#This just bled out of my hand somehow

[gingerbr3adgirl]

Love is a drug

I have always believed that falling in love is like doing drugs. When you have never been in love you can see the effect it has on people. The real life consequences. You watched the documentaries in class and understand the dangers, the pros and cons. You tell yourself you would never be that foolishly and give in to something like that.

Then suddenly all of your friends are doing it. They get themselves lost in the feelings and dreams. You watch them cry and despair when they come back from their high. Heartbreak always inevitable. But by now they are too addicted to stop. And they live their life always on the lookout for their next shot.

And you tell yourself you are different. You aren't going to give into the temptation. Before you know it two decades have past and you have never felt someone's lips on yours or their hands on your waist.

And you can't stop yourself from wondering. Wondering what it feels like. What it feels like to be touched and loved. To be kissed softly. What it feels like to be high.

Sometimes you catch a glimpse of it in accidental touches. A tight hug by a friend you haven't see in a while. The smile of a person across the room. Lips on your throat in a partying crowd. Nothing more than a butterfly. A mistake by a drunk stranger.

But you feel your body grow hot and can't stop yourself from wanting more. You start thinking about it, fantasizing about "what ifs" .

And before you know it you are just like them. Just like your friends and all the others. Chasing that feeling everywhere you go. Now it's too late to escape. The drug has you in its grasp and only death will free you from the thorns.

[slytherinslut0]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 18th. mattheo — hate fucking / enemies.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: “at least her favourite form of foreplay isn’t an argument…” “or being a bitch her kink..”

warnings: 18+ MDNI, dubcon(meh), ex bf/gf trope, toxic behaviour, mutual manipulation, these two are chaotic as fuck, mentions of blood, gagging, degradation, rough sex PIV, hate fucking, spitting, spanking, uhhh i think that covers it. this one is a ride. can you tell this is my fav trope?

"I'm so fucking sick of you.”

"Get well soon, princess."

"Get fucked, Riddle."

Three sentences, three venomous insults that cut the room in half—heavy enough in their intensity to make you want to tear through dungeon walls, splintering stone and mortar with bare hands if it means sparing yourself another second in this blasted room, with him.

Detention at midnight—on a Friday, no fucking less—is unheard of. But leave it to your dickhead ex to make the impossible a reality. His fault, of course. Like always.

Snape had turned a blind eye for months. It was only a matter of time before something had to give. An hour unsupervised was as good as you'll get.

Sulking defeat, you sink back in your chair, rough wood digging into your spine as you eye Mattheo with a glare that could rival a bullet. He looks like hell, and it's infuriating how even in that state he manages to look so nonchalant, so maddeningly unbothered—like even exhaustion makes a home on him and he's comfortable with it. Bags under his eyes, scar cutting across the bridge of his nose, those dark curls falling messily over his forehead, white dress shirt wrinkled and open at the collar.

You roll your eyes, a gesture that feels like your only act of rebellion left.

And he notices. Of course he does.

"You haven't changed a bit," he spits, and you know it's an insult. You scowl as he swipes the blood off his chin with the sleeve of his shirt. "Always a bitch to me over something."

Bitch. The name strikes you, but you won't let him see it, won't let him know that it lands. You've bled too many times at his feet for him to draw blood again tonight.

"Am I not allowed to be pissed off that you dragged us into detention? We should be at the party, Mattheo. We should be anywhere but here." You hear the frustration rising in your voice, like it's boiling up from somewhere deep, somewhere you can't quite reach. It's hard not to let it slip, especially when he looks at you like that. "This is so fucking typical of you. You mess up, and somehow I'm the one who pays for it."

For a moment, there's silence, and it almost feels like a victory until you realize he's only biding his time, waiting to strike back.

"You really want to get back there? To that party?" He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. You long for the chair to break from under him. "After what your new man was caught doing with Lovegood?"

You snort before you can stop yourself, the sound slipping out like a reflex. You hadn't expected that. And quite frankly, it's amusing—no, downright hilarious—that he's clearly been keeping tabs on you and "new man", and now here he is, trying to play it off like he doesn't care. Like it's nothing.

"I'll spare you the insults this once," you mutter, fingers loosening the tie around your neck with a tug. "Because, clearly, you're ignorant to the truth, even if you think you know every goddamn thing." You pause, ripping out your earrings. "He's not my man, so I don't give a shit what he does with who. He ended it last week. Good fuck, sure—but other than that..."

You trail off, making a mocking noise with your lips, a derisive puff of air, as if you could blow away the memory of him as easily as dust off an old book. A Ravenclaw. Brilliant in all the wrong ways—sharp mind, yes, but utterly thrill-less, like he saw you as just another page to flip through, a textbook he was annotating.

It is what it is.

A moment passes and then Mattheo grins—slow at first, but spreading across his face like fire, destructive in its consummation. It unsettles you. He looks more intrigued than he's been in months.

"A good fuck, huh?"

"That's what I said," you reply, clipped, your tone offering no room for him to crawl inside.

"And why didn't it work out? Too good for you?" He says, twisting the knife just because he can. "Too clean, maybe?"

Your eyes scan the room, searching for something within reach to throw at him, anything to break this unbearable tension. Insufferable. Every inch of him, insufferable.

You find nothing, so you throw words instead. "You're an asshole, you know that?"

He nods, as if that's the truest thing either of you have said all night. Of course he knows.

You barely suppress a dry laugh at his idiocy. "Like I told you—he ended it. If you're so fucking interested in why it didn't work out, then why don't you go ask him?"

There's a pause—he's chewing the inside of his cheek as he stares at you. You imagine chewing his head off as you stare at him.

"I'm sure you gave that bookworm the ride of his life," he says, voice half-dry, half-sarcastic, as if he's already bored of the conversation. As if he knew all of this information already. "Everyone knew that was temporary. Your first rebound, congrats."

And just like that, your blood is boiling. He knows how to needle you, how to get under your skin with the slightest flick of his stupid fucking tongue. Your eyes trace the cold stone of the dungeon walls, desperately trying to find something—anything—to distract yourself.

But it's no use. Mattheo's an asshole. He's always been an asshole. That's why you left. All the two of you did was fight and fuck, a chaotic spiral that was as thrilling as it was destructive. Now, he's easily your enemy—dragging you into his messes, never letting you get too far without ruining your life somehow.

And yet—

If you said you didn't miss the sex sometimes, that'd be a lie. Or at least a half-truth. The kind that slips out when you've had one too many glasses of firewhiskey, the kind you'd regret in the morning.

"What about you, dickhead?" You cut through the silence, ignoring his obvious attempt to rile you up. "That Hufflepuff you were seeing—why'd I see her all over Theo tonight?"

He answers far too fast. "They're friends."

You snort, disbelieving. "Right."

You rise to your feet, crossing the room to the bookcase as if it's the most natural thing in the world. The books feel safer somehow, less volatile.

"You're bored of her, aren't you?" You don't care to look at him. You can imagine the way his jaw tenses at the question.

The silence is telling. He doesn't answer right away. You know him well enough to understand what that means. Then, finally, he speaks, a half-answer that doesn't really answer the fucking question at all.

"At least her favourite form of foreplay isn't a fucking argument." He stands, slow, pushing his hair back from his forehead with one battered hand. You glance at him, pulse quickening. "Or being a bitch her kink."

"Does she even have kinks?" It slips out, a knife thrown without aiming. "Sounds like you're bored, Matty."

You watch as he blinks, his eyes darken. That nickname—you know you don't have the right to say it anymore, and that's exactly why you do. It's an insult wrapped in familiarity, and it hits its mark by the way his shoulders tense, jaw tight.

He steps toward you, one calculated step, and you feel it—that chaotic pull, the gravity that's always drawn you both in, no matter how far you try to stay away. A smile pulls at your lips, a cruel thing.

"How cute." He tilts his head just enough to inspect you, eyes dragging over you like he's searching for something to confirm what he already suspects. "Looks like you're jealous."

Your hand grips the bookshelf, eyes locked on him over your shoulder. Jealous? There's not a soul on this planet who could make you jealous. She may be the hero of this story, the girl that gets the guy, might even be everything you're not—

"Looks like you're learning the hard way," you're inspecting him now, too. Every piece of him you once touched. "When it comes too easy it's never gonna' hit as hard, babe."

Another pause from him—something dancing in his eyes. Anger? Maybe. Or something more, something twisted that you don't care to name. You've already lit the match, and now you're just watching him burn.

"You're so clever, huh? So full of advice," he sneers, ripping off his tie and chucking it on a desk. "Go on then, tell me more about how I feel, professor. Since you know everything about me."

You can't help the smirk that curls on your lips. Oh, he's pissed. And that means you're winning.

"What? You don't like hearing the truth? Too much for your delicate ego?" You take a step toward him, savouring every second of this. He hurt you, over and over, the scars from those days still fresh, still bleeding beneath your skin. This has been a long time coming. "You think I care about your new girl, Matty? The one you let your boys fawn over in the common room?...she kissed Theo tonight." You pause, letting that linger. "You think you're doing something, but I see right through you. You don't give a fuck about her. If you did, no one would dare touch her like that. So don't sit here, accusing me of jealousy, like I'm the one hung up on you. You're projecting. And it's pathetic."

He doesn't waste a goddamn beat—his laugh is bitter, sickeningly so—and he advances again, his shadow moving behind him, the space between you now barely there.

"That's amazing, truly. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were a goddamn oracle. All-knowing, all-seeing." His voice is infuriating. The look on his face more-so. "What's your verdict then, my lord? You think this is all an act? That everything I'm doing is just to spite you?"

Your heart races, breath catching in your throat as he steps closer. This is a dance you both know too well, the kind where neither of you win.

"I know how you operate." Your chest heaves, anger rising with every breath. "It's all a game to you, Matt. A sick, twisted game to keep yourself entertained."

"That's rich, coming from someone who played it just as well." He takes another step forward. You could reach out and touch him now he's that close. His grin grows. "Too bad your Ravenclaw figured it out before you could sink your teeth in too deep. Next time you see him, make sure to tell him I said you're welcome."

Your brows pinch—the blood in your veins screeching to a halt, backing up like New York traffic at a standstill. You feel it, hot and furious, rushing toward a place it can't go, clogged behind the wall of rage building up inside you—

"You're welcome?" You spit, a sharp snarl caught between clenched teeth. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He's watching you, his eyes darting over your shoulder, fingers brushing over his lips like he's trying to dull that familiar smirk, that cruel little game he's always played.

Your stomach sinks, drops to your feet.

"Mattheo—" you snap, cutting him off just as he opens his mouth, before he can throw another snide word. "Spare me the cryptic bullshit for once in your life—“

His eyebrows lift at that, but there's a nod, a hint of something deeper in it. You taste the smugness in the air between you, can almost feel it slithering through his silence.

"Looks like you don't know everything after all. Isn't that ironic?" He straightens up, letting the moment breathe before his face hardens into something almost serious. "Your rebound came to me in the courtyard about two weeks ago. Had some questions about you."

"What?" Your nerves are vibrating, every cell in your body on edge. Your blood is so clogged, you swear you're seeing red. "What questions?"

"The usual sort of normal stuff. Your birthday. Your favorite colour. Childhood traumas. Our downfall. You know."

The casualty in the way he says it makes you sick, bile rising in your throat, a bitter burn at the back of your mouth. It's all starting to come together now. This stupid motherfucker—

"You're lying." The words feel weak, frail. He wouldn't—no, he couldn't. "You're fucking lying."

"Am I?" His fingers brush your cheek, but your skin's gone numb, your blood too frozen to feel anything but the cold burn of your fury. "Or, is the truth just…too much for your delicate ego to handle?"

Oh, fuck off—

Your wand is in your hand before you even realize you've grabbed it, instinct, pure reflex. There's barely a second of rational thought before you're casting, the spell hitting him square in the chest, sending him flying back into the chair he once sat in. His eyes flash, anger igniting there, and he scrambles for his wand—but you're faster.

"Expelliarmus."

One word and you're across the room before you even know you've moved, chest tight as you slam the tip of your wand against his throat. There's a cut on his lip, blood trickling down his chin for a second time tonight, but that stupid fucking smirk is still there, showcasing rubies for teeth and carved into his face like it belongs.

"Tell me what you did." Your voice cracks, but not from fear—it's fury, burgling through you, burning hot enough to make your whole body shake. You half want to cut him open just to bury your rage inside him, let him feel it. "If what you're saying is true, he ended things just days later. Tell me what the fuck you said to him."

Mattheo’s leaning back, hands raised in mock surrender, eyes glinting with the same smug amusement that's always haunted him. He's daring you, taunting you. He knows you never cared about that guy, not really.

You both know it. He was boring, easy.

This—this is something else.

His tongue swipes at the blood on his lip. "He didn't tell you—"

"Don't." Your wand digs deeper into his skin, cutting off whatever he was about to say. The pressure makes his breath hitch, but not enough. Not nearly enough. "I said tell me."

"Merlin—okay—I told him nothing, nothing really," his voice makes your grip tighten on your wand. He stares at you for a long, hard minute before he adds; "except that he should show me some fucking gratitude."

Your jaw slips, confusion rushing in like a flood. But before you can even question him—

"I told him he should be thanking me." Another pause. "When he's fucking you."

He laps at the blood seeping from the cut on his lip for the second time in only a minute and you barely notice the movement—the words hit you like a brick, but it's deeper than that, something visceral that crawls under your skin and settles in your bones. It's sharp, raw, cutting through the wall of rage so fast it leaves you breathless. You don't know how to explain it, this feeling that twists through you, something far too complicated to be named.

And then, you become aware of everything at once.

His legs, spread wide on either side of yours, the space between you so small, your chest just close enough to his face that his breath feels like it's fogging your skin. You're towering over him, wand pressed hard into his throat, your heart hammering in your chest like you're ready to ruin him—but his eyes, the way he looks up at you, says he'd let you.

"I may have even added that although you're with him, you'll always think of me. Both you and him know it’s true.“ That stupid smirk is gone, replaced with something you've never quite seen before. He pauses, before he continues. "You miss it. Us." Another pause. There’s something victorious in his tone, something that's almost breaking you. "And no matter how many times you try to forget, you never do, do you?"

Salazar save you—you should hex him. You should fucking hex him. Every nerve in your body is screaming for it, begging for it, but you can't. You can't fucking move. Your wand is still pressed to his skin, but it feels like you're the one pinned down.

"Shut up," you finally manage, but your voice is meek, thin, nothing like the fury you want to feel. "You...you're being—"

"I'll shut up," his hand finds your wrist, pressing your wand tip against his neck with more force—enough to make himself wince. "If you make me."

You blink, stunned, and you can feel your anger slipping, slipping faster than you can catch it. You don't know what's happening to you—it’s just him—his sick twisted insanity that disarms you. Time and time again. An endless fucking cycle.

"I could ruin you," you whisper, but it sounds more like you're trying to convince yourself than him. You press the wand deeper, just enough to draw a grunt from him, but the look on his face—he's not afraid. No, he's enjoying it. "I have more reasons than most to leave you here bloodied for Snape to find in the morning."

You say the words but the conviction is gone, swept away in the flood of heat between you—the dizzying proximity, the way his lips curl, almost smiling but not quite—

"What are you so afraid of?" He whispers, and there's something fragile in his voice now. "That you might actually want this?"

"I don't want this." You force the words out immediately, hoping they will make it real. Hoping they'll stop this spiral. "I regret ever wanting this."

He’s silent for a moment as he lowers his hands, dark eyes falling to trace your lips—

"I know you hate me, the feelings mutual...but I know. I know I'll always be your favourite regret," those chocolate curls shift, his head tilts closer, too close. Not close enough. "You're still my weapon of choosing."

Merlin. Merlin bloody forgive you—

"…to hurt yourself with?” It's half a question, but you already know the answer.

He nods, and that does it.

Your lips are on his, fast and hard and bruising—and the reaction is immediate, visceral. All that backed-up blood—all that rage frozen in your veins rushes forward in a single, scorching wave. It crashes low, between your thighs, a heat so sharp it aches. The shame comes with it. So does the disgust. A sick knot of self-hatred pulsing through you as you taste his blood on your tongue while his hands are under your skirt, grabbing you like he owns you, pulling you into him. It's only a moment before your wand clatters to the ground, and your hands are tangled in his hair, yanking hard, hard enough to hurt.

You want it to hurt. God, you want it to hurt.

He growls at the sting on his scalp—and then, everything flips.

His fingers tug at something, and you realize it's his own wand, the one you tucked into the back of your skirt—and before you can even think, he's got it, casting a spell that sends you flying back onto the desk behind you. You groan—the world spins, but you don't even have a second to gather yourself before he's advancing toward you, casting another spell on his tie.

Within seconds it's slithering across your lips and tying itself around your head, gagging you.

He steps between your legs, parts them with the ease of someone who's done it a thousand times before—rough hands gliding up your thighs, eyes wild. His fingers slip beneath your underwear, through your slit, and you try to hold on to any shred of control, but it's gone. You can feel it. The way you forget everything except the way he leans down, breath hot in your ear.

"Look how fucking wet you are," he spits through a sneering grin. "You're goddamn shameless, aren't you?"

You roll your eyes, but your thoughts scatter the moment his fingers shove inside you, curling hard—so hard you gasp into the tie, your back arching violently off the desk.

"He ever get you this wet?" His voice is like gravel, each word grinding into your bones. "Nod your head if he did."

