#and it will be unbearable at first to wake up where you are and have to see and accept it in its totality

[sadburntbread]

BATFAM X NEGLECTED! MALE READER - PART TWO -

----- Warnings before you read ----- torture, experimentation, angst, death, use of needles

A soft ringing noise wakes you from your rest, you tried to find the cause of it, however you couldn't find the strength to open your eyes. Slowly, the noise got louder. The ringing caused a pounding in your head that made you desperately want to cover your ears, to try and block out the terrible noise. Then, it faded into a low ringing, not exactly perfect but much better.

It was in that moment of peace that everything came back to you, your family, the fight, your death.

You suddenly felt cold; an unbearable chill ran through your body. You weren't sure if the sudden chill was from the fear of your death or if it was because of the temperature. You wondered if this was how your mother felt when she died. No, you don't want to think about her, knowing how disappointed she would be in you. Your heart started racing as panic began to set in, a single thought repeated over and over again, like a mantra inside your head.

"I don't want to die"

"I don't want to die"

"I DON'T WANT TO DIE"

You needed to calm down and breathe.

Your body felt heavy as if tons of weight were resting on it, everything hurt. everything but your arm... Why couldn't you feel your arm? You could feel your heartbeat getting faster and your breath getting shorter-

Then your breath caught as you realized something, you could feel your heart beating. That had to mean you weren't dead. With this realization you tried even harder to open your eyes, you struggled for a few minutes before you could finally crack them open. You took a few moments to look around the room. The walls and floor were completely concrete with a red door near the foot of the bed you were in, to the right you noticed a small rolling table that seemed to have tools on it, but you weren't able to see from your current position. A soft clack of metal caused your attention to drift to your left hand; you were strapped down by a thick piece of metal. When you tried to lift that arm you noticed that one of the screws were loose, maybe you could unscrew it with your other hand. Your gaze drifted over, and you noticed a large wrap around your stomach, your heart shuddered as you decided to ignore that, escape comes first. As you looked over, all the hope left you. Your arm was gone, cut off just below the shoulder. It was wrapped in some white gauze that was drenched in blood.

A loud creek caused your body to tense, looking over to the cause of the sound, you saw a man holding a clipboard walk in. He wore a long lab coat and had a stethoscope draped around his neck. His dark brown hair just barely reached his shoulders; his eyes had a bored look to them however, as soon as he noticed that you were awake his eyes lit up.

"Good morning!" he walked up to your right side and looked closely at the bandage. "You woke up a bit faster than I thought you would. Very good" After a moment he clicked his tongue at the state of the bandage. The man then walked over to the small table, placed his clipboard down and rolled it over to the bed. Thanks to this you were able to see most the stuff on it. There were multiple tools that looked like something a doctor would use and a few that you couldn't recognize. You opened your mouth to speak, to ask the man where you were. However, as if reading your thoughts he stopped you. "Try not to speak for a few days. Your throat was damaged a bit during the explosion. But you don't need to worry, you are safe here. I will take good care of you". His soft smile did not match the look in his eyes. "Your stomach was in the worst shape, you lost a lot of important internal organs, but I was able to get some...replacements" You wanted to ask the man what he meant but decided to save the questions for later. The man then began unwrapping the bandage on your shoulder, his touch was gentle, yet it still caused a sharp pain to shoot through your body. You grunted in discomfort but that only seemed to make your throat ache. The man then shook his head and sighed. "See? what did I tell you about speaking?", You wanted to argue that a grunt wasn't speaking, and it only happened because of him but the lingering pain in your throat caused you to instead just give him a glare. The man simply ignored your glare and instead picked up a fresh roll of gauze and rewrapped your shoulder you had to hold back any sounds in fear of the pain from your throat. He then looked at your throat. "This one was replaced a just a few hours ago, and lucky for you I am almost done with the replacement for your arm". At his words you shot him a surprised look, was this something Bruce paid for? You found it hard to believe given the state of the room you were in.

While you were lost in thought, the man then pulled out a needle and stuck it into the side of your neck, the pain was immediate. You let out a sharp yell which only made it worse. You looked up at the man, he was speaking to you, but you couldn't hear what he said. Your eyes got cloudy before sleep pulled you under.

The next time you woke up you were in a different room, this one was bright, the walls were white and there was a large light positioned overtop of you. The man from before slouched in his chair on your right side. He seemed very focused on what he was doing, he hadn't even noticed that you wake up yet. You steadied yourself and watched the man, making sure not to move any muscle more than necessary. You knew that the best thing to do in this situation was to stay quiet, after all this unknown man held a sharp tool against your skin. He seemed to be attaching the nerves to something metal, an arm you guessed, you couldn't see form this angle.

Your gaze was trained on the man as he worked. You realized that you didn't feel any pain from the operation, you realized that it must've been from whatever drug he injected you with before.

It took a while, but the man finished with a satisfied expression. After checking over his work he looked to you, a look of surprise crossed his face as he noticed you awake.

"Oh my, how long have you been awake?" He asked, as if you could answer him with what he did to your throat. Your glare seemed to speak volumes because he let out a laugh "Don't worry, you can speak now. You have an incredible healing speed. Definitely something to take advantage of" The man seemed to mumble the last part.

"Who are you?" Your voice was rough and scratchy from not using it. How long have you been out?? "Where am I?" You tried to sound threating, however given your current situation, you probably looked no more intimidating than an injured doe.

The man smiled back "I am the one who saved you, my name is Dr. Crane. During the fight between Batman and Joker you were left to die, the building you were placed in blew up. Luckly for you I was grabbing supplies for an experiment nearby and happened to be passing through the wreckage", He watched you carefully as he recounted that day's events, "Unfortunately, there was no saving your right arm. After all, it was hardly attached. Not to even mention the terrible state of your stomach, I was surprised you were even alive, it was then that I knew I had to have you as my patient. However, I had to sever the remaining bit of your arm and drag you with me. Once we were safe and far enough, I stitched you up enough to survive and brought you back to my lab."

You knew you couldn't trust him however knowing your family left you to die shattered your heart. You never thought they would just leave. You realized then that you had never truly mattered to them; you were just a tool. You resigned yourself to the painful truth before asking Dr. Crane another question.

"So, what do you plan to do with me? Kill me? Use me against Batman, I'm sure you figured out his identity because of me". You felt tired. Honestly, at that point you wished you had died, at least then you would've been able to see your mother again, feel her warm arms wrap around you, more comforting than a blanket.

At your question the man let out a laugh. "What I plan to do? It is simple. I plan to make you into my greatest project. No one will stand in your way when I am done." He seemed excited at the mere thought of your future success, "Ah, and about Batman. I honestly could not care less about him; I am a scientist after all, my projects are the most important to me".

You squinted your eyes at him, disbelief coating your features. However, you paused when you saw him reaching for a needle. "What is that for?" You demanded.

"Well, I thought since you keep waking up, we can try a few experiments. you seem healed enough for now". With that he injected the needled into your upper left arm. Pain shot through your body. Red dots danced through your vision; you hollered out in pain. You tried to move away from the pain, how? the pain is everywhere, but you were strapped to the table. Dr. Crane only watched as you withered in pain. You thought you were going to pass out, but you couldn't allow yourself to.

Use him. Use this man's smarts and take revenge on Bruce. For what he did to you. Don't give into the pain. Stay awake!

A voice echoed in your head pulling you from unconsciousness, forcing you awake. Forcing you to suffer through the pain.

Someone- Please it hurts. Please, make it stop! Save me! PLEASE!

Your pleading only seemed to make the voice stronger in your ears, refusing to let you rest. Until finally, the pain subsided into a dull ache across your body. You could feel your own face wet with sweat and tears, your body trembled and twitched. Your eyes were blurry as you tried to focus them on Dr. Crane.

"You managed to stay awake?" the surprise evident in his voice, "Interesting..." Dr. Crane rustled around the table, picking up a small vile and holding it up to your lips, "Let's keep going until you can't anymore. Ok, M/n?" Although he phrased it as a question, you didn't get the luxury to answer before he poured the liquid down your throat. You tried to turn your head, but he squeezed your cheeks with his other hand and forced your mouth open and your head still. You could feel the strange liquid slide down your throat as you tried not to swallow. Eventually you couldn't hold it anymore and had to swallow it down.

Dr. Crane did many experiments that day, you don't remember how many, only the unforgettable, excruciating pain. You lost count of the experiments after around number five.

You learned a new meaning of pain that day.

You don't know how long you were out, but when you woke up again you were in the first room you started out in. You realized you weren't strapped to the bed this time. After gathering the strength to move you got up and looked around the room, for a way out. A Sharp pain emerged from your stomach and arm thanks to the movement. Ignore it, you told yourself, there's more important things to focus on. It was obvious that your only hope was the door. So, you walked to it, using the wall for assistance.

The door was locked, you sighed, of course it was. The faint sound of footsteps echoed through the halls; you hurried back to your bed and just as you sat down, Dr. Crane walked in carrying a tray with food. After noticing you sitting back down, he let out a small huff.

"Now, now. If you're going to be trying to escape, I will have to strap you back down". He sounded like he was scolding a disobedient child. Dr. Crane placed the food down on the table that was now cleared of tools, aside from some gauze. He rolled the table over to you. On the tray was mashed potatoes, some kind of soup, and water. You looked down at the food, unsure. Dr. Crane, noticing your reluctance, picked up the spoon and grabbed some mashed potatoes, he made eye contact with you, then ate the spoonful. "See? Nothing to be afraid of, no poison. We well work on poison resistance another time"

You hesitated before hunger took ahold; you quickly scarfed down the food, as if someone would take it away. Dr. Crane watched as you ate, making sure you finished it all. You chose to ignore the obvious hint of amusement in his eyes.

"How long have I been here?" You asked once you finished eating. Dr. Crane seemed pleased that you spoke with him, he most likely assumed you would hate him. You do; you just need information.

"It has been 9 months and 13 days since I brought you here". He answered, "but, who's counting?"

You hesitated for a moment however you couldn't hold the question back. "And my family, do they know?" Your voice was quiet, as if you didn't want to hear the answer. As you met Dr. Crane's gaze your eyes held an unspeakable plea, one not even you could understand. As if Dr. Crane could read your every thought; he left your question unanswered. You laid down on your side, away from Dr. Crane, as though hiding from the truth. Dr. Crane gathered the empty dishes and left in silence; the soft click of the door rang through the air.

The next day Dr. Crane sat and chatted with you as you ate. When you finished eating, he grabbed the tray and pulled a newspaper out of his pocket and set it down on the small table. Once he left the room you cautiously picked it up. After reading the headline you felt your heart drop in sadness? fear? anger? you couldn't say for sure.

"BRUCE WAYNE REFUSES TO SPEAK AT M/N WAYNE FUNERAL"

Your fingers traced the words, then drifted to the article. Your funeral was court and simple, much like your mother's. Her voice soft in your ear as you read.

See? they never cared about you. Take revenge on them. Don't forget all those years of neglect.

The voice was all around you, there was no escape from it. It demanded revenge, you began wanting it to.

Days turned into months, then years. Every day was similar; Dr. Crane would do experiments; he'd keep testing new things until you passed out. After the experiments He would bring you food, during these times he'd always sit and talk with you, it would be about anything that came to mind, you began to feel a type of connection with him. You almost felt like he was your friend, or maybe like the big bother you always wished you had. You resigned yourself to this fate, vowing to one day get the revenge that voice promised you.

After the first couple months Dr. Crane started putting his experiments to the test. He'd take you to what he called the 'training room'. It was a white padded room with vents in all corners. There you would train in strength, agility, resistance and even testing your smarts. The worst experiment that would happen in this room was when he would release a poisonous gas, you were told to bear with it, and you did, past limits you once thought you had.

Other times he put the room to a terrible cold temperature, leaving you with nothing more than your boxers. Even as frost bite gnawed at your bare body, you gritted your teeth and refused to give into the pain.

Everyday Dr. Crane would try injecting you with something new he invented. Sometimes the drug would fail, and he would have to rework it until he deemed it a success, then after that he would take you to the training room to test it.

It was a miserable experience. However, it allowed the betrayal and hatred to build over the years you were there.

You were strong, stronger than ever before. You had him to thank for it, and you knew it. So, you resolved to give him a painless death. You had been planning your escape for years and finally you could leave and extract your revenge. As you looked down to Dr. Crane's smiling face, you knew you did what you had to do. However, you could not stop the silent tears that fell down your face. In one way or another, this man had become someone you learned to care for.

"Wonderful..." Dr. Crane's voice was shaky, he coughed up some blood. So much for a painless death. "No, don't cry over this. You are my greatest success; through your actions I will live on". His voice faded as the fire you caused wrapped around the two of you. However, His eyes remained open, so you leaned down and closed them as a final gesture of gratitude, then you left. You walked through the fire that consumed the lab, the building crumbled around you. The scene almost beautiful in a way, your white pajama pants slightly charred at the ends, you didn't even flinch as your bare feet stepped on the burning embers.

Thanks to Dr. Crane you have truly become a monster, driven only by the need for revenge.

TO BE CONTINUED

Tags @mallowryblog @blover143 @venomsvl @sunnyfield

[karaaeilish]

𝜗𝜚 LET GO b. eilish. . .

ex!billie x married!reader

➥ ANGST & FLUFF

🎧 STARRY NIGHT — JORDAN CRITZ

tw — r has a husband, bil has a gf, cheating, desperate kisses, r and billie miss each other like CRAZY. probably the best thing i’ve written in months.

you moved on. you forgot her. you don’t love her anymore. at least that's what you kept telling yourself for the last four years since you broke up.

that's what you told yourself when you started dating another man.

when he put a ring on your finger.

when you became his legal wife.

you still wanted her. her lips, her touch, her kisses, the warmth of her body. you missed every second spent away from your billie. it was unbearable. it hurt that you couldn't be with her. it hurt that you were breaking the heart of a really good person who truly loved you. and it wasn't his fault that your heart would forever belong to another woman.

you were sure that you would never meet her again, never hear her voice, sweet as honey, so tenderly calling your name. never feel the warmth of her fingertips on your arms. but how wrong you were.

you felt a shiver run down your spine as you felt her presence behind you. her perfume hit you so hard that you thought you’re gonna faint.

"hey," she says softly, and you don't even have to look at her to feel that smile on her face; shy and sweet. the smile you imagined every morning, waking up in bed with someone you didn't love.

you turn around, meeting her sky-blue eyes, so familiar, but so foreign after so many years. you freeze for a few seconds. "billie?"

your voice doesn't sound as confident as you'd like, betraying all the longing, pain and love. sincere, endless love for this girl.

"so you’re married?" she points her finger at your wedding ring, making you shift from foot to foot, as if ashamed of it. "yeah… a couple of months ago"

she smiles weakly, pretending not to be jealous. that she wouldn't want to be in this man's shoes, touching you, kissing you, seeing you every damn day. the thought of someone else's hands on your body made her stomach clench painfully.

"congrats" she says quietly, glancing at your lips, then looks away, not wanting you to see her eyes when she asks the next question. "is he good?"

billie blurts out, but then wants to bite her tongue. it's too much to ask. not after four years of separation.

a spark runs through your body. hope? warmth? joy?

"he's… good" you say softly, leaving out one important detail: you don't love him.

billie's eyes darken, as if that wasn't what she wanted to hear. deep down, she was waiting for only three words. the ones that were now so deep in your throat. an awkward silence hangs between you, which you dare to break. "what about—?"

but your question is cut off when you hear a clear, high-pitched voice coming from a few meters away. billie sighs heavily, breaking out of the world of thoughts where it was just the two of you. where you wore her wedding ring on your finger.

a short, pleasant-looking girl appears from behind her, immediately grabbing her arm and kissing her cheek. the answer to your question immediately became clear, and you feel like you’re gonna throw up. this was so wrong. she was no longer yours.

noticing your piercing gaze, her girlfriend turns around completely, still holding billie's arm in a tight grip. she looks first at you, then at the billie, asking a silent question.

"uh, millie, this is my… old friend" after these words, a nasty aftertaste remains on her tongue, as if she had just committed a crime, calling the love of her life an 'old friend'

you smiled falsely, meeting millie's eyes. "nice to meet you" you did everything possible to keep these words from dripping with venom.

the girl smiles innocently, then tugs billie's hand a few times, pulling her away from you. "baby, the show's 'boutta start!"

and then you finally remembered where you were. the opera. and somewhere here your husband is sitting, looking for you. you need to get back to him before he sees you looking at your ex. it will break his loving heart.

you smile at billie one last time as a farewell, whispering something like goodbye under your breath before turning back to your husband, who has already lost you.

