the hinge of your jaw begins to tighten. He does not say anything to you when you begin to babble further. Kyle continues to devour—to eat—to consume—

Something snaps within you. Parichord frays then slices, leaving behind nothing but searing marks across your skin as endorphins numb your brain and sizzle throughout your legs. When your thighs close around Kyle's head, he does not push them aside for breath, but rather he allows you to ride this wave until your muscles melt around him and his tongue ceases to move.

“You taste so sweet. Like tangerine and blood,” he murmurs as he pulls away. His comparison makes your head spin—and blood—but you push it out of your mind as you witness him sit back on his haunches and remove his shirt in one slick, practiced motion. Soft abs roll and swell with his breathing as his fingers begin to prod along your pussy. “You look so pretty like this. Nothing but a mess for me, aren’t you? Yeah, there-”

You witness in real time as something ensnares Kyle's brain into silence. Eyes widening, his fingers hardly press into your entrance before they meet resistance. Pulling away from you, he puts his hands on the underside of your knees before he pushes your legs apart.

“Hold your legs out for me. Yeah, just like that, love,” he orders. Trembling fingers hook underneath your thighs as you hold yourself apart for him. You stare up at him from between your knees with curious eyes. “Is that… fuck…”

Slender fingers prod at your pussy once more, and you feel the cold air rush to meet the wetness on your skin as he inspects your cunt. You watch the soft brown of his eyes morph from wet autumn leaves into a dark void as he prods against some thin membrane just at your entrance.

“You’re a virgin?” he asks.

Embarrassment cuts through you like a dull blade. “You can tell?”

“Your hymen is still intact.” Kyle doesn’t look at you. Instead, he continues to spread you apart, eyes locked onto your pussy. “You sure you want me to take this, love? To take you?”

Your hips shift. Gathering as much spare courage as you’re able to find, you nod. “Please, Kyle.”

It doesn’t take long for him to fish his cock from his trousers. Something whispers at you to ask him about a condom, but your mind is thrown into silence the moment he slaps himself against your clit. He’s thick—uncut and desperately leaking, he rubs himself over your cunt before he pushes himself into you.

The burn is faint at first, but it progresses from flickering embers into a roaring fire. Kyle watches with dilated eyes as his cock splits and tears your hymen. The thin tissue weeps with trace amounts of blood, and he finds his throat growing tight as your cunt begins to constrict around him.

“Kyle, that-”

“I know,” he interrupts. “But fuck look at that. Never seen anything like that. Like you. You’re taking it so well, love, I just… there.” He bottoms out with a sharp thrust that has your nails digging into the back of your thighs. Dropping your legs, you slap your hands over your mouth to hold back a wail. Kyle falls forward, draping your body with his as he begins to shallowly thrust into you. “I’m not gonna be able to get enough of this.”

The foreign sensation ripples through you, stunning you into silence as Kyle’s cock pistons through your cunt. You feel the very ridge of his cockhead, the swell of his balls against your rump, even the trimmed hair on his pubic bone rubbing against your clit. The very world begins to fall away beneath you, and your arms wrap around his neck to steady yourself. You feel the curve of his lips as he grins against your throat.

“All mine. All fucking mine,” he repeats as his teeth nip beneath your jaw. A tense thumb makes its way to your clit once more just as you feel his hips begin to stutter and jolt. “Say it. All fucking mine, aren’t you love?”

“Yes!” you wail. “All yours, Kyle. Please, please let me come!”

He greedily times his orgasm with yours, and it isn’t long before you’re constricting around him and he’s spilling his cum into you with several throbbing pulses of his cock. Eyes rolling into the back of your head, your muscles go slack as he continues to shallowly thrust into you, grunting each time he bottoms out, refusing to waste a single drop.

“All mine.”

Kyle’s mantra only repeats in your mind for a little while after that night. He had tenderly cleaned you up in the shower before lovingly taking you to work the next morning—then, you vanished. Into thin air. Dissipated into nothing more than a tricky zephyr between his fingers.

The two of you were nothing more than a fling.

That’s what you thought.

When your confidence grows enough to take another stranger home from the bar with you, you shouldn’t be surprised to find Kyle already waiting in your apartment when the two of you arrive, but you are. He sits comfortably on your sofa with narrowed eyes as the door swings open, and your jaw goes slack at the sight of him.

Baby, who’s this?

Your one-night-stand rushes out of the door behind you, muttering something about being the other man, leaving you to stand in front of Kyle, trembling as if you’re out in the cold.

“Kyle? What the hell are you doing here?” you ask. “Did you-? How did you even know I lived here? Seriously, what the fuck?”

“Did you not mean it?” Kyle’s eyes are severe as he stands. He stalks forward with raised brows until your back is pressed against the door and his arms are on either side of your head. “When you said you were all mine, did you not mean it?”

Shaking your head, your bottom lip begins to tremble. “I don’t understand.”

His hands snake down until he’s palming at you through your pants. Gasping at the pressure, your eyes squeeze shut as his teeth nip at the side of your cheek, and you wince.

“You let me take this. Your virginity. It’s mine now. You’re mine now.” His lips brush away the pain on your cheek with a chaste kiss. “Say it to me, love.”

Fear pierces through your heart at the deep growl of authority in his tone. He has you trapped, caged in his arms like you’re nothing more than an animal. Knowing you have no other choice, your throat bobs as you swallow.

“I… I’m all yours, Kyle.”

#kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #cod smut #kyle garrick smut #gaz smut #female reader #gaz x you #kyle garrick x you #kyle gaz garrick x you #illium writing #kg ilia

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foxy-eva · 7 months ago

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Damaged Goods

Summary: The belief that they were both undeserving of love led Spencer and Reader into each other's arms. If they can’t find love, they can at least soothe their need for physical affection, right?

“You kiss me with your mouth wide open like you’re not afraid of swallowing poison. I taste the good and bad in you and want them both. We call this bravery.” - Anita Ofokansi

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Smut, Angst with a hopeful ending

Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) negative self-talk and self-deprecation (both Reader and Spencer, also in the context of sex!), implied past trauma (nothing explicit), some dark/cynical humor, loneliness, crying (also during sex), showering together, oral (fem receiving), unprotected penetrative sex

Author’s Note: I hope you guys are ready for some smangst! This is my entry for @imagining-in-the-margins Friends with Benefits challenge!

Word count: 4.3k

Masterlist

It was as if Spencer had expected you when he opened his door, a sympathetic smile spread over his face and the first buttons of his shirt already undone. As if he had known that you weren’t planning on wasting any time to get him undressed once you stepped inside his apartment.

“He stood you up, huh?” Spencer concluded after reading your expression.

A defeated sigh escaped your lips. “I don't even know why I still try with those stupid dating apps.”

“Probably because you don't want to end up old and alone like me,” he chuckled, his tone laced with cynicism.

“You're not old,” you countered as you stepped closer to him. “And right now you’re not alone either.”

“Technically correct.”

You came to a halt not even an arm’s length away from him. His sight wandered over your face, obviously trying to interpret your current state of mind. It was rare that Spencer made the first step in your encounters. It was important to him to make sure you were the one in control.

“I need you, Spencer,” you finally confessed.

There was a certain desperation audible in your voice but it was nothing Spencer hadn’t heard before. He stepped towards you to close the distance between your bodies.

“Come here,” he whispered as he placed his hands on your waist.

What Spencer had to offer was the next best thing to love you could get. So you didn’t hesitate to give into the temptation of feeling his body pressed against yours for the umpteenth time in those past few weeks.

Unlike the men before him, Spencer was not scared to get close to you even after telling him the secrets from your past. He didn't budge when you tried to push him away, well aware of the darkness he’d face once he stepped closer. He wasn’t afraid that you could suck him into the void that captured the place in your chest where your heart once was.

What he saw when he looked into the abyss that was your soul felt familiar, almost comforting. It reminded him of the demons that possessed his own soul. It broke his heart to see you hurting. However, as morbid as it was, it also made him feel less lonely in his own suffering.

One particularly lonely night a few weeks ago led you into his arms for the first time – and subsequently into his bed – to at least soothe the yearning for physical affection.