Your body reacts before your mind does, arching against him, but you don't move your head. As much as it hurts your pride to give him that win. You dig your fingers into his hair and pull—hard enough to make him grunt, hard enough to hurt.

His hand comes down hard on your thigh in response, a sharp smack that stings, a warning. You squeal, and his fingers start pumping faster, deeper.

He huffs. "That's what I thought."

His fingers make quick work of you, relentless, and his thumb presses to your clit, rolling circles in a rhythm that has your blood on fire, shame licking at the edges of your vision, but it only makes you burn hotter. This is all wrong. Everything about this is wrong, something you'll regret with every fiber of your being tomorrow, but right now, it's an ache you need.

It's the wound you keep reopening, the pain you crave because it's the only thing that ever feels real.

"Fuck, you're close, aren't you?" He sounds almost shocked, like he can't believe how easily your body betrays you, but you feel it too, the disbelief crashing through you as fast as the pleasure does. Too fast. Far too fast. "Did he ever make you cum? Huh? When's the last time you fucking came?"

You can't answer, just groan, yanking at his hair again. His response is immediate, another stinging slap to your inner thigh, sharp enough to make fluid prick your eyes. Your orgasm is right there, teetering on the edge, ready to tip over—but then he slows his pace, dragging it out, torturing you.

You whine. A pitiful, desperate sound you hate yourself for.

"Look at me." His voice cuts through the haze, and begrudgingly, you do. "He didn't make you cum, did he?"

Your face burns, not from his breath or his fingers or even the astronomical amount of shame you feel—but from the truth of it. You shake your head.

"How long?" His voice shatters the air between you. "A week?"

You shake your head again, biting into the fabric of his tie as his fingers curl deeper inside you.

"Two weeks?"

Another shake. He curses under his breath.

"You poor little thing." His words are venom, but the second they spill from his lips, he pumps his fingers into you again, massaging at your walls, and your vision goes white. "Can't even cum without me."

You would've slapped him if you could, would've torn him apart, but the orgasm hits you like a freight train, ripping through you with violent force. You clench around his digits, thighs trembling as you ride the wave of pleasure, convulsing, moaning into the tie as he watches you like he's won.

"So fucking easy." He withdraws his fingers, and immediately, his hands go to his belt. "We'll make up for lost time."

Everything about this feels like a rerun. The same scene playing out on loop, again and again—a cycle of self-destruction you know too well, like running headfirst into a burning building, certain you can handle the smoke only to choke on it.

He's taking off his belt, ready to fuck you stupid, and by morning you'll be back to the same familiar hatred, tearing each other apart in new, inventive ways. Your hands move sluggishly to rip the tie from your mouth, but you're slow, too slow, still dizzy from the release that blindsided you, one that you haven't felt in so long—the fabric barely grazes your fingers before Mattheo catches your wrists, yanking them back, dragging you to your feet in one rough motion.

The spin disorients you—arms pinned behind your back, his cock sliding between your thighs.

"You've done enough talking today," he hisses at your ear as he drags along your slit. "You want this, don't you?"

Your mind screams for you to shake your head, to end this here and now. You know he'd stop—he's an asshole, but not that kind of an asshole. You know it. You almost do it, almost say the word that would shatter this madness. But then he drags his tip against your clit and you moan before you can stop yourself.

Your head nods with a wanton moan, and it's so full of shame your eyes sting with tears.

"Yeah, I know, baby." He's taunting you, every syllable smug, condescending. "This pussy missed me so much, huh?" His hand tightens on your wrists until your skin burns, the other hand finding its way around your thigh, pulling you closer to him. "Fuckin' lost without me. S'all it's good for, isn't it? Taking my cock."

You groan, shaking your head in defiance, but even that feels like a lie. You hate him. You want him. You hate yourself for wanting him.

"No?" His fingers inch toward your clit, ghosting over it—you squeal, hips jerking for more. "Maybe we should call this off then?"

You blink once and his fingers are gone—wrenching a whine out of you, pathetic as you push your ass back against him, shame burning through you as you shake your head. Fuck him. Curse him. But you need him inside you, need him to fill the aching void that gnaws at you.

"That's my slut," he growls, and before you can process the words, he's inside you—one long, brutal thrust that spears you open, the stretch burning deep. The sting mixes with shock of his fingers returning to your clit, rubbing circles that make your knees buckle. "You know you're the only girl I've fucked raw? This pussy will always be mine."

He's fucking insane. Completely insane. And the worst part is, you're just as insane for wanting him. For needing him. You can't fight it. You don't even want to. Not now. Not when his voice drips like poison and he's tearing you apart in the only way you understand.

"Mmmf—" you groan into the tie and he's matching you, his teeth grazing your shoulder, marking you in ways that will last for days.

"I hope it hurts," he grumbles against your skin, his breath ragged. He's lying, you can feel it in the way his fingers are moving, coaxing you to cum, even as he pretends to wish you pain. "I hope it fucking stings."

Your hands ball into fists, trapped in his grip, and you imagine clawing at his back until you draw blood, sinking your nails in until he feels every ounce of your anger.

"I want you to feel it—fuck—I want you to remember this," he pants, his voice barely more than a growl as your climax crashes toward you, unstoppable now. "Remember how weak I make you. How much of a slut you are for me."

Another harsh thrust and then, you're there—falling into the void—pleasure is so strong it bleeds out of you, forcing your cunt to clamp tight around him, legs trembling, barely able to support you through it. Mattheo’s curses slip through clenched teeth, but this only fuels him—his rhythm picks up, brutal, hips slamming against your ass with a pace that borders on unhinged.

"Fuck. Oh, fuck." The words are barely audible, grunted against the shell of your ear. You're whining, still twitching with aftershocks, but he doesn't care. His hands are on your hips now, fingers digging deep as he thrusts you forward, slamming you over the desk. The wood bites into your palms as you try to brace yourself, but his anger is palpable, drilling into you— "you wanna bitch at me now?"

The moan you release is automatic, instinctual. You can't stop it. Can't control it. His fingers curl around your throat, shifting the tie down to shove two into your mouth.

"Hhhhh—" you're trying to form words around his fingers, but it's impossible. The garbled sound is pathetic, but he knows exactly what you're trying to say.

"You hate me. I know." It’s smug, punctuated by a sharp smack to your ass, the sting of it making you yelp. He pulls his fingers from your mouth, wiping the spit across your cheek before he grips your jaw, forcing your head to turn, to meet his eyes. "Open your mouth."

There's no time to process the demand. His eyes are molten, crazed, filled with something raw and uncontainable. His next thrust is punishing, slamming into your cervix, making you sob—your mouth parting just enough—

He leans in close, and then he spits into your mouth.

"Swallow it." His fingers dig into your cheeks, pressing the order into your bones. "Be a good girl for once."

You choke out a laugh, even as you're panting, even as he's splitting you stupid.

"Never." The word barely leaves your lips before you’re spitting back at him—your entwined saliva landing across his chin and lips.

For a second, you expect the worst—you brace yourself for the retaliation—the slap, the insult, the way he'll tighten his grip and take back control. But to your surprise, instead of anger, there's a grin—wide and feral, big and crazed enough to reach his eyes.

You smile back. His cock twitches inside you.

"Fuck me," he mutters, then crashes his mouth to yours.

You taste the salt and bitterness of mingled spit, a mess of his and yours, and it pulls a moan from somewhere deep inside you. He devours it, greedy, his hips growing erratic, sloppy as his high nears.

His hand drops to your clit, fingers pressing with a precision that obliterates every last shred of sanity—and it takes only moments before the pressure builds again, fast and furious. Your third orgasm rips you apart, your body clenching tight, muscles seizing as you're lost in it. You're not sure where you end and he begins—your breath congealing with his, your moans swallowed in the space between you.

His release follows right after, crashing over him as he buries himself deep, spilling into you with a groan that reverberates through your bones. You hate the way it feels. You hate the way he fills you. But you also can't deny the twisted satisfaction of it—the way you sought this punishment, needed it. The shame consumes you, but it's comforting in its familiarity.

He pulls out, and the silence between you is easy, broken only by your ragged breathing. The room feels impossibly small now, your body still thrumming with the aftermath, but the moment is over. You both start to move—piecing yourselves back together, pulling clothes into place, avoiding the weight of what just happened.

You don't understand how it came to this, how it always does, but you're not surprised. Not anymore.

After a long, silent moment, he looks at you. “I don’t regret what I did.”

You know he doesn’t.

“I know.”

He blinks. “I won’t apologize for it.”

You know he won’t.

“I know.”

He nods, now, a smirk on his lips as he watches you fix your skirt. You note the hair sticking to his forehead, how he’s still catching his breath even though he’s pretending he isn’t.

“You aren’t mad.” An observation.

“I’m not.” You reply. You know you should be, but the relief you felt when that Ravenclaw ended things tells you everything you need to know. “Just, never do it again.”

He nods again. “Sure.”

You’re pretty sure he doesn’t mean that—but, at least now, as you glance over at him, there's a small comfort in knowing you no longer want to kill him.

[jarofstyles]

Pressing Questions

We love new husbandrrry >:)

I hope you enjoy them and let me know your thoughts!

Check out our Patreon for early access and 190+ exclusive writings

WC- 4.4k

Warnings- exhibitionism, slight breeding kink, completely cute n flirty babies, husband x wife kink???

---

“Hey, husband?” 

“Yes, Wife?” It sounded so good coming from their lips. It made her borderline giddy as she looked over at him to find him already looking over at her. The flush she felt in her cheeks bled down to her chest. They were finally fucking married. 

“What made you decide you were marrying me?” Y/N asked as she lounged next to him. Their honeymoon in full swing, Harry had rented out a cabana with a daybed so he could cuddle up to her on the beach and Y/N was positive now that it was definitely one of many things he had up his sleeve. The aesthetic had been perfect to her Pinterest board, but she had a feeling Harry knew that.

Roses in the room, champagne upon arrival, brand new swimwear just for her… she had been absolutely spoiled since they landed. Just like he promised. 

The warm air flowed over their forms, her head resting on her bent arm as the other held the fruity cocktail she had drunk an embarrassing amount of in the last three days. Some kind of coconut and lime thing that had her feeling more giggly than she could remember being in most of her adult life, but she was safe here. Safe with Harry, just like she had been dreaming of. 

 Harry chuckled and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to his chest. He traced a lazy circular pattern on her bare hip with his fingertips as he spoke, his voice low and deep. Slightly hushed, keeping it intimate. Just the way she liked it. It was like he was fine tuned to appear to each and every thing she found attractive- or somehow managed to make everything he did appeal to her. Either way, she felt her tummy flutter. 

"Darling, is this a trick question? Do you really think I only have one reason to marry you?”  Her husband acted like it was a ridiculous question but pressed a kiss to her forehead, giving her an answer regardless.  "You’re beyond beautiful, the funniest person I’ve ever met, smart as a tack... and you put up with all my ridiculous bullshit. All of those cliche reasons and more. Not t’mention you dealing with my insane schedule and giving me your honest opinions whenever I ask, even if they’re a little sassy.” Giving her a look, he got the laugh he wanted out of her before tilting his head in question. “Why wouldn’t I marry you?”

“I dunno, I just feel like…. I mean, I know I’m a catch.” She smirked, giving him a wink that she immediately regretted. At least she could be cringey with him and he would find it endearing. Her winks were not nearly as cute as his were.  “But was there a singular moment that you knew you were going to keep me?” His touch always did make her melt. 

Harry, ever the touchy and slightly clingy boyfriend- nay, husband-, couldn’t keep his hands off of her before they got married but… compared to this trip? Y/N was genuinely unsure there was a single moment without him with his touch somewhere on her body. It had been a little shocking at first but every single moment made her feel more addicted to the fingertips pressing into her, arms pulling her into his body or the lips ghosting her skin. The real problem would be when they got home and she couldn’t just have this on tap. 

Harry let out a deep breath, shifting to roll onto his side and propping his head up with his hand as he took in her beauty. The sun was giving her skin a warm, golden glimmer, and it took all his willpower not to pounce on her at that very moment and take her right there in the cabana.

"You want one singular moment, huh?" He hummed, pretending to think about it as his fingertips continued their slow path tracing her body. "There was this one time..."

Her breathing caught in her throat as his fingers took a lazy trail over her body. Harry had this way about him that had made her a little nervous with how attentive his gaze was, but even so… she loved that feeling. Like he was always clinging onto her last word. Even as her husband, he seemed to use this power to his advantage. 

“Mmm?” She asked, tossing back the final bit of her drink before fiddling with the cute little paper umbrella. “What time?”

His lips curled up into a small, smug smirk as he watched her react to his touch. He loved the power he had over her, the way his fingers seemed to make her breathless and her eyes got a little hazy. The way her body subconsciously arched into his touch.

Harry moved his hand from her hip, slowly tracing it up her side and over her ribcage, his touch so light that it almost tickled.  "It was very early on," he said, his voice low and husky. "We were at my place, just hanging out. You were wearing this… little fucking tank top." The way he said it made her know that he was thinking about that tank top to this day. Flattering, even if she couldn’t place the moment he was talking about.

She had to wrack her brain for a moment, trying to remember which day it was that he was referring to. The beginning days had been slightly hazy considering their romance had gone from tentative flirtation to a whirlwind as soon as the sexual dam had broken. 

“Which tank top?” 

Harry's smile grew wider as he saw her trying to remember. It was something he could never forget. "It was that little pink one, with the sexy little bit of lace at the neckline. Lacy straps, too," he said, his voice taking on a slightly dreamy tone as the memory played in his head. "It was so teeny tiny that I could see your bra through it..." Moving closer to her, his hand moved lower on her body, tracing over the soft, sensitive skin of her stomach. He knew exactly how he was affecting her. It was considered a bit of payback for said tank top.

"And those shorts you had on... so short that I could see your hips and legs… and the bottom of your bum when you moved the right way? Mm, I think you’ve always been so cruel with teasing me, baby.” The man obviously loved it though. There was no hiding that from her. 

Despite it being a private beach, Y/N felt the flutter of both fear and anticipation as he flirted with her so blatantly. Recalling a time she could definitely remember now, a movie night at his place where she had worn a matching pajama set that wasn’t outright sexy but… definitely was known to show off her body.

“Ohhhh. That one.” She grinned. “Seeing me in that made you know you were gonna marry me? Perv.”

“Hey now, I just appreciate beauty when I see it.” Harry countered with a laugh, acting slightly affronted as if his hand wasn’t now resting just over the waistband of her bikini. “So sue me for thinking y’looked incredible.”

 Moving even closer to her, his body pressed against hers as his lips brushed against her ear. His voice was sultry as he spoke, a little kiss pressed right underneath it.  “And I distinctly remember you wearing that little outfit just to drive me absolutely wild, you little minx. You can’t even deny it now. I know how that pretty head of yours works.”

Y/N snickered at the call out, knowing he was very much correct. She had done it to test him, to see how much he was willing to put up with back in the day, what would make him tick. He may call it teasing, but she called it an experiment for scientific research. 

“You are such a flirt today.” She took a moment to put the glass down before facing him again, carding her fingers through his wavy hair. The sea air did something to it that made her even more attracted to him, something she hadn’t realized possible until she had seen it herself. “But keep the memories coming.” Aka the compliments. She felt loved up and was very much in the mood to hear more. “What else did you think?”

Harry's eyes darkened slightly as her fingers ran through his hair. He loved it when she touched him like that, it sent shivers down his spine, making him want to lean into her like an eager pup awaiting pets. 

"Other things that cemented it?" He murmured, his hand on her hip giving her a gentle squeeze.  “There’s loads. Mm… I’d have t’say, the way you'd get all flustered when I teased you. The way you'd get all sarcastic and bratty when I annoyed you. How you were so confident and fiery, but at the same time so shy and sweet..." he trailed off, knowing he could go on for hours and hours when it came to what he loved about her. It was hard to get him to shut up about it, actually. 

“So you like when I’m bratty. That’s what I’m hearing.” She giggled, teasing him slightly despite him scolding her for it prior. “I think my moment was when you set up that whole thing on Valentine’s Day. Cause god knows you’ve got all the money in the world but you knew I hate fancy restaurants so you did like… the whole blanket fort thing. With the charcuterie board and champagne.” The dreamy sigh left her lips. It had stuck with her every day since. He may not even realize how important it had been for her, but Harry was the first person she’d dated who had ever made her feel that special. 

“You listened to me when I said what I liked. You got my favorite movie lined up and made me sweet and salty popcorn like I like. You even remembered you popped the wrong one and told me to wait and… I dunno.” She shrugged with her shy smile lighting up her face. “I knew I’d never find anyone else like you.”

Harry's gaze softened as she spoke, warmth spreading through his chest as she described his absolute favorite Valentine's Day. He hadn't known at the time it had been such a pivotal moment for her, but now it made perfect sense. His wife was sentimental that way. Something personal meant way more than the clothes he had bought her, or the house he’d got for them. His thoughts were everything to her.

He gave her a tender look, shaking his head, fingers tracing a gentle path along her arm. It was impossible to keep his touch from her, and he didn’t feel like trying. "You mean when I accidentally burned the salted popcorn?" He winced at the memory. It was a weird thing he always thought about, but in his defense the smell had been pretty bad. Thankfully he had air freshener on hand, though apple cinnamon didn’t exactly mask burnt popcorn. 

"Yeah, sorry about that. I was so focused on making sure everything was just right for you that I didn't pay enough attention to the microwave. Plus, your pretty face was distracting enough. Could barely form a proper sentence.”