"my love, are you okay?" he took your hand in his, squeezing it gently. the action calmed you down a bit, and you gave him a soft smile, telling him that everything's fine.

your eyes fell on the vast stage, where the show itself had not yet begun. the lights were still on, illuminating the opulent paintings and ornamentation that adorned every inch of the room. but there was something—someone, that was more beautiful than all of it. her.

your gaze fell on billie, sitting in the same row on the fire side, and your eyes immediately met hers. she was looking at you. only at you. like you were the only one there, like you were the only piece of art she could enjoy forever.

your eyes studied each other until you realized how tightly your chest was clenching, aching for her touch, her kisses, all of her.

your legs were wobbly as you excused yourself, heading for the restroom without looking back. you just knew she'd follow you. you could feel it. and you were right.

as you walked into the small room, your eyes were fixed on your own reflection; hair done to perfection, your dress hugging your figure in every place, the natural makeup highlighting every feature of your face perfectly.

your heart skips a beat when you hear the door open. then it slams softly shut, locking it. your eyes meet in the mirror. desperate, hungry, filled with pure longing and love. billie comes closer, staying millimeters from your body. "hey…"

she whispers, not knowing what to say or ask. the only thing on her mind was your lips. your sweet taste. your hands in her hair and those adorable whines you made every time she bit your bottom lip.

you turn to face her. your lower back pressed against the marble counter, eyes meeting as you look up. and in that moment, nothing and no one could stop you.

her lips plunge into yours with desperate force, her hands hugging your back, waist, shoulders. everything she could touch. your fingers buried in her hair, pulling her impossibly closer to you. moans leave your mouths, melting into each other's lips.

you kiss her again and again, each time with renewed vigor, leaving no air in your lungs, but it doesn't stop either of you. her hands fly to your hips, lifting you onto the counter with effortless force and stepping between your legs.

you wrap your arms around her neck, kissing and biting her lips, and she repeats every movement, squeezing your body so hard that it felt like your ribs would break under her hands. it was desperate. it was an animalistic, primal need. like all living things need oxygen to function, she needed your touch.

you kiss, breathless on each other's lips, pressing yourself as close as possible, needing to feel that familiar warmth, and an eternity passes before you pull away, breathing heavily. "we need to stop, you're married"

your foreheads touch, her breath warming your face. the thought of your husband, her girlfriend, waiting outside makes your heart clench painfully. you take her face in your hands, kissing her again, more softly, and she responds, deepening the kiss.

your tongues intertwine, exploring each other anew. she takes your hands, squeezing your fingers, before aggressively pulling the wedding ring off your finger, tossing it somewhere in the sink.

tears fill your eyes, rolling down your cheeks. you kiss her harder, more desperately, not wanting to end this moment that felt like an eternity. your bodies drown in each other's arms, and soon you pull away, your head falling on her shoulder, inhaling the sweet scent.

she begins to leave kisses on your skin, making you whine and moan softly as her teeth sink into your soft skin. "you smell like him," she growls, for the first time all evening, openly admitting her jealousy.

she didn't know his scent, she knew you would never wear perfume like that.

forgetting all norms and boundaries, she runs her tongue down your neck, sucking on the skin until a dark mark begins to appear. "billie…" you try to push her away, knowing that you can't do that now.

"shut up," she says it so gently, but so roughly that your body weakens. her kisses are now spreading all over your neck, collarbones, chest. "please, just shut up."

your hands are locked in her hair again, pulling her closer. she moans.

“he’s not the one for you” she whispers against your skin. “he doesn’t deserve you”

words send shivers through your body. you sigh softly, cupping her face in your hands to make her look at you. her eyes are watery, and now you’re both here, lips swollen from crazy kisses and makeup smudged with tears. this is ridiculous.

“i don’t want this” her lips tremble as she whispers. her eyes don’t leave yours for a second. “i don’t want his hands on you. you’re not his. you’re mine”

as possessive as the words should sound, all you heard in her voice was pain and desperation, filling you both to the brim.

you purse your lips, thumbs wiping away the tears from her cheeks. “i know. my love, i know”

you lean in, letting your lips meet again in a soft, sensual kiss before pulling away. her fingers smooth small circles on your thighs.

“can we start over?” she asks, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. you both know how absurd that would be. to just run away like you were sixteen year old schoolgirls in love again. like there's no tomorrow for you.

a stab of pain for your husband pierces your heart, making you hesitate for a few more seconds before answering.

“can we?”

[venusheartsyou2]

bloody birds | matt murdock

summary: your ex shows up at your apartment, bruised and bloody.

pairing: ex!matt murdock x fem!reader.

warnings: lore accurate asshole matt murdock! angst. no use of y/n. mention of blood, needles, stitches. obvious lack of medical knowledge on my part. both reader and matt are both so unbearably stubborn. mention of heather glenn? kinda? barely?

wc: 3K

a/n: i love matt murdock but he would be the worst boyfriend in the world! bear with me!

You wake up to your phone vibrating against your bedside table. The clock reads 2:39AM. What the hell? Your eyes are heavy with sleep; you couldn’t pry them open even if you tried. You scramble to find your phone. It seems as though it’s hidden beneath all of your knick-knacks. Mainly books and trash. You should really clean as soon as you can. You grab your phone, and see a no caller ID. Who could be calling you at a time like this?

“Hello?” You answer. You feel yourself freeze when you hear the voice on the other line. It’s Matt. Of course it was Matt. Only Matt would be this presumptuous. Only he would have this much disregard for you. Matt says your name, his breath low and hot.

“The hell do you want?” You say, viciously.

“Don’t be like that,” Matt starts. “I need your help.”

You’re quiet for a second, unsure of what to say. Was he serious? Did he think he could just walk back to you so easily? For what, another stitch-up?

“Who’d you hurt this time?” You say, passive-aggressive. Matt’s silent on the other line. He sits in the tension. “No one.” He finally states. “Open the door.”

You hear a knock on the door. You’ve got to be kidding me. 

“You’re at my fucking apartment?”

“It used to be ours.”

“Are you bleeding out on my front-fucking-doorstep?” You ask, but you’re already up to get the door. You’ll see for yourself. Matt asks you to stitch him up from time to time, but there’s been a brief hiatus where Matt hasn’t been appearing in front of you, half dead and bloody. A brief period meaning 2 weeks, of course.

You open the door to see the bane of your existence at your front door: Matt Murdock, in all his awful glory.

“Not really. This isn’t the worst it’s been.” Matt answers your question, while ending the call. You stare at Matt, dumbfounded. It was pretty bad. Deep gashes are speckled all over his torso. From the skin you can see, he was bruised all over. His fresh red bruises were on top of his recovering yellow bruises. It was grotesque. He was grotesque.

“I don’t need heightened senses to know that’s a bunch of bullshit, Matt.” You joke, dryly. Matt chuckles. 

You hear the voices of your concerned friends flash throughout your head. Whispers of, “He’s such an asshole.” and “He doesn’t value your time.” float in your mind. While, yes, they were right, Matt was never one to make it fair. How could you turn away a man who was near death? You weren’t religious, at least anymore, but it felt like a cardinal sin to turn him away. You knew Matt well enough to know he wasn’t going to the hospital. You knew he was Daredevil. He couldn’t keep the secret long enough. You were suspicious enough to snoop, and he was careless enough to leave evidence out in your old, shared apartment. You tried your best to plead with him and tell him that this “vigilante bullshit” was going to kill him, but with the way he talked, he seemed like he already accepted it. You couldn’t stay to watch it happen.

“Come in.” You say, defeated. You grab the first-aid kit that lays beneath your coat rack. Maybe a part of you knows you can’t get rid of Matt, and maybe an even smaller part of you isn’t ready to let go of him.

You assemble your usual “fuck-ass Matt Murdock first-aid kit”, as you like to call it. Matt never comments on the name. Gauze, stitches, gloves, adhesive bandages, and more are splayed all over your living room coffee table. Matt sits on the couch, after you frantically place a towel over it. You’ve done this way too many times to make the same mistakes. Like that one time he left a suspiciously large blood stain on your couch. You’re lucky Matt’s a lawyer, and that you were somehow able to get that stain out - with enough patience and peroxide.

You kneel in front of Matt and peel his blood-stained shirt off his stomach. You can never forget the invasive smell of blood thanks to Matt. You wipe the wet blood with an old rag. He hisses as his sensitive cuts are brushed over with the rough rag.

“Easy.” he whispers. You don’t respond. Your mind is filled with all the things you want to say to this douche, but your tongue can’t bring itself to move.

“I know you’re mad,” Matt says, “Your heartbeat is racing.”

“You’re being intrusive.” You mumble.

“I’m not being intrusive, I can’t help it. You know that.” He retorts. You place gauze on a cut, and start prepping your stitches. You’re not a nurse - you attempted nursing school, but you dropped out 2 years in - so this process never gets any less nerve-wracking. You struggle on getting the thread through the needle. Matt winces and looks away.

As you finally get the stitch ready, Matt attempts to grab your hand to squeeze. “It helps him handle the pain”, he likes to say. You swat his hand away.

“Need both hands.” You say, as you always do. Your obvious lack of care never discourages Matt. He’ll do this the next time he stumbles in your apartment. You start to dig the needle into Matt’s skin, and he reacts by gripping the couch’s arm rest. He bares his teeth, hissing with every poke and prod of his skin.

“You’re not being gentle.” He comments.

“Stop talking.” You spit out.

“Look, I know I’m an asshole, but can’t you go easy on me?” Matt pleads. You ignore his comments, as you have to stay focused.

After finishing the first stitch, you look at Matt. “You are an asshole. And you’re lucky I’m dumb enough to help you.” You say. Matt lets out an entertained huff. 

“I guess I am lucky.” He says. He smiles enough to show his eye crinkles. You always loved his eye crinkles, so you force yourself to look away.

You finish the other two stitches Matt needed, and bandage everything up. Your hands are covered in Matt’s blood, a sight you see far too often. You scrub your hands raw in your kitchen sink, determined to get the blood off your hands. The water is scorching hot. The steam fills the air. Matt lingers around you, his hands grazing your old, shared apartment kitchen.

Matt wants to say something. It’s written all over his stupid, beautiful face. He chews on his lip for a second, thinking about how to open up the conversation.

“I still think about your banana bread.” Matt says, trying his best to get his words out before you inevitably cut him off. “I always ask for banana bread with chocolate chips now.” Your head drops and you let out a sigh. It was the phase of the night where Matt reminisces on the past. Your banana bread was always heavily praised by Matt. When the two of you were together, you were appalled to find out Matt had never tried chocolate chip banana bread before. You would make it for him frequently when you were with him, and you would add sugar on the top so it would have a nice crunch. You realize Matt’s getting what he wanted: for you to reminisce on the past. 

“We’re not doing this again.” You say.

“Doing what?” Matt feigns ignorance. You wipe your hands off violently with a towel. Your hands are red, and you can’t tell if it’s from his blood or from how rough you scrubbed your hands.

“What do you think is going to happen if you try to make me remember the past? That I’m going to remember everything good about our relationship and I’m going to run back to you?” You questioned.

Matt shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I just missed you, that’s all-” Before Matt could finish his sentence, you cut him off by lightly chuckling.

“No. No, you don’t.” You grin while cleaning your bloody countertop.

It’s times like these where you wish you could hear Matt’s heartbeat, or smell the sweat beading and falling on his head. It’s unfair he can do all that but you can’t. You just have to watch how his face moves, but it never does. It’s always impossible to read him. You knew that Matt could see through your brash attitude. You knew he could hear your heart beating from out your chest, and that he could sense your throat closing up from all the anxiety. It wasn’t fair.

“You’re giving me a hard time.” Matt says, after a period of silence.

“Yeah, I am. You think I don’t deserve it?” You argued.

“I think that I don’t deserve it.” Matt responds. Positive self-talk. You purse your lips.

“What, you got a therapist now?” You ask, bluntly. Matt didn’t seem like the type to go to therapy, with his whole “independent-and-self-isolating” thing going on.

“Slept with a therapist. About the same thing.” Matt shrugs. You let yourself laugh. Thinking about Matt with other women wasn’t something you necessarily wanted to think about, but it would be the mature thing to do to not make a deal about it.

After a moment, Matt takes a breath before saying, “I could only think of you. When I was with her.”

“Oh, Jesus, Matt.” You cringe at his words. “God, that’s awful.”

“I’m sorry, I-” Matt responds through small awkward laughs before he suddenly clutches his side in pain. “Ah, fuck!” He yelps.

“Matt?” You rush to him, faster than you’d like to admit. Matt’s shirt is slowly stained by a new stream of blood. “I think one of the stitches ripped.” Matt mutters.

“Fuck.” You whisper. Again, you weren’t a nurse. You were only Matt Murdock’s next best option. It seems as though you didn’t tie the knot in his last stitch tight enough. It had unraveled. You’re quick to tie it back together. You’re quiet and focused, at least more than you were before. As much as the sight of Matt fills you with unbridled rage, you couldn’t bear to see him in pain. It makes you angry how much you care for this asshole.

You finish re-tying the stitch knot, and your hands are covered in blood again. At least it wasn’t as much as last time. You wash your hands again in silence, and Matt is left to watch you. He does just that, watching your every move.

His presence is suffocating. He’s this reminder of your past. Of what you would let slide, or of what bullshit you would do for love.

You want to say so much to him, but something’s always held you back. Maybe it was your desire to always be the bigger person. It was the smart thing to do, but it was never the satisfying thing.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed out there, Matt.” You say, finally. Matt looks up. He hears your steady heartbeat. You’ve had this conversation with him before. How hypocritical of you. To yell at Matt for bringing up the past but replaying this conversation, for old times sake.

“You know why I do what I do.” Matt says, flatly.

“You’re ignoring my sentiment.” You say.

“You know me well enough to know I’m not going to stop.”

“You know me well enough to know I can’t watch you kill yourself.”

Matt and you sit in the silence. Matt lets out an amused huff, smiling to himself. You and Matt were different. It’s clear why you two didn’t work out. Every problem in your relationship stemmed from the fact that Matt had to live his life as Daredevil.

A long pause passes.

“I still love you.” Matt drops. Jesus. “God, Matt.”

You shut your eyes and let that weird, awful feeling in your chest simmer. This was new from him. Usually, when he crashes half-dead in your home, he’ll leave after you force him out. Maybe you should’ve showed him on his way out before he even got the chance to ruin your night. Well, maybe you should’ve never dated this nightmare in the first place. But you can’t beat yourself up about that. As much as you criticise Matt, you loved him at one point. He gave you some of the best years of your life. Until he let Daredevil consume him.

“I don’t want to let you go.” Matt adds, pleading. He takes his glasses off, placing them on the countertop. He reaches for your hand, and you’re too much in your own head to stop him from grabbing it. He places your hand on his chest. His heartbeat is steady. That bastard isn’t lying.

“Please don’t stay silent. Say something, please.” Matt whispers, as he looks at you, pushing a thick strand of hair behind your ear. You nearly crumble at the soft touches. Matt has a way of making you forget. You would’ve forgotten about all the shitty lies and gaslighting if Matt would just spend a single night with you. At one point, you would’ve even forgiven Matt for all the bullshit. That was another power Matt had. Not just the heightened senses.

“I can’t fucking stand you.” You laugh. You’re not sure when these small tears fell from your eyes, but Matt was quick to wipe them away. He holds your face in his hands. You try your best not to forget about everything he ever did and take him back right then and there. You really hated the effect he had on you.

“And the worst part is..” You start. “I know you’re not going to stop coming to me to patch you up. And I know I’m not going to stop helping you. You don’t make it fair, Matt.”

“I know. I’m sorry, baby.” He says, in that low voice that always got you.

“Don’t call me that.”

“I’m sorry.” He says, while he finally lets go of you. Maybe he’s starting to get it through his thick head that this is over. No matter how much he begs and pleads.

You clear your throat and straighten your posture. “Get it together," you remind yourself.

“I should go. Thank you. For everything.” Matt says, as he grabs his glasses and heads for the door.

“Right.” You manage to mutter.

As Matt heads for the door, he stops as he opens it. “I’ll find someone else.”

“Someone else for what?”

“To deal with my shit.” He says, mainly pertaining to his medical care. However, a small part of him is referring to him. All of his baggage. It was clear you were trying your absolute fucking best to move on. As much as Matt wants to rip all of it down and make you take him back, so he could relive the best part of his life, he couldn’t do that to you. He’ll go and ruin someone else’s life.

You watch him let go of you. It was what you wanted, in theory, but you couldn’t ignore the haunting feeling in your stomach trying to claw its way out. Him leaving meant it was really over. As much as you put up this careless facade, Matt leaving would mean you would actually have to move on. You could no longer simply pretend that his absence didn’t bother you, since he was never truly gone. The sinking feeling of change started to terrify you.