There was no romantic attraction to be found between the two of you. You came to an agreement that you were both too marred to even speak of romance hypothetically. Too large was the risk of potential self-destruction that could follow a union of two such damaged hearts.

This was a purely physical thing – a way to pretend that your love lives weren’t completely doomed. Sleeping with Spencer was like committing to a symbiosis, a mutual agreement to use the other’s body to appease this pain that wouldn’t go away.

You reminded yourself of that when his lips made contact with yours that night. He kissed you like a starving man, never quite able to satiate the burning hunger of his soul. What you had to offer was good enough for now, though.

As he walked you into his bedroom, it almost felt like following a routine the two of you had adopted. Just a few skilled movements were enough to stand completely bare in front of each other, greedy hands groping whatever flesh was in reach.

When you finally lay down on the mattress, Spencer’s lips chased every curve and dip of your body, almost as if he was determined to find the secret remedy to finally end your suffering.

Only there was none.

The inner turmoil never went away but during those hours you were able to tune it out. It was nothing but a distant memory once Spencer laid down between your legs. He collected your honeyed wetness on his tongue until you were squirming underneath him, desperate to find relief.

“Not yet,” he breathed as he sat up between your legs.

He leaned over you, sharing your own taste with you as he kissed you again. At the same moment his tongue entered your mouth, you could feel his hardness pressing into your entrance. There was no need to be reluctant, no moment of questioning if what you were doing would taint the other one. His mouth left your lips to bite into your neck instead, unafraid that his venom could ever hurt you.

Everything I touch starts rotting, Spencer once chuckled when you tried to save one of his house plants. Cynical as ever, he had said it with a grin on his face but you knew that there was more meaning behind his words than he would ever admit.

It was different with you, though. The damage had already been done by the hands of other people. There was no innocence that could have been defiled. There was nothing Spencer could do to wound you worse than them, no matter how little he thought of himself.

Maybe that was the real reason it was so easy for him to lose himself inside your embrace. You could see it in his eyes as he entered you. He was allowed to be himself with you, to feel lust and affection despite his hardship, despite the lack of true love.

Those sensations were a mutual experience, too. With Spencer you were never worried about being rejected. Together you had created your own safe space, a bright pink bubble within the darkness where you could truly be yourselves with one another.

In perfect unity you began moving with each other, each thrust of hips answered by your body grinding against him. Together you chased the feeling of sweet release, the moment of pure bliss.

“Fuck,” Spencer muttered against your lips, announcing that it wouldn’t be much longer now.

You slowed down your movements, desperately trying to prolong this moment, to indulge some more in this short reprieve of the mess that was your life.

“Please, hold on,” you begged him as you felt tears pricking in the corners of your eyes.

Suddenly and without a warning Spencer stopped moving to kiss away the tears from your cheeks instead. He tasted the saline on your skin and imagined that it had been kissed by the ocean instead of the cruel reality.

“Are you okay?” He cooed when he found your eyes.

“No,” you breathed. “But when am I ever?”

“Do you want to stop?” He offered, obviously concerned with you.

You shook your head as you pushed against his shoulders to urge him to lie down beside you. Climbing into his lap, you found your place on top of him while Spencer’s hands grabbed your hips.

“Is that okay?” You wanted to make sure before continuing.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “You know very well that I need this just as much as you do.”

With your hand wrapped around his length you guided him into your body once more. Spencer threw his head back into the pillow as you started moving at a slow, almost torturous pace. Not much time passed until the both of you danced along the edge of euphoria again.

It only took a few skilled motions until you finally fell over the edge, taking Spencer right with you. The high subsided a lot quicker than you would have liked and with that the bright pink bubble you had created burst again.

Spencer held you for the rest of the night, even after the both of you had long fallen asleep. Only when morning came did he dare to let go of your body as he got out of bed. When you heard him turn on the shower, your entire body began tingling as the longing to bask in the warmth his skin radiated became overwhelming.

With quiet steps you approached the bathroom and opened the door.

“Do you need something?” You heard Spencer’s voice from behind the shower curtain.

You stepped closer to the shower before asking, “Can I join you?”

“Of course.” He pulled back the curtain to let you step in, offering a hand so you wouldn’t slip.

It was only a little awkward to stand in front of Spencer completely naked in bright daylight. He didn’t hesitate to pull you into his arms, sharing both the warm water and the heat his body provided with you. You weren’t sure what it was exactly that you were looking for when you joined him in his morning shower, but it was nice to just be close to him.

You stepped back to find his eyes and he noticed your ambivalence. Before he had a chance to ask, you giggled, “I’m trying to decide whether I want to get clean or dirty.”

Spencer joined you with his own laughter. “Well,” he chuckled as he grabbed the shampoo bottle, “let’s start by getting you clean.”

He began shampooing your hair as if it was the most natural thing in the world to him. This act of innocent affection shocked your entire system. Suddenly you were unable to form a coherent sentence, the only thing that mattered in that moment was the sensation of Spencer running his fingertips over your scalp. A part of you wanted to fight this experience of being taken care of but a much bigger, much more desperate part simply indulged in the sensation.

When you couldn’t get much cleaner, you reciprocated this pure act. Spencer didn’t resist, instead his body became pliable under your touch as you helped him wash his hair and skin. It almost felt like a sacred act to rid him of the remaining soap. Your sight followed the bubbles as they ran down his legs and disappeared in the drain.

You couldn’t quite explain it but somehow this shower felt more intimate than any sexual act you had shared in the past. It wasn’t your intention but it felt like something between the two of you had shifted as you stepped out of the bathroom and got dressed.

It felt like the safest option to lighten the mood with your usual playful banter.

“My therapist said something stupid the other day,” you finally broke the silence.

“Did she say that you should stop sleeping with me? Because then I might need to have a serious conversation with her,” Spencer joked.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Dr. Reid. I never mention you in therapy,” you lied.

He saw right through you but let it go anyway. “Right,” he said instead.

Spencer walked right behind you as you made your way over to his kitchen to make some coffee.

“She said that I need to start learning to love myself before someone else can fall in love with me.” The coffee maker made a hissing noise right as the last word left your lips.

“Yikes,” Spencer deadpanned. “Good luck with that.”

“I know, right? I’ll probably end up old and alone like you,” you snickered.

Spencer laughed at your words. “I was talking about the coffee maker but I deserved that.”

The ringing of your phone distracted you from your mission to make coffee. When you got it out of your purse, you saw a message from the guy who stood you up last night.

“The guy from last night is asking for another date. Apparently he didn’t show up because of some work emergency,” you explained with your eyes still glued to the screen.

Spencer huffed in response. “You're not seriously considering it?”

“What choice do I have? It’s not like people are lining up to finally date me.”

He rolled his eyes as he poured some coffee in a mug. “He’s not the right person for you. You should say no,” was his final advice.

“That's the thing with damaged goods though, isn’t it? People can sense that we are not worthy of their time, that they can do better. So we have no choice than to settle for something, or rather someone not quite perfect.”

Months ago you had come to an agreement to stop cheering each other up when it came to your love lives. There was a mutual understanding that telling the other one they would for sure get their happily-ever-after soon didn't help at all. It was sort of comforting to be able to talk about the unadorned truth with one another.

“There's a difference between not quite perfect and absolute dipshit though,” Spencer retorted.

His choice of words made you laugh. It was rare that Spencer used crude language but he never minced matters when talking about your Tinder chronicles.

He found your eyes and added, “You deserve better than that.”

Half jokingly, half seriously you asked, “Do I really?”

A smirk formed on his face when he teased, “Well…”

You playfully punched his arm and laughed, “Don't be a dick, Spencer! Now I’m going to go on this date out of spite!”

Spencer had seen the worst of you and he was aware that you’d probably fall back into old habits quickly, even if that guy was decent. That poor man didn't stand a chance to fight through all those walls you had so carefully built to protect your heart.

There was another, unspoken reason why the two of you had stopped cheering each other up so long ago. In the unlikely case that you would actually finally find your soulmate, what would that mean for Spencer? That he had been more broken than you all along?

