#check in on me once and see I’m good then not talk again for a day or longer

[foxy-eva]

Escort

Summary: Spencer was supposed to meet an escort in a bar. When you start flirting with him, he’s completely unaware that you're not the woman he hired. 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader 

Category: Fluff, Smut

Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) misunderstanding, miscommunication, awkwardness, mentions of sex work, heavy make-out, allusions to sex, fade to black sex

Word count: 1.3k

Author’s Note: I wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins Wrong Recipient challenge (I know I’m super late whoops)

Masterlist

The hotel bar still seemed quiet when you stepped in and took a look around. A lonely feeling had overcome you on this business trip, so you decided you wanted to meet someone new today. 

Lucky for you, the handsome man sitting at the bar looked like he wanted some company, too. With an unusual surge of confidence you approached him, relieved when you found him smiling at you. 

With a saccharine smile painted over your face, you sat down beside him and cooed, “Hi stranger.”

“Hi,” he almost whispered. “I have been expecting you.” 

That certainly was a pick-up line you hadn't heard before. You decided to play along. 

“Yeah? I’m glad we finally met. I was looking forward to spending time with someone so handsome.” 

A wonderful rosy shade spread over his cheeks at your words and it let your heart jump. It was almost unreal how beautiful this man was and he seemed to be completely unaware of that. 

For just a split second your eyes glanced over his hands, expecting to find a wedding ring but there was none. 

“I’m obviously not married,” he said, completely catching you by surprise. You hadn’t expected him to notice. “Or seeing anyone, for that matter,” he added.

“I don't think that was obvious but it’s good to know.”

He raised his eyebrows at your words. “Yeah no, I’m not like that.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I know other men do it but I personally would not talk to uhm… a woman like you if I was in a relationship.”

“A woman like me?” His choice of words was a little odd.

He cleared his voice and shifted in his seat, making his discomfort obvious. “Yeah uhm.. I mean someone…”

“Someone as beautiful and radiant as me?” You laughed as you attempted to save this poor man from embarrassing himself any further. 

“Exactly,” he chuckled as the pink color on his cheeks turned a shade darker. 

Conversation between the two of you flowed easily after that as you began telling him a little bit about yourself and he let you in on some details about his life. 

“So, Spencer, if you live in DC, what brings you all the way here?” 

“My cousin’s wedding tomorrow. That’s actually why I’m here, in this bar I mean. I know it sounds pathetic but when I responded to the invite a few months ago, I checked the box for plus one. I was really optimistic that I would have someone to go to the wedding with by now,” he sighed as his sight dropped down to his glass. 

“That didn’t work out, huh?” 

Spencer shook his head. His whole demeanor gave away a certain feeling of loneliness you were very familiar with. Instinctively you reached for his hand and gently brushed over his skin. 

His eyes found yours once more. Then, after a short moment of silence, he said something you didn’t expect. “I would really like it if you went to the wedding with me.” 

His words were bold, almost contradicting his entire demeanor. You felt surprised yet flattered by his invitation. 

“I love weddings,” you chirped. “And I don’t have any other plans tomorrow.” 

A wonderful smile spread over his face. “Then it’s a date.”

The straightforwardness of his invitation boosted your confidence, too. There was an undeniable connection between you two and the more you talked, the more attracted you became to him. You were sure that this aching inside your chest could only be soothed by his nearness. 

The soft curve of his lips looked so kissable. His smirk gave away that he must have noticed you staring at his mouth. You found his eyes again and almost drowned in the wild honey of his irises. 

“So, profiler,” you playfully purred as you leaned closer. “What does my body language tell you?”

You watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed and his tongue darted out of his mouth to lick his lips. “I’m not entirely sure,” he muttered. 

Taking his hand in yours, you got up from your seat and snickered, “Why don’t you follow me and find out?” 

There was no resistance from him when you led him to the elevator. As soon as the door opened, you stepped in, leaned against a wall and pulled him closer. He stared at you with pupils blown wide and his mouth agape. He stood close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from his body. 

“I’m not a profiler but I’m pretty sure you’d like to kiss me right now,” you cooed as you pushed your chest against his. 

“You’re right,” he breathed as he leaned down. “Can I?”

Right when you wanted to close the gap, the elevator got to your floor and interrupted you with a loud ding. Spencer almost jumped at the sound. You grabbed his hand once more and dragged him all the way down the hall to your room. 

There was no time to be wasted once you stepped inside your hotel room. His lips were on yours in an instant while he pushed you against the closest wall, making you gasp into the kiss. He deepened the kiss as his tongue met yours, melting into you as if you had done that a million times before. When he pressed his body against yours, you noticed his hardness straining against the confines of his pants. 

“Someone’s excited,” you whispered as you let your hand wander down his body with a clear goal in mind. Once you reached his belt, Spencer suddenly stepped back. 

“No, wait,” he mumbled and looked at you almost in shock.

“I’m very sorry if I overstepped,” you sincerely apologized. 

“No, no, that’s not it. We just uh… should talk about this before,” he said. 

Not entirely sure what he meant, you said, “Okay?”

“You uhm… only agreed to go to the wedding with me. So I’m not sure about the uh.. conditions of this… encounter,” Spencer stuttered. 

His words only confused you more. With raised eyebrows you looked at him. “What conditions?”

“Your uhm… rate and what that includes exactly.”

It took you a few seconds to understand what he was talking about. Suddenly the things he said earlier made a lot more sense. 

Your voice was laced with disbelief when you said, “Wait, you think I’m a hooker?”

This situation was so absurd that you weren’t entirely sure if you should laugh or cry about it. 

“I mean… I think the website used the word ‘escort’?”

It was still hard to believe what was happening. You decided to give him the benefit of the doubt instead of getting angry at him. “Spencer, I’m not an escort. How could you think that?” 

Spencer stepped back until his legs hit the bed. He sat down and shook his head, clearly unable to fully grasp what was happening. “Why else would you want to have sex with me?”

His words made you laugh. “Because you’re cute and sweet and very attractive!”

“And apparently very stupid,” he sighed. Regret was written all over his face when he said, “I’m very sorry I offended you. I really thought you were the woman I hired for the wedding tomorrow. We were supposed to meet in the bar to talk about the details.” 

“That wasn’t me,” you clarified.

“Yeah, clearly.” 

“I’ll still go to the wedding with you, if you want,” you said as you sat down beside him. “And you don’t even have to pay me.” 

Your words made him smile. “Yeah?” 

Nodding your head, you climbed into his lap. He seemed a little caught off guard but welcomed you on top of him nonetheless. Your mouth gently brushed over his neck when you breathed, “And guess what?”

“Hm?” You felt his throat rumble under your lips. 