All of this time you’ve spent trying to be the bigger person; maybe it was time to be selfish, and take a page out of Matt’s book.

“I still love you too.” You say. Matt looks at you, his face blank, shocked at your transparency. He laughs.

“You’re right. That does feel fucking awful. I’m a pretty shitty person, aren’t I?” Matt chuckles, awkwardly.

“Yeah.” You nod while letting out an amused breath.

You start to chew on your lip. You’re preparing yourself to be brave, to stand up for yourself. It wouldn’t be fair to Matt if he didn’t know why you couldn’t let yourself back with him. Although, he should already know why, at this point.

“Matt.”

“Yeah?”

“Your need to save others is killing you. Daredevil is stripping you of your life. You lie constantly to the people who love you. You give up time you could spend with others to beat people up instead. You ghost the people you love. You’re so willing to give yourself for others and yet you get confused when others try to give themselves for you. I will always admire your cause, caring and saving others because the system can’t do it themselves. But it’s just not realistic. You’re going to die. Some evil bastard is going to get you quicker than you can react. You’re not God. What if you’re too reckless and I’m not there to watch you die?”

You let yourself ramble, for once. Matt doesn’t say anything. How could he? No one would be able to react to that. Matt fiddles with the door handle, and the hinges squeak in an awful way. Maybe he does it so something else can fill his mind, so that he doesn’t have to think about what you said. Classic Matt, trying to avoid facing his personal problems, head-on.

Matt’s quiet. You made him nervous, and you can’t lie, it feels good. You swear you could hear Matt’s heartbeat. Finally, Matt breaks his silence.

“I’ll call you when it happens. So you’ll have enough time to come see me.” Matt says. He’s joking, in a time like this. You take a deep breath in.

“I’ll just have to hope that that’s true.” You say. No use in wishing Matt could take things seriously for once.

Another excruciating silence. Matt knew this would have to be the last visit. He couldn’t handle the way your eyes would dilate when you felt like crying. He couldn’t stand the way the air smelled when your salty tears filled the room. You and Matt sat in the moment.

“I love you.” Matt says, after a minute of silence.

“I love you too.” You say back.

“I’ll see you.”

“See you.”

Matt shuts the door. You’re glad he shut the door when he did. You bury your face in your hands and weep. The agonizing silence surrounds you. God, you want to throw up.

[starryschemer]

Shattered Odds - (Chapter Thirteen)

Pairings: Salesman x reader

Summary: Gi-hun finds himself in a high-stakes game with not only his life but the life of someone he cares deeply about. You. Can Gi-hun outsmart the salesman? Or will the odds catch up with him?

Warnings: Dubious consent (Dubcon), emotional manipulation/abuse, strong language, power dynamics, verbal threats, possessive behavior, graphic violence/mention of death, blood and gore, dark themes,

Taglist: @aesthetic-winchesters @therandomofpink @cowuies @alzeralz

A/N: Sorry for the long delay, I have been very busy on my holiday as well as getting very ill in the middle of it.

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Chapter Thirteen: Unveiling the mask

Word Count: 3,330

Your body was aching.

That was the very first thing you noticed. The low, throbbing ache that was radiating through your side. 

Then the warmth. There was some heat behind you, something that was solid. Alive pressed tight against yourself.

You opened your heavy eyelids by blinking. Slightly wincing in pain. 

Faint light was beginning to seep through the room’s sheer curtains. The air was very still, quiet, way too silent.

You felt a breath ghosting on your neck, slow and rhythmic. It wasn’t yours. Your eyes widened. 

No, no, no, no.

You slowly turned your head around, just enough to see him. 

The Salesman.

He was bare-chested. Caked in your blood, it was smeared across his skin. His arms were loosely laced around your waist. His face buried into the curve of your shoulder like he had every right to be there. His hair lightly tickling your skin.

Your stomach clenched, not with disgust. But with comfort. 

How on earth did it still feel nice having him hold you like this when he just shot you moments ago?

Your breathing hitched.

He shot you. He fucking shot you.

Carefully, you moved, inching your way from beneath his arm. Inch by inch. Trying not to awaken him.

However, your arms and legs were too fragile, too rigid. That made you move wrong, causing you to tumble off the bed and fall. 

THUD!

As you smacked into the ground hard, the IV in your arm ripped free, and you screamed. The pain stabbing, twisting through you was unbearable. Your vision began to blur. 

“Y/N,” the Salesman’s voice was raspy, still waking up.

You began to scramble backwards on your hands and chest, heaving, fingers trembling. No more blood was spilling out. Thankfully. But the spot where the needle had been really burned, your nerves were screaming. 

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” you shouted, voice slightly breaking. You fumbled into your pocket, your hand closed around the small can of pepper spray.

“Y/N, wait-”

You sprayed. Right in his face.

He unleashed a guttural groan, loud, while stumbling backward, covering his eyes.

You didn’t want to stay around to see him heal from this, so you bolted for the front door, opening it. Your whole body was shaking and on fire.

Making it down the hallway, it started to spin. But you made it. You were getting out.

You started running down the hallway, barefoot, adrenaline helping to keep your body erect as your feet slapped against the old carpet. You didn’t care. You had to get away from him.

“FUCK!” he yelled behind you, loudly coughing. “Stop. Get back here, Y/N.”

Just as you were about to reach the end of the hallway, your legs buckled. Everything went sideways. You collided hard into the wall, bones thudding, as you fell to the ground.

All you could hear was the heavy footsteps thundering behind you.

You tried to crawl away, but you felt hands grabbing your arms.

“NO, LET GO OF ME!” you cried, flailing weakly against him. “GET THE HELL OFF ME!”

He caught you, holding you as you kicked and screamed. 

“Calm down,” he told you, his voice was commanding and rough. “I’m not going to hurt you, love. You need to rest. Let me help.”

You tried to wiggle free violently. “AS IF I WOULD EVER TRUST YOU AFTER WHAT YOU DID!”

“I SHOT YOU BECAUSE YOU TAUNTED ME!” he roared, lifting you clear off your feet, holding onto you tightly. “You said I wouldn’t do it. That's all I cared about was wanting you as mine.”

“I DID!”

“Well, guess what, darling? You were so wrong,” he spat out, walking you back towards the room as you struggled to escape his grasp. “Or maybe you weren’t. But either way, you fucking pushed me.”

You scoffed, voice slightly breaking. “So you went through with it just to prove a fucking point?”

“I didn’t mean to hit a vital area,” he replied, a slight edge of guilt coming through in his voice. “I pulled the shot at the last second.”

“OH, CONGRATULATIONS! GOLD STAR FOR NOT KILLING ME!”

He didn’t respond, brushed off the jab, while pressing you lightly against his bare chest.

In the room, he tucked you into the bed, being careful. Gentle. His fingers made your entire body shake in response. 

You refused to look at him while he got dressed.

You didn’t even have the strength to scream anymore.

Then-

Buzz. Buzz.

The Salesman’s phone went off. He reached into his suit jacket, pulling it out to check the screen.

You noticed his face shift when he realised who it was. The tightness of his jaw. The way he stiffened his posture. Sharp, serious, and dark. Who would be calling him?

He glanced down at you with pure rage in his eyes.

“You better be quiet,” he said, rough and low. “Got it, Y/N? Or, do I need to remind you what happens when you cross me?”

You glared back at him, still shaking. But you slowly nodded. “I’ll be quiet.”

He smiles, tapping your head. “Good girl.”

The Salesman held your gaze for a second longer before turning and stepping out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Leaving you all alone.

Your body was aching. You were breathing heavily. Your heart is racing.

Slowly, stepping out of bed, you walked over to the door. You gently pressed your ear against it, listening to the conversation on the other side. It was muffled, but you could still hear the words coming through.

“You know what to do. Bring Y/N to me. Dinner tonight,” said a low voice on the other end. “Make sure she’s ready.”

Your stomach dropped. Dinner? With who? It was nearly impossible for you to contain your anger, but you needed more information. You cracked the door open a bit more, just enough to see the Salesman standing in front of the window with the phone pressed to his ear.

“Yeah, I’ll bring her. Don’t you worry,” The Salesman said, his voice was calm, but something about it made you shiver down your spine. “She won’t have a choice. We both know this.”

He then ended the call.

Those words made your blood boil, your hands turning into fists. So that’s what it was. The Salesman was merely this guy's lap dog, no more than a messenger.

“You’re his fucking errand boy,” you spat out, your voice louder than you realized. “Just doing his dirty work?”

The Salesman stiffened at your words, his demeanor sharpening into something more dangerous. He slowly turned, his gaze meeting yours with that familiar cold, predatory stare.

“You don’t have a clue what you’re talking about,” he growled, moving closer to you. He roughly clenched your wrist in a vice-like hold, the pads of his long fingers just crushing into your skin.

“LET GO OF ME!” 

“I’m done with your shit,” he growled, pulling you roughly towards the door. “We’re going now.”

“NO!” you screamed, digging your feet into the carpet, trying to resist, but that made him only tighten his grip.

He tugged you along the floor easily, his strides fast, forceful, and unforgiving. You weren’t even walking, you were being pulled out of the room at full speed, your feet barely having time to touch the ground when he was dragging you like that.

You attempted to defend yourself, trying to fight back, but all this did was anger him more. He roughly shoved you into the back of the waiting limo, slamming the door shut behind him after he got in. The limo began to drive off as you fled to the vehicle's other side, your heart pounding in your chest, as you glared at him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you demanded, between breaths.

The Salesman sat next to you, staring at you. He slowly smirked, drawing something out of his overcoat, an expensive black dress, soaking in a quiet glamour. You stared at him, wide-eyed.

“No way,” you said, shaking your head. “I am not going to wear that.”

His eyes narrowed with frustration.

“You’ll wear it,” he said flatly, his voice low and firm. “Or I’ll make you wear it.”

The breath came up in your throat, your mind racing. There was no choice here. You knew he was right. Gently, you reached out, taking the dress from his firm grasp. “Can, can you turn around, please?”

The Salesman scoffs. “So what you can try and escape. I will be watching you this time, love.”

“I swear to god, I’ll get you back for this,” you hissed, your tone dripping with venom, but he didn’t seem to have a care in the world for your threat. 

“You’re wasting time. We shouldn’t be late,” he muttered, keeping his gaze on you as you slowly began to undress.

You flung the clothes on the floor nearby before working the dress onto your body. The fabric felt cool against your skin, and the tightness of it only served to remind you just how trapped you were.

You could feel his eyes on you as you adjusted it. They were glued to you, making your skin crawl as you finally finished putting it on. You wanted to shout, wanted to slap him, but you also knew that it would only make things worse. Only make him angrier. 

“You look beautiful in that Y/N. Maybe you could wear that for me sometime.”

You turned to face him, expecting to see that annoying, smug grin, but somehow, there was a flicker of something else. It was too sincere, like he cared about you. 

“...Thanks,” you said warily, the word like glass on your teeth.

The Salesman tilted his head, eyes glimmering with amusement. “Well, now. I never thought I would hear that from you, darling.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Oh, but I always prefer it when you say nice things about me.”

You rolled your eyes, fingers nervously yanking at the hem of the dress. The inside of the limo suddenly felt too hot. 

You glanced up in his direction. And without meaning to your eyes landed on his lips. Just a glance. But long enough. He saw. Of course, he bloody saw it.

His grin sharpened. “Caught that.”

You stiffened. 

He slowly moved towards you, his shoulder lightly brushing against yours, the smell of his crisp cologne hitting you hard.

“If you want me to kiss you, then just ask.”

You laughed, turning your head at a more stubborn angle. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Oh, I don’t need to. You already do it for me. Your eyes were loud, love. Practically begging.”

“I was wondering how someone so smug learns to speak with a head that far up their fucking ass.”

The Salesman gently laughed. “Ah, there she is.”

You tried not to pay any attention to how he was affecting you. “You think everything is a game, don’t you?”

“Everything is a game,” he said with a shrug. “And you-” he slowly leaned over and swept your hair from your shoulder, fingers lightly grazing your neck. “- are my favorite player.”

You looked at him, jaw clenched. “You are gross.”

He leaned back against the seat, pleased with himself. “Maybe. But you didn’t look away.”

You turned your eyes towards the window, not wanting to give him anything else. The city lights were blurring past. You hated the silence that followed.

“You have that look again.”

“What look?”

“The what if I let him kiss me look.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t trust your own voice.

He watched you with a stillness. The mood shifted again. It was much heavier. Quieter. 

Then finally, without looking at him, you asked, voice soft, unsure:

“Who was that on the phone?”

He didn’t answer you.

You spat out in a sharp voice, slowly turning your head. “Who was it?”

Finally, his eyes met yours. Detached. Cold. But there was flickering behind them. Hesitation. Maybe even fear.

“It was my boss. The Front Man.”

Your stomach twisted.

“You mean the one calling all the shots?”

He cackled a bitter laugh. “Well, someone is above him, too, but did you genuinely believe that I was the mastermind in all this. That I was the big bad wolf?”

You didn’t respond. Your brain was still working through all of this. What did that mean for you, for him, for whatever the Front Man is?

“You know, if you don’t act right tonight. He will kill you.”

Your chest tightened. “What? He would kill me?”

“Do you really think I’m bringing you to him cause I want to? I was given a job. Bring you in. Make you look pretty. Keep you obedient. If you mess up, it is game over for you.”

You swallowed hard.

“Why me?”

He looked away, his jaw clenching. “I am not allowed to say. He could kill me.”

Your eyes widen. “He would kill you?”

“Yes. He is not someone who you should ever cross.”

“Wa-wait,” you stuttered. “How many….girls like me have there been?”

His jaw flexed, and you saw a flash of guilt in his eyes. “Too many.”

You stared at him. “How many of them ended up surviving?”

His mouth fell open, however, words didn’t come out immediately.

Finally, after a moment of silence, he said it:

“None.”

Your blood ran cold. “None?”

He slowly nodded. “It was the Front Man giving the order. I just carried them out.”

“You killed them all?”

“Most of them,” he admitted. “Some of them didn’t even get past the door. He doesn’t enjoy surprises.”

You could hardly understand or comprehend what you were hearing.

“...Why?”

“Because they didn’t listen to my advice. Didn’t play along. Said something stupid, or they got too proud. That was enough.”

He looked down.

“But this last girl..,” he said cautiously. “The Front Man personally ended up killing them.”

Your breath hitched. “He killed her?”

“Yeah. She was meant to be a… well, it doesn’t matter, but she ended up trying too hard to impress him.”

“What could she have said to anger him that badly?”

His gaze darkened, and he turned away, refusing to look at you.

“She made a joke about his dead wife.”

Your mouth went agape for a moment. “A joke? About his dead wife?”

He nodded. “She thought that she was being smart. Thought she could make him smile. It didn’t work out that way.”

You swallowed hard. “So… that means there is a high chance of me dying today, then.”

The Salesman sighed, his eyes meeting yours again.

“Yes,” he said in a gentle tone. “There is a chance you will die today, Y/N.”

Your heart dropped, and your surroundings seemed like a dream. This can’t be actually happening.

The car slowly pulled over as it reached its destination, but you had millions of thoughts rushing through your mind.

Your chance of surviving this, now, felt as thin as a thread.

The Salesman glanced at you one final time, his face was hiding something. Maybe regret. Maybe fear. 

But before you could say a word, a guy swung open the door.

The Salesman lightly grabbed your hand, forcing you to look into his eyes. He hesitated and then hugged you tightly. It was nothing like the usual cold, calculating man you had gotten to know. His touch was protective, as if he were trying desperately to shield you from whatever nightmare laid ahead.

“I don’t want you to be next, Y/N. I don’t think I can kill you if he asks me to,” he whispered, his voice barely holding.

You closed your eyes for a second, wrapping your arms around him, feeling his warmth enveloping you.

“I’m not going to die,” you said softly, as if to persuade him more than yourself. 

He looked into your eyes, trembling slightly. This side of him truly shocked you. “I will do everything I can to ensure you don’t die.”

You reached up and brushed a strand of hair from his face, something was shifting inside you. A softness you never thought you could feel from him, of all people.

“Are you coming in with me?”

He stiffened, his eyes darting from your eyes to your lips, before responding with an almost affectionate smile.

“I’ll be waiting outside for you,” he said, his voice much gentler. “Waiting for you.”

There was a compassion in his words, causing all the tension between you both to melt for that brief moment. He was more than the Salesman, he was someone different, someone who cared, who wanted to protect you in whatever way he could.

“Be safe,” he murmured, and when you got out of the limo, you felt his eyes were on you. 