It’s not that he didn't want you to find happiness. But the thought that he might be left behind was devastating. Ending up old and alone was only a tolerable thought if he could have you by his side.

So Spencer did what he knew best and started pushing you away.

Several days passed without hearing a word from him. It wasn’t the first time this had happened and it was nothing you could hold against him – you had done the same thing before. It couldn't have been a coincidence that right when you were supposed to leave for your date, you found yourself standing in front of Spencer’s apartment door instead.

Three firm knocks announced your presence. You heard some shuffling on the other side of the door but he didn't open. It was to be expected. You got his spare key out from your purse to enter his place uninvited.

It was the couch where you found him, his arms wrapped around his knees, making him appear so much smaller than he really was. He was wearing an old Caltech shirt and sweatpants and his hair looked even more unruly than usual. The redness around his eyes revealed that he had been crying.

Instead of greeting you, he groaned, “I shouldn't have given you my key.”

“Well,” you shrugged as you sat down beside him. “Too late.”

“I mean it, you shouldn't be here.”

“Nice try,” you quipped. “You should know by now that you can't scare me off that easily.”

The truth was that he didn't want you to leave, even when the words that left his mouth claimed the opposite. You had proven to him over and over again that no matter how many of his scars he let you see, you stayed.

Old habits die hard, though. So he still tried walking away, even if he wouldn't get far. You watched as he disappeared in the bedroom and threw the door shut behind him. The sound didn't even make you flinch.

Slowly you counted to ten before you got up to follow him. He knew you better than that but he still had a surprised expression on his face when he saw you walking through his bedroom door. A part of him still believed that there would come a point where all this darkness became too overwhelming even for you.

“I won’t leave,” you reminded him, a loving softness laced over your voice.

You sat down beside him on the bed when he started crying again. To your surprise he didn’t wince when you reached for his hand.

“Talk to me,” you finally offered.

“You don't understand,” Spencer whimpered. “I feel so alone.”

Right as the words left his lips, he looked up at you, tears still running down his cheeks. He looked at you and remembered that what he said was wrong.

Because you did understand.

And he knew that very well.

That was when he remembered that it wasn’t his apartment you should be at right now. He took a deep breath before wiping away his tears.

“You're gonna be late for your date,” he stated, his eyes glued to the floor.

Your words were genuine when you countered, “You're so much more important than a stupid date, Spencer.”

After hearing those words, he leaned over to catch your lips with his without a warning. The fervor he displayed knocked the air out of your lungs. He kissed you greedily, his hands grabbing your waist to push you against his body.

His tongue begged for entrance and you granted it, melting into him with this kiss that tasted more salty than you would have liked. How easy it would have been to fall back into your old routine, to lose yourself inside his arms as you both chased a quick solution to a problem that couldn't be fixed.

His hands started searching for the softness your body had to offer, calloused fingertips brushing over the velvet of the skin he found underneath your shirt. It was not like you didn't yearn for it too, for this make-believe game you liked to play. More than anything did you crave the sensation of his touch, this moment that briefly let you forget all the marks past lovers had left on your body.

It didn't feel right, though. Not anymore.

Spencer instantly sensed your hesitance and pulled back to find your eyes. Never before had he looked more vulnerable than in that moment.

“I don't think it’s a good idea,” you breathed as your hands found his face to wipe his tears away.

Spencer pulled away from you, denying you the access to his skin.

“So it's okay if you cry during sex, but when I do it, that's where you draw the line?” He huffed.

The harshness of his words shocked you but you could see the regret in his eyes instantly.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn't have said that.”

You reached for his hand as you softly spoke, “It’s okay. You're upset, I get it.”

Several moments of silence passed. Seconds of contemplating how to proceed until you decided to offer him the comfort he craved anyway.

You leaned in for another kiss. It was a lot softer and slower than before but Spencer took what he could get. When you got ahold of the hem of his shirt to take it off, he pulled back.

“Wait, I’m not sure about this,” he stuttered. “I don't want you to feel like–”

“Spencer,” you interrupted him. “Do you trust me?”

A quiet breath fell from his lips before he nodded. “More than I ever thought possible.”

With that there was no more resistance to be found when you continued undressing him. He moved with you until only underwear was covering your bodies.

“Lie down,” you cooed and he did as you said.

Unlike your previous encounters, it was apparent that what the both of you craved was not sex this time. You laid down beside him to pull him into your arms, no distance allowed between the two of you. His skin was pressed against yours, so much so that it became impossible to tell where your body ended and his began.

He left featherlight kisses on your neck before resting his head against your shoulder. You held him as close as you could, not daring to loosen the grip you had around his body.

With his arms and legs all bent and folded to fit inside your embrace, there was no more trace of the tall man he usually was. He seemed small, almost fragile. Even more so when another fit of sobs shot through his body.

Spencer trembled inside your arms and you held him. You held him until he had successfully cried himself to sleep.

At least that was what you thought. The harbingers of your own slumber had already begun numbing your senses when you suddenly felt his lips brushing over your cheek.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he whispered almost inaudibly.

I know, you thought but were already too far gone to answer him.

When you opened your eyes the next morning, you found Spencer already awake, looking at you. His eyes were still a bit swollen but his facial features looked soft, almost content.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you whined as you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes.

“Like what?” He mumbled.

“Like a lovesick fool!”

Spencer didn't seem surprised at your words. It seemed like he was aware that you had heard what he said to you last night.

“What if I am?” He asked, a smirk spread over his face.

Now was not the time for your usual sarcastic banter. Not when everything you had with him was about to implode.

You sat up in the bed and warned him, “Stop it, Spencer.”

He shook his head, “I can’t keep pretending. It’s the truth.”

You got up to get dressed while you huffed, “How can it be true after you have seen the worst of me.”

“I have seen the worst of you and I still love you.”

You started pacing up and down his bedroom, trying to come up with something to say to that. Spencer got up too and put his clothes on. You came to a halt about an arm’s length away from him before you said, “This is not what love should feel like.”

“How would you know?” He countered.

His words seemed cruel but they were true. You didn't know what love actually felt like. There was this image you had in your head of an innocent, saccharine kind of love that probably only existed in fiction.

Spencer didn't let it go just yet. There was a certain insecurity audible in his voice when he practically begged you, “Look at me and tell me that you don’t feel the same way ”

Instead of looking at him, your sight fell to the floor. “What I feel is the urge to leave.”

It was to be expected that this would be your reaction. Spencer knew you well enough to be aware of the risk he took by confessing his feelings. He suspected that you reciprocated them but were still too afraid to admit it.

He stepped out of your way and gestured towards the door. “I’m not gonna stop you.”

To your own surprise, you hesitated.

“What are we doing, Spencer?”

A very timid smile appeared on his face when he realized that you didn't follow your instincts to leave. Maybe there was hope after all.

“I’m not sure,” Spencer answered. “…but I’m willing to find out.”

It wasn’t like this thought had never crossed your mind. In fact, there was a part of your brain that sometimes overpowered anything else and let you fantasize about a potential future with him.

However, you were very familiar with the demons Spencer had to fight every day. And you were even more aware of your own darkness. You were afraid that the combination of those things might become a poisonous mixture that had the potential to destroy the both of you.

So it was only logical to voice your concerns. “I don’t think I can make you happy.”

“It’s not your job to make me happy,” he sighed. “But maybe there is a chance that we could find happiness together. In little those moments, just like before, when we woke up together. Or when we took a shower the other day. Maybe those little things add up one day to something bigger. To something better. Something worth taking the risk.”

You looked at the door once more but decided to sit down at his bedside instead of leaving.

You found his eyes and breathed, “Okay.”

Spencer sat down beside you. “Okay?”

What you had with him was imperfect and not at all what you had imagined. Some might think what you were about to do was stupid, maybe even reckless. It was only a matter of time until one of you got hurt, got caught in the crossfire of the intensity of your emotions. But maybe it was worth giving it a chance.

Yes, some might call it reckless. But in that moment you thought of it as bravery.