“You don’t have to pay for this either.” 

Thank you for reading! Please like, reblog and leave a comment to show your support and help me stay motivated to write more stories!

Taglist: @adoredfromafar @grumpyy-bearr @frickin-bats @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @xserenax-13 @alexxavicry @samuel-de-champagne-problems @evvy96 @reidsbookclub @lover-of-books-and-tea @sebs-oxygen @nomajdetective @kobaltdragon @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @castiels-majestic-wings @hits-different-cause-its-you @spensreid @silversprings-mp3 @person-005 @kittyisick @siriuslyval03 @sleepysongbirdsings @brownbunnyb

[eraserbread]

𝘪 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙬𝙞𝙛𝙚 part 2 masterlist, listen, nanami tag

help me be a good wife, cause I need him i know, i need him read part 1 nanami goes back to sorcery, and the color comes back to his face. but, all the color drains from yours a/n: I know it's a bit of a hot take writing a canon nanami fic in 2025, but I always wanted to have some version of him wrapped up in the angst of sorcery. his downward/uphill spiral was so beautiful and made him just so special. this is just my way of giving him a sweeter story. brb while I sob.

cw: 18+ somno, angst, explicit content

♫ - good wife - kacey musgraves

A year into marriage, Nanami begins losing his footing. 

You notice it immediately—he would sleep through work alarms, needing your presence to wake him. Even after ten hours asleep, he would rise with dark circles under his eyes and stare blearily at the wall as the sun began to rise. The way he showered and dressed held a different undertone, too, like he was in pain—constant pain. Even the way he said your name felt different. 

So, you scramble, spending extra time tending to each of his unsaid needs. Dinner every night as soon as he comes home? Check. Expensive, thoughtful lingerie for him to unravel? Check. Letting him drink, letting him be alone, but letting him talk if he needs to? Yes - you’re doing it all by the book. 

Which is why it’s debilitating when he pulls away even more. 

Or when he doesn’t come home at all, like tonight. It’s been hours of you hovering around your phone long after his workday concluded to an eerily silent line. 

There was no,

Be home soon, dear.

Or, more mildly. 

Pulling overtime.

There was just… radio silence. Tonight was the first night since he was your boyfriend that you felt a falter in his demeanor. This time, it’s eating you alive. 

You reach for the phone, nose deep in his contact as soon as the screen turns on. You call him twice, then again, and wait for the notifications to settle before trying once more. 

Then, you text. Just once, just to make sure he’s okay. 

To: Kento i'll miss you tonight

Ten minutes pass without an answer, then twenty more. 

It’s after an hour of nothing that you finally peel yourself off the couch and start cleaning up for bed. The beautiful dinner spread you prepared for him gets reduced to leftovers and confined in dishes in the refrigerator. You wash and clean everything just like you would if he were peeking over your shoulder, this time, swallowing down tears and angst with the constant unknowing where he was or what he was doing. 

When you’re about to crawl into bed and rid the fateful night over, you perk up to a ding on your side table. You give yourself whiplash sitting up and reaching for it. 

From: Kento Please sleep. Don’t wait up, I’m okay. See you in the morning, my love. 

It’s simple, and you want more, but you take it with a stupid little smile on your face. At least you know he’s okay, he sounds okay. It sounds like he still loves you and worries about your headspace. So, you don’t respond. Instead, you put your phone away and curl up in bed, wrapping your arms around your frame to imitate some of the warmth Ken would lend you in the night. 

As you fall asleep, there’s nothing you can think about that isn’t just… him. His eyes, his sweet smile, your name on his sex-stained lips, the way it feels when you’re tangling your fingers in his and his hair. It’s stupid to need someone so wholly, to rely on their mood to carry you through your day, but it's the only way you could keep him. 

All Kento wants in a wife is exactly what he laid out for you: 

Comfort, meals, someone to listen, to fuck, and someone who understands. 

What he’d give you in return: 

Money, lots of it, and whenever you need it. Stability, love, understanding, sex, his undivided attention, and whatever else you asked of him. 

Except, you never ask. You never demanded anything that wasn’t his love. If you had the nerve, you’d pick up the phone and demand he come home. He’d run, too, drunk and all, just to get lost in your arms for the night. But you couldn’t do that. You won’t crowd him. 

The night is spent alone after all, and it’s only at the drop of sunrise that you feel the bed shift with that familiar, heavy presence. It jolts you awake immediately, and his smell is wafting all throughout the room and over the bed. Smells like him, magnified by a thousand. Perhaps it’s the missing him, but you can tell it’s because he’d been confined in these clothes too long. Years together give you senses like this – the ability to smell every shift in his routine, the way he just flops down instead of sitting. It’s all very telltale; you pause when you pull open your eyes. 

When you open them, he’s fumbling at his shirt before giving up and falling back into his spot on his side of the bed. He’s pushing his face right next to you, humming low in his throat, and barely awake as you sit up and stare at him. That big breath he takes in through the nose is to absorb your smell - that comforting perfume he told you to always wear those years ago. Of course, he picks up on that. 

You drag a hand across his sleeping face, smiling gently as his skin twitches against you. You wish he would wake up and drunkenly dote on you a bit, but assuming he hasn’t slept all night, you let him have this moment. 

You’re not counting the minutes of constantly watching him sleep, but it had to have been close to an hour before he shifted, groaning somewhere deep in his throat. 

“So hungry… baby…” 

“Hm?” Perhaps he’s dreaming, you don’t jump into service immediately. Until, he repeats, this time with more pained conviction:

“Hungry…” 

Then, you’re turning out of bed, sliding on socks so you won’t be assaulted by cold wood in the early morning. Since it’s so early and the sun is soft, you only prepare what you made him last night, and accompany it with a cup of coffee. The caffeine wouldn’t do much on Ken’s system but sober him up, and that’s what he needed if he’d forego a hangover tomorrow. 

Of course, you’d know this,  you two used to be drinkers in your prime. 

So you tiptoe back into the bedroom with a plate and mug in your hands, rounding his side of the bed and taking a seat next to his large frame. Kento’s been at the gym a lot more lately, too, and he’s starting to fill out accordingly. You love how his large arms feel when you drag your fingers over them. It’s a new type of familiar. 

“Hungry?” You echo his earlier thoughts, speaking softly enough not to jostle him. He seems to be stirred by your presence, because he turns around and cracks open an eye. Golden hair all messy and falling over the pillow in a halo. He also cut it about three months ago, and you’re just now getting used to the shorter undercut. It’s like your Kento was changing in front of your eyes, and you’re just staying the same. 

He blinks at you, muttering into the pillow. “Oh, you’re an angel.”

“Brought you coffee.” You bring the steaming mug to your lips, blowing it gently before lowering it to him. 