You stepped forward, following the guy who opened the door. You paused at the double doors, heart pounding in your chest like a war drum. The light pouring out from within was warm, but nothing felt inviting about this place. After all, this could be your last moments alive. And yet, behind you was him.

You turned a little, glancing at him from over your shoulder.

The Salesman now stood by the open car door, one hand braced against the edge of the door, the other deep inside his suit jacket pocket. His eyes had never left yours. Not for a second. 

And when you looked up at him again, something in his face changed. Gone was that annoying as smug smirk. Gone was the mask. What remained was something human, not a monster.

“I wasn’t lying, Y/N,” he called out. “I’ll be right here. You can do this.”

Your throat slightly tightened.

You nodded, the smallest nod that you weren’t sure if he even saw it. But the way his shoulders softened, by the way he exhaled. It told you he did.

As you are about to push the door open, his voice rings out again, and this time, it is quieter. Not loud enough for the guards or the camera. Just for you. 

“Don’t try to be clever in there.”

You turned around all the way to face him, blinking in surprise.

A flicker of that same old smile ghosted across his lips, but now it was different, it was calmer, more comforting. “Just be you, Y/N. That’s about the only thing that would work in this.”

You winced at the way he said it. Like he wanted it to work out. How is that one moment he is so kind and the next he wants to rip your head off? 

You gave a shaky laugh. “And what if it isn’t enough?”

His eyelids dropped for a second, and with a slight flutter, he gently locked back onto your eyes. 

“Then I’ll lie for you.”

“What?”

“I’ll do what I have to do to protect you. Even if that means I die instead.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, shocked. No words came out. Because what do you tell the man who previously bound you to a bed, now claims he’d die for you?

“You are full of contradictions.”

“I know,” he said, with a slight touch of affection in his tone. “And you’re the first person who has ever noticed.”

The space between you both was thick once again, but not with tension. With something else. Care. The way he promised to you. The way he is looking at you. That odd tenderness that had somehow made its way to your heart. You knew you shouldn’t feel like this. Heck, you are still with Gi-hun for fucks sake. 

As you were about to speak, the door opened slowly behind you. You turned around, not looking back at the Salesman. You didn’t have to. You knew he was still there outside the car. Waiting. And somehow, through your fear of the unknown of the Front Man, that was enough for you. 

A/N: If you would like to be tagged in the next chapters feel free to leave a comment, you can also suggest things you would love to see in the series.

Credit for divider: omi-resources

[gowerhardcastle]

Hello, I'm a fellow IF fan waiting patiently for more updates atm. I'm wondering how you find the motivation to write so much and often?

Usually for even for creative writing, the best I can do is some paragraphs, then I just zone out for the rest of the day. Then I'll check my email then I realize it's actually late evening with only the same paragraphs.

---

I have a lot of answers to this question.  Specifically ten answers.

The first, biggest answer is that the words just well up in me, and if I don’t write, I feel antsy and malcontent.  I love writing, but if I have more than a few days where I’m not writing, I feel weird.  So this is definitely a weird-me-thing than anything I would advise anyone to acquire.

Second, when I write, I get in the zone and I just write and write for six or seven hours straight, and I’m having a great time the whole time.  I think my age does help me here because I didn’t grow up with the internet, and I have no real desire to keep checking stuff while I write.  I think that’s a huge benefit. 

I think if someone asked me if I recommend that they write like me, I would say hell no.  I know I’m a weird outlier.

Third, I blast music while I write.  This does a lot for my energy.

Fourth, coffee.  Lots of it.

Fifth, I type really, really fast.  I double space after periods because I learned to type on a typewriter.

Sixth, there’s a real cost to it.  I love playing computer games, and gaming in general, and writing just consumes that time, just devastates it.  If I’m not careful, it eats my reading time, but that I won’t allow.  But you have to be ok with the trade.

Seventh, I wake up quite early, before my family wakes up, just naturally.  I creep downstairs, take my iced latte from the fridge, which I made the night before, and write for hours while the world and the house is still.  This feels like time stolen.

Eighth, I have a really hard time resisting challenges I give myself.  I always have the urge to outdo myself, to make things more interesting, complex, bigger, fuller.  I see the perfect finished product, and I just want to get there, and I have a hard time saying “no!” to myself.  Quite the contrary.

Ninth, people who let me know that my games cheered them up on a hard day.  That they laughed so hard their gut hurts in spite of being on active deployment somewhere.  

That something I said helped them realize that they wanted to write, or that they could write and someone would read it.  That one of the relationships in my game helped them realize something really important about themself.  Or someone writes and says “I think about that one line from that game all the time,” or that they practiced and learned English from a story I wrote. 

I mean...that is unbearably humbling and kind of miraculous, and my impulse hearing that is to sit down and write more and connect with more people, because writing is very, deeply, an alone thing, and it requires that you sort of sequester yourself away from life for a long time.  It’s really hard! 

So making that connection with people is *incredibly* motivating.

Tenth, and this one is hard to articulate, so bear with me.  There’s a lot of junk in the world, and a lot of things masquerading as something wholesome and real that are quite the opposite.  A lot of this stuff is online, but also just out in the world.  I can’t do much about it, but to me, people who craft real words and read real words and care about good prose are maintaining some kind of small banner of resistance about what’s valuable and worth saving.  

When I sit down to write, I think about that. 

[connorsui]

Satoru is … obsessed with your lips.

For the most part.

He gets away with a lot under the guise of being your best friend—looping an arm around your shoulders, keeping you close in crowded rooms, resting his chin on your head, calling you every ridiculous pet name under the sun. But the lip thing? That’s different. That’s something else entirely.

Because he can not stop.

He does it constantly—cuts you off mid-sentence with a quick peck, presses lazy kisses to the corner of your mouth when you’re focused on something else, and—on more than one occasion—drags the tip of his tongue over your bottom lip just to see you gasp.

You slap his arm the first time he does it. “’Toruuu, you can’t just do that?”

He just grins, impossibly bright, tilting his head. “But why, baby?, can't I just kiss you once?”

And then there are the moments when he gets carried away—when a quick, teasing kiss turns into something else. When his grip tightens, when the playful edge in his touch disappears into something desperate and consuming.

Like now.

His lips move against yours with an intensity that borders on ravenous. His hands are everywhere—one gripping your waist, the other buried in your hair, keeping you exactly where he wants you. You barely have time to breathe before he pulls you back in, swallowing the sound that leaves your lips.

He kisses you like he’s been drowning forever, and you’re the first breath breaking through his lungs. Like you’re the only thing anchoring him to the world.

You try to pull away—to say something, to tease him, to scold him for acting like he’s starved for you—but the moment you do, his teeth catch your lower lip in a warning nip. A soft, stay.

And you do.

Because how could you not?

His hands are rough, gripping, holding—like he wants to leave his mark on you, like he wants you to remember. But when they reach your face, when his fingertips brush against your cheeks, his touch turns unbearably soft.

Like you’re something fragile. Like you’re something precious.

His thumb traces along your jaw, his lips slowing, pressing against yours over and over, softer now, reverent. Like he’s memorizing you. Like he’s terrified you’ll slip away the moment he lets go.

And maybe that’s what ruins you most.

Not the desperate, breath-stealing kisses. Not the bruising grip.

But the way he holds you like you’re a dream—one he’s afraid to wake up from.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

His

Summary: Javi can't get enough of you (aka idk how to summarize this other than it's pwp whoops)

Word Count: 1.8K

Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Wife!Reader

Warnings: ... again, this is straight up pwp, unprotected p in v sex, rough(er) sex, breeding kink (I'm sorry!! I'm sorry!! It's physically impossible to not!!), praise kink, big, nasty creampie, cum play, 1 use of daddy and papí (but like, that's the goal), an ass smack, prone bone and the one position from s2e3 of Narcos because I say so!!! also sweet, tooth rotting fluff because I don't know how to write any other way

A/N: She's nothing, if not consistent, your honor 🤠 You'll have to pry Javier Peña and his big, fat breeding kink out of my cold, dead hands before I stop writing about it!!!!!! Figured what better way to break a hiatus than letting the ovulation demons do the lords work for me to post some smut on tumblr dot com, hope y'all enjoy!!!

Never Too Late Masterlist

“Fuck, Javi!” 

The only thing that’s keeping you from waking up your neighbors with the volume of your moans is the way Javi has you pressed against the mattress, muffling the sound of you screaming his name as he pounds into you, over and over. 

You swear he could smell it on you from the second he walked through the door, how you had been craving him all day. Just the thought of him alone was enough to make you ache with unbearable need and want. From the moment he left for work this morning, you were counting down the hours until he got home so you could climb him like a goddamn tree. 

But then again, how can anyone blame you when he’s the one who instigated it in the first place? 

“I swear to god, when I get home, I’m not letting you out of the fucking bed tonight ‘till I knock you up.” 

“Is that a threat or a promise, Javi?” 

“Both.” 

Javi’s always been a man of his word, but with the way he’s fucking you right now, it makes you wonder if he’s ever planning on letting you out of the bed again. 

“That’s it baby girl, let me hear it.” 

You can feel the way the words rumble in his chest, pressed against your back as he fucks into you, deeper and harder with each thrust. The grip around your intertwined fingers tighten, practically melting you into the bed with the weight of his broad body is pinning you down, caging you beneath him. 

Heat is radiating off him, the tacky sheen of sweat pooling where your skin meets, Javi’s hips flushed against the meat of your ass. He’s already got you three orgasms deep, but there’s just something addictive about Javi that always has you begging for more, desperate to cum around his cock over and over again until you have nothing left to give. 

“Oh my god- fuck. Fuck, Javi, I want more baby, please. Fuck me harder- oh fuck-” 

You swear you can feel his smirk creeping into the corners of his cheeks as he kisses your shoulder, relishing in the mess he’s already made you, and yet, you still can’t seem to get enough of him. 

“You want more, hermosa? Let me hear you, baby.” Javi coos, purposely slowing his pace down just enough to make you whimper, quietly laughing to himself at the way he can feel you back your ass up against his hips, trying to keep yourself as full of him as you can. 

“I want it, I want more, baby, please.” You whine, craning your neck behind you just enough to see the devilish grin Javi has plastered across his face. 

“You gonna be a good girl and take everything I have to give you? Let me fill you up until it’s got no choice but to fuckin’ stick?” He groans, the thought of fucking himself so deep inside you that nine months from now, he’ll be the reason for your growing family, igniting something indescribably primal in him. 

“Yes! Yes, please, fuck- I’ll take all of it!” 

It’s borderline pathetic how many octaves your voice has climbed as you beg him for more, a pitch and volume so loud and high you nearly startle yourself with your response. You can hear Javi sigh and curse under his breath. You’re not sure if it’s because having you like this drives him crazy, or if having you like this drives him so crazy, he’s worried he’ll bust right then and there if he doesn’t control himself. 

Your response has him shifting behind you, sitting back on his knees and gripping his fingers into the meat of your sides to force your bottom half up, one hand letting go to smack your ass just hard enough for your breath to hitch in the back of your throat. 

You’re not sure how, but the new position has him feeling even fuller, stretching you out to the point of pleasure filled sobs as he starts to pound against your g-spot, each thrust rougher than the last. 

You’re so wet that the sound of him sliding in and out of your cunt is almost as loud as the noise of his skin slapping against yours. That, combined with the lewd panting and moaning heaving from each of your chests, has the room sounding like you could easily give any porno ever produced a run for its money. 

“Love this pussy so fucking much. Always so fucking wet and tight for me. Whose pussy is this, baby?” Javi asks, his once smug demeanor quickly dissipating as he chokes out his question through gritted teeth, so drunk on you he can barely think straight. 

“Yours! Fuck, fuck fuck- It’s yours, Javi.” You sob, fisting at your bedsheets so tightly, you’re convinced it won’t be long until your knuckles turn white. 

“Fucking right, it is. Fuck you so full of me that I knock you up, make sure- mierda- make sure everyone knows you’re all mine. That what you want, Mami?” 

“Yes, y-yes! Oh fuck- yes! ” 

Javi gets one more smack at your ass before he reaches around to scoop you up from your front, draping his arm across your chest to flush it with his back, never letting the pace of his hips falter. If he wasn’t holding you up, you’re positive you’d be limp, so all consumed by pleasure that it’s engulfed every inch of your body. to keep yourself upright. 

His free arm snakes around to find your clit, whimpering as the pads of his fingers rub tight circles around the bundle of nerves. The undeniable tingle at the base of your spine is beginning to build again, the all too familiar clamping of your cunt around Javi’s cock growing tighter by the second. 

You can all but feel him in your stomach, every inch of him sunk as deep as you can take him, backing your ass into him to counter every snap of his hips. You shoot your hand behind you, digging your nails into whatever part of his thigh you can find to brace yourself on as he fucks into relentlessly, only egged on by the fact he knows how close you are. 

“You got one more for me, baby?” Javi mewls, nipping at your neck while the hot words of his breath dance across your skin. “One more time before I cum so fucking deep inside you?” 

You’re not sure how you even have the capacity to form words, nodding your head in compliance as you try your best to string together something comprehensible as the coil in your stomach winds tighter and tighter. 

“Y-yes, oh fuck- want you to fill me up. Put a baby in me, please, papí.“ 

“Fuck me.” Javi huffs under his breath, furrowing his brow in an intense focus to keep from fulfilling your request preemptively. “Cum for me, Hermosa. Cum all over my cock, and I promise I will.” 

It only takes a few more frantic strokes before you’re collapsing around him, orgasm shooting through your body with such radiating pleasure, you’re not even sure you’re on this earth anymore. The way he’s pinning your nearly limp body to his, pounding into you relentlessly to chase his own high is almost too much, but you’ll take it. You’ll take everything he has to give because it means that you’re his. 

“That’s my girl.” Javi coos, sliding the hand that had been rubbing at your clit up your chest, stopping to wrap around your jaw, just firm enough to dip your head back to rest against his shoulder. “My good fucking girl.” 

His head is buried in the crook of your neck, pants and moans muffled against your skin, growing louder with each snap of his hips, each one more reckless and sloppy than the last. You can barely make out the words he’s mumbling into your ear, his brain just as jumbled as yours as he nears his finish line. 

“I have so much fucking cum for you. Gonna fuck it so deep in you, it’ll- oh fuck- it’ll fucking take. Fill up this pussy with every last- shit- every last fucking drop. Fuck!” 

It’s a low groan that rumbles in his chest first, followed by a strangled whimper that dies somewhere in the back of his throat as his hips stutter, hot ropes of his spend spilling inside of you while he cums. You know he doesn’t dare let a drop go to waste, that he’ll keep his cock stuffed inside your cunt until you’ve milked him of every ounce he has to give. 

And fuck, he wasn’t lying when he said plenty to give. 

You can’t even tell where your body ends and his begins, melded together as one, his length nestled so deep inside you, you can feel all of him pulsing while his seed overflows, leaking out pussy and dripping down your thighs. You know there’s nothing more Javi wants than to keep every last drop inside your cunt, but the best he can do with how much he has to give is to keep fucking it into you, forcing hips to thrust deeper in sync with the heavy heaves of his chest until you’re all but sobbing. 

“It’s- fuck- it’s so much, Javi, fuck-” You whimper, jaw slack at the slick, sticky mess pooling around the base of his cock. 

“Jesus, fuck- I know, baby. I know, but you’re taking me so fucking well.” He coos, softly kissing your neck and shoulder before shifting your body to lay you down, somehow remembering to grab a pillow from his side of the bed to prop under your hips before your back hits the mattress. 

You hiss at the loss of Javi inside you, the sharp breath quickly replaced by a gasp as you the next plop of cum dripping out of your hole caught by Javi’s fingers, sliding up your soaked folds to gently press back into your cunt. He uses the last bit of strength he has to part your legs just enough to make room for his head, leaning down just enough to pepper soft kisses to your clit, trailing up your stomach and chest until he collapses next to you. 

The both of you lay there for a moment in silence, nothing left to fill the room but the post-orgasmic haze you’ve left behind, catching your breath as you try to let your brain sync back up to your body. 

“Javi… Javi, holy fuck.” You huff, the corners of your cheeks turning upwards in a cheeky grin as you roll your head to face him, giggling at the wide eyed, fucked out expression his face still can’t seem to shake. 

“Jesus fucking Christ…” Javi sighs, shaking his head in disbelief before running his hand through the sweat-dampened curls of his hair, prying them from the damp mat they’ve made on his forehead.  

“You came so hard, Jav.” You softly giggle, scooting close enough to lay your cheek against his chest, smiling as he drapes his arm across your back to pull you in closer. 