The warmth flooded her tummy at the compliment, making her want to kiss him even more. It was held off considering she knew it would most definitely be something that got carried away, but that didn’t stop the urges. “I’ll be honest, I probably would have eaten the burnt popcorn. The fact that you’d even managed to remember those little facts about me had me like… giddy. I hadn’t felt that way about a crush since I was a teenager.” The admission came easily.  There was no shame in how much she loved Harry, even if she did tease him to say he was the clingy one. 

 Another question popped into her head, and considering he seemed happy to talk now that he’d had his beachside nap, she took advantage of it. “Were you nervous to propose?”

Harry's hand moved back and rested on her hip, his fingers rubbing over the soft skin as he answered immediately. 

"Nervous? Oh, absolutely. Fucking terrified, my love. Even though I knew you'd say yes, I was still nervous as hell." He let out a sweet hum,  softly, leaning in closer to her, his lips almost touching her ear as he spoke.  "The most nerve-wracking part was the time between when I proposed and when you actually said yes. It felt like the longest minute of my life..."

“You knew I’d say yes. C’mon, H.” Y/N’s giddy grin made it past her lips. It was weirdly satisfying to know he had been nervous because it meant he had been worried about the prospect of not being with her forever. It had always been her plan to say yes, but still. 

Harry chuckled again, his chest rumbling beneath her head "Yes, darling, I did know that." His hand slid under her chin, gently lifting her head to meet his gaze. How much he loved her was visible in his eyes. She’d never experienced visibly seeing love before him. 

"But that didn't stop me from being nervous. I was just so… desperate for you to say yes, to be mine forever. The thought of even a moment of hesitation..."

He shuddered slightly and his grip on her tightened ever so slightly "It would've killed me."

“Oh, baby.” She cooed, deciding to baby him a little bit. Hearing that vulnerability really did something to her, tangling her fingers into the hair at his nape. “I’ve been yours since you first kissed me. Y’know that?” Y/N had been completely smitten. It was borderline concerning until she had realized he felt the same. “I had the biggest crush on you when we first met. You only continue to get better and better every day.” 

Tossing her leg over her hip, she relaxed into his hold as she gazed over his pretty face. He’d let his stubble grow out a bit, albeit a bit patchy- the look suited him. “You’ve been my husband in my head for a long time. I don’t think I could have ever said no.”

Harry's heart skipped a beat as she spoke. He had always loved it when she got like this, all soft and gentle and sweet on him. It was hard not to be greedy for this sort of affection. The feeling of her tangling her fingers in his hair combined with the press of her body against his had a shiver running down his spine.

"S’That so?" He purred, his voice making her squirm. "Because you’ve been mine since the moment I saw you, darling. You were the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen in my life, and I knew I had to have you. You belong with me, you always have."

The slight possessive speak made her throat thicken, tummy warm, between her thighs throb a little bit. The tenderness in which he spoke had her melting and it had nothing to do with the beachy heat. This was exactly why she knew she had made the perfect choice with him.  Her body knew it was him before her head even did. Her heart? Even before that. “Yeah? I’m yours?” She cooed, brushing her nose against his.

Harry groaned softly as she brushed her nose against his, his eyes falling half-lidded. "Mmm, yeah. You are. You're mine. All mine."

His voice was a low rumble, his grip on her tightening as he spoke. "No one else will ever touch you, darling. You belong to me. I won't ever share you, no part of you is for anyone else but me."

Y/N let out a breathy gasp as his hand skipped over her ass, under the bikini bottom’s to hold bare skin. The flesh was squeezed, heat spreading between her legs as the little grab only managed to make it worse. She couldn’t control it even if she tried. 

“H! There are people around.” She squealed nervously, but didn’t move his hand. The people were far away, the beach not too crowded, but she had to say it. It wasn’t unlike him to grab a feel, but he had no intentions of moving his hand. The man had been insatiable since their wedding night with no sign of stopping. 

Harry gave her a sly simper as his hand squeezed her ass again, kneading lightly. He knew they were technically in public, and he didn't care in the slightest. It was more exciting this way, he loved the danger of being caught, the thrill of almost being seen… he was on his honeymoon with his wife. Nothing else mattered.

"I don't care, darling. They can't see us over here... Besides, we're on our honeymoon. We can do whatever we want." Licking his lower lip as he pulled her closer to him, his voice dropping to a low murmur.

"And right now, I want you."

“Baby…” Y/N’s voice went all syrupy and whimpery as his tongue ran over her jaw, teeth stopping to nibble at her skin. “You’re gonna get me wet. And I’m still a little sore from last night…” 

Her face flushed at the memory of him pounding into her, desperate proclamations of love being panted into the air as he fucked her over and over. That had been intense and her poor body hadn’t fully recovered, but it couldn’t help but react to him. She wasn’t saying no though because… she didn’t want to. A glutton for punishment, maybe, but she craved him. Body, mind and soul. 

Harry's breath hitched as she whimpered, the sound going straight to his already thickening cock. The thought of getting her all riled up here, of making her feel good while hidden away did little but work him up further. Y/N had a master key to his body and just the tiniest noise, movement of word could have him undone at any moment. 

“H…” she whined, feeling his hand slip between them. Finding her already wet, she could feel him groan into her neck as he pressed kisses over her throat. “H- fuck.” 

Her pants did nothing to deter him. The slick sound of his fingers rubbing through her slit before finding her swollen clit was the loudest thing she could hear, over the music in the distance and the crashing waves. “God.. you’re so bad.” And it felt so good.

Her husband’s lips curled up in a lazy grin as his fingers slid effortlessly through the wetness of her cunt. He could hear her gasping quietly with every touch, and he knew she was desperately trying to keep it together. It was his job to undo her. "You love it when I'm bad, darling." He taunted, nipping at her neck. With a voice low and needy he continued whispering in her ear.  "See.. I think you love it when I'm naughty. Think that you want me to touch you, to slip my fingers over your needy cunt and make you feel good. Y’want that, don’t you baby?” 

Her eyes fluttered shut as she leaned her head back, letting his mouth mark up her throat. It felt too good to stop him, and her body was aching for it. This was what a honeymoon was for. Wasn’t it?  

“Uh-huh.” She nodded. There was no use protesting when this was what she wanted anyway. “Just be gentle, please.” 

Harry hummed in agreement, his fingers still gently teasing her as he continued to mark up her throat. 

"Don't worry, baby, I'll be gentle. I'll take care of you, just like I always do." His free hand came up to cup her cheek, guiding her face up to look him in the eyes. 

"Just relax, my sweet girl, and let me make you feel good."

Her shaky breathing was only made worse as he made her look him in the eye as he pleasured her. The slick movement of his fingertips where she was swollen from his constant licking and rubbing and sucking had her head swimming, sensitive from the use she had been experiencing- but god, did she love it. 

She knew he was feeling even more worked up now that she was his wife officially, and he was letting her feel that. “You always make me feel s-so good.”

Harry's groan caught in his throat as he watched her, her eyes half-lidded and hazy with pleasure. He fucking loved seeing her like this, all flushed and breathless because of him. His fingers toyed with her still, slow and gentle as he tried to make himself wait. "Good, because I love making you feel good… S’my favorite thing."

He pressed a few kisses to her cheek, his nose skimming over her skin as he moved to whisper into her ear. It sent shivers over her body, hard to keep herself from losing it as he touched her, practiced and knowing exactly where to taunt.

"You're so damn perfect, darling. My perfect, pretty little wife, letting me do filthy things to you. Love you so much."

Her hips rocked in time with his fingers, eyes closing for a moment as he kissed her neck again before whispering in her ear. When he gripped her chin again, he made her watch his face as he slowly sunk a finger into her. It wasn’t difficult given how soaking wet her poor pussy was, but she still felt the stretch. It was hard not to when they were that thick. 

A high pitched whine was cut off as she bit her lip, face contorting slightly as she felt him begin to move it. “It’s not f-fair, how easily you can… you can make me feel crazy.”

Harry hummed as he watched her face twist with pleasure, his finger still lazily pumping in and out of her. Feeling the walls clench around him and slick up his finger, he couldn’t get enough of her.  "Mmm, I know, darling. I know everything that drives you insane. I know all your sensitive spots, where you like to be touched, how you like it when I talk dirty to you..."

 Leaning in and biting down gently on her earlobe, his voice a deep murmur in her ear. "And I love that I'm the only one who knows those things."

“Mhm, the only one. You’re the only one.” She agreed vehemently. The pleasure was smooth and slow, building up as the slick sound of his finger being inside of her made it even more hot. “And you’re the only one who’s gonna put a baby in me too.” 

Y/N knew just how crazy that sort of talk made him, discovered it not too long ago, and she was aware she was playing with fire. She knew that, and yet she continued. 

Harry let out a deep, loud groan at her words, the sound almost feral. If anyone was nearby it would give them away, but he frankly didn’t give a fuck. He loved it when she talked like that, so shameless and filthy. Meeting him where he was at. It was no secret that he had been on a mission this trip, but Y/N knew what she did to him when she brought it up. His free hand dug into her cheek, gripping her tightly as his finger curved inside her, pressing into the slick, spongy walls. 

"Yeah? You want me t’get you pregnant, little darling?" His breath came out in huffed pants as his control started to slip a little. A button being pushed, almost all the way down. “Want me t’knock you up? Think we should try again… If you want that.” The memory of him pulling his cock out to watch the creamy mix slip out of her cunt before pushing back in to keep some plugged up into her the night prior came rushing back. 

That was exactly what he was craving. 

“Yeah, I want to… I want you to do it on this trip. Please? Wanna make you a daddy.” She keened, knowing they had little time at the beach left. He was going to lose control soon, and that had been her quickly executed plan.

Harry's control completely snapped at her words. He let out a low, guttural moan, his grip on her cheek firm as he laid a deep kiss on her mouth, licking into it and feeling her desperate kiss returned before he pulled back with a grunt and wet lips. She was ethereal, even in filthy situations like this. With beachy hair and bleary eyes, swollen mouth and the golden glow of the setting sun on her skin. Every day, every moment served as a reminder as to why he was so lucky to have her.

“God, you drive me fucking insane, darling. Y’know exactly what to say to get me all worked up, huh?" It was clear he couldn’t take it anymore. Y/N had hit her intended target, and he couldn’t be out here any longer because he would definitely get caught with a public indecency charge. Fingering was one thing, but the things he wanted to do to her? They needed privacy. 

He withdrew his finger, his voice a gruff whisper as he spoke into her ear. "Get up. Now.” 

A cry of loss left her swollen lips as he stood up, not caring at all about the bulge in his pants. He grabbed the beach bag, tossing it over his arm and surprised her as he tossed her over his shoulder too. 

“Harry!” She squealed. “H- oh my god. You caveman!” He walked towards the villa with her tossed over his shoulder, like she weighed nothing. Like the blatant show of strength wouldn’t make her even more aroused. 

Her husband chuckled at her protest, his hand coming down across her ass to give her a sharp smack. "Hush, wife. I said I'd take care of you, and that's exactly what I'm doing."

[wrioluvr]

wriothesley x sub top male reader

i feel like wriothesley is a switch, but if you were cute enough, he would def be a power bottom. he needs to do something with all that ass, anyway.

visiting your boyfriend at the fortress was always a surprise. most days, he would listen intently to you ramble about your day over a cup of tea, providing cheeky remarks when he got the chance. but some days, when he needed to release stress, he wasn't above taking a little advantage of your submissive nature for his pleasure. today was one of those days.

"w-wrio.... i can't! it's too much...." you whimpered as you wrapped your arms around his stomach, hugging him from behind. sitting in his office chair with him in your lap and cock buried deep in his ass, wriothesley let out a low grunt, adjusting his position to get used to the feeling of you being inside him. "come on, angel. you can do better than that. i haven't even started moving." he looked back at you and winked teasingly. "you know, for such a cutie, you're really fucking big." he muttered under his breath, gripping onto the desk for support. "don't say such embarrassing things..." your face somehow got even redder and you tightened your grip around him. he could practically feel your blush even though you buried your face into his shoulder. god, you were so adorable.

"okay, you ready? i'm gonna start moving." his next line was delivered with a slight commanding tone to it. "be a good boy and take it, yeah?" instantly, he felt your body shiver in response and smiled in satisfaction. "yes, wrio."

lewd sounds filled the office as he started to ride you up and down - a mixture of wriothesley's deep grunts and your mewls, as well as the slick sound of skin on skin. even in your stupor, you couldn't help but notice the way his ass jiggled everytime it came back into contact with your crotch. without thinking much, your hands immediately moved to knead his ass, wanting to feel its supple flesh in your fingers. "now, what did i say about touching me without my permission?" "but-" "no buts. hands behind the chair. now." your body had no choice but to comply. he reached over to the pair of handcuffs on his desk and made eye contact, silently asking if it was alright. you nodded, trying to stifle a moan as all his shifting around was making him squeeze your cock even tighter. gently, he restrained you to the chair, taking in the sight of you letting him do whatever he wanted. taking your hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to it, he whispered lustfully, "we're just getting started, darling."

you were completely at his mercy, unable to move at all. he rode you until your cock was red and weeping, completely bled dry after you had just finished pumping your third load into him. each time he slammed back down to the base of your cock, he swore you hit a different spot deeper inside him. it was kind of thrilling, fucking your boyfriend right in his office, when his subordinates could walk in at any second. "please- wrio.... i can't anymore..." "okay, okay. i think you've had enough." he chuckled as he pulled your dick out of him, feeling a last jolt of pleasure as your tip brushed past his entrance, and undid the handcuffs. you lay there, dazed, as he carried you in his arms and switched positions, with you now sitting in his lap. he snuggled his head into the crook of your neck, taking in your scent. "thanks, baby. you're the best." maybe you should visit more often...

[spncvr]

hi! i love your writing!! wanted to ask if i could request a small blurb or sth of reader and spencer waking up in the morning?? really cute and fluffy hahah... take your time! :DD

mornings | s.reid

summary: waking up with spencer

pairing: spencer reid x reader

warnings: um it's not smut ?? as in not, "he trhusted into her and growled when she called him daddy"-smut. but. like. u can tell they fucked. i think. kissing and my bad english ANYWAYS

a/n: hi pookie sprry it took me forever to answer this,, i spent the entire day soing math today this is my break. so its not that great pls bear w me crying emoji

masterlist

THE SUN ROSE behind the leaves that hung lazily on the branches. Through the voile curtains, tendrils of the sun rays bled against your skin, that brushed against his. The voile, no longer as pure and lush as it once was, twists and turns against the wind like a dance. The low hum of the city’s heartbeat echoes around the room in a chaotic symphony—and within the room was calm. You smile because for once, he was not somehow tied within this chaos.

Then, a whisper of a touch—his fingers were grazing your hips, uttering a verse only you’d understand.  

Last night, he had kissed you—and maybe, because you thought he wouldn’t stop, because you thought he’d disappear, you pulled him closer, and closer; unwanting to let go. His whispers, pliant to your ears, had never been so soft. He held you; fingers against your waist and skin. His fingers had burned like wildfire; you felt it first against your cheek, your arms, then your hips. He held your heart by his soft fingertips, unscarred and gentle; his words were sugar-coated, leaving teeth rotting and hearts yearning. He kissed you, kissed you and kissed you. And the entire time, you were kissing him back.

You feel his smile against your shoulder, slightly dragging your shirt upwards, and you only hum in acknowledgement, too tired to reply with words. You feel your name against your skin. 

“Hi,” he says, lips kissing your shoulder. 

“Hey,” you manage to reply, and you turn your body so you’re facing him fully—and, when he pries the strands of hair out of your face you smile. “Morning.” 

“Morning,” he replies. Then, “you’re beautiful.”

You bury your face in his chest, groaning quietly, he laughs. “What?”

“You can’t just say things like that,” you protest, your voice a whisper against his warmth.

“I’m sorry, pretty girl,” he says, entirely unapologetic.

You take it though, slowly sneaking a glance at him as you lift your head, to see him smiling down at you (a kind, lazy thing). His hand cups your cheek and he’s kissing you again. There are so many things you need to do today, you think; the paperwork at your desk, and the errands lined up on your to-do list in your phone that you never bother to update. But you were so tired, and Spencer’s lips were so soft. When his nose nudges against yours, your mouth lazily falls open. His fingers are on your waist, his thumbs painting shapes against your skin.

When he pulls away you tell him you love him, and you don’t need to wait for him to tell you that he loves you too.

guys reqs r open but its gonna take me a decade to actually write them so be warned LMAOOO (+ for the people asking for pt.2 to waiting room ITS BEING MADE!!! so excited to share sakjnskfjb)

[ohmygraves]

some more period related stuff cuz i hate bleeding and being born with a uterus

inspired by this piece by @dmitriene !

okay, so say that the reader is someone who grew up in a "traditional" household. being taught that period is an "embarrassing" thing, that you clean up after your own mess, even if you're feeling like your body is being torn into two pieces. even if the job takes two person to do.

it took a while for you to get out of that kind of family dynamics, and now that you're together with simon (either married or dating) you understand that maybe your period doesn't have to be something that's so shameful.

one day you bled through your pads or whatever period products you use, the blood leaked everywhere. On the shorts you wear to bed, the new satin sheets you just bought, the thick comforter on the bed, simon's... oh god you even bleed on him.

of course, you panicked. one because now you had to somehow clean everything yourself and then get back to bed to get some rest before the sun goes up, and that you had to wrangle those pants and sheets from simon so you could clean them properly. this was your nightmare and you're not sure if you could even deal with everything.

you were about to cry and pass out from the sheer overwhelming feeling before simon wakes up, seeing the blood on the bed and on him and on you and he just let out a sigh before pulling you to the bathroom, giving you a pat on the back and kisses your forehead to calm you down.