“Yes.” You confirmed. “Let’s give it a try.”

A split second after you said those words, you felt Spencer’s lips on yours. The kiss felt different than the ones before. There was no desperation or insatiable hunger noticeable in his actions. This kiss was sweet, almost innocent. It was a way to melt into one another with no hurry, no need to compensate for something you’d never truly experience.

Soon you were both shedding each layer of clothing before lying down on the bed to continue the kiss without any barrier between you. His chest was firmly pressed against yours and you could feel his heart thumping against your skin, almost as if it was looking for its counterpart inside your ribcage.

You could feel your heart calling out to him. For the first time you didn't want to be with him to shield your heart from the rest of the world, no. This time you wanted to open up, to give Spencer a chance to feel your affection.

“I love you,” you whispered between kisses.

He leaned back to smile at you and you could feel how his love entered your body, how it was on a mission to bring light to even the darkest corners of your soul.

“I love you, too.”

Please like, reblog and leave a comment! I need your lovely words to stay motivated to write more stories.

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javierpena-inatacvest · 5 months ago

Text

Sail Away

Summary: Another nightmare leaves Javi wide awake, forced to wrestle with the consequences of his past as he looks towards his future

Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Wife!reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: Heavyyyyy on the angst, PTSD, references to violence/death (from Narcos), panic attack and descriptions of past panic attacks, insomnia, feelings of guilt/shame, mentions of pregnancy/parenthood, comfort, still a happy (enough) ending, post DEA Javi, poor Javi just really needs a hug :(

A/N: We're tryin new things here people!! Fair warning- I feel like this is DRASTICALLY different from the way I normally write (content and style wise) but big sad time, pre-period hormones said it's time to cry 🤷🏼‍♀️ I think a lot about how post-DEA Javi handles thinking about his time in Colombia, and how hard it is for him to talk about, even with the people he knows care about him the most ☹️ I hope this doesn't beat you to death with metaphors, imagery and lack of beta'ing (I can still hear my AP lit teacher screaming SYMBOLISM into the abyss) Trying to emulate a lil @jolapeno on this one (ily my descriptive queen 👑)

It happened again.

You instantly knew from the stark cold of his side of the bed, the empty void where his broad frame should be, his sheets twisted and tangled from where he had fought another round with sleep and lost.

3rd night in a row, the 5th time this week. At this point, it was hard not to keep track.

The cyclical pattern of restless nights, haunted by ghosts of his past that taunted and teased him, cruelly lurking the back of his mind, no matter how hard he begged or pleaded for them to disappear.

Forcing himself to wrestle with his demons in the darkness couldn’t help but feel like insult to injury- the harsh blacks and blues that flooded the sky, drowning out the last glimmer of sunlight as it dipped below the horizon, perfectly mirroring the way his mind so devilishly seemed to paint his thoughts in shades of ebony and cerulean with erratic, angry brushstrokes over the warm yellows and oranges of his new life he had finally learned to embrace.

It only seemed fair that he went to battle with the darkest musings of his mind under the night sky that so cruelly reflected his mood.

You weren’t surprised the first time you found him hunched on the back steps of your porch, head buried in his hands, fingers twitching for a cigarette- the vice he’d sworn to give up after his final return home, a vow that moments like these had made him distinctly regret. You always wondered how despite the stark silence that surrounded him as he stared off into the dark abyss, you could still hear his thoughts screaming at you- crying out for attention, acknowledgement, anything to get someone else to understand what he was hiding inside of his mind that he was too scared to say out loud.

His midnight disappearances came in waves, fading and reappearing like an unpredictable ocean tide that left you wondering when the cool and salty water would crash around your ankles next as you stood at the edge of the shore.

For a while, the seas had been calm, Javi’s body nestled next to yours, his warmth comforting and covering you along with the messy piles of blankets and bedsheets that filled your mattress, the nights being nothing more than drifting to sleep in each other’s arms, haunted dreams harbored at bay.

For the last 5 nights, the tides had shifted. A storm was raging.

The first few nights you let him go- you’d watched him weather this kind of storm before, always insisting it was a journey he was supposed to go on alone, the type of trip you need to make without risking hurting the innocent passengers that were supposed to ride with you.

But as the days came and went, golden rays of vibrant sun shifting to dark and lonely blackness, it felt like you were leaving him out in the abyss without even so much as a life vest, praying for a return you knew would never come unless someone weathered the storm to save him.

“You’re up again.”

It’s a neutral statement, enough to disarm him from the implications you’ve sent yourself on a rescue mission to find him while you settle next to his stoic frame sinking into the porch step.

“And you shouldn’t be.”

Not quite resistance, but certainly not acceptance to you let you come aboard with him. Not yet.

“I was already up anyway. Someone has been a big fan of punching me in my gut at 2 A.M. Hard not to notice when I wake up and your side of the bed is empty for the 5th time this week.”

Both your eyes shift down to the subtle swell of your stomach, barley poking out from under the worn t-shirt you’d stolen from his dresser drawer. You’d never really had a knack for thievery until the past few weeks, claiming that everything was too tight for your growing belly. Despite all his years intertwined with the law, Javi had never had a problem with pardoning you for your violation, happy to let you, his household thief, and your new partner in crime indulge in the habit if it brought you any sort of comfort in your constant uncomfortability of growing a new life inside you.

“Already picking up on her dad’s shit sleeping habit.” He scoffs under his breath, a bitterness in his tone that he thinks he’s somehow managing to inflict years worth of poor choices on his future child, still months away from even making her arrival into the world.

It hurts, watching the pain well in his eyes as he stares off at the stars, glistening in the distance like some sort of unreachable sanctuary, the savior of a temporary distraction. Right now, you wish he’d look at you the same way, but he knows you won’t let him wallow in the all consuming waves of his own self pity like the stars will.

A silent journey to outer space is the easy way out. You aren’t.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You ask it like it’s a question, like he has a choice in the matter. He knows that you’ll be gentle with him- you have been since the moment you met him- but Christ, he also knows you’re nothing, if not persistent, too.

He sighs, accepting his defeat as his gaze drops from the sky down to the ground, cautiously allowing you to climb aboard with him.

It’s like trying to approach a wounded wild animal- move too fast and you’ll scare him away, leaving him to writhe in even more pain as he tries to flee from you. Move too slow and you leave him to bleed out, alone and afraid.

“I’m fine.” It’s almost humorous how blatant of a lie it is, immediately putting himself on the defensive, like he has any ground to stand on with his claim.

You say nothing, your silence enough to intrigue him as his eyes finally meet yours, the look on his face revealing the truth his words wouldn’t. You try your best to remain neutral, but Javi knows the sadness slowly slipping through your expression, the one you’re trying your best to hide because you’re not the one that’s hurting. Yet, there’s something about seeing you hurt because of him that’s enough to chip away at the wall he’s put up between you two, finally allowing you a crack just wide enough to let you see through to the other side.

“I- I keep having the same dream. Every night, it’s the same.” He says “dream” like he’s letting himself drift off to sleep to all the pleasantries the world has to offer him, waking up to his midnight thoughts refreshed and renewed. Because his dreams aren’t just dreams, his dreams are the most terrifying nightmares the majority people wouldn’t even be capable of imagining, a violent parade of the worst memories his brain can muster.

“What dream?” You ask, as carefully and cautiously as the way you shift yourself closer to him.

“I- It’s- I just- Fuck-”

It’s then you choose to gamble, wagering that he’s let you in enough, your next move won’t startle him, inching yourself closer as your right hand begins to intertwine with his left. He’s resistant at first, but as the familiar warmth of your body grazes across his skin, he begins to let you in, allowing your fingers to gently tangle, anchoring himself in your grasp.

“It’s okay, Javi. I’m here. You can tell me.”

It’s then the bets become less of a reckless gamble, squeezing him just a little tighter, stroking his skin with your thumb and feeling him squeeze back, taking your hand and finally letting you start to lift him out of the eye of the storm.

He still needs the reassurance you won’t leave, that the man his nightmares make him won’t scare you away like they have so many others. An insecurity that distresses him enough to make him ache, despite your compassion.