“Oh.” He sits up, turning around with a hand pressed to his forehead like it was still swimming in drunkenness. “Truly a miracle worker… give me that first.” His words are scarily competent for him, only having slept an hour, but you’re not complaining. Ken takes the coffee from your hands and swallows about half of it in a single sitting. 

“Where were you all night?” You start, gently… just testing the waters to see if he was in a mood. After all, you had every right to know. 

“Had mountains of work and went into overtime.” He exhales, gaining his bearings after chugging scalding hot coffee. “Pissed and didn’t want to come home, so I went drinking instead.” 

“All night?” 

“Go on, scold me.” 

“I won’t scold you.” You decide, cleaning up some hair around his sleepy, paled face. Now, he’s looking at you with a strange sort of pleading look in his eyes. 

“I’ve been thinking about leaving my job.” 

It hits you like a ton of bricks and all at once. You knew he was struggling in his current position, but he’s never equated it to more than overtime stress. He’s been pulling so much more lately, and it’s getting to him. 

Though unsure, you start nodding immediately, holding his tired gaze. Right now, you want him to know you’re there and support him. It’s not your decision if he decides to keep his job or quit, but he trusts your input. He likes talking to you because you always have something good to say – something comforting. 

“I have a plan, I just need to explain it to you.” 

Two more sips and Ken’s at the bottom of his mug. He hands it off to you, and you hand him his lukewarm plate of food. Lackluster or not, he’s devouring his meal, leaving just over half of it when he wipes his lips and starts speaking. 

“Surely you are familiar with folklore? Curses, ghosts, devils, and demons? Even just apparitions and legends, ” He’s searching for any type of unease in your eyes as he speaks, but your loving, gentle gaze doesn’t even falter. “They’re all true and real.”

In your mind, you weren’t sure about anything like that, but Ken has never told a lie in his life. If he told you the sky was red, you wouldn’t even look up at the sky. You’d just assume it’s red. 

He continues, “If all those fated evils moved about society freely, surely there has to be some control.”  He’s going slow to shovel bites of food and let you process it all, but you wish he’d spit it out. “Some type of… law enforcement.” 

“I don’t…” You furrow your eyebrows, shifting over the bed so you’re more comfortable. This conversation would drag; you can tell because he’s cherry-picking his words, trying to come off as sane as possible. You don’t want him sane, you just want him to tell the truth. 

“They’re called Jujustu Sorcerers.” He yawns, then pushes his empty plate to the nightstand for you to pick up later. “Unfortunately, I came from a family of them. They are the government’s one-trick pony, set to die whenever they need them to. Only one catch, they pay you a salary that almost makes it worth it.” 

Half of that gets lost over your head, and he’d have to explain it when you’re awaker. You’re caught up on one thing, though, the one thing you always asked about. “You never talk about your family…” 

“Because they threw me to those shits when I was fourteen and without a dime in my name.” He lies back in bed, turning so his back is facing you. Missing his eyes already, you reach forward to touch him. “I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you. It’s a troubling industry, and the last thing I want is for you to be caught in it.” 

You’re unsure what to say, but you know you trust him. All you can do is trust him; he’s never steered you wrong or put you in danger. There’s just one phrase that kept echoing through your mind. 

-Set to die whenever they need them to. 

It gave you chills. 

“I trust you, but what do you mean? Set to die when they need you to? That’s absurd.” 

Thank God you can’t see the look on his face, right now. One so overcome with shame and fear. It was only a matter of when, not if. 

You can tell he means to follow up and ease your nerves, but it’s the stark reality of the career. He’d have so much money, more fulfillment, but also run that 60% failure rate if he were to take on a Special Grade… he definitely wouldn’t tell you that. All he can do right now is nod against the pillow. 

“I know it sounds-

“-wait, why would you do that to yourself? I don’t understand.” 

The interruption makes him flex his jaw, but he understands your frustration. “I know it sounds rough, and it is, I’m just far more equipped for sorcery.” 

You shake your head, then nod. Then, you just decide it's better that you don’t understand and perhaps that you never will. Kento could go to work, make a lot more money than he does now, but could probably end up dead? What would you do if he died..? 

You don’t think you could handle it. 

“If you die, I’ll never forgive you.” Is what you settle on. He breathes out a laugh, then shrugs. 

A sickly sort of lie forms on his lips. It makes it easier to lie when he’s not looking at you. “Of course, you know dying isn’t likely. I am good at my job.” 

“So, don’t die. That’s the only stipulation. Work as much as you need to feel fulfilled, but don’t be stupid and don’t give your life to them. No job should require that.” 

Kento listens like he cares, nodding every few seconds. He knows you don’t truly understand, and he wants it that way. He wants to come home to you and always be able to forget about work. You truly are his sanctuary, but he doesn’t think he’ll tell you anytime soon. 

What he feels the need to tell you now is about his past. Everything about it. His parents - how they dumped him without a single word. Haibara, Suguru, Satoru – Ken’s sure he’ll be a new constant in your lives… If he’s still alive. Surely all of his classmates perished by now; they had to have. It’s why he didn’t continue in the industry after graduation. He could feel his death timer drawing closer and closer.

So, he ran from it and into your arms. 

A promise well-kept, Kento quits his salary position and starts back at Jujustu High a week later. 

Things have been different; his work schedule is changing and longer, leaving you mostly with time to yourself all day. You thought you’d love it and use it to find yourself again, but you loathe it whenever you feel him crawl out of bed in the morning. 

Kento would wake up at 8 and shower, oftentimes convincing you to join him. Just like this morning, he was stuck under the spray, letting the steaming water rush over his face with no need to breathe. You’re pressed into his back, standing bare with your arms wrapped around his torso. You listen to his breathing, feeling the patter of his heartbeat against your crossed hands. He’s so warm, so tall, and strong under your fingers. 

It’s in the shower where you tend to feel the closest to him. It’s not about sex here, not all the time, but the sheer closeness you two hold in this space is one too deep to comment on. You pray in this moment for him to come home safely, and he prays that he won’t leave you behind. He’s been purposefully picky with his missions lately, telling Satoru he just didn’t want to risk it today. Every Special Grade mission got pushed to the side, and unfortunately, it left him having to mop up century-old dormant Grade 3 Curses and accompany Satoru on bad days. 

You don’t mind listening to his hour-spanning stories about his rowdy colleagues, you love them. 

It feels as if you know this Satoru more than Kento does. Like an annoying brother, though you’ve never even seen his face. 

Kento is especially quiet this morning, like he knows something is hanging over his head once he leaves the safety of your arms. 

“I feel quite selfish asking this of you…” He starts, smooth voice drowned out by the water. “Tonight, if you could just… just have all the household chores done when I get home so your attention is on me all night? Please?” 