"y're bleedin' onto the floor, sweetheart... c'mere..." he whispered, didn't expect you to start crying instead after he said that. oh god, i have to mop the floor too, you thought.

"what're you crying for, love? it's okay. i'll handle the mess."

you tried to form words, but all that came out were sobby mess. "b-but... 's blood... dirty..."

if he could roll his eyes further he could've seen the inside of his head.

"love, really? you think i'm bothered by a little bit of blood?" he let out a sigh. "do you remember what i do everyday?"

"it's different!"

"'s not. blood's blood," he sighed, "take off your pants."

you didn't want to make him more angry, so you obliged, letting him throw the stained clothes away. he took off his own stained pants, grabbing a clean one for himself before telling you that you should probably shower and get yourself settled down, he'll be outside cleaning everything off the bed. you reluctantly agreed, you felt really gross anyway and shower might help.

when you're done, he prepared you some new pads, clean set of clothes, the dirty clothes you wore earlier were now gone. the bed is cleaned, though missing the comforter and the sheets have been replaced. the blood on the floor is also clean, he must've mopped the floor while you were inside.

"how's my love doin'? better, i hope?" he came up behind you and hugged you. "threw everything into the washer, everything's sorted."

"simon, i have to handwash them..."

"do you want to handwash the comforter too? be my guest, then."

you sighed, hand washing the comforter would've been absolute hell.

"just come back to bed, love... everything's clean."

"bed's stained, right?"

"'s all good, i flipped it over."

good enough.

you laid back down with simon, the clean sheets feel nice on your skin. it seems like he got another blanket, though not as thick as your usual comforter, still better than nothing. hopefully the stain on the comforter will be gone by tomorrow.

"sorry that i woke you up..."

"just go to bed, love. 's late." simon grumbled, pulling you into a hug. seems like he's not used to the thinner blanket too, seeing how he's snuggling into you closer. it is quite cold without it, the two of you just got used to the thick comforter.

"okay," you closed your eyes, feeling better. "i love you, simon."

simon only grumbled in response, his face already buried in the crook of your neck.

you hoped that there won't be anymore leakage later.

[beneathashadytree]

DEVOUT WORSHIPPER - SYLUS QIN X READER

Warnings : suggestive at most (but not explicit), reader has lipstick applied but still gender-neutral!

Genre : spicy domestic fluff <3

Word count : 0.7K words

Additional notes : Just for context, Sylus and the reader are living together but often go periods without seeing each other due to work🙏🏽 Also, let me know what you think of Sylus being portrayed as Italian/speaking Italian here! Hope you guys enjoy this after the gorgeous new update🫶🏽

Tip jar!

Masterlist

“You’re exquisite.”

Sylus’ soft mumble was not left unheard. In fact, it was impossible to not notice anything about him when he was this close; so close that they could see every blemish on his fair skin, and count every delicate eyelash that fluttered lazily with every slow, seductive blink of his eyes.

They’d never get enough of his eyes, would they?

Eyes the colors of the richest blood rubies; that bled passion and want so true it warmed them to their very core. Maybe they’d never admit that their flushed cheeks weren’t just because of his enamored compliments, but also as a natural reaction to looking into those eyes they could never resist.

“That so?” they hummed, voice smaller than they thought it would come out. Somehow, there was a sanctity to this moment that meant that only hushed whispers were to be spoken between them, even if they were all alone in the safety of their own home.

Sylus huffed out a laugh that was achingly tender, all parts adoration and worship—and yet there was that same arrogance in his eyes that spoke volumes of his sheer confidence in his words. No one believed what he said more than he did. “Mm. You’ll have to take my word, tesoro.”

How sweet it was to hear from him, the endearment lilting and the syllables curling almost intimately on his tongue. Even sweeter it was, when his finger reached out to smudge at the edges of blood-red lips like his own eyes, his touch almost reverent.

“Silver tongue,” they breathed out, their gaze dropping to his sinful lips, their corners raised in an affectionate half-smile he’d only ever bare to them. Just them. It was their sacred secret to stow away between their ribs. “You’re just trying to lure me into staying at home with you.”

“I can’t say that it would be a bad idea.” The faux innocence on his face as his eyes flickered to their parted lips was almost laughable. “The place would miss you, after all.”

No matter how much they tried to play coy, Sylus could always outfox them in that game of wits—but his desires were always spelled out on his face, and this time they threatened to consume them whole.

Arching their brow at him, they reached out to clasp their hand around his wrist, tugging it away from their lips and instead taking their sweet, sweet time to interlace their fingers in an old, almost-sensuous dance that they’d mastered together, completely in step with each other. “Just the place?” they asked, a challenge hidden between every word and the next.

Something dark oozed through his eyes; a flame sparking to life behind his false composed mask. It made them feel a little smug, knowing that he’d never be able to douse that fire; that he’d always want them so terribly.

“You love making things difficult, don’t you, sweetie?” His voice was a little more gruff now, a sharpness there that reminded them that he was at his wits’ end, and that his nerves were fraying every time he was in their presence—in only the best, most delicious ways possible. “No. Not just the place.” Thumb brushing against the back of their hand, he leaned in to whisper in their ear. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“I can’t think of anything else that could convince me to stay,” they began to say as they toyed with the chain on his collar, “After all—”

Sylus pulled them onto his lap as he collapsed onto the bed, without even waiting for them to finish that sentence. It seemed that they’d worn out what little patience he’d had left, and he was too far gone in his amorous haze to comprehend a single word more.

“Mi dispiace,” he managed to say, though his chest heaved with the effort of restraint, and his irises were almost completely black as he stroked the small of their back with a practiced hand that had memorized every curve and expanse of skin. “I’ll come up with a better bargain next time. Now, I’m a little preoccupied with you.”

Well. Dinner could wait, they suppose.

Taglist: @mrlovesimps @snowyfragrance @lara635kookie @xinnn6 @moonlight-inthe-sea @canyonlouist @number-1-harumi-hater @2angelbaby2 @jinnieats @blobfishbumblebee @aesmstar @klutzycora-san @inkblotgalaxies @mxrissaauuu @rissaaaaaa @lilithmoonlite @wooyoungsfairygf @hyunskz @lemonsupernova @kpop-and-otome @elizabeth916 @cherrikissez + my old taglist before Sylus was added (since I don’t know who wants to be tagged): @angry-and-yandere @nxx-jordiepord @honestlyjustablog @dawnbreakersgaze @tartartagliaboo @lucis-noctiana @mushriiin @flurrina @reika-desu @randomidk-123 @tikitsune @cofijelli @roll-of-royces @loveyoutodeep @belovedof @obiwanmcprobie @hawtlineblingz @kalatipunan @eurekazz @bifedebruxa @thescribeswife @mysticangel123 @xenasolos @jvnluvr @dann-acalle @rosariymchapter @rin-sv14 @yololesgo @an-ever-angry-bi @semi-orangeapple @lavanderbliss @myturnwhen @winterlvod @carsonology @nix-en @deepzombieyouth @respitable @stellisangelicus-world (more in replies!)

Sign up for my taglist here!

[t1red-twilight]

1.5 pints

summary: you get injured on a case and spencer is…worried to say the least.

warnings/content: gn!reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, medically inaccurate (i googled stuff but idk), spencer/reader have ptsd, cannon typical injury (bullet wound),non-sexual nudity, spencer passenger princess confirmed, friends totally share a bed regularly

word count: 1.4k

masterlist s. r. masterlist

you had gotten injured after a case. it wasn’t anything serious, you had just gotten grazed by a bullet on your upper arm on your dominant side. it stung like a bitch, and bled quite a bit, but it wasn’t anything to cry over. even still, you were bandaged by paramedics before being sent on your way.

the case hadn’t been far from quantico, just a forty-five minute drive or so. spencer had silently insisted on sitting next to you in the suv. the air was awkward. not uncomfortable, per se, it was just that everyone in the car could feel that spencer was definitely upset.

once back at quantico, everyone split up to go to their homes. hotch informed everyone that you would all have the next day off. you searched through your go-bag for your car keys, when you suddenly felt a presence behind you.

spencer’s natural scent of linen and citrus would always be familiar to you. you’d recognize it anywhere. “hey spence.”

“how’d you know it was me?”

you turned around, shrugging. “lucky guess,” you smiled a lopsided smile. there was a momentary pause.

“is your arm okay?”

chuckling lightly, you shifted your weight onto one foot. “yeah, i’m alright. do you need anything?”

he was avoiding eye contact more than usual. “i think you should come over to my place tonight.”

you quirked an eyebrow. there was this unspoken arrangement the two of you had; you’d switch off spending the night at each other’s apartments. it had started when spencer began having ptsd-fueled nightmares again and you had recurring bouts of insomnia. and this consisted of sleeping in the same bed, to comfort each other.

“yeah?” there was an overwhelming feeling that he was more upset than he was leading on, and this was even more evident considering his behavior on the ride back to quantico.

“…yeah. i just want to make sure you’re okay.”

you snorted. “of course you do, spencer.” he finally looked up and resumed eye contact.

“what do you mean?”

“i don’t mean anything.” you twirled your keys around your finger, chuckling lightly at the thought of spencer being caught up in what was to you, a very minuscule injury. gesturing to your car, you add on, “well, we should get going then.”

he walked around to the driver’s side of the car and motioned for your keys. spencer wasn’t very keen on driving; he much preferred his passenger princess privileges and tendencies. confusion and minor amusement flooded your features. “you want to drive?”

“uh, yeah. you shouldn’t be lifting your arm, it could tear your stitches.” the sass in his tone almost made you double take.

“hey, i think i’ll be fine, okay? you don’t have to worry about me because i got scratched.” your tone was more genuine but still held a playful element. he sighs and looks a little incredulous.

“just let me drive. please.” taken aback, you hand over the keys and walk over to the passenger side. you raise your dominant arm to open the door. spencer quickly rushes over to open the door for you. “please don’t.”

“uh, okay,” you reply in a quieter voice. as you buckle your seatbelt, spencer gets into the drivers side seat. he somehow finds a classical station on the radio (it’s not all too surprising that he probably has them memorized), and the rest of the ride goes on without a hitch or bump.

when you arrive at his apartment, spencer runs to your side of the car. he opens your door for you, and helps you out of the car. “you don’t have to baby me, spence.” he mumbles out a response. “what?” you question back.

“can you please take this seriously?” your eyes widen at his more stern timbre. a semi-sarcastic thumbs up is all you give him.

the walk up to his apartment is exceedingly more tense. you try to focus more in the scent of the old building rather than spencer’s apparent disappointment in you. the building smells like, well, old building, and the floor creaks fifteen times on the way to the elevator and to his front door.

you both cross the threshold and he sets his crossbody bag down near the entryway. you didn’t bring up your go bag, as you have plenty of things at his apartment already.

he grabs your hand and leads you to his bedroom. he proceeds to hand you some pajamas: an old mit shirt and soft shorts that you left prior. you wait for him to leave, but he doesn’t. “are you going to let me change?” he looks at you exasperatedly.

“you can’t move your arm.”

“yes. i can.”

“you can, but you shouldn’t. please let me help you.” you just about roll your eyes, but you stop yourself.

“i can undress myself. i just got grazed.” you’re getting more annoyed.

“grazed? you almost fell over from the blood loss. morgan had to hold you up. the average human body has around ten pints of blood and you lost one and a half- that’s 15%. that’s not a graze-“

your eyebrows raise. he was taking this very seriously. “the bullet didn’t penetrate. i didn’t need a transfusion, and it was by no means fatal in any way.” injuries like this have occurred before on the team, and the team has recovered.

“yes, but if you lost 5% more blood, you might have lost consciousness and needed a transfusion. can you please take this seriously?”

surprisingly, you didn’t respond immediately. spencer, and everyone for that matter, had known you to be quite stubborn and not known to back down.

“you got shot. you should be taking this more seriously.”

“you could barely even consider it a shot, spencer. besides, it’s better me than anyone else.”

his eyes widen. “how can you be so reckless?” you don’t respond at all this time. you just look down at the clothes in your hands.

“please,” he quietly says your name, “you just really mean a lot to me. i don’t want anything to happen to you.”

if your eyebrows weren’t high before, they sure as hell were now. “can you promise me? that you’ll take your health into consideration more? i have no clue what i’d- what the team would do without you.”

his slip-up does not go unnoticed. “okay.” you swallow your pride. “i will.”

he sighs in relief. “now please, let help you.” his eyes glance up from the floor to meet yours. you nod and he steps closer. both of your movements are awkward as he places his hands on the buttons of your shirt. he unbuttons it quite slowly, and pulls it down your arms.

he’d seen you in more compromising situations before, so this is nothing new. “put your arms out, but not up, please.” he then proceeds to put his old college alumni shirt over your arms first before pulling it over your head. “i think, you can, uh, put the shorts on yourself. just don’t lift your arms too high.”

“i won’t. i promise.” you give what you think is a convincing smile and he leaves to the bathroom.

when he returns, he is also dressed for bed. he guides you to the bathroom to brush your teeth. he babies you as much as is physically possible, but you draw the line at him brushing your teeth for you.

“dude. i’ll be careful. i’ll just use my other arm.” the task proves to be weird and uncoordinated.

you both finish brushing your teeth at about the same time. you follow him to the bedroom.

his feet pad across the carpet softly. the socks he’s wearing isn’t shocking to you at all; it’s a habit of his he’s gotten used to. he turns on his lamp on the side table, and turns out the big light.

he draws back the covers before you can, and you swing you legs onto the bed. you pull the covers up to your chin before he can tuck you in or something. one can only handle being babied for so long, after all.

he has one of those fancy dimming lamps. it casts a soft glow over the room without being too overwhelming. and because he likes it this way, so do you.

he turns onto his side and places his hands under his pillow. you begin to turn onto your side, but he stops you. “don’t put too much pressure on it.” you compromise by turning your head towards him.

his eyes are big and his lips are slightly parted. his breathing is deep and slow. you don’t know who falls asleep first, just that you both slowly inched closer so that eventually there was only about two fingers worth of space between you.

[hitomisuzuya]

Phone sex. Aventurine x fem!reader. Smut. Masturbation. Sex toy. Dirty talk. Praise. Breeding kink Soft!Dom Aventurine. Kinda Yandere-ish?

Somehow, it never failed to send Aventurine reeling that whenever he had to be away from you, you would get so lonely that you needed to hear his voice to be placated. That someone needed him in such a pure hearted way was staggering to him.

He selfishly couldn't help but make you repeat it when you said, "I miss you. I need you," He could hear the genuine shake in your breath, that it was the absolute truth. He could just picture you shifting restlessly on your bed, your body subtley shaking in a fit of pure, aroused need.

Life hadn't exactly been all that pure hearted to him.

Aventurine was always going to take care of you. You chased away the dark, made things a lot brighter for him. It would be a cold day in hell before anyone else ever had you. He can't lose your light, ever.

"Is your vibrator on the bed with you, sweetheart?" Aventurine purred, hearing the soft sound of sheets rustling as he sat back in his hotel chair.

"Mhm," You said, rolling over onto your back. "Good girl, now slowly start stroking and playing with that pretty pussy of yours. Tell me how wet you are for me, how wet the sound of my voice is making you." A blush crept up into your cheeks as you parted your folds with your fingers. It was almost embarrassing how wet two words of praise from him could make you.

You started to let out shaky sighs, tracing stripes slowly up and down your cunt. Your fingers rubbed and circled your clit. Aventurine chuckled in your ear, "Use your words, darling. Tell me how wet you are. How you wish it was my fingers instead."

Your hips jerked to grind into your fingers, your clit swelling and throbbing as your fingers slowly skated over the sensitive nub. Your juices were starting to soak your fingers. "I..I'm so wet for you," You moaned softly, "I can barely stand the ache in my body. I need you, Aventurine. I wish it was your fingers touching me, fucking into me."

Aventurine's breath hitched in his throat, his cock starting to pulse and harden. "Go on, darling, fuck your little fingers inside yourself. Pump and curl them to the knuckle, think of my fingers stretching you apart. Dragging over every sensitive spot until your legs shake."

Louder moans sounded from you as you pushed two fingers inside yourself. The aroused, gently commanding purr in Aventurine's voice compelled you to do as you were told to the letter. You pumped your fingers in and out of your messy cunt, stretching yourself apart and struggling to reach your sweet spot.

Broken whimpers of desperation bled into your moans, alternating between fucking your fingers inside yourself and rubbing and pinching your clit. Aventurine knew you were struggling, only his fingers could fill you properly.

"Grab your vibrator now," He palmed his cock listening to your moans and whimpers. What a shame to not be able to watch you struggle to get off, trying to contend with the way the sound of his voice was making your clit throb. "Turn it on the lowest setting," He chuckled softly hearing your protesting whimper hearing him say the lowest setting, "Slowly tease it on your clit like my finger tips would. Close your eyes and imagine it's my fingers pinching and rolling it."

The gentle vibrations made your body quake with slight relief. The vibrations made your clit swell and throb more, your legs shaking as you rubbed your clit against it. You could hear Aventurine's soft moans in your ear as he fisted his cock listening to you.