“Yeah, I know. Fuck, I haven’t cum that hard in a long time.” Javi smirks, fingers drawing gentle patterns on the warm skin of your back. 

“Trying to knock me up really turns you on that much, huh?” You tease, the two of you laughing like you didn’t already know the answer, or that he couldn’t say the same for you. “It’s hot.” 

“Yeah?” Javi asks, biting down on the plush of his lower lip as he raises his eyebrows at you. 

“Mhmmm. You’re already about to be the hottest DILF known to man, makes it that much hotter how badly you want to be a daddy.” 

Even though Javi rolls his eyes at you, trying his best to hide the boyish grin stretched between his cheeks. You snicker at the pink flush of his face, leaning over to leave a lingering kiss on his lips, both your smiles meeting each other’s mouths. 

“Fuck me.” Javi sighs, quietly laughing to himself, carefully brushing a stray strand of hair out of your face. 

“Again? Already? Hate to break it to ya, but I think it’s safe to say you’ve got nothing left in the tank there, Jav.” 

This eye roll makes him grin even harder, supring on your giggles with the ticklish kisses he pecks across your body as payback for your awful joke. 

“You’re such a fucking dork. God, I love you.” 

“Love you more, idiot.”

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

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

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

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

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

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

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

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

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

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

[heeliopheelia]

𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 (s. jake x reader)

tw: somnophilia, fem! reader, unprotected sex, established relationship, pet names,

word count: 1.1k

masterlist

Laying on his back, Jake stares at the ceiling as another drop of cold sweat dribbles down the back of his neck. The ticking of the clock and your slow breaths are the only thing he can hear in the quiet bedroom, as he should be at three in the morning after all. 

But he finds it really hard to go back to a peaceful slumber when just two minutes ago you were straddling his dick and he was just so close to cumming. And all of those sweet moans of yours, the slight shaking of your thighs and the mesmerizing bounce of your tits – all of it, just to turn out to be a dream. 

With a heavy sigh, he turns to his side and looks at your sleeping self, so blissfully unaware of the armageddon that you’ve caused in his brain. His eyes skim over your bare back, rising and falling with deep breaths, and suddenly he’s reminded of how just seconds ago he was thrusting, and thrusting, and thrusting up into you so well-

Shutting his eyes tightly, Jake swallows hard and stays like this for a minute or two to calm himself. When another, tired sigh pushes past his lips, he moves closer to you and drapes his arm over your waist, hoping that cuddling up to you will make him fall asleep faster, so that he can wake up in the morning and fuck you properly sooner. 

Another issue he’s being faced with is that the night is so cold, and you’re just so warm and inviting, laying so prettily right next to him. The fairylights that you’ve left turned on for the night cast a warm light on you, giving him a perfect view on the fading hickeys he left on your shoulder blades mere hours ago, and now really, how is he supposed to stop himself. 

The twitch of his hard cock becomes more unbearable with every second and then he realizes – he just loves you too much to let you sleep in peace. He can’t allow for your unforced beauty to go to waste, after all. 

“My pretty girl,” he whispers, barely audible as his voice is still heavily laced with sleep. 

The shorts he’s sleeping in are already drenched and so uncomfortable to wear, so he carefully slips them down to discard them on the floor, right next to where all of your clothes from last night are resting as well.

He lets his impatient hands wander to admire your curves, and a low grunt rips out of his throat as his erection grazes against your thighs by accident. 

He’s an asshole – he knows it. But not that big of an asshole to enjoy all of this without you. So, instead, he settles on rubbing his hard cock against your perked ass, biting his lip with the first touch of your plush skin. 

“Need you s’ bad,” he mutters, leaning forward to pepper your neck with small, sloppy kisses. 

One of his hands drifts to your chest. Whatever shame he might or might not have been fighting against moments ago, it all goes away when the glimpse of your quiet moan sounds through the room the second his hand touches the soft swell of your breast. 

Jake’s lips twitch up with a smile, and now without really holding back, he rolls his hips over your ass, letting his fingers rub and gently pinch around your hardening nipple. His other hand slips down to your pussy and a louder whine comes out of your throat when his thumb finds your clit.

“Knew you’re gonna like it,” he chuckles raspily into your neck. 

His cock finds a perfect place to slot against you, thrusts growing more desperate and less cautious as the release he’s been craving for so long has finally started building up again. 

He hugs you close to his chest, panting against your skin as he humps you like a pillow. Warm hand groping your tits, his tongue lays flat and licks up your neck, finishing at your jaw and nibbling underneath the bone. 

You begin to squirm underneath his touch just as you begin to get wetter, and still in your sleep, you push your ass back into his pelvis. He feels so dirty, but too good to stop too, thriving off the idea that he can make you come even in your sleep. Jake loves that you need him just as much as he needs you.

Rocking his hips into you, your boyfriend is careful not to move you around too much, after all waking you up would make him feel guiltier than he already is. His precum soon smears all over your ass, his big hand pressing harder onto your clit in desperation to make you wetter. 

And when he can finally hear the longed for filthy squelching underneath his fingertips, he breathes out and kisses your shoulder. 

“Just the tip, baby. I promise.” His hand hastily reaches down and lines his cock against your entrance. Slowly, he pushes his mushroom head inside, eyes rolling to the back of his head. “Can’t resist you.”

Your tight hole jerks out a louder whine out of him, not expecting you to suck him in so well, and if not for his self control he would’ve blown his load inside you right then and there. But he decides to enjoy you, to edge himself for a little longer, sinking his red tip in between your walls once by once. 

Just the tip, he has to remind himself after a particularly needy moan of yours.

His fingers skim over your perked nipple again, then cup your breast in his hand and squeeze it gently as he can feel himself getting closer to release. But then you tense in his arms and warm release streams down your thighs suddenly, coating Jake’s fingers. You whimper, on the verge of waking up, and he smiles slyly with satisfaction that he actually made you come in your sleep.

“I know, baby, I know,” he murmurs breathlessly. His eyes are focused on your perfect ass, hands soon following their lead and groping at your soft flesh. 

And then another pleased sigh leaves your lips and he just can’t help himself any longer, so he pulls out of you quickly with a nasty smack and taps his dripping cock over your ass, thick streams of his cum glazing your skin not even a blink later. His mouth falls open as his chest heaves so rapidly in comparison to yours. 

He can’t get himself to do much else than to fall back into the pillows and wrap his arms around you, pulling you as closely to him as it’s humanly possible. 

“Love you, love you so much,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your jawline. “Promise I’ll reward you in the mornin’.”

Nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck, he can feel his eyes starting to droop after the restless night. 

taglist: @bambisgirl @arizejkt19 @luvmura @milisabunny @cathy-1997 @dilucsleftshoelace @ramenoil @jenjnk @jaylaxies @seongiewon @nichoswag @s00buwu @mon2sunjinsuver @goreconsumer @i4kt @heehoonsnemo @seongslutt @criminalyun @enhabooks @antoinettenotfound

a/n: i used to love this the first time i wrote this but now it's just... meh... idek if this is worth putting on my masterlist lmfao

[coldfanbou]

Kinkcember 29: Stepcest

Mommy Ryujin should really read labels more.

Length 1.8K

Ryujin X Mreader

It was a bit upsetting when your father told you he couldn’t come along to the vacation you had planned for the family. It was a trip to Hawaii you had spent a lot of money on. You didn’t particularly want to spend time with your stepmother. Ryujin was just a little older than you. It was a bit weird for you, but you couldn’t just cancel the trip; there wouldn’t be any refund. So you went on the trip you had planned with Ryujin. It was a bit awkward at first, but after a while, the two of you managed to get along somewhat. You have done some nice activities like scuba diving, paddleboarding, and surfing, and all these activities got you closer to Ryujin. You couldn’t help but look at her body as it got wet whenever she fell into the water. 

It made you horny, but you couldn’t fuck your stepmother. You would need to find someone else to help. While you were prepping to explore the nightlife of the main island, Ryujin came into the room. “Hey, where are you going?”

“I’ll just be waking around. It’s about time we did some of our own things, right?” Ryujin nodded; she hadn’t really planned on doing anything.

“I think I’ll just be here and relax a little. You go have fun. Mommy knows you’ll be fine,” She joked. It irked you, though; she thought of it as a little joke, but it’s something that made you slightly uncomfortable. You grab the room keys and give her a quick nod before leaving quietly. Ryujins sighs as she begins to look through the mini-fridge. The prices of the drinks inside were enough to drive her away. She looked around before noticing a little packet you had left behind. She thought it was a drink mix.

She took the packet. " Long-lasting energy?” Ryujin figured you wouldn’t miss it, so she ripped it open and poured the contents into her water bottle, watching it turn a vivid blue as she shook her bottle. She sipped it; the flavor wasn’t so bad. It was not something she would choose, but it was better than nothing. As she drank it, though, Ryujin felt her body heating up. As she headed to the bathroom, Ryujin’s chest brushed against a wall, sending shockwaves through her body. Stepping inside, she saw her nipples poking through her shirt. Bringing her hand to her chest, she felt the same tingling; she cooed as the wave of pleasure hit her. Her other hand moved under her pants. She was already wet; her body was already craving more than just a simple touch. Ryujin rubbed her slit, moaning softly as she stared at herself in the mirror. Knowing you would be gone for a few hours, she went back to bed, fingering herself to several orgasms. The evening had turned to night, and Ryujin was still going. The long-lasting energy text on the packet made sense to her now. 

When the doorknob started to jiggle, though, she threw a blanket over herself and pretended to be asleep. You stepped through the door more than a little tipsy; instead of heading to your room, you went to Ryujin’s, landing next to her and drifting off to sleep.

She rubbed her slit, struggling to hold back her moans. The sounds of her fingers pumping in and out of her wet cunt were growing louder as she sped up. Ryujin grabbed at her breasts, her body becoming too hot. It was unbearable. She looked over her shoulder, staring at you. Ryujin noticed something, though; she saw that you were hard. She stared at your bulge, her fingers moving along her slit. She whimpered softly, dirty thoughts crossing her mind. She was your stepmother, yet her thoughts drifted to unsavory places. Ryujin reached over to you, her hand hovering above your bulge as she considered crossing the line. She bit her lip, struggling to contain her desires. Ryujin let her hand fall on your bulge, feeling it twitch. Unconsciously, she licked her lips. “Just a taste. That’s all I need.” Ryujin whispered to herself as she silently moved between your legs, tugging at your sweatpants, pulling your underwear along with them. The waistband held you back, but as soon as she had pulled just a little too far, your cock swung toward her, smacking her. 

Ryujin didn’t dare move; her nostril filled with your musk as she took a deep breath. Her head was foggy as she stuck her tongue out. She dragged it along your shaft, moaning softly as she got a taste of you. It was like a drug; now that she had a taste, she wanted more. Coming to the tip, Ryujin couldn’t help but wrap her lips around your cock, beginning to bob her head almost immediately. Ryujin’s moans became louder as she bobbed her head, her tongue swirling around the tip of your cock as she continued to finger herself. She didn’t care that you were her stepson, she was just desperate for a cock. As your stepmom sucked on your cock she could feel her climax approaching. She arched her back, readying herself for the waves of pleasure that were about to wash over her. Ryujin pushed herself down to the base of your cock, making it hit the back of her throat.

You began to stir, groaning as you felt something warm around your cock. As you look down, you see Ryujin gorging herself on it, her drool making your cock slick as she bobbed her head. “R-ryujin,” you groan, unable to move as the pleasure fills your body. 

“Shhh, let Mommy take care of you.” She moaned, running her hand along your shaft. “Mommy just needs a little taste.” She said softly before wrapping her lips around your cock again. She bobbed her head slower now, letting her tongue move along the sides of your cock as she slowly took in more of your cock. You let her keep going. Ryujin was a beautiful woman. How could you resist her when she was giving you a blowjob? The fact she was your stepmother was something you weren’t thinking about in your drunken state.  Ryujin moved up your body, nipping at your neck as she stroked your cock. 

You move your hands to her ass, squeezing the soft flesh and making Ryujin moan. “You such a dirty boy,” she teased. You squeezed her ass again; you had stared at it the past few days when you were with Ryujin. It was nice and full, bouncing whenever she jumped. “I need you to fuck me,” Ryujin whispered, her voice laced with lust. She tugs on your arm as she pulls away from you, setting herself up for you to take her. She gets on all fours, and it’s only now you notice she isn’t wearing any underwear and only has on her white tank top. You got behind Ryujin, watching as she swayed her ass in front of you, “Come on, I need you.”

You slapped Ryujin’s ass, watching her flesh jiggle before delivering another smack. “Mmm, don’t tease me. Fuck mommy already.” Ryujin groaned, raising her ass and arching her back for you. You hold her waist with one hand, using the other to bring your cock in line with her slit. Prodding the entrance, you push the head in, spreading her lips apart. Ryujin moans as she feels your cock stretching her. “You're so big,” she mumbles before your ram your length inside her cunt. Ryujin cries out as your cock pushes her walls apart. Her eyes nearly roll into the back of her head, her body shakes, and she almost cums. You pull out quickly, grabbing her shoulder with your free hand before ramming yourself back inside. Ryujin moans your name as you begin to pound away at her body. The cock that she was craving was finally inside her.

She pushes her hips back and plays with her clit. The pleasure was driving her crazy. Your stepmother begs for more. You give her exactly what she wants, pressing her against the mattress and ramming your cock into her cunt. Ryujin smiles, the pleasure pushing her over the edge. Ryujin cries out as she cums on your cock, her nectar coating your cock before squirting onto the bed. You continue your thrusts, watching her ass and considering using the other hole. You pull out of Ryujin’s pussy, gulping as you move your cock to her other hole. Ryujin can barely think as she feels your cock pressing against her asshole. “Hm? Hold on…” she says weakly as you push your cock into the puckered hole, stretching it. “Ah, w-wait, I’m not ready.” Ryujin groans.

The tight hole painfully squeezes down on your shaft as you push more of your length inside. Ryujin continues to groan, feeling your cock stretch her unused asshole. She feels fuller than ever before. The sensation makes her cum as she feels you thrust the final inches into her. She squirts again, her nectar soaking the mattress. “You’re so tight? Has Dad used this hole before?”

“Never,” Ryujin mumbles, her strength leaving her body, causing her to flop onto the bed. You hold her waist up as you pull out slowly, dragging along her walls. Somehow she has enough energy to reach back and stretch her cheeks, “Fuck my ass, please.” Ryujin had utterly lost it. The feeling of having her ass filled by her stepson was too much. You drive your cock back into Ryujin’s ass. She begs you for more, and with every thrust, it becomes easier to fuck Ryujin. Her walls become slick with her nectar. The pain and pleasure caused by your cock was addictive; you met Ryujin’s cries for more. You stirred her guts as you got closer to your climax. Ryujin felt your cock begin to throb inside her and screamed, “Cum inside Mommy’s ass!” 

“If that’s what you want,” you grunt before burying yourself inside her ass. Your cum floods her guts. Ryujin’s body shakes as she has a mind-shattering orgasm. She collapses onto the bed, eyes in the back of her head. You pull out slowly, coming out of her ass with a pop. Her asshole winks at you as it tries to shut, and your cum leaks out of it slowly, running down her body until it meets the bed. You collapse beside Ryujin, falling asleep almost instantly.

When the sun rose the following day, you woke up to the sight of Ryujin’s back; she was riding you. Ryujin was bouncing on your cock, impaling her ass on it every time. When you grab her waist, she looks over her shoulder, “Good Morning,” She groans. “Why don’t we spend today inside and get to know each other a little more? I’m sure your dad won’t mind.”

[aeluteria]

Pillows and glass walls

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆ summary: you develop a habit surrounding yourself with pillows when you sleep — as if trying to replicate certain someone's presence. ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆ pairing: MC!reader x Caleb ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆ word count: 1,666 ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆ general info: hurt/comfort, fluff, not established relationship, longing Caleb if you look really close act surprised here ────── ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆ notes: proofread four times and all but it's possible there's still some mistakes since English isn't my first language. Enjoy!

After Caleb’s death, you’re haunted by nightmares, and you get used to sleeping surrounded by pillows. There’s something comforting about the way they press against your body from all sides, almost wrapping you in their softness. The pretty spacious bed narrows down to about half a meter all thanks to at least four pillows around you. One under your head, one in front of you, one under your arm, and one behind your back. The desperate longing for the phantom sensation of something's — someone's — presence is almost unbearable.

When you and Caleb used to stay up late watching yet another late-night show, he would often fall asleep next to you, allowing you to throw your arms and legs over him, even if it meant he’d have to spend the rest of the night in the same and probably — definetely — not so comfortable position. He knew he would wake you up the moment he tried to move away. Back then, you shared the narrow seat of the sofa in the gran's living room, squeezed together with your limbs intertwined.