You’re not gonna scare me away, Javi.

The words still ring in the back of his head when he finds himself like this, remembering the first time you found him on the living room floor of your apartment at 3 A.M., skin tacky and covered in sweat, heart beating so fast he was convinced he was dying, terrified of his mind, and even more terrified you would leave him, letting you find him exposed, like some sort of disgusting, open wound.

He’ll never understand why you showed him so much mercy. In no lifetime will he ever be able to thank you enough that you did.

It still doesn’t make what comes next any easier.

“I just stood there. I just let him- I just let him do it. He was just a fucking kid.”

You can practically hear both your hearts break over the stark silence. Javi’s, because of all the things he’s done, this is the one he’ll never forgive himself for. Yours, for the same reason.

“Javi…”

“I didn’t even try to stop him. He was just a kid. We just- we just fucking left him there. What kind of person does that? I- I spent so long trying to convince myself, trying to- fuck- trying to justify it was okay. That casualties happen when you’re trying to catch a fuckin’ monster. But what if- what if none of it fucking mattered because I was the one who was really the monster.”

It was flowing out of him now, a flash flood crashing through the rest of the brick wall he had built up to defend himself. You can feel him trying to pull his hand away, trying to keep you from getting swept away in the current with him, but it only makes you double down harder.

“You’re not a monster, Javi. What happened back then, it- it did matter. I know it hurts, but it doesn't make you a monster.”

It’s not his admittance of guilt that breaks him- it’s your forgiveness.

He wonders how can stand him, let alone love him. How his past hasn’t left him tainted and useless, like some sort of lame animal with a limp that can’t be cured, its only options left to die or be sent out to pasture, too weak to venture back for help. That you were the only one who wanted to help fix the parts of himself that were the most broken and mangled. That you were the only one who gave him a chance to be healed instead of leaving him for dead.

When his eyes meet your stomach is when the guilt begins to morph into terror. Because years ago, a mother, just like you, was nestled away in the haphazard rows of colorful buildings that lined the streets of Medellín, carrying her unborn son, dreaming about the life she would plan for him.

Javi knows that nowhere in those plans did she account for the pain and heartbreak she would suffer as some asshole DEA agent watched her son’s body become one with the earth while he took a bullet to the brain.

How was he supposed to live with himself when he got a chance to play God- that now, after letting a life disappear, he was allowed to have a hand in creating a new one?

You watch the gears in his brain churn, yearning for an explanation to the unexplainable puzzle he’ll never be able to solve, even though he’s convinced he can. His brain works in logic and reasoning, only making the emotional torment of his past decisions more confusing for him. The same kind of logic that you’re not sure will ever allow him to forgive himself.

“How am I supposed to be a dad? How are you ever gonna trust me? How am I supposed to keep her safe when I’ve done so many terrible fucking things?” Tears begin to flow down his cheeks, each word more ragged and shaky than the last until he can’t fight it any more.

It feels like the entire weight of the world collapsing into your lap as he melts into you, so heavy that there’s nothing that you can do but wrap your arms around him at let him cry and soak the battered fabric of the his stolen t-shirt draped over your top, fisting at the frayed hems.

He can’t pretend anymore, not after he’s shown you all the cards he’s had to lay out on the table. There’s no more facade, no more attempt at a stubborn masquerade to hide his hurt. He’s finally let you climb aboard his ship and take the wheel, trusting that you’ll guide him home to shore where he belongs.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

The way he repeats it, chanting it like a broken prayer, begging for your forgiveness makes you ache. You’ve forgiven him for the sins of his past long ago, yet he still feels the need to plead to you for redemption. You wish there was a way to take it from him, to let him unburden himself from the shame he’s carried for so long and carry it for him, even if just for a little while. To let him see what you see in him, to know that you love him for all of his past, and not just in spite of it. To let him know that the storm he has to weather is a storm you will never let him weather alone. But for now, three words are the best you can do.

“I love you. I love you, Javi.”

And you do. You mean it. With every bone in your body, with every fiber of your being, you mean it. And right now, he may not admit it, but he knows you do, too. Those three words are enough to let him see the shoreline approaching in the distance, to see the light of day beginning to peek its way through the cracks of the night sky, to carry him back home to you.

He says it with his silence, the way his sobs start to slow, replaced with long inhales and exhales, his chest rising and falling against you. He says it with the way he holds you just a little tighter, hand splaying across the swell of your stomach, muttering a promise to himself just loud enough for you to hear.

“I promise I’ll protect you. Both of you. If it’s the last thing I do.”

“I know you will. I will, too. I promise.”

The promise is the last gentle wave that pushes you back to the part of the beach where tides roll gently, forgetting the raging currents they once were in the middle of the ocean. A place where you can safely row your boat ashore without the fear of another dreadful thought creeping up on you and dragging you back out to face torment again.

As you look out in front of you, the sky is no longer laden with heavy shades of black- a pastel sunrise is beginning to creep over the horizon, glistening like some sort of trophy for an underdog fistfight you’d managed to win, even if you’d come out the other side beaten and bruised. It was enough to nudge Javi’s head out of your lap, encouraging him to accept his prize at a game where winners came few and far between.

Tonight, you'd never been more thankful the universe had let Javi come up a winner.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve been up early enough to watch the sunrise.”

“Yeah. It is pretty, isn’t it? Sorry this is the reason you get to see it.”

“As long as I get to be with you, that reason will always be good enough.”

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

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yuomizuu · 6 months ago

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♡ | open arms ── kinich x reader !

synopsis: a bit of kindness can go a long way. at least, that was what the elders in kinich’s clans would often say. though in a land where war with the abyss is at a constant, he finds it difficult to truly believe such a notion. perhaps meeting you simply had the sole purpose of erasing those doubts that shrouded his mind.

additional: w.c 899 ⸝⸝⸝ content includes . . .gn reader, implied friends to lovers, character study www

( 💌 ) yuomi’s note: slowly but surely reverting back to my musical kid phase ty mr. jorge for creating epic and what better way to commend that than doing some kinich brainrot ^w^

natlan — a nation of eternal oaths and converging fires. where the sacred flame burns brighter with each chant of the epic hymn that echoes from land to sea, bringing back valiant warriors, now deemed heroes, anew.

yet beyond those blazing flames of ardent also lies a resplendent nation full of color and life. made up of magnificent gorges and valleys that stretch as far as the eye can see, vibrant fields where the saurians roam free, and rejuvenating springs that ease the weary, you'll find a unique beauty reflected within it all.

for most of his life, kinich had often found it difficult to view his homeland through the lens of the latter. since a young age, misfortune has always seemed to follow him wherever he goes, like a relentless beast chasing down its prey that's slowly becoming more and more exhausted. where no matter how far he soars, the shackles of a brutal reality always drag him back down. eventually, such experiences would sometimes render the lone saurian hunter an austere individual, whether intended or not. in his eyes, the world was but a tapestry of unbridled battles.

it was only after meeting you that, slowly but surely, kinich would gradually learn to appreciate the more charming aspects of life and even gain a sense of tenderness towards it. however, that still doesn't cause him to lower his guard completely.

"kinich, you're doing it again," you mused, the lush grass below softening your footsteps as you and your companion tread through the forest. the occasional murmur of wild animals hidden within the trees or nestled away in burrows echoes throughout.

hearing this, the male ahead of you briefly stops in his tracks to glance back at you with a puzzled look. "doing.. what exactly?"

stopping beside him, you motion at the weapon held in his hand. "gripping onto your sword so tightly that the tips of your knuckles are turning white. i swear… it's like you're expecting us to get ambushed out here any minute."

in response to your sigh though, he simply shrugs. "perhaps we will be."

"kinich, we barely took on this commission not that long ago, and we aren't even at our intended destination yet. i doubt we'll find ourselves walking into trouble so soon."

"better to be prepared for catastrophe before it strikes when you least expect it."

an air of laughter escapes from you then. "catastrophe," you repeat to yourself, head shaking in slight amusement. "we aren't exactly tackling the abyss here you know."