"A-Aventurine, please," You stumbled over your words, pushing the tip of the vibrator into the clenching hole, "make me cum. Please, I need you so badly," You cried out.

Cum nearly spurted onto Aventurine's hand. " Turn the setting up, fuck it into your pussy. Fill it like I would with my cock," You pumped the vibrator in and out of you, the sound of his voice only building up your orgasm tighter.

Your walls clenched gummy around the vibrator. The sensation hummed along your sensitive walls, your body twitching in pleasure as the toy vibrated on your spongy spot. "I..I wish you were cumming inside of me," You whimpered, carefully cradling your phone to your ear with your shoulder so you could rub your clit.

"I know, sweetheart, I know," Aventurine cooed, groaning as his cock emptied itself on his hand. He couldn't help but cum instantly hearing that. "Let go and cum all over the toy. I'll take care of you properly when I get back." He stroked his cock, nursing himself through his orgasm.

"Promise?" You moaned, feeling yourself start to fall off the edge. You writhed, your high was right there in your grasp.

"I promise. I'll fill you nice and full, breed you like you deserve. Now, let me hear you cum on the toy," Aventurine's cock throbbed again at the thought of fucking you so full of cum it made your stomach swollen with his child.

Hearing that was what finally made the knot of your orgasm break apart. Your fingers skated wet over your clit, your release flooding onto the vibrator. Aventurine could hear you struggling to string together the vowels of his name as you shook from your orgasm.

"Good girl, ride out your orgasm like you would on my cock. Don't stop until you feel satisfied, I'll talk you through it," He guided you through your orgasm, leaving you panting and exhausted by the time you took the toy out of you and shut it off. Your heart fluttered every time he called you a good girl.

"Goodnight, sweetheart. I'll be home in a day or two. Sleep now, and call me in the morning," He would be waiting to hear your voice again. "And if you fall asleep with the air conditioner on, make sure you sleep under a blanket."

[nicoliine]

The night Lucifer became your god.

☆彡 Your god had abandoned you; the devil stayed by your side.

Whose your devotion is with?

☆ Disclaimer: I'm an atheist myself but was raised Catholic, so I understand that some people may find this disrespectful. Please, if you find the religion subject as a taboo to write about, don't continue reading.

☆ G/N Reader—no pronouns or y/n used.

☆ English isn't my first language and I wrote this drunk, so if there is any mistake please excuse me <3

Religion as a metaphor for love 🛐

 

—"Eli, Eli, lema sabachtani?" Matthäus 27:46.—

In Lucifer's eyes, you were an angel.

There were few things that he considered pure in hell. His daughter, the love he once had for his wife, and the joy he felt when his last rubber duck wasn't a fiasco.

 

You, however, were the purest thing that ever stepped on hell.

 

It made him sick. It was like heaven had taken pity on him and decided to send you to bring love and comfort to his shattered soul.

 

The first time he ever stepped on your room, he almost thought you two weren't in hell, but in a church, your room resembles a presbytery. He was met by a big cross on the wall in front of him and a lot of candles around; the final straw was a bible on the nightstand.

 

Where did you even get that?

It was creepy.

It gave him chills; surely he was uncomfortable at first; he hated sacred places; it made him feel dizzy. But the way you talked to him and how you looked at him in the eyes made him feel as if he were in heaven again.

Except that both of you were in hell.

You were in hell. With him.

Your looks weren't any different; you often had a kind smile on your face. When someone made a gross comment, he never failed to see you putting your hands together in a praying motion. He got a glimpse of your scarred knees one time, and a thought came to his mind: you on your knees, praying to God countless nights instead of going to parties.

 

He felt jealous; oh, to be adored in that way, how would it feel?

 

And you were so sweet; you always knew what to say and how to react. Even when he felt like getting back into his depression hole, kind words came out of your lips as you held him.

He wanted you; he never, in thousands of years in hell, ever prayed to God, but he would do it for you to be his.

 

  ☆◦ •◦☆

 

If you are an angel, then how did you end up here? He often wondered: surely God wouldn't be so cruel as to send you to hell, right?

 

A scoff left his lips; of course he would.

 

It was dark outside, and the pouring rain could be heard from outside your room. In the comfort of your room, he couldn't help but ask. You just finished your prayer, an old but well-conserved rosary on your hands.

You don't really know what to say.

 

"I just guess that I deserved it."

 

Hearing you say that broke him, how could you say that you deserved to be down there? How could you be so cool about it? You even laughed it off. He didn't deserve to have you there; please don't be so mean to you.

You tried to change the subject almost immediately; you don't want to go on about the many nights that you stayed awake calling for your god to take you out of there, just to hear you. You think that Lucifer wouldn't like to hear you say that you don't want to be there.

 

Oh god, my god, why did he forsaken you?

 

Truth be told, you often questioned it yourself; you didn't want to. Guess that's why you're down there; you asked so many questions? how you spent your whole life following his rules, praying until your knees bled, and giving all your life to him, just to be thrown into hell forever.

 

It wasn't your fault.

You were so young and so naive.

Please, how can you leave me here?

How could you let me down even when you said you loved me?

 

  ☆◦ •◦☆

 

When you woke up in hell, you felt your heart shatter. Somehow,  you managed to make it to the Heaven Embassy, looking at the building and hoping for them to come back for you, you stayed there for days. But it never happened.

It should be a mistake. You couldn't have failed; what had you done wrong?

 

When you arrived at the hotel, you wanted to cry. Everything Charlie told you would take for you to be redeemed has been everything you did in life.

Then why are you there?

 

Every passing day, your chest hurts a little more. It was like pieces of your soul were falling apart.

 

"I feel guilty, Lucifer; I know I shouldn't question his actions, that I would never understand," you said as your eyes were fixated on the big cross on your wall, "but he abandoned me; he doesn't love me anymore. I highly doubt he ever did."

 

You later felt guilty for breaking the rosary in your hand. Lucifer, however, felt excited about it.

 

  ☆◦ •◦☆

 

It hurts to see you like this, it made Lucifer feel so bad.

I mean, he understands how you are feeling; he used to have so many dreams that were taken away from him the moment he talked to his creator. He just wanted to be heard.

But he wasn't heard.

He remembers how it happened—the court spat on his face in his trial. They didn't even let him talk. He remembers how he felt the air leaving his lungs, so humiliated and despised by his father. He grabbed a fist of his shirt while they brought his sentence. His chest hurts a lot. He looked at his father, asking for forgiveness that he was never granted.

So he understood your pain; he felt your pain as his while you looked so hurt. You two weren't so different.

Except you were, you are a pure soul who did everything right, no questions asked ever. It makes his blood boil.

 

How could God treat you like this while Lucifer could break hell apart just for you to be on your knees for him?

He wanted to bring you comfort, but what does one say in a moment like this? What could he say that could give your heart rest?

 

You felt guilty; you felt remorse, wrath, pain, sadness—you didn't know what to think or how to react. You felt like your own father had abandoned you, leaving a hollow in your soul that couldn't be filled.

 

Everything left was for you to wait.

Wait to find something else to live for.

Something to pray for.

Someone to believe.

 

"If you were mine, I would never abandon you." Lucifer felt no remorse to say that; he wasn't taking advantage of your state. He just was showing you the right way, by his side you would never feel neglected or hurt. This is how it must have been since the beginning; if you had given him your heart since the beginning, you wouldn't have felt so much pain.

 

He would take care of you forever.

 

To have you on your knees before him was strange. He dreamed about this exact moment for so long, but he never thought it could really happen.

But it was happening.

You were there, with so much devotion in your eyes that it was impossible to look away.

He could see in your eyes that you would do everything he asked for.

How could God let you go when you were so devoted?

 

He wouldn't let you go.

Never.

You are his now.

You are his loyal believer; he's your god.

 

Like it always was supposed to be.

 

About where the inspiration for this came from:

There's a Mary statue in Spain that I absolutely loved the work of the sculptor, it's called: "María Santísima de la Quinta Angustia." —love the name!Her hurt face gave me chills and I thought about this writing. Please take a look at her, she looks like a doll! ✨

 

Likes and reblogs are appreciated. 💞

[revasserium]

Why does this scream second chance romance?

reqs are open!

at first sight

hayato suo; 6,284 words; fluff, slight angst, fem!reader, no "y/n", passing mentions of divorce, childhood friends to lovers, hurt/comfort (a little), the slowest of burns, suo is a simp, introspection, more plot than not

summary: and isn’t it strange, that a person doesn’t have to be dead to serve a haunting, how there only need be absence and sorrow and the utterly world-ending ache of what used to be?

a/n: this was not supposed to be this long or this self-indulgent but welp.

He sees you sometimes in his dreams, in the spaces right before he falls asleep — that sweet, weightless, liminal space where anything and everything is possible, even probable. He sees the shape of your laughter, feels the weight of your breath, can almost taste the sugarplum sweetness of your smile. He’d lose himself, then, in the firefly lights of your eyes.

On those nights, he wakes up with a scream curdling up the back of his throat like soured milk.

Because no matter how hard he tries to hold onto the good memories, the ones bathed in the precious, pale gold of summer sun, truth always slips through like a sharp, silver knife. Cold. Ruthless. Unrelenting.

“— so, I know we don’t know each other very well but… you’ve done so much for our shop and my grandma is so grateful and… it always makes me so happy to see you come by —”

The girl in front of him is pretty, in the delicate, unassuming way that all young girls might be called pretty. She is dark, pin-straight hair and thin-rimmed glasses. Suo can tell that she’s put on a sparkly sheen of lip-gloss just for this occasion. Her cheeks are tinted sunset pink; there’s a letter in her hands.

“Thank you,” he says, dipping his head, his hand linked behind his back, his expression schooled into one of polite affectation, the most gentle rejection. He listens to her run herself out, babbling on about visits and admiration and the shape of him outside the shop window, how her heart would skip a beat. He finds himself, wistfully, thinking about the shape of you — when you were small enough to wiggle under the fence in his backyard, dirt caked under your nails, your hair always chopped short, one of your front teeth missing as you tossed pebbles at his windows.

“I’m… sorry,” he says, finally, when the girl presses the letter into the center of his chest, bowing low enough for her long silky hair to cover her face. He slowly folds his fingers over the letter, giving her hand a squeeze as he presses it back towards her.

“B-but…” she looks up; there are tears in her eyes, “why…?”

“I suppose,” he says, voice light and conversational, almost as if he were remarking on the weather, “I’m just not the dating type.”

The girl mumbles something before sniffling and wiping at her eyes. She is, Suo admits, not a very pretty crier. But then again, he thinks, most people aren’t. She nods again, as if to herself, clutching her unopened letter to her chest before dropping into another deep bow and dashing off. Suo can hear the clipped echoes of her sobs as she races down the near empty streets, and he sighs.

He turns on his heels and makes his slow way back to his own house, the place small and empty, but clean. The single wooden shelf is lined with books, alphabetized. His futon is folded neatly in his closet. He goes through the motions of making tea, pouring the boiling water over the dried leaves, watching them unfurl. He breathes in deep and thinks of you —

You were the one who first taught him how to brew tea, your small hands not yet big enough to hold a teapot proper, but whatever you’d lacked in skill, you made up for in determination. He’d always admired that about you, the sheer recklessness of your nature that bled, somehow, into courage in his young mind.

“Careful! It’s hot…” he’d warned, reaching out to catch your wrist, but too late, the water had already spilled a little and you wince, but you don’t let go, your arms quaking as you set the scalding teapot down, biting down on your lips to keep from crying out.

“I know it’s hot! But you gotta use hot water if you wanna make good tea!”

And there, through the misty haze of steam rising from the pair of cups, sitting across the table from you, Suo thinks you’re the most beautiful creature in the entire world.

He loses you, he reflects, the same way he loses most things in his life — accidentally and to the well-tempered beat of fate from which no one can escape. One minute you were right there in front of him and the next, well…

“Moving…?” he says the word as if he’d never heard it before. You sigh, nodding, staring listlessly into empty space, your knees curled up and pressed into your chest, your chin propped on your crossed arms.

Suo blinks, “But… where are you moving to?”

You shrug, “Tokyo, I think,” you say the word with a soft resignation only found in those who have seen and lost, seen and lost again. Suo thinks he understands; looking back, he’s not sure he did just then.

“Because of… your dad’s work?”

“Yeah. He says that if his company does well there, we’d be ‘set for life’ — whatever that means,” you say, picking at a bit of invisible lint on your sleeves.

“But… what about your mom? And the teashop?”

You purse your lips, mulling over your words as if you’ve got a sour cherry pit caught beneath your tongue.

“She says… she can’t leave it. So… she’s staying here.”

“Oh,” Suo says, sitting back against his bedroom wall. Even back then, he was smart enough to understand the implications.

You nod.

Judging by the look on your face, so are you.

“So… when…” he can’t really make out the words; there’s something stuck in his throat that feels oddly like an entire handful of sand.

“End of the month,” you say, finally looking up at him to catch his eyes. And there, he sees the insurmountable sadness, the longing he’d sometimes catch a glimpse of in the slanted summer light. As if you’re waiting for him to do something, to say something. He could never figure out what exactly it was you’d wanted him to do. To say.

Stay.

He’d later realize.

Please.

He’d repeat the words to himself in the encroaching dark, lying on his futon, watching the light cast on his walls go from white to gray to gold, and slowly, sinking into cool, hollow blackness.

Don’t go.

He mouths the words until he can almost taste the shape of them on his tongue. He swallows around them like a fistful of sand, flips onto his side, and tries to go to sleep.

You appear before him like a daydream, a near mirage in the summer heat. One second, he’s laughing with Nirei at something Sakura’s said, and the next, he’s standing stock still, staring at the end of the street where he’s sure he’d just seen you —

You look older now, but then so does he, and your hair is longer, but the shape of your laughter, the light of your eyes — he wouldn’t miss those anywhere. Not then, not now, not ever. Even after all these years.

“Suo-san…?” Nirei peers up into his face, tugging on his sleeve.

“Hm? Oh sorry — I just thought —” he glances back at the end of the street. Just a large van and a few young workers, hauling things out from the back.

“Oh, there’s a new teahouse opening in town! That must be them, moving in!” Nirei says, cheerful and oblivious as always.

“What’s a teahouse do, anyway?” Sakura asks, picking at his ear and flicking something off the end of his pinky.

“Uhm… make tea?” Nirei offers.

“Yeah, but don’t we all know how to make — where the hell’s he goin’?”

Suo takes off down the street, whipping passed their usual haunts, the taiyaki shop, the okonomiyaki stand, Pothos cafe, to the corner of the street, just where the sidewalk threatens to curve into some more residential place —

“Oi!” Sakura calls after him but he doesn’t listen.

There — that sound. Sugarplum and silver bells.

The space is undone, the door propped open with a wooden crate, the young men with the moving company tutting as they grunt and step around Suo to carry more boxes into the space, setting them down along the walls.

“— there’s good, oh no — not that one — that one goes… oh here’s good! Thanks!”

You.

He sees you like something from his wildest daydreams, the shape of you in smoke and stardust — the light twisting and twining around you as if it knows, treating you differently than it might all the other people and objects in the room, focusing around you to paint you in richer tones, in brighter lights and deeper shadows. The air seems to gather around you like a held breath.

And for a moment, Suo himself forgets quite completely that he himself might need to breathe as well.

You turn your eyes on him and the world seems to shift focus like a camera lens shifting zoom. Everything blurs, sound slows, drags, distorts. The room around you fades until it’s nothing more than a suggestion of shapes and space.

Suo sucks in a breath.

“Sorry — we’re not quite open y…”

Your voice trails off, and vaguely, Suo thinks that you sound different than you did before. But there’s still the same lovely cadence to your words, the rounded edges, the crispness of your diction, the sheer weight of your conviction in the things you say and how you might will them into truth.

“It’s… been a while,” he says. His own voice is weak, wavering, dry and scratchy and sounding nothing like himself but he sees the moment you recognize him, wholly and completely.

“H-Hayato-kun!”

“Oi, Suo — who’re you —” Sakura rams a shoulder into him at this exact moment, Nirei pattering close behind, trying to hold him back. Sakura blinks at you, his head flicking between you and Suo as if watching an invisible tennis match. And then, some understand seeps into the depths of his eyes and his cheeks go a ruddy shade of pink.

“Uh — sorry, I didn’t — who —” he looks bewildered and awkward all at once.

“We’re Suo-san’s friends — from Boufuurin!” Nirei cuts in, finally succeeding in tugging Sakura to one side and peering around the rather narrow door frame. He bows slightly before jumping half a meter in the air as a mover clears his throat loudly behind the group of boys now clogging the door way.

You jerk out of your reverie and point the mover towards an empty corner before making your way over, your steps steady. It takes everything in Suo’s being not to move, to neither shift forward, to press into your personal space just to make sure you’re really real, or to turn tail and run till he doesn’t have the breath to keep running any more.

He can’t tell which he’d prefer more, but he knows that neither is the best option right now.

So, he forces himself to stand still, to wait for you to come to him.

And you do, drifting over in a cloud of light linen and a flower patterned apron.

“Hi! Long time no see!”

Suo registers faintly that though your hair is longer, but your bangs are still choppy, and the ends of your hair badly cut, as if you’d gotten annoyed one day and tried to do it with kitchen scissors. He bites back a smile at the image. But there are other subtle changes too — the round babyfat on your cheeks slimming out to a sweet, heart-shaped face, the hugeness of your eyes, almost alien-like in your child years, now balanced out by the depths of your features. Your lips are small and plush as an overripe plum — that, at least, hasn’t changed in the slightest.