Now, you try to recreate that feeling by placing a pillow behind your back, nearly trapping yourself between it and the one you so habitually throw your arm and leg over. The pillows are too soft; they don’t compare to Caleb’s strong, toned body, which you remember so clearly in your embrace. But… it’s something, at least. 

It becomes your ritual — a small tradition you follow almost religiously, day after day. 

One pillow goes under your head — as it should, just like most people sleep. 

The second one is tucked behind your back — a barrier, a false sense of protection, because you don’t like to sleep with your back exposed. 

The third one you hug, throwing a leg over it, pressing it as close as possible in an attempt to recreate that warm, familiar embrace. 

The fourth, the smallest, goes under your free elbow, covering your side and chest. 

You pull the blanket over yourself, hiding beneath its soft folds. And finally, you allow the warmth and weight to lull you to sleep.

The same ritual every night. 

A quirk that has become a necessity. 

Sometimes you wonder if it should be the first and only thing on your list of bad habits.

──────

After Caleb’s return, you continue sleeping surrounded by pillows. Caleb notices. Of course he does — how could he not? — and silently buys you a few more pillows, leaving them in your room in his Skyhaven apartment. He doesn’t ask where you got this habit from, but you feel like he’s already figured it out. Staying over at his place, you don’t change your ritual, turning the huge bed into a plush-pillow sanctuary. 

Caleb is back, but it feels like he’s further away from you than ever. The bed sheets and blanket smell of his cologne — fresh, familiar — and in those fragile evening moments, you desperately want to believe that you and Caleb are truly home again. 

That the muffled muttering from the living room isn’t reports and endless briefings that follow Caleb even outside of work — but the forgotten TV, its volume turned down to a minimum. 

That the lights of the city breaking through the curtains are in fact soft moonlight, cradling the summer night in its embrace. 

That you’re not in this big, almost lifeless apartment desperately clutching a pillow — but on a couch in the not-so-big gran's living room holding a drowsy Caleb, wrapped in the warmth of summer that you’ll spend together.

Caleb has returned to your life. But now, it feels like there’s a glass wall between you — right where the warmth, the tenderness, the infinite trust used to be.

It’s starting to crack. And behind the cracks you can sense all these familiar feelings and emotions trying to break through. But it’s not enough. 

You’re afraid that this glass wall will never shatter.

Even after Caleb’s return you’re still haunted by nightmares. Waking from them in the quiet of your own home became familiar long ago. But in the silence of the room at Skyhaven screaming in desperation and fear feels almost like a crime. You cover your mouth with your palm, your fingers tremble. The bed is a mess, pillows scattered across the floor except the one under your head. The nightmare’s grim reality still flickers in your mind, and you blink rapidly, trying to push it away. You don’t hear hurried footsteps down the hallway, only noticing them when they stop with the sound of a door opening. Caleb is standing in the doorway — disheveled from sleep, but alert and tense, like a spring ready to snap at any moment. He quickly scans the room, and finding no danger, softly approaches the bed, sitting on the edge. The mattress dips under his weight, and you hurriedly wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, brushing away the tears. But Caleb still notices.

“Are you okay?”

His voice is slightly hoarse from sleep, and a wave of shame and guilt rises in your chest and washes over you. You nod quickly — too quickly for it to seem truly sincere.

“Yeah, I just… just had a nightmare. Sorry for waking you.”

Caleb reaches out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. It takes a lot not to lean into his touch, seeking comfort. Caleb notices — he himself touches your cheek with his palm, and you press into it, closing your eyes for a moment to catch your breath. Caleb caresses your cheek with his thumb, wiping away the damp trails of your tears. 

For a moment, it feels like the world narrows down to the two of you sitting across from each other. 

Almost like before, almost like in the past. 

Except that now everything feels completely different.

“Don’t apologize, pipsqueak. Want me to make you some warm herbal tea? It’ll help you calm down.” 

You know there are only a few hours left before his alarm goes off, but despite that he’s still willing to spend those precious minutes with you. You swallow the lump in your throat and shake your head with a faint smile.

“I’m fine, really.” “You’re still crying.”

Caleb traces a finger up your cheek to the corner of your eye, wiping the tear with his thumb. In his gaze you see familiar concern, warmth, and endless tenderness — and for a moment it feels like nothing has changed. 

Like you’re back on the narrow couch in the gran's living room, lazily debating who will fall asleep first. 

Like you're back in those carefree days when the biggest problem was deciding which flavor of ice cream to choose.

Like you’re back together for the whole summer, and even the coming separation when his vacation ends won’t overshadow this precious time. 

You reach out to him, wrapping your arms around his chest in the familiar gesture, nuzzling your face in the spot where his neck meets his shoulder, inhaling the fresh scent of his shower gel and closing your eyes. You feel him hold you back almost immediately. Like he was waiting for this. His breath catches for just a moment, and you swear you can feel his heartbeat quickening by a dozen beats per minute. Your heart seems to echo his.

“I dreamed that you…” “Shh, don’t think about it.” 

Caleb strokes your back, and you feel the warmth of his hands even through your clothes. 

“I’m here with you, and I’m not going anywhere.” 

He briefly kisses your forehead, touch almost ghostly on your skin.

“Caleb?..”

He pulls back slightly, looking at you with those impossibly beautiful sunset-colored eyes, and your heart tightens with unbearable tenderness. You gently touch his cheek, almost as if trying to make sure he’s real, that he’s really here, that he’s truly not going anywhere. Caleb turns his head and softly kisses the center of your palm.

“Stay with me tonight. Please.”

His eyelashes flutter as he blinks in surprise. In the dim light of the room you see his lips curl into a smile, the features of his face soften, and the worry fades from his eyes. Caleb lies down beside you, like he’s done so many times before, pulling you closer and holding you tight. His chest rises and falls, and you rest your hand on it. The cool metal of his pendant brushes against your skin, and you gently trace its contours with your finger. Caleb slowly runs his fingers through your hair, and you feel his breath on your forehead.

“I’ll stay with you forever. Just ask me.” 

He slowly strokes your back. 

His touch barely there, almost hesitant — as if he's afraid to disturb the fragility of the moment.

“...stay with me forever.”

You echo, closing your eyes as sleep takes over. Caleb pulls the blanket over both of you, and the warmth surrounds you completely. You finally let go, surrendering to sleep.

You don't realize that for the first time in many nights you didn’t even think about the pillows scattered on the floor.

You won’t need them tonight. 

And something in you wants to believe that from this very moment you’ll never need them at all.

The glass wall between you and Caleb seems to crack once more — and this crack is deeper than all of those before.

And through it, that familiar and long-awaited warmth breaks through, almost searing in its wake.

“No one will dare to separate us. Never again. I promise.”

He kisses your forehead briefly and his lips linger on your skin just a little longer than necessary. Then they slide down, brushing your cheek, teasingly touching the tip of your nose. Finally, they come to rest near the corner of your mouth.

You’re absolutely sure this warm touch of his lips so dangerously close to your own was just a dream.

And just as absolutely, you’re not sure you’ll ever admit to yourself that you don’t mind these kinds of dreams at all.

[lyvhie]

── .✦ technically... he found your inner self

park jisung x fem!reader

𓂃 ࣪˖ summary: a bad decision about something that was supposed to be fun led your boyfriend to deal with things with his very own hands (quite literally) 𓂃 ࣪˖ cw: smut, public sex, fingering, unprotected sex, pet names. 𓂃 ࣪˖ a/n: errmm... so, i'm kinda busy with college right now, but i'm working on your requests, wait for me! ANYWAYS, ENJOY, FRIENDS!!!!!!!

You know those videos where Haechan drags Jisung around, and he just follows without complaining? That’s exactly how Jisung is with you.

If you wanted to do something, he’d do it with you—no matter if he wasn’t particularly excited or didn’t want to. He just liked seeing you happy. That’s why he let you drag him to all sorts of things—spontaneous late-night drives, random cooking challenges that always ended in a mess, even that one pottery class where he nearly destroyed his clay piece within the first five minutes.

And that’s also why he was okay with you bringing him to this stupid spiritual retreat, just because you thought it would be fun, even though he knew you wouldn't last too long without at least a small dose of internet to keep your brain entertained.

“Baby, can you please stay still?” Jisung whispered in your ear as you kept shifting around on the futon, trying not to wake up the other people in the room.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered back. “I’m feeling too… energized.”

It was another day of connecting with nature, finding your inner peace, and listening to the guru drone on about vague spiritual nonsense during the morning classes.

You needed to do something that actually made you feel active. It was unbearable to end the day without exhausting yourself. You couldn’t find the urge to sleep, unlike your boyfriend, who seemed to have no problem with it.

“We didn’t do anything again, and we still have three more days of this,” you complained, tossing and turning. The room was faintly illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the thin curtains of the large window.

Jisung sighed, rubbing his face before turning onto his side to look at you. "You're the one who dragged us here," he reminded you, voice groggy with sleep. "And now you're complaining?"

You huffed, staring up at the ceiling. "I thought it would be fun! I didn't think we'd just sit around all day listening to some old guy talk about breathing."

Jisung snorted. "That's literally what a retreat is."

You turned your head to glare at him in the dim light. "Well, I regret it."

He chuckled softly. "I knew you would," he murmured, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you firmly against him, his face burying into the curve of your neck. "I think I can help with that, baby.”

You blinked, feeling the warmth of his breath tickling your skin. “Oh? And how exactly do you plan on doing that?” you asked, a playful lilt to your voice.

Jisung hummed, pressing a lazy kiss to your neck. “Well, if you can’t tire yourself out, I guess I’ll just have to do it for you.” His voice was low, teasing, but there was something in his tone that sent a shiver down your spine.

His hand slipped under your shirt, warm fingers tracing slow, lazy circles over your belly.

"Okay, I know what you're thinking," you began, voice hushed but firm. "Absolutely not. There are people in the room."

Jisung only chuckled, his breath fanning against your skin. "Then you just need to be quiet," he murmured, his hand drifting lower, fingers teasing at the waistband of your shorts.

Before you could even think about wriggling away to stop him, his other arm slid beneath you, holding you firmly in place as he pressed another lingering kiss just below your ear.

"Jisung…" you warned, trying to sound firm, though the heat pooling between your legs betrayed you.

"Just be quiet and enjoy," he murmured, his hand slipping under your shorts, fingers gliding over your slick folds, making your breath hitch. "No panties, hm?" he mused, his voice dripping with amusement as he traced slow, teasing circles. "Were you waiting for this?"

He nipped at your earlobe, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine as you pressed your lips together, trying to suppress a gasp.

He didn’t hesitate, slipping two fingers inside you at once, your slickness making the intrusion effortless. The sudden stretch had a moan slipping past your lips before you could stop it, and you hurriedly clapped a hand over your mouth, heart pounding as you glanced at the other couples sleeping just a few feet away.

“I told you to be quiet,” he nuzzled his nose against your neck affectionately, his words carrying both amusement and a hint of warning.

"I'm sorry," you mewled softly, your voice barely above a whisper as he began pumping his fingers in and out of you at a steady, delicious pace. The heel of his palm pressed against your clit with each movement, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. Instinctively, you parted your legs just a little more, giving him better access, he took full advantage of it, a satisfied hum leaving his lips as he quickened his pace.

"Spreading your legs so easily for me… you must’ve really wanted this, huh?” he chuckled, amusement laced in his voice. "Bet you’ve been thinking about this the whole time we’ve been here,” his words sent a rush of heat straight to your core, making you whimper softly against your palm. “Poor thing… should’ve told me sooner. I would’ve had you crying on my fingers hours ago.”

His fingers moved with purpose now, curling perfectly inside you, pressing against that spot that made your toes curl. “You’re so mean,” you managed to whisper, your voice breathless as you tried to glare at him over your shoulder.

Jisung only chuckled again, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. “And yet you’re squeezing around me like you love it,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

He rubbed his fingers against your gummy walls, feeling the tightness, the heat, as he slowly scissored them apart—just enough to stretch you without overwhelming you. His thumb found your clit, rubbing in slow, steady circles, giving it the attention it desperately needed. You didn’t know how you were managing to stay quiet, but somehow, your moans came out soft, muffled, barely escaping your lips as your body trembled beneath his touch.

He smiled lazily at your restraint, admiring how well you held yourself together—it was cute, how you were trying to stay quiet, even as your body betrayed you. His long fingers moved in perfect sync, thrusting deep into you, rubbing against that sensitive spot inside while his thumb expertly flicked against your clit, giving you equal pleasure.

You were getting so close, the pressure building with each motion, your body trembling with need. You pushed your hips down to meet his thrusts, chasing your climax as your breath quickened, desperate to release the tension he was expertly drawing out of you.

“I know you want to come,” he smiled, his thumb flicking faster against your clit. “Go ahead and let go. You can’t hold back much longer, can you?”

The knot forming in your core suddenly untied, and with a soft, desperate whimper, you came undone. Your body spasmed slightly at the feeling, milking his fingers as they continued to move inside you, coaxing every last bit of release from you.

“That was good,” you whispered breathlessly, gulping as you glanced around the room to make sure no one had heard you. The soft, lingering aftershocks of your release still made your body tremble, but you almost didn’t notice when he gently grabbed your leg, pulling it over him. He was still spooning you, his chest pressed to your back, his warmth surrounding you as he held you close.

“Jisung?” You raised your brows lightly in confusion, your voice soft, but the sound of his name still carried an edge of uncertainty. He simply hummed in response, his hand gently brushing the tip of his cock against your glistening pussy, making you gasp softly. When had he pulled his pants down? “Baby, we already—”

“Shh,” he interrupted, his voice low and insistent, as he rubbed his length against your clit, teasing you. The friction sent a jolt of sensitivity through your body, and you could barely contain the moan that escaped your lips. Your body was still so sensitive from your last orgasm. “I told you to be quiet and enjoy,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. “I’m helping you, remember?”

You didn’t even have a chance to respond before he slid his hard cock inside you, the motion effortless as you were already a mess, so ready for him. The sensation of him filling you, stretching you to the brim, made you cry out his name, and a soft, relieved sigh left his lips in response.

“You can’t stay quiet like that, can you?” he teased, his voice low and commanding. “I’ll help you, sweetie.” Without waiting for a response, he pushed his fingers into your mouth, silencing you, while his hips began to move at a slow pace.

He buried his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he continued to fuck you slowly, pressing his fingers against your tongue to make sure you stayed silent. His other arm held you close, locking you in place. There was no rush from him, just steady, deep thrusts that made you feel weightless, like you were melting beneath him. You couldn’t help but drool on his finger as your muffled moans escaped, barely audible to him, each movement of his pushing you closer to the edge once again.

The slow pace made your body burn with need, every inch of him stretching you as you clenched around him, desperate for more. He felt the way your hips bucked against his, silently begging for something faster, but he just held you in place, his grip firm yet loving.

“Just let me take care of you,” he cooed, his palm gliding over your belly in a slow, affectionate caress. He pressed down just enough to make you feel every inch of him buried inside, the pressure almost making you roll your eyes to the back of your head. Your thighs trembled, your walls gripping him tighter in response.

“Just like that,” he hummed in approval, and as he felt the way you sucked on his fingers. His hand drifted from your stomach back down to your clit, pinching it roughly—just enough to make you jolt—before soothing the sting with slow, firm rubs, keeping you right where he wanted you.

His movements remained slow, deep and unrelenting, pushing into you with precision, making sure you felt every inch of him. His fingers on your clit moved faster, the pleasure teetering on the edge of overwhelming. “Come on, baby, give me another,” he coaxed, his breath hot against your ear. “I know you can.”

The overstimulation was too much, the combination of his words, his deep thrusts, and the relentless attention to your clit sending you spiraling. Your body tensed, your walls clamping down around him as you came again, legs shaking in his hold.

“That’s it,” he cooed, pulling his fingers from your mouth, a thin string of saliva breaking as he did. His hand trailed down, gripping your thigh and caressing the soft skin on the inside, his touch gentle in contrast to the deep, slow thrusts he used to fuck you through your high, drawing out every last pulse of pleasure.

“So good for me, baby,” he murmured, his voice warm with praise as he turned your face toward him. His lips met yours in a soft, unhurried kiss, slow and deep, just like the way he had just fucked you.

As he pulled away from the kiss, your breath was still uneven, your chest rising and falling as you tried to steady yourself. He pressed a few soft kisses against your cheeks, grounding you, until your breathing slowly returned to normal. Then, with a satisfied sigh, you melted against him, snuggling closer as he wrapped his arms around you, adjusting the blankets over both of you. His touch had done more than just soothe you, now, you were fighting off a yawn.