"no, but if we were, your lack of attentiveness would surely lead us to such." in between his pause, you catch sight of the subtle curl of his lips. "not even ajaw would be so heedless, and that certainly says something."

"you little…!"

balling your hand up into a fist, you immediately go to throw a punch on his arm that ultimately does not land when the now chuckling male catches it effortlessly. not that such a punch would've hurt him in the first place, but kinich is all for finding the humor in evading your poor attempts at attacking him. plus, you've managed to land a good punch or two on him before, although he blames ajaw for distracting him during those moments.

before you can pull your hand away from his grasp and unwillingly accept defeat this time, kinich intertwines his fingers with yours, holding your hand firmly. without saying another word, he turns to continue walking along with you at his side now.

due to your good-natured sense of self, it's often left kinich to be roped up in more conflicts than he'd usually expect: said conflicts are getting you out of trouble.

but even in the face of danger, you never cease to look for the good in others. while many have considered this trait of yours to be a display of naive foolishness, it felt like a breath of fresh air for kinich. while he was also considered to be different from those of his tribe concerning certain viewpoints and beliefs, you were an oddity that transcended beyond his own novel ideals. if you had not been born and raised in natlan, kinich would've surely mistaken you for being an outlander. even you had once jokingly said that perhaps you were actually a child of the anemo god, barbatos, that the wind had accidentally blown too far from home.

because, unlike the fierce fires that dwelt within the spirit of every warrior in natlan, your flame was akin to that of a candle: a gentle yet comforting light that simply wished to share its warmth with the world around them and kinich would do anything to keep that light of yours burning for evermore.

he'll never admit to you aloud, but he secretly thanks the anemo archon every day for sending him a beautiful soul such as yourself. your presence alone was as calming as a gentle breeze, and his love for you a sweet, sweet melody.

"speaking of ajaw, where is the little rascal anyways?" you ask, breaking the silence as you look around to find the creature that has strangely gone quiet.

"i sent him to scout ahead for a bit. he'll be back soon enough."

a soft smile creeps onto your face. you spare the male one more glance before giving his hand a light squeeze.

"of course you did."

#ノ𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮: 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘩 ♡#—stellaronhvnters.#watch me write an honorary angst piece for this from that /one/ part in ‘love in paradise’ … iykyk #genshin impact #genshin writing #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin kinich #kinich #kinich x reader #kinich x you #kinich x y/n

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iidilio · 2 months ago

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𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯?| 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘴!reader| chapter: 01, (next part) 02, 03, 04, 05

[🌸] hi hi :> I wanted to upload this here, since probably many don't know it, haha

Summary: Perhaps the most important question is not; "How did you end up in this place?". it is; will you be able to finish the unfinished business that your self from this world left pending?.

...

You were exhausted, the movie you had gone to see with your friends had lasted longer than you expected. The duration had been three hours, and the idea of a hot bath made the somewhat stiff muscles from sitting for too long cry with joy. It was at least six in the afternoon, the sun was hiding, leaving behind a beautiful sunset.

The air was cool, giving you a little peace. The place you were walking through was lonely, there were no people around, which was weird, since you should be near the park and– oh, you can already hear the happy cries of little children playing. You felt safe, in a way hearing people nearby gave you some security because if someone strange showed up you could run to the park, you know; Just follow the voices and you'll be safe.

Although in extreme cases, you would just use the pepper spray you bought at that cheap store. Fortunately, for you, there has never been an edge case where you had to use it.

You were very close to the park, there was only one more block left for you to arrive. The screams of the children were getting louder, indicating that you were close, you could already hear the adults talking and some dogs playing with their owners.

You were about to get to where the voices were coming from when you felt the air changing and suddenly, you no longer had a ground to step on.

The ground had simply disappeared, leaving you to fall into a black abyss. The laughter of children, the happy voices of adults, became more and more distant until you simply remained in deathly silence. The peace you had before had been giving way to confusion and terror.

The feelings and questions racked every fiber of your being until you simply couldn't take it anymore and passed out.

You didn't know what was in store for you or what would happen once you opened your eyes, if ever.

Maybe when you open your eyes, everything will be alright again.

Maybe...

...

The old woman who found you was looking at you with pity... again.

You simply decided to recap what had happened these last few weeks in a lousy attempt to ignore the look 'Laura' was giving you. Apparently, you had woken up in a small town called 'Bibury'... which was in England.

'England?!', was your first thought when you found out where you were, your shock was so great that you couldn't speak for a couple of hours. The kind old lady named Laura had given you some tea to calm you down.

She had practically stayed by your side, patiently waiting for you to come to your senses, for which you were profusely grateful. Sometimes you needed alone time to process things, but not this time, you needed company and before you knew it you were hugging Laura and crying like a baby. She didn't care that you wet her soft coat with your tears. Your worries, your fears began to surface, how-how would you get back home?

You cried for what seemed like the whole day until the moon came up and it was only at that moment that you fell asleep, but before doing that Laura had taken you to a rather dirty and small room, she practically tucked you in like a small child while you sobbed and held on to everything you could reach. She had stayed close to you until you closed your tired eyes.

The next morning, you had a soup for breakfast that Laura had made for you. Having already had breakfast, you called the first number that appeared to you with your phone, which turned out to be your mother's, it rang a couple of times before—

'Sorry, the number you have dialed is unavailable or disconnected. If this is an error, try calling to...-'

"What?" It had been the first thing that had come out of your mouth, this was definitely not something normal. Deciding that maybe it was just a mistake, you called back, only to get the same message as before. With a tired sigh you called your dad, and they answered- but it wasn't your father's voice, you called each of your friends or acquaintances that you had in your contact list, but none of your contacts answered, not even your boyfriend who answered the first two or three rings.

Strangely, your dad's number kept calling your phone, you answered twice before giving up. The voice on the other end that belonged to a man sounded strange, almost as if he was in...shock?, although thinking about it, perhaps it was just confusion. The last thing he said to you before you hung up was a "who the fuck are you–?". You just turned off the phone after the last four calls because it wouldn't stop ringing.

Leaving you in your current state, unable to communicate and in a town you didn't know. Laura kept looking at you worried from her seated position. Deciding that enough of wallowing in misery was enough, you got up from the comfortable sofa you were on and sat down next to her. Perhaps socializing with the only person you knew would be better for now, plus when your headache subsides you might think better of what to do next.

Grabbing the small notebook together with the pen you wrote <<don't worry, everything is fine>>

When the old lady took you in, you learned many things about her.

The first thing you learned was that she was 98 years old. And that she was deaf due to an accident she had as a child.

The second thing you learned was that her husband had been killed in World War II. And all because he was enlisted in the army to fight for the allied countries, he had died due to the impact of a stray bullet.

And the third thing was that his son died several years after his father's death, due to lung disease. You felt bad because you were using her son's room, but Laura had told you not to worry about it.

Clutching the small notebook in her wrinkled hands together with the pen, she wrote to you <<you can always tell me anything>>

It could be said that you were lonely and somewhat hopeless, but with Laura by your side you felt that very soon you would be able to find a way to return home.

...

You didn't know what to think when a blond man appeared at the house that same afternoon. What caught your attention the most about his appearance was his beard and the long jacket he was wearing.

"Shit– I was right". Ah, he had the same voice you heard, he was the man of the phone.

Wait- what was he right about?

- - - - - - -

// curiosities //

World War II ended 79 years ago (1945 - 2024), Laura was 20 years old when the war ended. Her husband died when she was 19 years old, her son died of a lung disease that slowly became terminal when she was 27 years old.

- - - - - - -

I want a Laura in my life~ 😩

reblog and give me a big heart if you like it <3 and also comment and tell me what do you think! you can do it in this post or write it in my inbox!