“Of course.” You reply, lips buried in his shoulder. It makes you wonder if you haven’t been doing a good enough job taking care of him lately, but he’s never said anything about feeling neglected. Perhaps he just needs more. 

“And don’t bother with the frilly stuff. Just be naked, waiting in bed for me, please.” There’s something behind his tone, making your heart swim in unknowing. He’s speaking against the water, blinking it from his eyes as he stares forward. 

“Yes, Kento.” 

“Make sure you have everything prepared. I will do everything I can to be home after six, just please be thorough and caring when I arrive.” 

“Yes, baby. Anything you need…” 

“Thank you.” He’s standing up straight, running his hands through his hair to wring the water out. He’s actually starting to shower now, so you hand him over his soap, making sure he’s contented before taking care of yourself. 

In your chest, you feel a hint of unease and excitement from what he’s asking of you. It’s not much different from most nights, but he’s making sure you know. He doesn’t want one of those one-off chances that you could be visiting a friend or out at the shops. He needs every difficult emotion he faced buried inside of you, strangling you from within until your beautiful demeanor and endless comfort exorcise it like a curse. 

Kento thinks you are immensely strong, stronger than Satoru himself in so many ways, but mostly for your selflessness. He’s never known a woman as strong, tender, loving, and thorough as you are. It’s why he married you, and it's why he calls you by his name every chance he gets. He wants you to know that you’re his, right into your very being, just like he’s yours. 

So, he lives his day with your promise, seeing you in every reflective surface and hearing you in every passing voice. Kento hasn’t told any of his colleagues about you, but he keeps a ring on his finger, not hiding you away when the dirty comes to be. 

That feeling he had when he woke up was real – he understands it when he comes face-to-face with a four-legged curse, and inevitably spends another hour on the job that evening. He gets off, texts you immediately, and thanks himself ten hours ago for giving you those instructions. 

He drives home with a quirk in his neck and angst in the front of his mind, he’s reeling – busting at the seams for you when he pushes into the bedroom. Seems you’ve fallen asleep during the wait, but Ken doesn’t mind the view of your front pressed to the mattress, eyes fluttering with REM. 

You’re completely naked, lying with your cheek shoved into the crook of your crossed arms. Hugging the pillow close, Ken wishes it were him, so he gets as close as possible. 

The trail of his lips against your cool back makes you twitch. Kento can feel it when he kisses your protruding shoulder blade. The lingering of a fresh shower stains his lips as he trails down your back, right hand working his tie loose. He wants you to wake up – needs some type of reaction, a moan, a whisper. He just wants you, right now. 

“Wake up, Nanami.” He begs, left hand sliding from your back and between the swells of your ass. He’s comfortable there, craning his fingers so they hit right over your clit. 

You don’t even stir, he lets out a breath. 

“This is not what I need from you right now,” he warns, getting close to your ear. He flexes his hand between your thighs, prodding his thumb against your slick entrance. “You had all day to sleep; now is not the time.” 

You’re blinking awake when his finger presses inside of you, leg pushing against the bed as you try to escape the pressure. It only clicks that it’s your husband when you fully wake up, heart sinking once you realize you dozed off. 

“Fuck,” you sit up, wiping a stray line of drool from the corner of your lips. Kento’s bright against the moonlight pouring in through the bedroom window, face pulled up in frustration. “Mm, why didn’t you call when I didn’t answer you?” 

“Because I was on my way home.” He starts quirking his finger, still buried inside of you, massaging lazily. It’s nothing much, just familiar closeness, but your breath picks up. He drinks up the soft moan you give him immediately. 

“Bad day?” You play that tone for him, the one so nurturing and comforting that he lets his eyes flip shut. 

“Terrible.” 

“Feels good.” You whisper against his lips as he leans down to kiss you. He’s treating your cunt how you should be treating him – massaging and doting at his most sensitive areas. “You’re so good to me, baby. Let me take care of you.” 

“Just want you to lie there and look pretty.” He starts undoing the rest of the buttons on his blue work shirt and crawls over you, knees resting on either side of your crossed legs. You’re nodding for him, anxious because you can’t see him – can’t predict his next movements. You can feel him fiddling away back there, likely pulling his belt free and pants down. 

What you don’t know is the fact that he has a flesh wound on his back, patched up by Ieiri, but still there nonetheless. He doesn’t want you to worry just yet, but knows it's only a matter of time before your fingers grace across the fresh scar. Kento’s not worried about the pain; he’s worried about your reaction, so he hides it long enough to slip out of his loose briefs. 

“Tell me you love me.” Kento’s hovering over your body, guiding his cock through your ass, chasing friction against your sweet skin. “Please, just say it all. Say my name.” 

“I love you… Kento, my Nanami.” You whisper into the pillows, drawing your eyebrows together as you focus on staying still. He’s wound so tight, right now. Moving so robotically strained. “Love you so much, with all of my body and soul. Everything you do for me is so selfless and loving, you’re the perfect husband. I just love you so much.” 

“Love you…” He bites, swallowing a whine as he leans down and presses his head into your back. His forearms shake, trying to keep his weight steady, but he refuses to budge. He refuses to let the ache in his back nullify his need for you. “I love you so much, you don’t deserve this. You know you don’t. I know you don’t.” 

“Deserve what, baby? You? We deserve each other.” 

Kento stills for a minute, heavy breathing in your ear as he finally guides the blushing tip of his cock inside of you. It starts slow, so gentle and sweet as you feel yourself stretch and expand to fit him perfectly. 

Halfway to the hilt, you both breathe out a moan, your arms hug the pillow closer. 

“No. You deserve a husband with an easy go of things – someone not blinded by money and depression. I look at you every day and wonder why… how you chose me…” 

“I chose you because you’re perfect.” There are tears in your eyes already, not from overstimulation, but from him. From Kento’s sweet emotion and how he loves you so much, you can feel it pouring and flowing through your shared bodies. 

“You make me perfect.” 

Finally, his soft voice makes those tears overflow and stream into your ivory sheets. You’re dragging out soft moans, breathless and breaking under his touch every time he fucks into you so tenderly. The zipper on his pants scrapes your sensitive skin – his fingers are digging into your arms, teeth latched into your shoulder. It’s like his softness enters you from every sense, eating you alive and making you sob. 

“Don’t cry.” He whispers over you, blinking open his eyes and seeing the ebbs and flows of his Cursed Energy cascading over your body like a blanket. It makes him hold you tighter, grip bruising against your shaking arm. He’s been absent-mindedly coating you in the viscous blues, marking every sense you didn’t even know existed as his. 