“You should replace that fake guru,” you murmured sleepily, your voice laced with drowsy amusement.

He chuckled, pulling you even closer. “Are you saying I should fuck everyone who signs up for this useless retreat?”

“…Never mind.”

↝ taglist: @yizhrt, @sinisxtea, @peterm4rker.

[himasgod]

Can I request a leona x reader where the reader got hurt during his overblot I’m feeling a little bit of hurt/comfort 

LEONA X READER

Where you wake up after his overblot

How would Leona act seeing you wake up in the infirmary, knowing that he damaged you and left you unconscious during his overblot?

The silence is unbearable.

When you opened your eyes with difficulty, everything around you was dim, the smell of dried herbs relaxed you. You're in the infirmary… and you're not alone.

Since you woke up, Leona hasn't said a word.

He's there, sitting in the chair next to your bed, his elbows on his knees, his gaze fixed on the floor. He's wearing the same clothes before you lost consciousness, traces of sand clinging to the folds. His tail isn't moving, his ears are lowered, his expression tense.

He hasn't looked at you once.

And that scares you.

Because if there's one thing Leona Kingscholar never does, it's avoid confrontations.

You blink several times, trying to clear your blurred vision. You feel heavy, as if your body were trapped in a lead swamp. The pain in your side reminded you with cruel precision what happened in the Savanaclaw Coliseum.

The dark sand.

Leona in the middle of all, consumed by his own venom.

The impact of his attack is still etched into your skin. The brute force with which he threw you through the air, the feeling of everything inside you compressing to the point of suffocation, the sharp pain as you hit the floor.

You remember Ruggie's voice calling your name.

You remember the screams of the others.

You remember… the silence afterward.

The emptiness.

Now, in this all-too-quiet room, that same emptiness still surrounds you.

"…You're not going to say anything, are you?"

Your voice comes out weaker than you'd like. You try to joke, but the pang in your chest makes the attempt fade into a whisper.

Leona clicks his tongue, but still doesn't look up.

"What do you want me to say?"

Your throat tightens at his dry tone, but you force a smile, even though it hurts.

"I don't know… 'I'm glad you're still alive' would be fine."

His reaction is immediate.

His expression twists. His ears twitch slightly, as if those words have struck an overly sensitive nerve.

"I have no right to say that," he whispers.

It takes you a moment to process what he just said. And then, you understand.

His fists are balled until his knuckles turn white. His tail is motionless, as if even his own body is paralyzed.

The way he still doesn't look at you.

Leona isn't angry.

He's scared.

And he doesn't know how to deal with it.

"Leona…"

"Shut up."

The rawness in his voice takes you by surprise. It's a low, sharp growl, like a razor's edge slashing at your skin.

Hearing his name on your lips, his hands clench into fists.

"Don't say my name like that," he growls, but not angrily.

It's something else. Exhaustion. Frustration. Something he doesn't dare name.

"As if… as if I didn't almost kill you."

But what shocks you most isn't the anger, but the trembling that runs through him.

Leona Kingscholar doesn't tremble.

Not when he's fighting. Not when he's furious. Not when the whole world is against him.

But now, with his head bowed, his shoulders rigid, and his lips pressed into a tight line… he's trembling.

And that's worse than anything.

The pain in your body is insignificant compared to the knot forming in your chest. You want to reach out, to touch him, to say something that might pull him from this abyss into which he seems to have sunk.

But you can barely move.

Gathering all the strength you have left, you reach out and brush your fingertips against his.

Leona freezes.

His green eyes, dark as a shadowy forest, finally meet yours.

And there it is.

Fear.

Not fury. Not disdain. Not the bitter resignation he usually carries.

Fear. Pure, absolute terror.

As if, for the first time in his life, Leona Kingscholar had felt what it was like to lose something that truly mattered to him.

As if he still couldn't believe you were here, breathing.

As if, deep down, a part of him was still trapped in the moment your body fell motionless onto the sand.

Your hand closes awkwardly around his. It's cold.

"It wasn't your fault," you whisper.

His jaw tenses instantly. His ears flatten even further.

Leona clicks his tongue. His tail whips around sharply.

"Don't be stupid. You are hurt because of me. No one else."

You know what he's really saying is that he hates himself for this. That he won't forgive himself.

"Are you… okay?" you ask, reaching out with a struggle.

Leona tenses immediately, as if you've hit him.

"Me? Are you really asking that?" His voice cracks slightly, and his ears flatten back.

"You're the one bedridden, herbivore."

Still, you manage a small smile.

"Yes… but I want to know."

For a long moment, he says nothing. Then he lets out a heavy sigh and rubs his temple with his fingers, as if fighting off a splitting headache.

"…I hate this," he finally murmurs, his tone almost inaudible.

"I hated watching you fall. I hated knowing it was my fault. I hated not being able to stop myself…"

His hand closes on his knee.

"If you hadn't woken up, I would—"

"It isn't your fault," you insist, more firmly. "You know it isn't."

Leona lets out a bitter, humorless laugh. A dry sound that doesn't reach his eyes.

"If I hadn't lost control, you wouldn't be like this."

His other hand slides across the sheet, almost unintentionally, until it brushes against your bandaged side. His touch is so light you barely feel it, but even so, his hand moves away as if it's been burned.

"I wouldn't be here watching you lying in this damn bed, helpless."

His voice grows raspier with each word. More stifled.

The weight on his back is so visible it seems he could break at any moment.

Leona exhales sharply, as if he's been holding his breath this whole time.

"I didn't want to lose you," he whispers, and this time there's no anger, no pride, no masks.

Only Leona. Only his fear. Only his guilt. And it hurts.

It hurts because you know how hard it is for him to say it. Because you know that in his mind, all of this is his responsibility, even when it isn't.

Because you know he's the one who hates himself the most right now.

"I'm strong," you say, interlacing his fingers with yours. "I won't get rid of you so easy."

Leona closes his eyes tightly, exhaling a long, contented breath.

"…You're an idiot," he whispers, his eyes closed.

"But I guess I'm your idiot."

And for the first time, you feel his grip respond to yours.

Firm. Warm. Alive.

Leona won't leave. Not this time.

And never again.

That was more than enough for you.

[monster-disaster]

How do you think certain monster boyfriends/husbands handle their girlfriends’/wives’ plushies? Especially if they’re on the bed with them? 🧸🧸🧸

It's a cute idea. 😊

_

Your orc doesn’t have a problem with your plush or plushies. Within reason. A stuffed animal or two? That’s fine. Cute, even. But if he rolls over in the middle of the night and gets jabbed in the eye by the ear of a plush bunny? That’s where he draws the line. Especially when he wants to hug you, and he has to fight himself through them to reach you. "Alright, sweetheart," he rumbles. "This ain't workin’."

Your werewolf is jealous. And he doesn't even try to hide it. Why would you need anything else when he is right there, soft, warm, and big enough to hold you in his arms as you drift off? He is your personal comfort, your real-life cuddle buddy, and yet, here you are, wrapping your arms around a fluffy monkey as it could compare to the heat of his body. He isn't about to throw your toys out, he is not cruel, but every so often, when he catches you with a plush nestled in your arms, he growls about it; "Don’t need that thing when you’ve got me, babe. I’ll keep you plenty cozy."

Your minotaur gets a little annoyed by the plush toys every now and again, especially when he wakes up to find one tangled around his horns. He’s not the type to make a big deal about it, but the soft, squishy feeling of a stuffed bear rubbing against his head in his sleep? Yeah, that’s not his idea of a good morning. The first time it happens, he just blinks at it, letting out a long, frustrated sigh before carefully untangling the toy from his horns, muttering something under his breath. "How the hell did this even happen?" It’s not that he minds the toys themselves, but the constant wrestling with them while he's trying to sleep is another matter.

Your goblin uses them as pillows. At first, you notice a few of them have started to migrate from their usual spots, ending up on the couch or in the bed. And then, one morning, you wake up only to find one of your favorite plushies squished right under his head as he snores away beside you. "What? It’s the perfect angle for my neck. Nice and soft, just the right support, you know, sweetheart?"

Your rakshasa boyfriend is all for the plushies. They are soft, warm, and perfectly comfortable for snuggling up with during the night. The real issue, though, is his mania for filling the bed with as many pillows and blankets as he can find. He doesn't care if it’s summer and the heat is unbearable. To him, the more softness around him, the better. You wake up in the middle of the night buried under a mountain of pillows, surrounded by enough blankets to make it feel like winter, and you sigh, wiping sweat from your brow. "Darling, you can never have too much comfort."

Your dragon boyfriend is totally fine with your plushies. After all, he can understand your hoarding tendencies. So, your plushies? He gets it, even if you have a few more than you might admit. He might find a certain charm in it. If they start taking up too much space, he just builds a bigger nest for the two of you and your plush army. "Don’t worry, love, we have enough room for your treasures."

Your naga doesn't like them. It’s not that he has anything against them per se, but the textures just don’t sit well with him. The soft, squishy feel of plush toys feels strange against his scales, and the last thing he wants in his sleep is the feeling of fluffy ears or stitched eyes brushing against his body. He tolerates them for you, but if you catch him side-eyeing the toys, you know why. Fortunately, the solution is simple. You just place your plushies on the other side of the bed so he can curl up around you without touching them. "So much better."

[syluslnd]

If the pregnant MC is kidnapped by Sylus' enemies, Luke and Kieran don't know how to inform Sylus because they know how much he cares about MC and her babys. If MC miscarries her babys and falls unconscious because of what she went through there, what will happen when Sylus finds her, what will she feel when he takes her to the hospital, what will Mc feel when she wakes up? How will Sylus comfort her when she starts crying and how will he eventually take revenge on his enemies?

I think I've written this request before, but I really want to read this article from your perspective. I'm sorry if I bothered you by sending the request a second time.

when sylus enemies attack you causing you to have miscarriage

tags-angst,comforting,mentions of violence,guilt

(note-hi don’t worry it’s ok if u sent it a second time,it took me a while to write so that’s why I’m posting until now! I hope this is what you wanted 🤍)

────୨ৎ────

The room was dark, cold and the pain was unbearable. Your body ached with every breath, bruises spreading across your skin like ink stains and your mind struggled to keep up with the reality of your situation.

You had been taken, dragged from the safety of Sylus’s protection by enemies who were relentless in their cruelty. You had fought but they were too many and now, your body bore the cost of their violence.

But the worst pain wasn’t physical. It was the dull, nauseating sensation in your abdomen, the sinking, terrifying fear that something was deeply wrong.

Your vision blurred as you lay there on the cold concrete, your hands instinctively moving to your stomach, trembling as you realized what had been taken from you—not just your freedom but something far more precious.

The baby. The one thing you and Sylus had never fully planned but had begun to hope for, had begun to envision. The agony in your gut was matched only by the agony in your heart.

The door creaked open and heavy boots stomped into the room. The men—the ones who had done this—stood there, sneering at your helpless form, mocking your weakness. You barely heard their words through the haze of pain but their laughter cut through. Each chuckle was a reminder of your helplessness, of your inability to protect the life that had been growing inside you.

And then, there was a sound. A familiar, terrifyingly calm sound—the door slamming open, the faint hum of something electric, like restrained fury. Sylus.

His voice was cold, filled with a rage that he rarely showed. You couldn’t see him clearly but you heard the quiet menace in his tone, the way his words dripped with a deadly promise.

“Where. Is. She?”

There was no hesitation. You heard the scuffle, the brief yelp of one of your captors before everything went silent. Then, you felt his hands—warm, steady but trembling with suppressed anger—as he lifted you into his arms. His touch was gentle despite the tension radiating from him and for the first time since you’d been taken, you felt a flicker of safety.

He didn’t say a word as he carried you out, the sound of footsteps and the faint groans of the men behind him lost in the fog of your pain. You knew what this meant—he wouldn’t kill them now. Not yet. But they wouldn’t escape. Not after what they had done.

At the hospital, the lights were harsh, the sterile smell filling your senses as Sylus carried you inside. Nurses rushed to your side, the urgency in their movements sending a cold rush of fear through you. Your head lolled to the side, eyes searching for Sylus but all you saw was his face, stony and unreadable as they wheeled you away. His hand briefly touched yours before you were pulled into the emergency room and that touch was all that kept you from sinking completely into despair.

Time passed in fragments—flashes of doctors, machines beeping, cold hands pressing on your abdomen. You felt detached from your body, lost in the haze of pain and fear, until a voice broke through.

“I’m sorry.”

You blinked, trying to focus as the doctor stood by your bedside, their expression somber. Sylus was beside you, his posture rigid, his hand gripping yours tightly, almost painfully.

“I’m sorry” the doctor repeated, their voice softer now, filled with regret. “We did everything we could, but… you’ve lost the baby.”

The words hit you like a freight train. You stared at the doctor, unable to process the weight of what they had said. The baby… was gone? No. That couldn’t be true. It couldn’t.

“No…” you whispered, your voice trembling, barely audible. “No, I… I should have been stronger. I should have fought harder. I—”

But before you could finish, Sylus’s grip on your hand tightened and he turned to you, his face a storm of emotions you rarely saw. Anger, pain, guilt—it was all there, swirling beneath the surface of his usually controlled demeanor.

“Don’t” he snapped, his voice rough, almost breaking. “Don’t you dare blame yourself.”

You flinched at the intensity of his words, your tears spilling over as you tried to form some sort of response. “But I—I should’ve—”

“No” Sylus interrupted, his voice low but trembling with fury. “This isn’t your fault. It’s mine.” He looked away for a moment, his jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might break, his hands shaking now as he struggled to keep himself from unraveling.

“I should have been there” he continued, his voice raw with guilt. “I should’ve protected you. This happened because of me because of my enemies. I brought you into this life and I couldn’t even keep you safe. I…” His words faltered and he took a sharp breath, trying to regain his composure.

Your heart broke at the sight of him like this—Sylus, always so calm, so collected, now barely holding himself together. You had never seen him so vulnerable, so angry at himself and it only made the pain in your chest worse.

“I should have been there” he repeated, his voice softer now, filled with regret. “I failed you. I failed our baby.”

The tears flowed freely now and you shook your head, trying to tell him he was wrong, that it wasn’t his fault, but the words wouldn’t come. The grief, the guilt—it was all too much.

Sylus’s hand cupped your face, gently forcing you to look at him. His eyes, usually so cold and unreadable, were now filled with a deep, aching sadness. “Kitten” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’ll make them pay. I swear to you, I’ll make them pay for this. But you… you have to know this wasn’t your fault.”

You leaned into his touch, your body shaking with sobs as the weight of the loss crashed over you. Sylus pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if he could shield you from the pain, from the reality of what had been taken from you both.

The baby was gone. The future you had only just begun to imagine was gone and there was nothing either of you could do to change that. But in that moment, as Sylus held you, his own grief mixing with yours, you knew that you weren’t alone in this. He was there and no matter how much he blamed himself, no matter how much you blamed yourself, you had each other.

And for now, that had to be enough.

Luke and Kieran stood guard at your door, their shadows tall against the dim light of the hospital hallway. You knew Sylus trusted them-his two most loyal men-but it did little to ease the cold dread that had settled into your bones.

Sylus had left without a word but you knew where he had gone. You knew the kind of wrath that was brewing inside him, the rage he held back only for your sake and now, he was gone to unleash it.

The basement was cold and damp, the smell of mildew mixing with the stench of fear. The three men who had taken you were bound tightly to chairs, their heads slumped forward, blood dripping from their faces from the initial beatings Sylus had given them when he'd first found you.

Their bodies were bruised and broken but that was nothing compared to what was coming. Sylus stood in the shadows, silent, watching them as they stirred, slowly waking to the nightmare that awaited them.

One of the men groaned, his head lifting as he squinted through swollen eyes. "W-Where are we?"

Sylus stepped forward, his boots echoing against the concrete floor. His face was devoid of emotion, cold, calculating. He was no longer the man who had cradled you in his arms at the hospital, no longer the man who had tried to soothe your pain with soft words. This was a different side of him— ruthless, unrelenting, and out for blood.

"You know exactly where you are" Sylus said, his voice low, a dangerous calmness to it. He crouched down in front of the man, his dark eyes locking onto his with an intensity that sent a shiver down the man's spine.

"And you know exactly who I am."

The man's breathing quickened, panic flashing across his face as he realized who was standing before him. "P-Please, we didn't mean to-"

Before he could finish, Sylus backhanded him, the force of the blow snapping the man's head to the side. Blood splattered onto the ground, and the man whimpered, his body trembling.

"You didn't mean to what?" Sylus hissed, standing up slowly, towering over him. "You didn't mean to kidnap my fiancée? Didn't mean to hurt her? Didn't mean to kill my child?" His voice was deadly now, each word punctuated with a barely restrained fury.