“Yeah… what… are you doing here?” he asks, still struck dumb by the sight of you here, in Makochi.

You raise an eyebrow and Suo almost feels the motion like a gut-punch, the familiarity of it overriding your older features until he can’t really tell if he’s living in the present or if he’s been suddenly and unwillingly shunted into the past.

You scoff, “Opening a teahouse, duh!”

Nirei laughs and Sakura lets out a snicker that kicks Suo out of his stupor. He clears his throat, having the decency to at least look abashed.

“Sorry, yes — that much is obvious. Is there… anything we can do to help?” he tries to ground himself in the established notions of aiding the citizens of Makochi. At least here, he knows what he has to do. His voice evens out, his smile returns.

You regard him with that same, questioning look before casting your eyes around the room.

“Sure! Plenty to do if you guys have the time —” and then you start pointing to the various tasks they might help with.

Nirei and Sakura jump to, already used to the pattern, with Suo trailing behind them, moving slower than usual, his limbs feeling heavy, as if they’re full of lead. It takes them the better part of the afternoon to help you set up most of the bigger pieces of furniture. And somehow, by the time they’re done, a good chunk of the freshman class is there, chattering and laughing, lounging at the newly built tables.

“Alright! Who wants some tea? Fresh and on the house — consider it payment for a job well-done!” you clap your hands, grinning as the boys all cheer.

Suo keeps quiet, sitting at a corner table with Sakura beside him, Nirei across. It isn’t until Sakura digs his elbow rather painfully into Suo’s ribs that he turns his face towards them, hitching a smile to his face.

“Hm?”

“What’s with you?” Sakura asks, never one to mince words. Across from them, Nirei nibbles on his lips as if debating on whether or not to add on to Sakura’s line of questioning

“What do you mean?” Suo asks, folding his hands carefully on the table. He’s not fooling anyone; he knows, but that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t at least try.

Finally, impulse wins out and Nirei blurts out —

“You’ve been staring at that girl all afternoon and — and I’ve never seen you look at anyone like that before. And you’re the one that gets the most confessions out of anyone in our year, so it figures that if this girl c-can capture your attention like this, she must be someone really special.”

He finishes slightly out of breath, before ducking behind his little notebook, even though he’s holding it upside-down.

Suo lets out a helpless laugh.

“I didn’t know you were keeping track of how many confessions all of us got — that statistic seems irrelevant to our fighting abilities, no?”

“Quit tryna change the subject,” Sakura cuts in, loudly.

Suo sighs, nodding, “I was getting there. We —” he cuts off, clearing his throat as he feels his entire body catch on the edge of the confession.

He takes a deep breath and starts again, this time, pressing a slight smile between his lips, taking on a tone as if telling a story about someone else.

“We were neighbors growing up.”

Nirei blinks, “Is… that it?”

Suo’s smile goes a bit stiff and plastic, “More or less.”

“Liar,” Sakura folds his arms, frowning as he stares Suo down. His cheeks are still pink, but there’s a determined glint behind his eyes that never bodes well.

“Ah… well,” Suo weighs his options, but then lilts his head and shrugs, “you caught me — we were a bit more than just neighbors… more like childhood friends.”

Sakura narrows his eyes but doesn’t push. Suo looks down at his hands, laced carefully on the wooden table before he speaks again.

“We… spent a lot of time together and… her mother owned a teashop like this one.”

“Oh! A family business!” Nirei says.

Suo opens his mouth to correct him but your voice cuts him off.

“You still have them!”

A finger slips along the long tassels of his earring and Suo nearly jerks away, casting his eyes up to find you, a familiar teapot in your now steady hands, your eyes somehow bright and dark at the same time as you look down at him.

“Oh… yes, I —” again, he feels his throat catch, “of course I did. You were the one who made them for me.”

You let out a light laugh, setting a few teacups down at their table and prepping their tea.

“You didn’t have to — I’m surprised they held up after all these years. You know I bought the red beads at the craft store right?”

“Yeah, you… you used your New Years money. I remember…”

“And you helped me pick out the tassels from the lady who sells lucky knots at the market!” you say all this as if it weren’t one of his most precious memories, as if he hadn’t gone to great lengths to make sure the earrings you gave him (one of the only things you’d ever given them, other than perhaps a broken heart) never came to any harm.

Across from him, he can see Nirei putting the pieces together. Next to him, Sakura seems stunned still by the same revelation.

“If I’d know you’d like them so much, I would’ve made you a few more pairs. At least that way, you can try to match them with your clothes,” you grin, leaning down to seep their tea. Suo watches as the hot water washes over the dried leaves, rehydrating them till they each unfurl into their own shape. A deep, floral fragrance fills the air and he feels his stomach both twist and settle in the same motion.

“Jasmine green,” he says.

“Mhm. Your favorite. It’s a little basic but I love it too.” You shoot him a surreptitious wink. Then, you pause, “Ah — but it might not be your favorite anymore, I guess —”

“It still is,” Suo says before you can second guess yourself.

The smile that re-alights your face is nearly blinding in it’s brilliance.

“Anyway, I’ll leave the water here for you guys, yeah?” you set the teapot down next to Suo’s elbow, flash them all one more smile before twirling around and going to serve the next table.

It isn’t until much after dark that everyone leaves and Suo, having made up some vague excuse to linger, finally has you to himself. You hum as you flit from table to table, wiping them down and pushing in the chairs. Suo watches you for a solid minute before moving to help.

“Thanks,” you say, as he helps you push in the last chair and you wipe a forearm across your forehead with a long breath, “phew! Ma really made it look easy back in the day, but this is hard work! And we’re not even officially opened yet!”

“We’ll come by to help whenever we can,” Suo says, the response automatic.

You nod, folding the tablecloth neatly into a square and setting it on the counter.

The silence thickens around you, swirling and charged. Suo grasps for something to say, anything to say. He wishes you’d do something — turn on a light, hum another song, say something strange and outlandish, punch him, perhaps.

You do none of those things. Instead, you wipe your hands on your apron and turn to look at him, your eyes huge in the darkness.

“I’ve missed you.”

It nearly knocks him from his feet. The quiet force of your words, the raw-edged honesty behind them. The way your voice doesn’t waver. The way you say them not like an accusation but an admittance. He thinks he really would’ve preferred if you punched him instead.

“Yeah,” he says, feeling breathless, heat cresting up his chest, and suddenly, he’s thankful for the darkness within the not-yet-opened teashop.

“I’ve missed you too.”

He feels hollowed out by the confession, as if just speaking the words had carved him clean, so clean that the words echo through him, reverberating through his bones till he feels it down to his marrow. He hadn’t known that missing a person could feel like this, or that the word could mean so much until he’d said it out loud.

Missing. The lack thereof. A nothing where there used to be something.

It is a wrongness in the matrix, a hole, an abnormality.

It’s as if he’d been sleeping on the mattress from the Princess and the Pea ever since the day you’d left, a subtle incorrectness that permeated every single moment of every day, so obvious in it’s presence that it had folded back into itself and become something.

That the lack of you was a presence in and of itself, a living ghost that had loomed over him, slinked behind his shadow, hovered over his shoulder until —

He reaches out to touch you, fingers skimming against the skin of your cheek.

You lean into his touch, the motion slight but he catches it almost immediately, and the force of it is the catalyst that propels him forward. He tugs you into his chest and holds you there, burying his face in your hair.

“I — I’ve missed you…” he says again, and you nod, fingers crumpling in his school uniform as you press your forehead into his chest.

“Y-you’re so much taller than before — it’s not fair,” you say, your voice muffled by his shirt. He laughs, ruffling your hair for a second before his fingers so soft and he’s running them through from root to end.

“If I had a sister, I’d tell her to keep her hair long, so I could braid it,” he’d once told you when the two of you were barely in elementary school. You’d tugged at the ends of your chopped short hair and frowned.

“Ugh — I could never grow my hair out long. It’ll just get in the way!”

“It’s longer,” he says now, tugging at the ends even as he takes half a step away, releasing you from his embrace. You glance down at the uneven bits, crinkling your nose in distaste.

“I — I tried to grow it out but… I kept getting annoyed.”

“Yeah, I thought so but… I’ve always liked your hair short.”

“You have?”

“Yeah —”

I’ve always loved everything about you.

He swallows, “Short hair… just fits you.”

You stare up at him for a second longer before nodding, your eyes flickering away.

“Yeah. Guess it does, huh.”

Something clunks in Suo’s chest.

You turn away and he has to physically beat down the panic rising in his chest.

“W-where do you live now? I’ll walk you back. It’s not safe to walk around alone in the dark,” the words tumble from him like a bag of spilled marbles, scattering across the hardwood floors.

You turn back to regard him with a curious look.

“I — I live above the teahouse. So…” you shoot him a lopsided grin, a finger pointed up towards the ceiling of the teahouse.

“Oh. Right.” Suo blinks, watching you watching him before he notices the flight of stairs behind the open door in the back of the room.

“You wanna walk me to the stairs?” you ask, grin slanting sideways till its positively devilish and Suo feels a shiver kiss it’s way up his spine.

“I mean, it’s dangerous to walk alone in the dark, right?” you tease, before turning and slinking towards the back room door. Suo hesitates for a second before he sighs, shaking his head and following behind you.

He pauses at the foot of the stairs just as you pause on the step right above him. You twist around to face him, and the sudden closeness catches his breath in his lungs. Like this, he can feel the heat of your skin, can smell the shampoo in your hair — the same one you’d used when the pair of you were still kids, apple blossom and aloe.

You cock your head, your faces now on a level, your eyes searching his.

It’s so dark, but even in this lack of light, he can make out every single feature of your face.

“I think I can make it up the stairs by myself,” you say, your voice barely more than a whisper, conspiratorial and low.

Suo lets out a small laugh, nodding, “Good. It wouldn’t be right for a gentleman to leave a lady feeling unsafe at this time of night.”

Your head slowly cocks the other way; he’d almost forgotten that habit of yours, like a sparrow listening for the rustle of leaves or the first breath of autumn wind.

“Since when’ve you been a gentleman?” you ask, still in that soft, whisper-voice, the kind of voice that compels the listener to lean closer, to tip forward until they’re falling into something they don’t even have the name for —

“And… more importantly, since when have I ever been a lady?”

He kisses you then. Or perhaps, you kiss him first. It doesn’t matter — or perhaps it does, or it will. But not now, not in the soft, nebulous darkness that surrounds you, not when your fingers are curling into his hair and his palms are settling at your waist.

And there are no fireworks, but there is light — electricity coursing through his body and yours, neurons firing and firing and firing. A cataclysm of yes and more and finally.

The first time you break apart, Suo is breathless; the second time, he feels punch drunk; by the third, he’s determined that this must be what it’s like to be thoroughly inebriated. His head is spinning, his face is hot, he has to remind himself of where his hands might be — oh, there — one in your hair and the other pressing you to him so hard he’s certain it’ll leave a mark.

The thought pleases him more than it should. Or perhaps it pleases him just as much as it should and always will.

“H-Hayato…"

“Mm — stay — please…” his voice is nearly broken as he drops his had into your shoulder; he takes a shaky breath, “don’t go.”

You let yourself be held, the pair of you propped awkwardly on the first few steps of the stairs, your fingers threading through his hair.

“I’m not going anywhere… this is my house now.”

Suo nods, vaguely aware that there are questions he wants to ask you — how’s your mother? Where’s your father? How are you here, alone, opening this teashop by yourself? Living here, by yourself?

But he will get to those later, tomorrow maybe. Right now, he forces his head up and regards you with hazy, blown-out eyes and kiss-slick lips.

“If I sleep on the floor, can I —”

You laugh, running a thumb along his cheek.

“We’ve shared a bed before and nothing’s happened. You don’t have to sleep on the floor — bed’s big enough for the both of us.”

Suo presses his lips for a second before shaking his head.

“It’s not that. I just… don’t think I could trust myself.”

There’s a hoarse, ragged edge to his voice that has you chewing on the inside of your cheek. He glances up the stairs and offers you a weak smile. You consider him for a second more before nodding.

“Yeah, c’mon. I’ll show you where the futons are.”

Upstairs, your bedroom is silver and alien with moonlight. It seems too bright, too sharp. But you step into it and suddenly, everything is alright again. You both wash up in silence, and you dig up an ancient band t-shirt from somewhere in your closet. He wonders how long you’d been here already — how many days and night he’d spent mere minutes from you.

He lays down in the futon after you slip beneath your sheets. He watches the shape of you as you shift this way and that.

Finally, you say, “Night, Hayato.”

“Sweet dreams,” he says.

And he falls asleep counting the sound of your breaths against the rhythm of his own, thundering heartbeats.

“Y-you what?!”

Sakura’s face is tomato red and Nirei looks just about ready to go into anaphylactic shock. Across the classroom, Kiryuu, who’s obviously been listening in, catches Suo’s eye and gives him a cheeky thumbs up.

Suo smiles, cheery and unabashed.

“I slept over.”

“B-b-but — you — I — she just —” Nirei seems to be fighting against some invisible force inside himself even as Sakura continues to gape.

Suo chuckles, nodding.

“Yeah, she moved here last week — it’s a total coincidence that we met up again. She had no idea that I was even here.”

He thinks back to the quiet moments of the morning, of waking up to find you sitting up in bed, staring out the window, your hair mussed and a little frizzy. He remembers the way the morning light had dappled the soft of your skin, how you’d smiled and asked him how he slept.

“Well. Better than I’ve slept in…” he clears his throat, suddenly self conscious of the gravel there. And here, in the unforgiving light of day, the night before seems miraculous and distant. Had he really held you in the dark like that? Kissed you till you’d said his name like something of a prayer?

Had he really held your hand all the way up the stairs?

You catch his eyes and smile, and like this, looking up at you as the rising sun halos itself around your shape, Suo wonders if he still might be dreaming. Because surely, surely — heaven couldn’t have been so close as this.

“So, what do you want for breakfast?” you ask, swinging your legs out of bed, your pale feet pattering against the fresh tatami floors. Suo is momentarily stunned by the sight of your bare legs, the large shirt you wore to bed now somehow terribly short and insufficient as it brushes by the middle of your thighs.

He swallows and forces himself to look away, to shake his head and focus on the words you’d said.

“Whatever you want to make,” he says, by way of an answer.

You hum as you cook, putting a bowl of rice in the microwave and putting on a pot of water to boil. The kitchen here is smaller than the one up front, in the main body of the teahouse, but it feels more homely, every surface effused with a sort of lived-in quality — clean, but rounded at the edges as if worn down by the love of days and weeks and months.

“How long…” he tries his voice again, only to find it wanting. He lets his words trail off and hopes that you understand.

“Hm? How long have I been here? Just a week. It was weird — my mom had bought this place a while back, and started the renovations, but I’d never had time to visit.”

“And where…” again, his voice trails off, his palms pressing flat to the thin counter, his eyes tracking the shape of you as you flitter through the small kitchen like a bird or maybe just a trick of the light.

“She’s not here,” you say, your movements slowing as you take the boiling water from the stovetop and pour it over some rough tealeaves, letting them seep for a few minutes before straining them out and tossing them into the trash.

“She’s… in Tokyo, finalizing the divorce with Pa.”

“Oh.”

His mind makes several inferences at once, even as he watches you soak the rice in the steaming hot tea and split the ochazuke into two bowls.

“I thought they’d… already done that,” he admit, nodding his thanks as you hand him a bowl and offer him a container of store-bought furikake. He takes it and shakes some over his bowl before handing it back.

“Yeah. Most people did.” You don’t offer up anything more and the both of you eat in silence. He polishes off the entire bowl and feels the heat settle in his stomach like a gap being filled.

“So… will she come after… everything is settled?” he choses his words carefully, peering up at you over the empty dishes. You slurp noisily at your own breakfast before licking your lips.

“Yeah, but who knows how long that’ll take? Might be weeks, might be — years, or something…” you drag the back of a hand across your lips and reaches over to pluck the empty bowl from his hands, dropping everything into the sink to soak.

“C’mon, don’t you have school or something to get ready for?”

“So… she’s here to stay?” Nirei asks, his eyes a bit overbright as Suo relays a version of the story, skirting tactfully around the more tender parts.

“Yeah, as far as I know. I promised we’d come by after school today to help her set up some more — you don’t mind, do you?”

“Nope! Not at all!” Nirei beams, but Sakura’s eyes are narrowed. Suo turns his gaze on Sakura and tilts his head with a questioning smile.

Sakura’s cheeks redden, “It’s just — ah, whatever — never mind!”

And no amount of prodding or teasing could tantalize him into saying more.

Time passes by strangely after that — at times slugging by slow as molasses, at others jumping forward in great leaps and bounds. Suo spends nearly every waking moment when he’s not at school or on patrols with you, sometimes simply sitting in the corner of the teahouse, flipping through a book, watching as you served your growing roster of regular customers, at times helping you catalogue new shipments of tea and organizing them by type, brew time, and temperature.

Sometimes, when the light catches you in just the right way, Suo finds himself arrested by the sight, and it’s times like these when he’d tug you forward, a finger under your chin, his lips gentle on yours till he can taste the tang of your smile.

“I heard you’re quite the lady’s man,” you say, casually one day, brewing a test batch of a new varietal of white tea.

“Oh? And where might you have heard such a thing?” Suo grins, pillowing his chin on the heel of his hand, watching you as he always does.