“My Nanami… Nanami, baby…” Your surname rings so familiar against his lips, blooming in a blush around his grip. “My wife, my strength… my peace. In every universe, I will find you. Don’t ever worry about me leaving you. I never will.” 

“Mmf – fuck, K-ken,” You’re shaking your head, fisting the sheets in your free hand. He feels so good – so right buried inside of you and fucking you slow. You’re both so wet, it’s impossible to keep his tired thrusts steady. “I’m gonna… gonna-

“Whenever. Cum whenever.” He’s answering for you, craning his neck to kiss your tear-stained lips. It’s that sloppy mouth-kiss that finally opens those floodgates for your orgasm to come pushing through. 

Your warning dies in your throat, but he’s expecting it enough to keep fucking you through it. Perservering even when it feels like you’re gonna snap him in half. He’s hardly fucking you, but it’s his voice — his sickly sweet words rolling off his tongue that unravels you from the inside out. It’s with a tight, craning grip on his arm that you finally cum against him, crying his name and begging for more. 

This time, you want more. You need more. 

You don’t even have to tell him. In one fateful swoop, he’s turning you on your back, still seated halfway inside of you, when he starts a pace that’s exactly what you need. He’s pinning you down into the bed, lips pressed to yours as he fucks you so right. 

Skin is slapping over skin, moans getting lost between each other's lips. It’s so lewd, even Ken’s words get lost in the moment. With each thrust, it’s as if a weight lifts from his shoulders, concentrating into a single amalgamation before completely lifting away. 

He feels like a new person, throwing his sweaty head back in relief. 

He’s exactly where he wants to be right now, looking down and staring into your beautiful eyes. Buried inside of you, cumming to the sound of your elated cries. The orgasm is so mindblowing, so delicious and everything he needed after an especially shitty day. 

It’s only when you reach up, hands trailing over his back, that he catches himself. 

“Wh-what? Your… back…” You sit up with him, your arm falling limp onto the bed when he pushes it away. Your fingers just barely grazed over the gauze cover, but you’re not stupid. That look in his eyes isn’t too nonchalant for you to break through. 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

As much as your heart physically hurts at the thought of your husband being injured, you shut your mouth. It’s not what Kento needs from you right now, and you understand that. 

After all, you are a good wife. 

Both of you fall asleep unshowered, covered in each other and spooning on top of the sheets. Only two hours of sleep pass, you’re dreaming of your long-past honeymoon, and Ken is stewing over work. The post-sex mindlessness has worn off, and now he’s knitting his eyebrows together in dreams. If you were awake, you’d kiss the lines away and reassure him that he can always leave his job if need be. He can always take a year off and let you be the provider — you wouldn’t know how you’d accomplish it, but anything is possible for your husband. 

So, the clock ticks on quickly, and at the mark of midnight, Kento’s phone begins to buzz on the side table. 

It only takes a few rounds before he’s sitting up, eyes closed as he brings the phone to his ear. 

“What.”

‘Nanamin, I know I told you I wouldn’t do this tonight…’ Satoru’s on the other line, an eerie calm edge to his smooth voice. Ken takes a breath. 

‘But, there’s a Special Grade swarming the city center. I’m at the scene, but there are Curse Users — six of them.’

“‘f you need my help, just say it.”

‘I need your help.’ 

So, he hangs up the phone and swings his legs out from under you, not too conscious about waking you because he knows his lack of presence would do it anyway. 

Just as he thought, you’re stirring as soon as his body heat moves. “Where… where are you goin’?” You whisper, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. He’s halfway to the closet, oblivious to your half-asleep mannerisms. “Kento?” You try again, pulling the soiled sheets over your naked frame, suddenly cold. 

“Go back to sleep.” He demands, walking out of the closet with a fresh blue button-up hanging from his shoulders. He starts at the base of the shirt, fiddling his fingers in the buttons as he gets ready… again. 

“What are you doing?” You try again, this time with more conviction behind your tone. 

“Called in.” He shrugs this off like it's normal, but he’s never been called in before. He’s never told you about the possibility of removing himself from you at night. “Make sure you stay home. Be safe and smart, just like I know you are.” 

“But, what do you mean you were called in?” You want him to answer – can tell he’s dodging it as he lifts his neck, shirt buttoned up at midnight. 

“Sorry. I won’t make you my liability.” That's all he says before turning his back to you, heading into the closet. 

“W-what does that mean?!” You’re flustered, now. Anxious and tired, needing him on your skin. It’s so cruel to imagine a night with him, only for it to get ripped out from under you. “You just worked ten hours today.” 

“And it will likely be ten more.” He’s speaking like it’s nothing, using that stupidly stoic tone of voice like he’s lecturing a student. “Thank you for being my constant. I’m much more at ease, now.” 

You can tell he wants you to bow right now, but your back wants to bend. 

“I don’t want you to go.” You sound so stupid and needy in this darkness, feeling his eyes staring holes into your shadow. He’s walking back into the room with his entire uniform on, tie tangled around his fist, and glasses in hand. It makes you sick. 

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

He leaves you with a look over the shoulder and a baseless goodbye, and you feel like a shell of yourself…

Watching him fade away through your door and into a world you couldn’t understand feels like a knife in the chest. 

To Kento, you’re safe and strong - unyielding and comforting whenever he needs it the most, but internally, you’re wailing. It’s like you hardly see him anymore, it’s like he only exists at night to touch and kiss you. Then, he’s an apparition again, only to drink from your fountain once night falls again. 

There has to be some cheat book, some file tucked away in plain sight that could give you answers. You needed a list sprawled out in serif, boldly plain and to the point. 

Most of all, you needed to know: 

How can you keep a man that can’t live without you?

[likelyamused]

A rush. Heat and cold all at once. Like smoldering under a spotlight and getting hit by the droplets of a cold shower. It seizes Max's body in a tense mess.

“Jason. What are you doing here?” Max struggles to regain control of himself. He still manages to keep his voice in check.

“Ah! Is this how you greet an old friend? Where are your manners?” He leans on the side to address Celia directly with a friendly smile. “Hi! I’m Jason. And you are?”

“I’m-” 

Max cuts her off, repositioning himself. “I asked you a question. What are you doing here?” 

Jason maintains eye contact with Max, but takes a step back. Max is not duped: it's to better pounce. He's testing out Max's reactions. He might have wanted to come across as friendly, but the tightness in his jaw and the slight squint betray him.

“I came to visit one of my cousins about two weeks ago and you cannot imagine my surprise to see you walk by as I was getting a smoke,” chuckles Jason. “I’ve been checking in with what you’ve been up to since then. Honestly, man, you lost your edge if you didn’t notice me on your trail for two weeks!” 