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rinneroraito · 8 months ago

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L x Reader: You ask if you could give him a hug. Almost 800 words, mundane fluff

~~~°~~~

It's the middle of the night in the headquarters. The rest of the Task Force had already retired to their rooms meanwhile you've taken it upon yourself to not leave your desk until your job was done. You weren't alone, though. L was also there doing pretty much the same thing as you. The last time you checked on him he was hunched over his screens. When you got up to take a short break, you find him on the glass windows overlooking the cityscape.

There was something lonely and haunting about his figure and where he stood, the darkness of the starless night sky and the empty office seemingly enveloping him in it's abyss. The title of "Greatest Detective in the World" isn't an ordinary feat and looking at him like this puts things into incredible perspective. He's just a person, too. Behind the screen and the garbled voice was just another man doing what he could.

You walk closer, standing alongside him staring at the cityscape below, the lights looking like stars that fell from the heavens.

"Have you ever been hugged, Detective?"

He turns to look at you and you meet his gaze. He's still wearing that usual stoic expression. Unreadable. Unsure of how to read him you're now wondering if maybe that wasn't a question that needed to be asked. Even if the reason was for a good cause, maybe it was too personal, especially for him.

"The last time I tried to 'hug' someone, I got kicked down a flight of stairs. Offering that gesture hasn't crossed my mind ever since so to answer your question, no. I have never been hugged. I also think my lifestyle has a lot to do about my lack of experience in that part, I'm sure you've thought about that."

Your eyebrows raise at his answer. Kicked down a flight of stairs? But more importantly, you were stuck thinking about the latter part of what he said. He was right, that possibility was also a thought that you've been speculating on. You turn to face him, pressing a hand to your cheek before you reach out, beckoning him to you.

"Would you like to experience it?"

You could see his eyes widen ever so slightly as he turns to face you, too. Maybe he was confused that it was something you'd offer to him, but it's just a hug, isn't it? And if he refuses then...

"I would, actually."

L shuffled closer to you and your hands slip through his limbs as you bring your arms around his waist, pulling him in.

He's cold.

L's entire frame is cold when you embrace him. He spends most of his time in front of his screens during the investigation, the frigid atmosphere provided by the air conditioning being his natural habitat. His clothes are cool, his jeans colder as you feel them brush against your thighs.

And then you feel his warmth. It's gradual, but the longer you hold him, the warmer he gets.

You can feel his lean muscles through his shirt as your arms circle his waist. He's skinny, making it easy to wrap your arms completely around his body, holding him firm and close.

You can hear his heartbeat as you press your ear to his chest. It's a gentle thrumming, as steady and as level as his demeanor. You can feel the rhythmic rise and fall that he makes as he breathes, and you wonder if he feels your rhythm, too.

L is hesitant, but he wraps his arms around you. Loosely at first, like he's testing the waters. And then you press him closer to you, reassuring him that he can do the same. He reciprocates. His hands press your back firmly, then he moves them to your shoulders, squeezing you to him. You can feel his breath as he rests his face on the crook of your neck.

You hold each other silently for a few moments that feel like an eternity. An eternity you wanted to prolong. Because in this little pocket of time, there was no Kira, there were no mysteries to be solved, no deaths to be brought justice to. In truth, time is not as forgiving as you wished it was. Yet you're here, L is here, and you both exist. Persisting through it all. You're holding him as he holds you. He's holding you as you hold him. And you're hoping to whatever higher being there is that at least, in this little pocket of time that you're hugging him, he feels some sort of solace in it.

"How does this feel, Detective?"

His monotonous voice comes out quiet, almost whispering, breathy against your ear.

"Comfortable. Thank you."

#l lawliet x reader #l lawliet #death note #death note l #whipquip #l death note #l my beloved #oc x canon #l lawliet x y/n #RinneL #l x reader #l x y/n #l x you #l x oc

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coldfanbou · 2 months ago

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Kinkcember Day 23: Succubus

You'd be surprised by how many twice Succubus requests I got, but this one really interested me. Anyway, things get real weird, expect a lot of growing body parts (G!P) and a lot of smut.

Length 2.6K

Dahyun X F reader

You mindlessly click through websites, moving from one to another without a thought before slumping over your desk. You stare out the window, feeling lonely. A small pop-up catches your eye, “Looking for a friend? Summon one.” It looked like any other of those ridiculous websites you might get ads for when you were looking at porn. Something about it draws you to it, though. You click on the ad. The website it brings you gives you instructions on how to summon a friend, giving you instructions that would best be described as occult. As dumb as it all sounded, you were bored enough to try it.

You follow the instructions, as the website explains, by making a large circle in the middle of your room, writing ruins and whatever else the website tells you. As far as you’re concerned, you should follow any instructions they give you. Once you had your summoning circle set, the last step was to provide it with a drop of blood. You prick yourself and smear your blood in the middle of the circle. Unsurprised when nothing happened. You begin to walk away when the circle lights up bright red, filling your room. A dark portal opens when the circle once was, and a woman starts to float from the abyss; she hovers above the now shrinking portal. She’s naked, her milky white skin on full display for you. You begin to worry about what you got yourself into when the portal entirely shuts, and the young woman lands in your room. She opens her eyes slowly, her eyes on the floor until she looks up at your body. The young woman meets your gaze and smiles. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m Dahyun.” She says confidently, walking over and around you, looking you over. “For what reason was I summoned here?”

“I’m lonely and wanted a friend.”

“A friend?” Dahyun takes a deep breath and stops in front of you. “I’m sure I can help with that. My name is Dahyun.” You introduce yourself to the young woman, trying to look away from her body but having a hard time.

“Could you put some clothes on?”

“If you have something for me.” You quickly head to your closet and grab some shorts and an oversized shirt for Dahyun. When you return to her and hand over the clothes, she puts on the shirt but refuses to wear the shorts. You feel too awkward to argue with her and leave it at that.

“Let’s watch TV and get to know each other.” The idea popped into your head because it had been a while since you talked to anyone. Dahyun agrees, and the two of you settle into bed, with you putting on a show that you like. You try to start the conversation, but Dahyun is too focused on you. You could feel her hands move along your body as you tried to watch your shows. You can feel her press her body against yours, her soft breasts rubbing against your arm. “Let’s have some fun,” she whispered. Dahyun’s words echoed into your mind, hypnotizing you; you agreed like a switch being flicked. Your heart beat quickly; Dahyun smirked and climbed onto your lap. She cupped your cheeks, running her thumbs across your face before leaning in and kissing you. You submitted to her; Dahyun snuck her tongue into your mouth, exploring it as she pulled the bottom of your shirt up. She pulled away to get your shirt off before kissing your stomach as she pulled your shorts and panties away from your body.

There you are, before the Dahyun, naked. You feel her hand move along your body; her touch is intoxicating. She presses lips against your neck, sucking on it gently and marking you. “You should know I’m very experienced. I have over a hundred years of it; just let me do what I need to.” You nod your head; in the back of your mind, you wonder just what you summoned, but that thought quickly disappears as Dahyun's fingers graze your slit. You shiver; the pleasure was unlike anything you had felt. “I’m going to show you a whole new world,” Dahyun says softly as she takes your hand and moves you off the bed. “All your desires will be made bare.” She says as she pushes two fingers into your cunt.

You wrap your arms around Dahyun, struggling to stand as she curls her fingers and rubs your walls. Your legs grow weaker, and you fall to your knees. You look up to see Dahyun toss her shirt off. She takes a step closer to you and places her hand on the back of your head, pushing you toward her pink cunt. Compared to her milky skin, it stood out and kept your attention. You glance at Dahyun, who nods. You moved closer, your tongue outstretched as you ran it between her lips. It didn’t feel like you were in control of your body anymore; it moved automatically, even if you tried to tell yourself to stop. The more you lapped at Dahyun’s cunt, the more you heard her soft moans, the more you became engrossed by the woman before you.