“Just the baker’s granddaughter — she goes the prep school I do, you know the one in the next neighborhood over?”

“Ah… that.”

Your grin goes lopsided as you carefully blow on the top of your teacup and take a dainty sip.

“You got your hair cut,” he says, smiling as he rakes his eye over the cut of your bob, tickling just beneath your earlobe. You go slightly cross-eyed as you tug a strand down over your forehead before blowing it away again.

“Yeah. Figured it was about time I got a proper haircut.”

“I liked it the way it was before.”

“You did?”

“Sure I did. I’ve always loved everything about you.”

Between you, a single column of steam rises in a slow, lazy spiral from the surface of your half-drunk cup. And like this, Suo thinks you’re still the most beautiful creature he’s ever, ever seen.

Your blush is quick and brilliant. Your eyes cut away; you push your hair behind your ears.

“Don’t changed the subject — so what’s this she said about you not really being one for dating, hm?”

Suo shrugs, “I’m not.”

You quirk an eyebrow.

“Then…” you blink at him, cheeks flushing darker and darker, “what do you call this?”

Suo fixes you with a steady look, and now, his voice doesn’t waver when he speaks to you, because he knows that he’d never let the certainty of you slip away from him again. This time, he knows the words to say — knows without the shadow of a doubt his truth, and yours, too.

“I don’t know what I’d call it but… I know that I’ve never really believed in dating.”

You lick your lips, setting the cup down with a soft clack.

“Then what do you believe in?”

Suo doesn’t miss a beat.

“I suppose… I’ve always just believed in soulmates.”

Your mouth falls open ever so slightly. Suo smiles as he reaches forward to tug the strand of hair free from behind your ear just to run his thumb over the smooth, silken ends.

“And, I’ve always, always believed in love at first sight.”

[piningforstan]

Talking in Your Sleep

Part One | Part Two

Summary: You start to suspect that there’s more to Stan than what he tells you, at least while he’s awake. Asleep is a different story.

Pairings: Stanley Pines x GN! Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Not really any? Let me know if I missed one

A/N: All Most of my oneshots are inspired by songs I guess😂 I’m thinking there might be 2 or 3 parts to this one

Stan lied.

To everyone.

Perhaps it was delusional to think that it didn’t apply to you. You, your reasoning was, were special. At the end of the day he crawled into bed next to you and pressed his cold toes to your calf, laughing as you squirmed away. You made grocery lists together and raided the aisles for food and supplies. It was you that he whispered his fears and hopes to.

So you thought nothing when he lied to the tourists, lied to the banks, lied to the man who “dropped” his wallet (Stan had pickpocketed it and you forced him to return it). You thought nothing when the lies bled into your daily life, domestic bliss disrupted with the occasional white lie. You told yourself: everyone does it.

It didn’t mean anything.

Right?

The room in the Shack that you stumbled upon on accident one day while looking for warmer blankets. “My brother’s room,” he told you. The brother, that you knew, was dead. You let it be, didn’t ask questions. But if it was his brother’s, why did all of the books say his name? Stanford Pines. Scrawled in margins and on the wall like a hasty addition. You didn’t have time to inspect it too closely, but the handwriting looked too neat to be Stan’s — tidy and cramped, unlike the sprawling letters you had seen him print on your paychecks.

STNLYMBLE his license plate read. It wasn’t his brother’s car, he affectionately retold stories of his time in the vehicle before. Maybe it was a tribute of some kind?

A million instances that accumulated in your mind like clutter in an attic, each one a box that you labeled and tucked away for later.

The first snow had just coated itself over Gravity Falls when the sleep talking started. You were roused awake by Stan twitching and muttering, the alarm clock blinking the time at you from the nightstand.

Too early. You rolled over, trying to grasp at the last remnants of your dream. It wasn’t much longer before he was muttering again, louder this time, hands clutching at the sheets and his face scrunching in unmistakable pain.

“Portal…help…” whatever disturbed his dreams made no sense to you here in the real world. You listened quietly. “I promise, Ma…I promise.”

Segments of promises and reassurances, bits of stories that you hadn’t heard before and couldn’t parse out yourself. It didn’t concern you at first, chalking it up to stress — about the Shack during the cold winter months, or maybe whatever work he did in the basement.

And then they became more specific. Unsettling.

“I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. An accident.” Sweat glistened on his forehead and wet the dark curls at his temples. The weirdest part is when he would whimper: “I’m sorry, Ford. I’m sorry. The portal…”

The portal, the portal, the portal — the one reoccurring connection to all of the sleep talking.

The dreams were worse during the holidays; Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years. It was sometime after the beginning of the new year and you were nestled into one another on the couch when you asked him, “What’s the portal?”

Stan kept his gaze on the TV but his body stiffened beneath you. “What?”

“The portal.”

“What’re you talkin’ about?”

You don’t know why, but you sensed that you’ve crossed a line, somehow, said something wrong. In an effort to lighten the mood, you injected a hint of humor in your voice, “You’ve been sleep talking lately and you keep mentioning a portal. Is it a bad dream or something?”

“Or something,” Stan coolly replied.

A beat passed between you, tension palpable. The TV flickered off. Stan untangled himself from you without a word and started up the stairs. You stumbled after him.

“Stan, what is going on?”

“Nothing,” he said, whirling on you, one hand braced on the rail. “I’m tired is all.”

You steeled yourself for an argument, aware of it approaching like a storm on the horizon. “For weeks — months — you’ve been having these awful dreams and talking about someone named Ford. And a portal.”

Sometimes you wake up in tears. Sometimes the pain in your voice is enough to make me nauseous. Sometimes you cry for forgiveness.

“S’probably nothin’.”

“Nothing? Stanford, I know something is wrong.”

You had both made it to the landing now, an old fashioned draw. Shadows thrown across his face, Stan possessed an unpredictable air, sharp and glinting like the blade of a knife in the dark. It slipped away just as quickly as the image had impressed upon you. Did you imagine it?

His features arranged into a semblance of shame, sheepish in nature. “I jus’ don’t wanna talk about it, alright? I’m sorry you had to deal with that. You ain’t gotta worry about me, doll.”

You wanted to press the matter. Wanted to know why he was being elusive and why his explanation rubbed you the wrong way.

But you didn’t.

A month or two passed. Spring lingered in the woods, melting snow and glimpses of greenery. You hadn’t mentioned the portal or the dreams again. Stan would go some nights without sleeping at all. You knew this only because you would wake up at night and roll over, expecting his warmth and finding the bed cold and empty.

“What are you doing in the basement?” You asked one day when you were feeling particularly brave. Stan was your kind-of boyfriend, after all, and you asserted to yourself that you had the right to know where he spent most of his time.

Stan, shoveling food in his mouth, shrugged and replied in a muffled tone, “Science stuff.”

He was off doing science stuff when you poked around the entirety of the Shack, searching for this alleged basement. How could there be no doors? You patrolled the perimeter of the building and spotted a cellar but it refused to budge. It unsettled you that couldn’t find an entry to the basement and hadn’t thought to even look before now.

“You wouldn’t want to see it, it’s boring,” he would tell you and you would believe him, his large hands roaming over your skin. “I can think of much more fun things to do up ‘ere.”

It worried at the back of your mind constantly, this idea that you were just another victim in Stan’s lies. Were you being dramatic?

The answer came to you in the dark of the night, moonlight spilling over the floor in silvery bars. Stan woke you as he staggered out of bed, muttering and bumping into the dresser that now hosted a mixture of your clothing. You sat up.

“Stan, honey? Where are you going?”

He never ceased his muttering to answer, persisting down the stairs in his sluggish manner. You grabbed a robe and threw it over yourself, following after him. After several more attempts to get his attention, you came to the conclusion that his sleep talking had now progressed into sleep walking. You knew you should’ve woken him but you curiously trailed behind, through the living room, the kitchen, and into the gift shop.

A blue glow from the vending machine washed over Stan as he ambled towards it, thick fingers pushing the buttons. Was he just hungry, sleepily venturing for a midnight snack? You wouldn’t put it past him. You reached out a hand, ready to rouse him from his trance, when a strange whirring emitted from the vending machine.

Shock rooted you in place as the machine didn’t release any food but rather swung open miraculously on its hinges, disclosing a corridor instead. Stan never even hesitated as he just continued on, broad shoulders and bedhead disappearing around the corner.

Rendered motionless for several moments, you finally decided to go after him. Where was he going? He could hurt himself.

You shuffled into the corridor. An uneasy feeling descended upon you like the legs of a spider, brushing against every inch of your skin. The chill cutting through your robe told you that you were being led further under ground, finally emptying into an enormous room.

And it wasn’t even the size of the room that surprised you, but rather the gigantic metal contraption crouched to one side. From what you could tell it wasn’t working. A huge, darkened eye stared at you from the middle of the rafters.

A window?

A portal.

Stan had ceased his dreamlike ambling to stand before this machine, gazing up at it like it might offer him some kind of absolution.

Your voice, small and afraid: “Stan?”

The trance broke, a taut rubber-band snapped in the way that his shoulders rounded and he glanced around in confusion. You could only imagine the look on your face as he turned to you.

Your name left his mouth, panicked. “What are you doing here?”

“Stan, what is that? Where are we?” Hysteria gripped you. “What’s going on?”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Stan replied.

“Did you…did you make this? What is this?”

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let’s go upstairs. I can explain all this. A’right?”

“No, Stan, I’m tired of all of the lies and the sneaking around. I’m staying here. And you’re going to tell me what’s going on.”

A defeated expression crossed his face. He went over to a panel of controls and leaned against it, hip and elbow. “Ya know I would never hurt ya on purpose, doll. I-I care about you.”

You wanted to soften. But you held yourself strong, heart fracturing. “Stan?”

“I guess I don’t know where to start.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, then slowly began to unravel the story that you had pieced together over the time. Except, this time, details were changed— the truth, you realized, not the altered version he had given you.

Everything you thought you knew about this man, this man that you loved, disappeared and took on a new form. The childhood in New Jersey accompanied by a twin brother. His years as a drifter a result of his father kicking him out, not a pursuit of freedom and independence. Even the Mystery Shack, his name, wasn’t his.

Stanley Pines, he said.

Stanley. Not Stanford.

And his brother wasn’t dead but lost in time, and he was trying valiantly to find him again.

“All of this, all of the lies…are for him. It’s my fault that he’s gone and I need to fix my mistake.” Stan’s voice had taken on a strained edge, on the verge of tears. “I’ve made so many but this one…this one I’m close to fixing.”

“You come down here to work on a…portal,” you said, not sure what else to say.

“It’s the only way.” Stan took a step towards you, then thought better of it. “I-I didn’t wanna lie. But I had no idea how much you would mean to me. It was one lie an’ then another and I couldn’t take any of ‘em back. Not without you lookin’ at me like how you are now.”

“I trusted you,” you breathed.

“I’m still me.” He flinched. “Well, kinda. Besides the name and everything. That hasn’t changed. The way I feel about you hasn’t changed.”

“What do you mean? Everything has changed,” you snapped, “Everything I know about you is a lie! I don’t even know what to think right now.” You shook your head as if to dislodge the torrent of thoughts. “You led me to believe that you were someone else. That your brother — who is actually you? — died. I grieved him with you, Stan. And you just lied to me again and again like it was nothing. How do I know I can trust you?”

“I’m tellin’ you, I didn’t want —”

“To lie? But lying is what you do best. It’s all clear to me now. I-I can’t do this. I need air.”

Your feet carried you without permission, away from the strange basement and the portal and Stan. Stanley. Not Stanford. You heard his heavy footsteps as he chased after you, one hand on your shoulder and spinning you to face him.

“Don’t go. Please. I can make this right.”

“No, you can’t.” You fought back tears as you looked at him, so heartbreakingly handsome and wounded and earnest. “I can’t be with someone who I don’t even know. Everything about us has been built on lies.”

He didn’t try and stop you as you stepped out of his grip and back into the gift shop, nor did he follow you. You shoved out onto the porch and into the greying, mushy snow, gathered in piles in the corners of the forest. You didn’t know where you were going, but you couldn’t be here.

[natashaismylove]

A meeting in the dark |N. Romanoff

Summary: A vampire has been causing havoc in the village, making everyone scared for their lives. Y/n decides to take matters into her own hands, but doesn’t realize that that is exactly what the vampire wants…

Pairing: Dark!Dom!Vampire!Natasha x Sub!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut, Dub-con, Mentions murder and death, Stalking, Mentions kidnapping, Wooden stake used as a dildo (Reader receiving), Oral (Reader receiving), Nipple play, Teasing, Praise, Sort of public sex, Biting, Blood, Masochism, Sadism. 18+ Minors DNI

Word count: 2k

═════════☾☆☽═════════

You could feel her eyes on you. You could feel her watching your every move as you walked through the woods. You couldn't hear her, you couldn't see her, but you knew she was there. Your wooden stake was secured to your belt, hidden by your jacket, and you hoped you could reach for it in time.

You knew this was a stupid idea. Using yourself as bait to kill a vampire wasn’t ideal, but you had to make do. You couldn’t allow more people in your town to die. You didn’t want to see any more corpses bled dry with bite marks on their neck. 

You nearly caught your foot on a root sticking up from the ground, but you were quick to regain your balance as you continued further into the woods. You let your mind wander, thinking about all the friends you’d lost to this wretched vampire. You wanted her dead.

“Where exactly are you taking me?”

You felt your blood run cold as you froze. She knew you were aware of her. You pulled your stake out from the holster, grasping it tightly in your hand. You heard a twig snap behind you and you knew she was approaching. Her steps came closer and closer until she was just close enough for you to-

Her reflexes were quicker than yours and she caught your raised hand clutching the wooden stake. She let out a cold chuckle, “You were going to stab me, huh? That’s not very nice of you.”

You clenched your jaw in fear, staring at the pale woman in front of you. Her red eyes bore into yours, a wicked smirk on her red-painted lips that almost mimicked blood. You couldn’t deny that she was beautiful, but underneath her alluring appearance was an evil killer.

“What was your plan here?” she tilted her head. “Lure me out into the woods and take my life?”

You knew you were trembling, terrified to your core. Her cold hand wrapped around your wrist was a constant reminder of just how close she was, of how easily she could sink her teeth into your neck and have your dead body on the ground in a second.

“I don’t really think you thought this through, did you?” she laughed. “You’re adorable for trying though.”

She pulled the stake out of your hand and placed it in the waistline of her pants before she started walking forwards, causing you to back up with every step she took. Your breath hitched when your back met with a tree, the vampire's face only inches away from yours. 

Your heart hammered in your chest as she stared down at you, a hungry look in her eyes. You felt yourself nearly get lost in them, but you were quick to remind yourself of what she was. She took hold of both of your wrists in one of her hands, pinning them above your head. She leaned in closer, her nose brushing against your jawline. Her mouth hovered over your neck and you shut your eyes tightly, waiting for the inevitable bite that would end your life.

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna kill you. Wouldn’t want a pretty thing like you to go to waste like that,” she spoke into your ear, placing a kiss directly under it. 

You blinked in confusion as she pressed more kisses down your neck, sucking gently on your skin to leave a bruise. You felt a moan form in the back of your throat, but you held it back. 

“I’ve been watching you for so long…” she whispered as she moved to the other side of your neck. “Dreamt of you…”

Your breathing picked up at her words. You were confused and scared, but somehow also aroused. You wanted to slap yourself for feeling that way, having such thoughts about a murderous creature.

She chuckled, raising her head up to face you, her nose against yours. “I can smell you, how much this is turning you on.”

You became flustered, your mouth opening in surprise. Said surprise only increased when she quickly took your mouth with her own, kissing you hard. You were taken aback and wanted to pull away, but your body overruled your mind and you returned the kiss. 

This is so wrong rang in your head over and over. You were almost angry at your body for reciprocating, for practically melting into her like this. Her tongue tangled with yours, and a quiet whimper was forced out of you against your will.

The hand that wasn’t holding your wrists slid down your side and to your thigh, raising your leg up against her hip. She placed her thigh between your legs, nudging it up against your center. You moaned at the delicious friction she was creating, a pleasurable shock flowing through your body.

She pulled away but kept her forehead on yours, continuing to grind you against her thigh. “Doesn’t that feel good, angel?”

You kept your mouth shut, shaking your head as if you didn’t want to admit it.

She hummed. “Lie all you want, I can see right through you.”

She placed her hand on your chest, grabbing your shirt before she began to unbutton it. The cold air hit your now bare chest and caused your nipples to harden. You felt so exposed as she looked down at you, taking in all of you with lust written all over her face.

She leaned down and took one of your nipples into her mouth, sucking on it gently. Your head fell back with a moan as she continued, giving your tits just the attention you needed so badly. She moved on to the other one, giving it the same treatment as you continued to let out sounds of pleasure.

She let go of your nipple before she leaned back up. She let go of your hands and took a step back. You looked at her, confused as to why she stopped.

“Undress for me.” She spoke in a low voice, and you knew it wasn’t a question.

You felt shy under her gaze, the guilt over what you were doing burned painfully in your chest. You looked down at the ground before slowly taking off your shirt. You felt embarrassed as you pulled down your pants, now standing in front of her in just your panties.

“Undress completely.” She ordered sternly.

You swallowed and hooked your fingers onto your underwear, shyly dragging them down your legs. You were hyper-aware of the fact that you were now completely naked, standing out in the open in the middle of the forest. 