Max's face gets hot. Two weeks. He's been followed around for two weeks! His instinct did pick this up, but he was too… comfortable to make sense of it. He let Jason gather two weeks worth of knowledge he can now use to his advantage. What was he able to find out in that time?

“Must have been bored out of your mind.” Max says with a twitchy smirk.

Jason snorts. “It’s been what… six months?” He gives Max a playful thump against his shoulder. “Six months since you’ve disappeared and left us without saying goodbye. You can’t just leave like that, man. We had plans.”

“With how things ended on the last job, I thought it would be best for everyone if I just left. I’m sure you can carry on without me. I came here for a fresh start. I don’t want anything to do with that life anymore.” 

The back and forth in Jason's movements are making Max anxious.

“A fresh start? Is that so? A part-time job at Simsmart and living in a trailer are what you aspire to nowadays?”

Max’s breath catches in his throat. Jason’s going to spill out all of his secrets before he gets a chance to. He’ll spoil everything.

That’s not what’s important, though. Jason chose this moment to get himself known for a reason. Max needs his head clear.

“What if it is?”

“Have you been brainwashed?” Jason looks mockingly puzzled. “How can this be enough for you?”

“It’s a start.” Anger, waking from events that occurred months ago, resurfaces again. Jason always thought he knew best what Max needed, robbing him of the right to choose for himself. Max gets impatient. “What do you want, Jason?”

“You’re coming home with me.”

“No. I’m not.”

Jason chuckles again. 

“Tell me, Celia, what has my boy here shared with you, hmm?”

Max flinches at Celia’s name. She never told him. 

“Did he tell you about his parents? His grandmother, probably. Do you know what he did to afford food and stuff when his parents would blow their social aid cheques on booze every month?”

Celia’s face is an open book. Jason just needs to follow her expressions to know if he's hitting the mark.

“How about me? Did he ever talk about me? No! Then he certainly didn’t tell you about what we got into when shoplifting groceries became a lot of risks for too small a payout. Credit card fraud was pretty good, quick, but it lacked a bit of excitement for me. I enjoyed car theft much more. It's much more of a rush. Our boy here was always really smart about what we'd hit. Stirred us away from getting caught more than once.”

Celia’s eyes skip from Jason to Max, searching for a sign that this isn't true but not finding any.  

“Max got scared on our last job and fled. I knew it was out of his element, but he often needs a push in the right direction to do anything, ya know? Auto theft at gunpoint is a little more intense, but damn! We couldn’t miss out on that!” 

Max wants to scream “I told you I was against that idea! I never wanted to do it!”, but he holds his tongue. Jason had the habit of recording conversations. He couldn’t incriminate himself so easily. 

“Anyway, Max was always good at things that required more... stealth. He likes to observe, be sneaky, slide in, act quickly. I guess it came in handy here too.”  

Celia turns to Max, “What is he talking about?”

“Ah! Yes, Max, why don’t you tell her about the old man who leaves envelopes of money for you? What is it? Blackmail? Extortion?... A sugar daddy?”

Max grimaces, “Don’t be stupid!”

Jason hardens, “No, you are if you think either of them really cares about you. Look at her. See the disgust in her eyes from what she just heard about you.” 

Max keeps his stance slightly in front of Celia, but he can see her retreat from the corner of his eye. He fears Jason may be right. 

“Wait ‘til she learns that this old man is her grandfather! Oups!” 

Max snaps. He swings and knocks Jason's jaw. He shouldn’t have done it: Jason’s always been a better fighter than him. It’s too late now. Max moves forward to get another hit in, but Jason recovers enough to hold him and hits him in the diaphragm. Max folds over trying to catch his breath. 

When he gets up, Jason is hiding behind Celia, a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry you got caught in this, Celia. You seem like a good girl,” he says in her ear. 

Celia looks warily at Jason from the corner of her eye before turning her inquiring gaze toward Max. “Is any of this true?” 

Max heart drops. That’s when he notices Jason’s challenging stare. He’s like a dog with a bone: he won’t let go until he gets what he wants, and Celia stands in between. The hand, the apology... she won't get out of this unscathed. Max knows what to do. She’s better off without him anyway.

Max shuts off his emotions as best he can and turns a placid stare toward Celia. “Some… most. I was homeless when you met me. There’s no aunt. I'm currently living in a trailer on your grandfather’s property. I never told him about you and you about him, because… I was just trying to have some fun with you and secure a roof over my head, really.” He chuckles the last words out to hide that his voice was cracking.

Something breaks in Celia’s eyes: her light shatters and leaves sharp splinters aimed at Max’s heart.

“So you just used me… us?” Celia’s chin trembles.

Max can’t breathe. He hopes it doesn't show. “Yes.”

Jason makes a big show of letting go of Celia's shoulder. His eyes glimmer with pride, a familiar expression Max now sees in a different light. This has always been their dynamic, hasn't it? Jason pushes and pushes until the meanest, most vile things come out of him. A while ago, Max would have considered that as a recognition of kindred spirits. Today, he finally sees it for what it is: the satisfaction of having control over him.

“Good to know.” Celia walks away. As she passes beside Max, she turns to him, her voice both soft and searing  “Stay away from me, and from my grandfather.”

Max watches her leave with all he wanted to tell her stuck in his throat. What did he just do? Jason joins him with hands in his pockets.

“Max, Max, Max… You really fell hard for this girl. I could tell. Tsk! This is for your own good, and hers too. You two are not from the same world. It wouldn’t have worked. She'd never accept you for who you are, and you'd be stuck, like you always are. You know this, man. Don’t tell me you believed otherwise. Let’s get your things.”

“I’m not leaving with you.”

“Max, you lost the girl. And soon, you’ll lose the trailer too. It’s time to go.”

“Maybe. But I won’t leave with you. I wanted out, I got out and I’m staying out.”

Jason violently grabs Max by the jaw and pulls him up. 

“You owe me.”

“I think you were compensated enough when I disappeared without taking my share.”

Jason pushes Max and swings. Max barely evades his blow. He tackles him to the ground and gets a punch in.

Jason topples him over and takes the upper hand. Max takes a pounding, “Hurt me all you want, I’ll always hate you for forcing me into our last job and for destroying everything I built here. You won’t get anything else from me.”

Jason pushes his forearm on Max's throat and gets up. Max braces himself for a kick in the back, but it never comes. When he finally looks over his forearms, he sees Jason walking away with a smoke. Max sits up and tries to keep his heart from spilling out.