Dahyun sensed your resistance; even though your body was pleasing her, she felt something off about it. “Is this not what you like? I can change that.” Dahyun lets go of your head and takes a small step back. You watch as she rubs her cunt, moving her hand in small circular motions. Then things started to change; her clit began growing longer, thicker. As it grew, you watched it take shape, it was a cock. Dahyun’s body was growing a cock. It kept growing, becoming massive, the biggest you had seen in real life.

Her cock grew before your very eyes, stunning you as it finished forming. The longer you stared at it, the more you wanted it, and Dahyun knew it. She grabbed her shaft and traced your lips with the tip of her cock. You unconsciously stuck your tongue out, licking at it as it moved across your lower lip. Dahyun placed her hand on your head; you knew what she wanted. The succubus didn’t ask either, instead pushing her hips forward and sliding her cock into your mouth. Your tongue ran along the underside of Dahyun’s cock; she continued to push her length inside, making you gag as she hit the back of your throat. “You’ll get it soon enough,” Dahyun says, rubbing your cheek and staring into your eyes. You nod slightly, hypnotized by Dahyun’s sweet gaze. As Dahyun begins to thrust into your mouth again, but this time you stop gagging, she’s still hitting the back of your throat, stretching it around her cock, but you’re not struggling anymore. The older woman gropes her breasts, squeezing her pink nipple between her fingers before doing the same to the other. You run your hands over her smooth thighs; you take in her body again, her milky white skin something that attracts you to her.

You feel Dahyun’s cock throbbing in your mouth; you glance up and meet her awaiting gaze. “Drink,” she says, her command strikes deep. You feel the first spurts of hot cum hit your tongue, and as more comes your way, you begin to drink it. You feel lightheaded, barely able to think as you drink more and more of her semen. Dahyun watches intently as you gulp down her load. She smiles and pumps away at your throat until she’s done. Finally pulling out of your mouth, she watches as a thin string of saliva connects you to her cock. “Aren’t you going to thank me?” Dahyun asks.

“Thank you, Dahyun,” You mumble before leaning forward and kissing her cock. Dahyun smiles and pats your head. You smile at Dahyun before standing up; the older woman runs her hands across your breasts, flicking your nipples before her hands settle on your waist. You moan her name as she pushes you onto your bed; you crawl back, laying in the middle as Dahyun climbs up and over you. She caresses your cheek, smiling at you before grabbing her cock and rubbing it against your slit. You groan as you feel the heat coming from her cock. “Dahyun, please,” you whimper, your cunt it aching for her cock. The longer Dahyun rubs her cock against your wet slit, the more you want her. Your body feels like it's on fire. “Fuck me already,” you beg her, but Dahyun just continues to rub her cock against your slit, silently watching you squirm.

She moves her cock to your entrance, aligning herself with you. You feel it spreading apart your fold as she pushes inside you. You suck in a breath as Dahyun pushes the head inside; you moan Dahyun’s name, holding onto her shoulder as she pushes more of her cock inside you. It pushes your walls apart, splitting you in two. It’s slightly painful, but the pleasure is more than enough to cover it. Dahyun inches her way inside you; as you look down, you see a bulge moving deeper into you. You nearly cum from the sight; your walls squeeze down on Dahyun’s cock. She finishes burying herself inside your cunt soon enough. You keep staring at the bulge in your stomach, prodding it. Dahyun’s soft, low groans bring your attention back to her. As you glance up at the older woman, she presses her lips against yours. Her red lips melt into yours; you can’t contain your moans as you feel her hands wandering your body, squeezing your tits and beginning to move inside you. Your body jerks and shudders as the overwhelming pleasure runs over it.

“Harder!” You moan, surprising yourself. Your body demands it, though. Dahyun smirks and pulls out, leaving just the tip inside before impaling you with her cock. It feels like being struck by lightning; you arch your back and cum instantly. Your walls clamp down on the older woman’s cock, and you cover it in your cum as she slides in and out. You moan loudly while Dahyun continues to fuck you. You wince, struggling with the pleasure coursing through your body as Dahyun fucks your sensitive pussy. Your head begins to spin as Dahyun fucks you, and your body feels lighter. Ecstacy begins to take over, your moans become wild, and you lose your mind to the pleasure as Dahyun makes you cum again. The older woman doesn’t let up; she raises your legs, folding you in half and hammering your cunt. Dahyun presses her weight on you, leaning in to kiss you. She snakes her tongue into your mouth, sucking on it as she begins to pull back. You mumble her name, warning her of your next orgasm. Your cries become louder as Dahyun moves her hand down, circling your clit with her thumb. Your entire body tenses as you explode on Dahyun’s cock again.

The older woman begins laughing as she sees you losing your mind. She pounds away at your body as she nears her climax. As her cock begins to throb inside your cunt, you beg her to cum inside you. “Aw, you want me to cum inside you?” Dahyun teases.

“Yes! Cum inside me, please fill my pussy.” You beg, the vulgar words leaving your mouth before you can think.

Dahyun’s smile widens, and she gets by your ear, “Alright, you asked for it.” Dahyun drives herself into your cunt, slamming into your womb before unloading her cum into you. You roar as you feel her hot cum pour into your womb, painting it white as you slowly become full. Dahyun scrunches her nose as she pulls out, “Did you like that, baby?” You nod your head lazily, barely able to understand Dahyun. “Would you like to see what it’s like on the other side?” Again, you nod, scarcely able to hear Dahyun.The older woman lays on her side, her chest rubbing against your arm as she reaches toward your cunt; you feel her hand rubbing your folds, moving between them until she moves to your clit. “You asked for it,” Dahyun whispers into your ear.

Your head shoots back as a euphoric pleasure fills your body. “If you want it so bad, I’ll make sure you can, at least, temporarily.” You stare at the source of your pleasure and see your anatomy changing, your clit growing longer and thicker until it takes the shape of a cock. Dahyun massages it, working her magic until the process is done. You’re breathing heavily, staring at your cock; it was hard to believe you have a cock. You reach down hesitantly, touching it and immediately being hit by a wave of pleasure. Dahyun smiles and grabs your cock, running her hand over it. You shudder at the immense pleasure.

Dahyun crawls away from you; you stare at her backside, watching as she makes her cock disappear, a wet slit taking its place. “Go on, fuck me,” Dahyun says, raising her ass and pressing her face into the mattress. You stare at her ass, licking your lips as you crawl to her. You want to eat it, to run your tongue across her pristine skin, but your cock controls you. It twitches as you see her pink pussy, there for the taking. You press yourself against the older woman, clumsily thrusting between the older woman’s legs, feeling her soft thighs jiggle against your cock. Dahyun giggles before grabbing your cock and forcing you to slow down for a moment. She aligns you with her entrance and waits for you to make the first move. You’re practically drooling as you grab onto Dahyun’s waist. You slam yourself inside her tight cunt, cumming in an instant. You feel your cum shoot out of your cock, dumping it all into Dahyun.

You were going feral; you kept thrusting into Dahyun. You watched her ass bounce on your cock, but you wanted more from her. You reached around and squeezed her modest breasts, ravaging her body. Your nipples dragged along her back, keeping the euphoric feeling going as you dump another load into her pussy. You could only repeat her name; it was your only thought as you continued to thrust. Her pussy felt so good, it was wrapped tightly around you, squeezing your cock. How you could live without this pleasure was beyond you, you continued to slam your cock into the older woman, pouring more and more cum into her as you lost all control. You slip out of Dahyun, but your body continues moving. You thrust between her thick thighs, covering them with your cum. When you cum for a fourth time, it sprays onto Dahyun’s stomach and tits. Exhaustion hits you suddenly; you continue thrusting between Dahyun's thighs, slowing down until you collapse.

Dahyun smiles at you, caressing your cheek, “Poor baby, you got too excited.” She says before scoping some of your cum from her stomach. She sucks on her fingers, tasting your salty cum. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you have nothing left to give.” Dahyun straddles you, rubbing your cock between her folds and sinking onto it. You groan weakly as she begins to bounce on your cock, moaning as she gropes herself, tugging on her nipples and rubbing her clit. The last sight you have before you pass out is Dahyun’s messy body bouncing on your cock.

The following day, you wake up with Dahyun beside you; her body is clean. You throw the blanket off your body and look down; your cock is gone. You gulp as you stare at the older woman, who sleeps peacefully. You wanted your cock back; you wanted to fuck Dahyun again. You needed it. Dahyun continued to sleep peacefully, fully aware she had you in the palm of her hand.

#kpop smut #twice smut #dahyun smut #fem reader #f reader

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