“Good girl.” She spoke with lust lacing her voice before she stepped closer to you again. She placed her hands on your hips and turned you around. “Hands on the tree.” 

You took a deep breath and did as she told, placing your hands on the tree in front of you. Her hands ran over your ass before she sunk down to her knees, spreading your cheeks to get a view of your pussy. 

She moaned as she watched your hole clench around nothing, your glistening lips were an obvious sign of how turned on you were. “Fuck, that’s a pretty pussy…”

You placed your forehead against the cold tree, trying to control your breathing. That only lasted so long as you felt the air be forced out of your lungs as her mouth attached to your pussy. Her tongue swiped through your slit before circling your clit. She wrapped her lips around your sensitive pearl and you felt your knees nearly buckle under you.

“God, you taste amazing. Could eat you for days non-stop, I swear…” she groaned.

She dipped her tongue into your hole and she felt your clench around her. Her nails dug into your thighs with her tough grip on them as she fucked you with her tongue. You grew wetter and wetter by the second as she caressed your inner walls, nudging lightly against that one heavenly spot inside of you.

She pulled away, playfully biting your ass without actually breaking the skin. She stood up and pushed herself up against you, her chest flush against your back. She placed her hands on your stomach and let one of her hands travel down to your center. 

She parted your lips with her pointer and ring finger, pressing her middle finger against your clit. She started to rub on it while listening to your little whines and whimpers. “You’re so wet for me…” 

You closed your eyes and enjoyed the feeling of her playing with you. It felt so wrong but so right at the same time. Her fingers expertly worked you so close to your release, but your eyes shot open as you felt something nudge against your hole.

She smiled against your ear as you gasped when you felt the thick end of your wooden stake be pushed into you. You felt so ashamed as you moaned from being filled up, the stake reaching deep inside of you.

The vampire breathed out in awe as she watched it disappear into you. “Look at how well your pussy takes it…”

Your breath hitched as she started to move it in and out of you slowly, coating the object in your wetness. Her other hand continued to rub circles on your clit to make it easier to fuck you with the stake.

She chuckled as she continued to move it into you. “Isn’t it funny? You were gonna kill me with it, but now it’s deep inside of your pussy fucking you. You love it, don’t you? I’m making you feel so good, aren’t I?”

You only whined in response, refusing to verbally acknowledge how amazing you felt. Her fingers pinched your clit, causing you to yelp. 

“Answer me.” She ordered you angrily. 

You looked down at the ground in shame before nodding. “You’re making me feel good…”

“That’s more like it.” She moved the angle of the stake a little bit until you moaned loudly. “Right there, honey?”

“Mhm!” You hummed as a reply, your head falling back against her shoulder. She continued to hit the spot over and over again and you could feel your body tensing up. 

She grazed her fangs against your neck, placing a kiss on your collarbone. “It won’t kill you if I bite you, it’ll only hurt a bit…you want me to bite you, angel?” She asked you. 

You couldn’t stop yourself from nodding, needing to feel it so badly. Your breathing picked up, your heartbeat hammered in your chest as the knot in your stomach grew. She never let up on moving the stake in and out of you at a hurried pace as she let her teeth sink into your neck. The pain triggered your orgasm and created the most wonderful feeling you had ever experienced in your life.

She released your neck from her mouth and watched as a drop of blood trickled down from the wound. Your body relaxed into her, her arms wrapping around your waist to steady you. “Such a pretty girl when you come for me.”

You blinked slowly, turning your head enough to look at her. She made eye contact with you, bringing her hand up to lightly stroke your cheek. An almost wicked smile played on her lips as she watched your chest rise and fall rapidly. She licked the blood in the corner of her mouth before she spoke. “I’m definitely keeping you…”

═════════☾☆☽═════════

Taglist: @sayah13 @aflopmop @agent99galanzo @abeillesurlalunerose @thenazwife @shayzulia @elenaguarnieri @mrsromanovaa @therealwanda @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @meshuganna @luccyland @alwaysgoodnight @sheneonromanoff @mrromanoff @lesbean-slut @alwaysharmony @i-loveyoubutyourenotmine @wizardofstories @the-night-owl-blr @riveramorylunar @wandaspropertyonly @inluvwithfictionalwomen @arabellaolsen @lovelyy-moonlight @nclgsticore @madelinelcl @justemiris @natashamaximoff69

[mustainegf]

hiii can you please write reader helping 1984 era james during a panic attack? thank you!!! ps, i really love your stuff 😊

This is so sad, I’m such a sap for sad James, I feel so bad for him and his past, and everything he’s gone through :(

𝐌𝐀𝐌𝐀, 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐆𝐎 ¹⁹⁸⁴

It's always the same in this house on Mother's Day. James in the shadow of the living room, his eyes far away, his movement slower than usual. I feel it, even before seeing him. The day presses upon his shoulders, even before he has risen from bed.

Lars already stands in the kitchen, his voice shouting through the thin walls. He's always got some story to tell, and today it's about his mom. Something about him being eighteen, sneaking out to some party, and coming home to her waiting with a smirk and a cup of tea. The laughter in his voice is a knife to the room, cutting through the silence James seems to be clutching to.

I glance over at him. He sits up on the couch, hunched, his hands clamped into the arms of the chair a little too tightly. His jaw is clenched, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Mother's day had always been brutal, as far as James was concerned. His mom had died when he was 16, a slow, painful battle with cancer that he never really got to process, not fully. And his dad? He'd left when James was 13. The scar still bled sometimes.

Lars is oblivious, his laughter filling the house as he pours another bowl of cereal. I want to stop him, turn the conversation in another direction, but it's too late. James is getting smaller in his skin, shrinking away from the room.

Then it does. He's off in an instant, out of the room and wordless, fists clenched. Lars stops midsentence, looking puzzled. I know better. I flash a hasty smile at him as if to say, it's fine, and follow James out into the hallway.

He paces around our little bedroom. His hands shake, his breathing hoarse. The door stands open, but somehow it seems shut to me. He doesn't notice me at first, he's too far inside his head, tracing and retracing the same dark grooves he always follows on days like today.

"James?" I say softly, coming in. He straightens, rigid, his back to me, his shoulders shaking.

"Don't," he says, his voice tight. "Just… don't."

But I just can't leave him like this. Not today. I shut the door behind me and take another step forward, to reach out for him, and he pulls away, turning to face me. His eyes are bloodshot, his face streaked with tears, and there's anger there, burning anger.

"I hate it," he spits, voice shaking. "Every fucking year. It's just this wound that doesn't heal. I wake up and it's just...there. Like she just died all over again. And Lars-" He breaks off. "He's in there, laughing, telling stories like everything's fucking fine, like we all have these great memories. But I don't. I never had that. My dad left. My mom…" He trails off, shaking his head harshly.

I step closer, my heart aching for him. "I know, James. I know today is hard for you."

"Hard?" He laughs bitterly, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. "It's not just hard, it's hell. I didn't even get to say goodbye to her. I didn't know how. I was just a stupid fuckin' kid trying to act like everything was okay. And now… now I hardly remember her voice anymore. I don't remember what she smelled like, or how she used to hum while she was cooking. It's all.. fucking gone." He starts pacing again, this time faster as his breathing quickens. "And my dad… He wasn't even bothered to stick around. He just left and was never seen again. What does that tell you about me? What am I?"

I move toward him slow and careful, like he's some injured animal that will strike out. "It doesn't make you anything, James. It isn't your fault. None of this is your fault."

But he's spiraling now, his breathing getting faster and faster as his chest rises and falls like he can't get enough air. His eyes are wild, unfocused, and I can feel the panic setting in, wrapping itself around him.

"I can't breathe," he chokes out, clutching at his shirt. "I can't-"

"James, look at me," I continue firmly, stepping in front of him, both of his hands in mine. "You need to breathe, okay? Just breathe with me."

He's shaking so hard now, and I help him down to the floor, kneeling with him while he struggles to pull in air. I know if I don't get him to calm down, it's going to get worse.

"Listen to my voice, okay?" I whisper, taking his face between my hands and making him focus on me. "Breathe with me. In… and out. Nice and slow. You can do this. Just breathe."

He nods, but it's shaky, and his breath is still ragged. I keep my hands on his face, making sure not to get my body too close, and make him panic more.

"In," I whisper. "Out. You're all right. I'm here. You aren't alone."

His breathing starts to calm, just a little, but enough. I feel his hands unclenching. But he's still crying, silent tears shooting down his face as he fights against not falling apart. It truly is heartbreaking hearing his little hiccups and sniffles.

"I'm sorry," he whispers with a breaking voice. "I'm sorry I'm like this."

I shake my head, tugging him closer as I wrap my arms around him. "You don't need to apologize, James. For this. Never."

We sat there for at least an hour, the two of us on the floor, holding each other. I can feel his heartbeat against my chest, the rise and fall of his breathing as it starts to even out. But I know the pain is still in his heart, and deep down, I know it always will be.

My heart shatters more with the though, the mere idea, that at the bare soul, he's just that same 16 year old boy, who needs his mama.

"I miss her," he finally whispers, hardly audible. "I miss her so much."

"I know," I reply softly, my fingers moving down through his wavy sandy hair. "I know you do."

As the minutes tick by, I can feel him start to come back to me, piece by piece. At last he tugs back, wiping at his face with shaking hand. "Thanks..." he whispers softly.

"Don't thank me, baby." I smile at him, brushing a tear from his cheek.

"All I want you to do, is remember her."

[heartfullofleeches]

Yan Show Host + Amab Co-Host Reader [18+]

Warnings/Tags: Slight Exhibitionism, Chastity Devices, No Gender for Reader mentioned but they have as penis, Reader is Submissive and Agreeable.

-

It was anyone's guess why so many of them gravitated towards you of all people.

The ones who didn't know anyway- Contestants still under the belief it was any other game show; chasing that dream of wealth and stardom. You were one of those constants at some point in time. The memory of how exactly you found that number bounces around from time to time. Did you see it in the paper, or was as it something you heard in a dream? Has your interview even been over the phone to being with?

Regardless, there was something that separated you from these contestants. Their desperation oozed from their honey-coated smiles and crude innuendo waved in your direction. Perhaps they thought flirting with you would gain them some traction somehow. Some excitement to liven the crowd or potentially butter you up as if you had any say when it came to eliminations. Maybe they just thought you were cute. Whatever their reasonings were, all guests ended up the same at the end of the show. One way or another, none are the same individual as they were before the curtains were drawn.

Till that stage, something had to be put in place to prevent your hands from wondering. A good host trusts the word of his second in charge, but what he didn't have faith in was how persuasive some guests can be. The allure of human company was a tricky beast. Host had been a victim to it himself once. It was the entire reason you were here.

"Not too snug, it is?"

Arms braced behind your back, you do your best to remain still as cool air breezes your bare skin. Host traces the trail the goosebumps kissing the flesh of your thighs with his fingers, guiding his index and middle digits upwards toward the metal ring encaged around your balls. You hardly flinch as they come into contact - preoccupied by the cold biting at you; your trousers cuffed at your ankles. The pressure encasing your shaft compared null to the chill. Noting the chitter of your teeth, Host pulls your pants further up your legs, resting at your knees.

"No, Sir. There is some... slight discomfort, but I assume that is normal with these things."

Host nods along as you speak, faux lips ghosting the lock securing the device to your loins. "Good to know. My apologies for the weather. Couldn't have you getting all excited and ruining our little game before it even starts, now could we?"

There were several answers you could give, but only one came to mind.

"No, Sir."

"That's what I like to hear. It's no question why our guests attach to you like flies to honey. A shame they can't have you for themselves, but I don't remember adding you to our list of wonderful prizes. " Host pats your thigh as he rises off his knees, adjusting your pants on your waist for you. He untucks your shirt, formerly stuffed beneath your belt, allowing it to hang freely - hiding the slight swell looming the crotch of your pants. His hand rests at your hip as he leads you step by step in the direction of the velvet curtains shutting you off from the remainder of the stage.

Patience runs short amongst the contestants as their whispers bled through paper thin fabric. If there was one thing Host despised it had to be delaying the start of his show, but for you he'd make an exception.

The flowing ends of your shirt perfectly mask the hand cupping your caged dick as Host trails behind you - hugging you from behind as you step out on stage. What appeared to the audience as a host and his co-host being friendly with one another wasn't too far off from the whole truth.

[angelpuns]

Donnie practically pushed Mikey out of the way to get through the door, squeezing past him just in time to see the fading blue of one of Leo's portals. 

He’d barely had time to grab his bo, head still fuzzy from sleep and pajama pants uncomfortably askew from Being woken suddenly. 

Mikey was in a similar state of disarray, his shirt riding up his shell and his eyes wide and glancing around the room wildly. 

They'd both been woken by Leo's shouting, rushing out of bed to help their brother only to find Raph in a Leo-free train car. 

“Raph? What happened? Why was he yelling?” 

As his brain woke up, he was reminded of their mission for the day: reverse Leo's ‘family-forgetting’ curse or whatever it was. 

So it probably had something to do with that. 

“I dunno! I came ta wake him up like he asked me to yesterday and he just- he started shoutin' at me!” Raph turned, holding his hand to a small cut on his arm. It bled sluggishly, and Donnie quickly opened a drawer in Leo's desk that he knew had band-aids. 

“ He musta had a nightmare or somethin’, I tried to help but I think I only made it worse “ Raph worried, letting Donnie slap the band-aid over the cut, “ he didn't seem ta recognize me or know where he was or anythin' “ 

They were silent for a moment, before Mikey piped up. 

“ But he’s never made a portal during a panic attack before….are you sure it was that, I mean-”

“ oh my banana pancakes,” Donnie slapped a hand to his head. His mind had been running through every possible Leo could have ‘woken up and chosen violence’. 

It could have been a nightmare. But the answer was so obviously related to their current curse-relted predicament. 

“ The curse! It’s not- He didn’t just forget us the one time, “ He explained, starting to pace. An uncomfortably hot feeling pooled in his stomach, anxiety bubbling up from there. He shook his hands out in an attempt to dispel the feeling, the lingering worry about Leo now being somewhere totally random making him nauseous. 

“ It's- its like he resets! He must have forgotten again when he went to sleep- like- like he just got reset overnight!” He rambled, grimacing, “ This complicates everything, how’re we gonna get him to cooperate if he wakes up with a different reaction to three strangers every single day!? How are we gonna fix this is if he forgets the curse even exists!?”

Raph stopped him, hands on shoulders. 

“ Donnie, take a breath,” he sighed, and Donnie reluctantly stopped and shut his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath in and letting it out slowly. 

“We can get him back, no problem,” Raph smiled, “ ya still got that tracker in ‘im, right?” 

Donnie blinked. Right, how could he forget? 

“ of course! TO THE LAB!” he whipped around and hurried for the door, trusting they'd follow him. 

“ I'm sure ‘Nardo can fend for himself, he does have his swords,” He noted, if only to make himself feel a little less anxious, “ but I would rather him not be wandering the streets of NYC without half of his memories.” 

He continues to ramble, even as he stepped into his lab and  whipped out his keyboard, quickly pulling up the tracking device coordinates and corresponding map. 

“What if he doesn't come home before night? Will he just forget us again?” Mikey asked, swiping some stuff off of Donnie's desk and taking a seat on the surface.

Mikey suddenly gasped, grinning, " this is just like that one movie! With Adam Sandler and Drew Barrymore!"

Donnie grimaced, but he had bigger concerns right now. Even if those were parts to a pretty important project. He opted to ignore that and just think harder about the actual matter at hand. And the plot of 50 First Dates. Just in case it could actually help them somehow.

“ I assume so, yes. And that amnesia-riddled plot is more medically related, so sort of but not really."

"What's more concerning is that he probably won't remember why he's out there, and that will probably introduce more anxiety to the mix,” Donnie murmured, watching as Leo's indicator moved slowly through the streets of New York. He was on then other side of the river, and seemed to be hopping rooftops for now, “ like I said, he can take care of himself, but we should at least try and convince him to come back to the lair before nightfall. I don't know if his amnesia is progressing or not yet, which is also concerning.” 

Silence again. There was also the obvious concern about Leo being gone. Which, unfortunately, seemed to be one of the more difficult things they'd been collectively working through. 

The first six months or so, Leo was never left alone. Not for lack of trusting him or thinking he wasn't capable of taking care of himself ( although he was fairly injured for most of that time ) but for the fact that none of them seemed to want to let him out of their sight. It was partially why Donnie had upgraded the trackers to track their vital signs down to their blood pressure. He didn't like not knowing. He didn't like remembering the feeling of Leo being gone after- 

Donnie let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. It was gonna be okay. Leo wasn't gone, he just wasn't in the lair. And he couldn't possibly know how anxiety inducing that was due to the aforementioned amnesia-curse. 

But they knew where he was, and they knew he was okay for now. 

The computer suddenly let out a beep. then another. Donnie looked up, watching as Leo's dot stopped moving. His heart rate increased, and the beeping increased with it. 

There was one thing that they hadn't really accounted for, after all. 

The chance of Leo ending up in a fight.

-----

Part 3 to the unnamed fic/au/whatever this is

I don't like this part as much, but I really am just trying to get the idea out of my head and into writing, haha! So I hope the OOC-ness of everybody isn't too bad :)

I think this would def work better as a fic, but I am kinda wanting to explore it as a comic too. Comics just take a lot of time and I can't do all the fun thought-stuff I like to do on fics so :/

Ah well I will simply keep doing whatever I want, so enjoy.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4