Beginning / Previous / Next

[wallofchynax]

KNIFE TWISTS AT THE THOUGHT

Synopsis: You know who Shawn Michaels is. Shawn Michaels got whatever he wanted. He knew how to play people and ruin careers and in that moment, he wanted you. He wanted you and if it meant ruining your career, so be it. (Requested. Thank you for the request <3)

content warnings: this can be read as dubious consent (dubcon) as it's shawn politicking backstage to sleep with you. there's also female!reader, d/s, PiV, orgasm denial, punishment, deepthroating. shawn is actually a mean dom in this so if you aren't into that then this might not be for you!

got a request? send it over to me <3

You weren’t a new face to this business anymore. Not quite as green as you used to be but certainly not as jaded as one might expect. You knew enough to navigate the egos, the mind games, the silent deals made in shadows rather than meetings. But no one prepared you for him. 

Shawn Michaels had been circling you like a wolf from the moment you joined the roster. Back then, you thought the stories were exaggerated, just a bunch of locker room nobodies who had nothing better to do than get drunk on beer and bitterness. But once you started climbing, started getting noticed, it became clear: the rumours didn’t come close to the real thing. 

It was always subtle at first. A lingering glance as you walked by. A smirk from the corner of the locker room. The way he’d show up in places he had no business being, taking a huge interest suddenly in watching your matches when if they wouldn’t benefit him to be so interested, brushing past you in narrow hallways with a hand low on your back, fingers just about grazing your skin.  

And, once again, here he was. 

Leaning against the wall outside Gorilla, arms crossed, chewing lightly on a toothpick as if he hadn’t been waiting there for you for the past ten minutes. That smug, infuriating grin played on his lips as you approached, your gear bag slung over your shoulder, sweat still clinging to your skin from your match. 

“Hell of a showing out there,” he said, not bothering to hide the way his eyes dragged over your body. His gaze dipped to your thighs, your hips, the cling of your gear over the curve of your ass. “You always look good under the lights.” 

You kept walking.  

You had no business messing around with someone like Shawn Michaels. You heard the rumors. The locker room stories about Sunny. You didn’t want to be another Sunny, so you just kept walking, but Shawn wasn’t one for stopping as he fell by your side.  

He fell into step beside you, casually, like it wasn’t calculated. “Y’know, some of the boys are starting to talk.” 

“About what?” 

He grinned. “About how quick you’re rising.” 

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. The message was clear, tucked between the cracks of his smile. 

He let the silence stretch for a beat, then added, “Don’t worry. I always speak highly of you.” 

You stopped. 

Turned toward him. 

“Whatever game you’re playing, leave me out of it.” 

Shawn tilted his head. 

As if he wasn’t messing with you. 

As if he weren’t playing mind games with you.  

He stepped in close, that smug lazy smirk on his face.  

“You think I’m playing?” 

The space between your bodies disappeared as he pressed forward, guiding you into the cool concrete wall behind you. Not hard. Not forceful. Just there. 

You should have moved. You should have told him to fuck off but... 

He was a presence. A quiet, inescapable presence. His hand found your waist, thumb tracing idle circles along your hip as he leaned in. 

“You’ve got something special,” he murmured, voice low and velvety. “They see it. I see it.” 

His gaze dropped. He did nothing to hide he was checking you out. He was making it abundantly clear what he was thinking. There were people walking past you both. They were ignoring you both. They probably just thought Shawn was being Shawn and, in a way, he was.  

His gaze looked you out. To the curve of your thighs, the faint sheen along your legs that caught the fluorescent lighting. You felt utterly exposed under his stare, like he could see every flicker of heat blooming beneath your skin. 

“And in this business,” he continued, fingers sliding beneath the hem of your top, just enough to graze your bare stomach, “timing is everything.” 

Your breath hitched. 

He leaned closer, lips brushing the shell of your ear, and said, “Would be a shame if someone like you got lost in the shuffle.” 

Your body went cold. Then hot. Because you heard what he didn’t say. You felt the quiet weight of his influence in every word. No overt threats. No promises. Just the truth. 

Wrapped in silk. A knife with a bow.  

Shawn drew back just slightly, his hand still resting on your waist. “But lucky for you,” he added, voice almost teasing now, “I’ve got a soft spot for beautiful things.” 

His thumb dragged along your waistband, dipping low, very dangerously low, before sliding back out.  

“You always smell so sweet after a match,” he murmured, “Like sweat and head and something I want to ruin entirely,” 

You hated the way your body responded to what he said. You knew what Shawn was doing. He was using his stature in the company as a way into getting you into his bed and it almost made you sick...almost, if it wasn’t for the way your skin burned under his touch or the way he looked at you like he owned you already, like you were another championship belt he could take for himself. 

“Shawn…” 

He smiled, but there was nothing innocent in it. “You gonna tell me to stop?” he asked, eyes locked on yours, daring you. 

You should have. 

You didn’t. 

Instead, you stayed frozen, lips parted, heart pounding against your ribs as his mouth brushed yours. 

“You’re a smart girl,” he whispered, finally pulling away, voice low and intimate. “You’ll figure out what’s best for you.” 

And just like that, he was gone. 

Walking away like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t just flipped your world around in thirty seconds. You stood there, heart in your throat and head throbbing between your thighs knowing exactly what kind of games he wanted to play with you. 

You should have been angry. You should have been furious.  

But instead, you were stood frozen in the hallway long after he left. Heart racing, palms clammy, the scent of his cologne clinging to him like smoke to a fire. Your thighs were pressed together. Heat simmered low in your belly. 

He didn’t say it out loud. 

He didn’t have to. It was the way he looked at you, like he already knew the ending. Like your part had been written long before you ever stepped into the ring. He'd seen it in your eyes. You could have pushed him away. He felt that you hesitated. And he was right. 

You hated him for that. 

Back in the women’s locker room, you peeled off your gear with trembling fingers, catching your reflection in the mirror. Flushed cheeks. You leaned closer, fingertips brushing over your collarbone, then lower, where your sports bra hugged the swell of your breasts, still slightly damp with sweat. You remembered how his eyes had lingered there, pupils blown with want, gaze dark with intention. You thought about the way his voice dropped, that smooth, smoky cadence soaked in control. 

“You’ll figure out what’s best for you.” 

You should have been above that. No man, no matter how powerful he was, could use you like that. But your mind kept betraying you alongside your body. You couldn’t stop thinking about how his hands would feel gripping your thighs, spreading them apart like they belonged to him. About how he’d look between them, arrogant and greedy and so, so certain. 

You should’ve said no. 

Instead, two hours later, you found yourself standing outside his hotel room door. 

You didn’t knock at first. Just stood there, heart pounding, staring at the gold number on the door like it might burn you. You could still walk away. You should walk away. 

But you didn’t. 

Your knuckles tapped lightly. 

The door swung open a few seconds later, and there he was, shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, hair still damp from a shower. He didn’t look surprised. 

“Changed your mind, huh?” 