The man sobbed, his words a jumbled mess of apologies and excuses. Sylus's eyes darkened as he turned his attention to the others. "You're all going to pay for what you did."

He walked over to a table lined with tools— knives, pliers, a blowtorch. The sight alone was enough to make the men scream in terror, their bodies jerking against their restraints as they tried in vain to free themselves. But there was no escape. Sylus had made sure of that.

He picked up a pair of pliers, testing the grip with a snap before walking back to the man he had hit. "You took something from me that I can never get back” Sylus said quietly, his tone almost conversational. "So, I'm going to take something from you."

With that, he grabbed the man's hand and forced his fingers apart. The man screamed as Sylus clamped the pliers around one of his fingers and, without hesitation, ripped the nail clean off. Blood poured from the wound as the man howled in agony, his body convulsing in the chair. Sylus didn't flinch, his eyes cold and focused as he repeated the process on the next finger, and the next.

"Stop! Please! Stop!" the man begged, tears streaming down his face but Sylus was unmoved.

"You don't get to beg" Sylus said, his voice low and deadly.

He moved to the next man, who was already sobbing, begging for mercy. Sylus picked up a knife and with a swift motion, he sliced across the man's cheek, deep enough to leave a permanent scar but not enough to kill him. It was slow, deliberate, designed to inflict as much pain as possible without granting them the mercy of death.

The man screamed, his cries echoing off the walls of the basement. Sylus barely blinked as he moved to the last man, the leader of the group. The one who had orchestrated the entire thing.

Sylus leaned down close, his voice a whisper in the man's ear. "You're going to suffer the most and when I'm done with you, you'll beg me for death."

He grabbed the blowtorch, flicking it on with a soft hiss. The man's eyes widened in terror, his body shaking uncontrollably as Sylus held the flame close to his skin, the heat searing his flesh. The smell of burning skin filled the air and the man's screams were deafening but Sylus didn't stop. He burned him, inch by inch, savoring every moment of the man's agony.

Hours passed and by the time Sylus was done, the men were unrecognizable, their bodies broken and mutilated beyond repair.

They were still alive but barely. Sylus stood over them, breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling with the adrenaline that still pumped through his veins. The cold satisfaction of revenge washed over him but it didn't erase the pain. It didn't bring back what they had taken.

He wiped the blood from his hands and walked out of the basement, leaving the men to rot in their own misery. There was no rush to finish them off. They would suffer until their last breath.

but sylus ? He would return to you.

[notlongtolove]

suddenly, here it is

it’s sunday. his rest day. he used to protest—murmuring something about loving the sight of you when he woke up—but three sundays in, waking to coffee in your hand and the cat curled against your hip, he’d had nothing left to argue with.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff

content: reader and spencer spending a sunday morning together with their lovely little boy (cat), domestic fluff and bliss

word count: 1.8k

note: entry for the lovely @gold-onthe-inside's 1k event aaa congrats pookie! finally some fluff to get you through the drought. angst flood incoming. weee also mugi makes a reappearance. a line: His voice is unbearably soft, the telltale sign of Sleepy Spencer slipping in. It’s pure warmth, all gooey and loose.

I waited so long for love and suddenly, here it is standing in the garden, hands full of heirlooms hot from the sun. Soon we’ll make a supper of them. Salted slabs between slices of bread. Your beard silvers. My hips ripen. The mail piles up. - joy sullivan

You wake to warm breaths against your neck as Spencer sleeps heavy behind you, pressed against your form. It’s sweet, in theory. In practice, the warmth that emanates from him makes it unbearable. You last maybe two seconds before you’re peeling yourself away, kicking off the covers with a sigh. Spencer stirs, hand twitching against the sheets before settling again. 

It’s Sunday. His rest day. Something you enforced, because watching him drag himself out of bed before dawn every day had started to feel like a crime. He used to protest—murmuring something about loving the sight of you when he woke up—but three Sundays in, waking to coffee in your hand and the cat curled against your hip, he’d had nothing left to argue with.

You slip into the kitchen to set the kettle on and Mugi meows at you from his perch. It takes a bit of wrangling to scoop him into your arms, but he settles soon enough, purring in your arms. Coffee and cat in tow, you make your way back to the bedroom, where Spencer has reached an arm out toward your side of the bed in an unconscious attempt to hold on to the last bits of your presence. 

Released from your arms, Mugi instinctively jumps onto the bed. He stretches once before padding over to Spencer, curling into the space where his face is pressed into his arm. Spencer hums in his sleep, content. 

Mugi shifts only a millimetre as you slide back under the covers. Just enough to prove a point. Little menace. Your boyfriend might be an early bird, but you’re a night owl through and through—the three-hour screen time report from last night would agree. The only reason you’re even upright right now is love. Love for him, love for caffeine before 10 am, though you’re more than happy to let Spencer believe the former. Besides, this way, you get to regulate his sugar intake at least one day a week. A small but meaningful victory, considering the sheer amount of sugar he insists on pouring into his coffee.

You’re pretty sure he’s caught on—the slight pause after his first sip consistently gives him away—but he’s too much of a sap to call you out on it. S’perfect, baby, murmured against your cheek, warm and easy, before he goes in for another (reluctant) sip.

His hand fumbles blindly across the sheets in search of you, landing a little too close to Mugi’s face. The cat swats at him in protest, but Spencer simply redirects, hand sliding across the mattress until he finds your hip. He sighs, satisfied. You smile. 

You have a theory. A hypothesis, if you will. Elementary, perhaps, but Spencer once explained that a theory is any well-substantiated explanation for a phenomenon, supported by a significant body of evidence from observation and experimentation. So, you believe this stands as a theory too. 

And you have a theory that Spencer Reid is touchy.

Gasps from the crowd. The hypochondriac? The germaphobe? The man who once rattled off a statistic about how handshakes transfer more germs than kisses? 

Touch-starved? Impossible. 

But as his girlfriend, you see what no one else does. Or more specifically, feel. Hips pressed together as you stand at the sink, toothbrushes clinking against porcelain, eyes meeting in the mirror as you giggle through foamy mouths. In bed, where your legs drape over his as he reads from your Kindle—an indulgence he initially abhorred but tolerated for the sake of convenience. One hand balances the device, the other, absentminded, traces the curve of your thigh. 

Because, as your theory suggests, Spencer Reid needs to be touching you at all times.

And right now, the evidence is overwhelmingly in your favour. 

You start small. A simple shift, moving your hip from his hand and crossing your legs. Even in sleep, Spencer adjusts instinctively, lifting his hand to accommodate your movement. It hovers as he waits. When you don’t return to him, you catch the quietest little grumble escape his throat.

He doesn’t say anything. But under the sheets, his leg inches forward until his shin nudges against your ankle.

You bite back a grin.

A few minutes pass. You roll onto your side, pretending to check your phone, and like clockwork, Spencer shifts too. This time, with a sigh through his nose like he’s accepting some great burden. Blindly following your warmth, his arm drapes over your waist before you can stop him.

Alright. Upping the stakes.

You scoop Mugi into your arms, shifting again, knees tucking to your chest entirely as you cradle the cat against you. Mugi lets out a long, slow yawn but ultimately settles, eyes already slipping shut. Spencer, however, is not as easily appeased. One eye cracks open, heavy-lidded and suspicious, before he closes it again.

“I know what you’re doing,” he murmurs sluggishly. 

You blink down at him. “I’m not doing anything,” you say, all innocently. “I’m simply showing our son some love.”

“Yes. And he looks really appreciative of it.”

Mugi lets out a soft meow—more out of obligation than anything—before blinking at Spencer with the deadpan stare of a cat who is completely unbothered.

“You’re being mean,” Spencer mumbles. His voice is unbearably soft, the telltale sign of Sleepy Spencer slipping in. It’s pure warmth, all gooey and loose.

You hum, shifting just enough to let his fingers brush against your thigh. An unspoken truce.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Right, just like how you have no idea why my coffee tastes like it’s sweetened with a single grain of sugar?” 

“Mhm. Exactly like that.” 

Spencer exhales, something between fond and exasperated, before shifting closer, fluffing the covers as he moves. The slight disruption is all Mugi needs as he takes that as his cue to leave, hopping off the bed with a soft thump before padding back to his perch without so much as a glance back.

You gasp, scandalised. “Now look what you did. You chased him off. You’re a horrible dad—”

Before you can get another word out, Spencer’s fingers curl around your wrist, tugging you forward with a slow, deliberate pull until you’re nose to nose.

“I know, I know. I’m horrible, aren’t I?” His voice is still drowsy, edged with sleep—It’s truly gooey warmth in every syllable. “Imagine wanting to cuddle my girlfriend first thing in the morning. What kind of monster does that?”

You try to huff sternly, but the effect is somewhat ruined by the way his thumb brushes absently against your neck, slow and steady. “It took two whole tuna crunchies to get him off the cat condo. I hope you’re satisfied with yourself."

Spencer makes a noise of deep consideration before burying his face into the curve of your shoulder, sighing deeply. “Mm. Forgive me, but I am very satisfied with having to settle for you instead.” His legs tangle with yours beneath the sheets, warmth blooming everywhere your skin meets. His hand splays against your back, fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns. 

You sigh, long-suffering but half-hearted, making no effort to pull away. “I suppose I can allow that.”

“Allow that?” Spencer pulls back just enough to level you with a sleepy smirk. “Is that how we’re playing it now? I suppose I’ll allow it if Hotch needs me in today, I do have some case files to finish up—”

“You wouldn’t dare!” you gasp, immediately swatting at him, half-faking an attempt to sit up.

Spencer barely budges, catching your wrist with ridiculous ease and tugging you right back down. “I’d never abandon you or our son on a Sunday,” he chuckles. A quiet nod to the rule you’d cemented ages ago—that Sundays belonged to the three of you—and only the three of you. “As much as he apparently hates us.”

You roll your eyes, tilting your head toward the open bedroom door, where Mugi now sits perched on the couch, tail flicking in slow, deliberate disinterest. “He loves us, and you know it,” you argue, rubbing slow circles into Spencer’s forearm where you previously smacked him lightly. “He’s just in his teenage angst phase right now.”

“Aren’t you, Mugi?” you call, voice dripping with mock offence.

Mugi blinks at you. Then, in the most deliberate display of apathy, turns his entire body away, facing the wall instead.

Spencer snorts, shaking his head into your shoulder. “Yeah. He’s definitely real fond of us.”

You laugh, tipping your head back against the pillow, and Spencer takes the opening immediately, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your collarbone.

“Instead of wrangling an already clearly reluctant cat, we could just stay like this, cuddling all day, if you want,” he murmurs, lips still pressed against your skin. 

“Tempting,” you admit, stretching just enough to press a kiss to his jaw where your lips drag against the rough edge of stubble. “But I think I’d like some coffee first,” you say, already reaching over to your nightstand where the coffee has no doubt, gone cold. 

Before you even move an inch, Spencer shifts, pressing more of his weight into you, arms tightening around your frame, effectively pinning you beneath him. “Mm. No. Bad idea," he murmurs, muffled against your shoulder. “If I let you up, you’ll abandon me for at least five minutes, and I don’t think I can handle that kind of heartbreak right now.”

You laugh, squirming, but he’s relentless.

“Spencer.”

“Nope.”

He begins launching a full-scale attack—kisses pressed everywhere but your lips. Quick, fleeting, feather-light. A kiss to your cheek, your nose, your eyelid. There’s no real pattern, all soft and scattered and insistent, and by the time he gets to your temple, you’re giggling, hopelessly resigned to your fate.

“Are you done now?” you manage between laughs, breathless, as he plants another to the corner of your jaw. 

“Never.” His lips graze the shell of your ear. “Could do this all day if you’d let me. Would do this all day—”

“Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?” you cut in, fingers sliding up the nape of his neck, settling there with gentle intent.

“Hm, never heard that one before.”

“Shocking,” you quip, fingers threading into his curls, tugging just enough so he leans down, nose nudging against yours before he presses a kiss to your lips—

“Ow!”

Mugi, wide awake, has apparently decided that now, after an entire morning of pretending you both don’t exist—is the perfect time to show affection, rubbing himself insistently against Spencer’s forearm. He meows, triumphant, before padding around in a deliberate little circle and curling up—right between your pillows.

You giggle, nudging Spencer lightly. “You think we have room for one more?”

Your boyfriend groans in response, dramatically flopping onto his back. “What an ass,” he huffs, wholly unamused. 

You’re already reaching over to scratch behind Mugi’s ears, delighted to have your little boy back to his affectionate self, even if it’s only for a fleeting moment. “Oh, come on, you love him.”

Spencer exhales, resigned. “I suppose I’ll allow it.”

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you so much for reading! likes, comments or reblogs are very much appreciated!

ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: falling in love by cigarettes after sex when you know by neck deep (my attempt at converting everyone into a neck deep fan)

[heich0e]

there's saliva dripping down rin's chin.

he doesn't realize it at first. though conscious of the way it's been pooling in his mouth, he didn't notice when it began slipping out at the corner of his lips—thanks largely to how his teeth are bared. he's barely concerned by it, even when he does realize, scrubbing at the edge of his jaw with the sleeve of his expensive suit as he pants raggedly.

his eyes are still fixed to the door.

you're cowering in the corner behind him, your body curled into itself as you tremble, the scent of you polluting the air so thickly that rin forgets what it feels like to pull in a breath that doesn't taste of you.

there's glass shattered across the floor from where he'd just sent a vase—an expensive looking one—flying at the man who'd wandered in, no doubt following the trail of pheromones you'd left in your wake. the unsuspecting man had stumbled back in shock, though he hadn't been directly hit, and quickly retreated when he caught sight of rin.

"are you that much of an idiot?" the alpha before you hisses, but doesn't dare turn to face your way. his eyes are glued so firmly to the door he's not sure he could tear them away if he tried. he's not sure if he did look away that he'd be able to will himself to look back again. "what self-respecting adult can't even keep their heatcycle in check?"

"i have... i have a suppressant implant." your breaths are shaky, a wet staccato that makes rin's stomach turn. "i don't know... what's ha-aaah-ppening to me."

the little moan that bleeds into your words sends another wave of saliva flooding into his mouth.

"fucking ridiculous," he snarls.

the trousers of his suit are unbearably tight.

"itoshi-san," you mewl from behind him. a plea, though neither of you are quite sure what you're begging him so sweetly for.

"shut up," rin snaps. "just fucking—fuck."

"i need... i need—" you can't even get the words out. what you need is a suppressant. you need to get out of here.

what you want right now is something else entirely. something instinctive and carnal and obscene.

"cover your nape," rin manages to spit. his jaw is aching. his entire body is tense. he can feel his pulse pounding underneath his tongue. there's no change in how thickly your scent permeates the air and his head snaps around to face you. "cover. your fucking. nape."

you lift a hand and weakly press it to the back of your neck, your heavy lidded gaze meeting his. you look delirious, only half-conscious in your haze. there's a sheen of perspiration on your skin, a glow that catches in the dim light of this tiny room.

your lips part like you're about to speak, and rin finds his muscles coiling as though preparing to unconsciously inch closer.

"oh, wow."

a bloodlust blooms in the pit of rin's stomach, racing up his throat. a merciless, undiscerning urge to rip and tear. he whips around towards the voice, and finds sae's cold, steady gaze waiting for him.

"easy," his brother chides, lifting his hand in a dismissive wave. his eyes flicker to you, still curled up on the ground behind rin, and there's the subtlest shift in the elder itoshi's expression. wordlessly, sae pulls a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, holding it over his nose.

rin feels a growl building in his chest as his brother steps closer.

"down, boy," sae says coldly as he steps past, and though rin can't be sure because of the handkerchief, but he's almost certain his brother is sneering.

his pulse is so loud in his ears, he misses some of the softer words sae says to you as he crouches over you behind his brother's back. when rin finally turns, he sees sae press a small tablet between your lips with his fingertips, then uses that same hand to gently hold your mouth closed until you swallow.

"good girl," the eldest itoshi murmurs, and it's only a few moments more until you shift forward into his touch—like your body's gone limp. rin watches as sae lifts you into his arms, turning back in the direction of the door.

he doesn't consciously step into his brother's path, but somehow rin finds himself there all the same. the brothers stand face to face for a fraught moment, the air between them still thick with the scent of your pheromones and crackling with unspoken tension.

rin feels that ugly, vicious feeling clawing up in his chest again. angry. domineering. ravenous.

"run along now, rin," sae dismisses him coolly. the way his brother's hand pats against your temple makes rin feel violently ill. "i can look after my own things from here."