You didn’t answer. You just stepped past him.  

He shut the door behind you both with a soft click. Turning slowly, his eyes scanning over you in your loose track pants, zipped hoodie like he was peeling you with his gaze alone.  

“I didn’t think you were going to show up,” There wasn’t a hint of mockery nor sympathy. It was just a fact.  

“I shouldn’t have,” you whispered, even as you stepped back when he stepped forward. 

“But you did.” 

He caught your chin gently, tilting your face up, his thumb stroking along your jaw. “That’s what I like about you,” he murmured. “You’ve got just enough fight to keep it interesting. But not so much that you don’t know when to give in.” 

Your breath caught as he dipped his head, lips brushing your neck. “You’re gonna do what I say tonight,” he whispered, dragging his mouth up to your ear. “And tomorrow, you’re gonna get everything you ever wanted.” 

You didn’t need to speak. 

He was already guiding you backwards towards the bed. His hands already finding their way to your hips, thumbs lazily stroking circles above the waistband of your pants. You knew, of course, what all of this was for and what all this mean. Still, you let Shawn undress you like a man on a mission. Like a man starved of you. Savour a reward that he had already won. His hands roamed your curves like he was memorizing them; your soft stomach, the dip of your waist, the fullness of your ass, your thighs spread open for his gaze. 

“Goddamn,” he muttered under his breath, climbing over you and pinning your wrists above your head with one hand, “You really were made for this, weren’t you?” 

Your legs trembled as he settled between them, his other hand sliding down your body, slow and possessive. His fingers teased the heat between your thighs until you whimpered, helpless under his touch. 

“I want you begging by the time I’m done,” he whispered, dragging his lips down your chest. “But you don’t come until I say.” 

And you couldn’t help it. Your legs spread open for him on instinct. Knees bent and pushed up as he settled in close, pinning your wrists above your head with one strong hand. His weight pressed you into the mattress as if he was grounding you, claiming your body. 

“You’re wet already,” he muttered, voice thick with approval as he dragged two fingers through your folds, slow and deliberate. “Barely touched you.” 

You bit your lip, breath catching when his fingers teased your clit. You hated that Shawn knew how to work you up like this but fuck, you loved it too. Shawn could see that in your eyes. He watched your face as he played with you like a cat chasing a mouse. His lips curled in that familiar smirk as he slipped one finger inside your pussy, then another, stretching you open while his thumb kept circling your clit. 

“Look at you,” he whispered. “So, fucking tight around my fingers. Can’t wait to see how you take my cock.” 

Your mouth felt open, a soft moan escaping before you could stop it. He laughed under his breath, curling his fingers just right, making your thighs tremble. 

“You like that?” he asked, dragging his mouth across your breast, sucking your nipple between his lips, biting just enough to sting. “You gonna be a good girl for me, or do I need to fuck the obedience into you?” 

You couldn’t argue. You could only roll your hips against his hand. 

He pulled his fingers out of you, slow and wet, and you caught the glisten on his skin before he brought them to your lips. 

“Open.” 

You obeyed, and he slid them in, pressing them to your tongue, making you taste yourself. His eyes locked on yours the whole time. 

“You’re sweet,” he said, cock already hard and tenting the front of his sweats. “But I want the rest of you.” 

He pushed off you just long enough to shove his pants down, cock springing free, thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip. You couldn’t take your eyes off it. Long, veined, heavy in his hand as he stroked himself once, twice, guiding it down between your thighs. 

“Hold your legs open,” he said, but when you weren’t fast enough, he slapped your inner thigh. Not hard but just enough to make you gasp.  

“Now,” 

You did as he asked. Spreading yourself holding the back of your knees and putting yourself on display for him. Face flushed, fingers digging into your thighs as he lined up against your entrance. He was slow and deliberate until...he pushed in. You choked on a gasp, your back arching as he sank into you, inch by inch. Thick. Stretching you open, forcing your body to take every bit of him. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t slow. It was a claiming, full deep and overwhelming. 

“Fuuuck,” he groaned, sinking in all the way, hips flushed against yours, “You feel fucking perfect,” 

He gave you a second. 

Just one second. 

Before he started moving and oh boy, did he rock the bed. Long, deep thrusts that rocked the bed and punched the air from your lungs. His grip on your thighs tightened as he drove into you, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the room. Your breasts bounced with every thrust, nipples tight, mouth open as you moaned shamelessly beneath him. 

“You hear that?” he grunted, fucking you harder now, faster. “That wet little pussy taking my cock like she was made for it.” 

You couldn’t speak. Your eyes were glazed over any your mouth couldn’t speak of anything other than moaning. He reached down, thumb rubbing your clit again, perfectly timed with his strokes, and it was too much. Your legs shook, your body tensed, and the orgasm crashed over you like a wave. You clenched around him, walls fluttering as pleasure ripped through you, leaving your body  

But Shawn didn’t stop. 

He didn’t even slow down. 

“Already?” he growled, fucking you through it, jaw tight, breath ragged. “I told you not to come.” 

You whimpered, half-cry, half-plea, but it only made him fuck you harder. His cock dragged against your sensitive walls, thick and relentless, pushing you straight into overstimulation as your legs kicked weakly against his sides. 

“God, you just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” he hissed, gripping your hips now, yanking you down harder onto his cock with every thrust. “Little slut couldn’t wait to come for me.” 

Your body was limp, pliant, boneless beneath him, but your cunt was still squeezing him tight, soaking wet and pulsing. He watched it happen—watched himself disappear into your heat over and over, the creamy slick around the base of his cock making his breath hitch. 

“I ought to pull out and leave you here aching,” he said, dragging his cock out until just the tip sat inside, your pussy clinging desperately to him. “But then you’d spend the rest of the night thinking about it. Touching yourself, wishing I’d filled you up like a good girl.” 

You looked up at him, eyes glassy, begging without words. 

He smirked. 

You barely had time to gasp before he was moving, yanking you down off the bed to your knees, chest heaving, thighs shaking. You blinked up at him, dazed, mouth parted, your pussy still throbbing from the climax. 

Shawn towered over you, hand still in your hair, cock flushed and dripping. His gaze burned down into yours.  

“So now,” he growled, his voice low and tight with control, “you’re gonna finish what you started,” 

He slapped his cock against your lips, once, twice, letting it smear with your own wetness before shoving it past your mouth. 

You gagged instinctively as he bottomed out in your throat, one hand gripping the back of your head, the other cupping your cheek, holding you still. 

“You want to come on my cock like a needy little slut?” he hissed, thrusting deep, the thick weight of him stretching your lips, hitting the back of your throat with every pump. “Then you take it. Every fucking inch.” 

Tears welled in your eyes as he fucked your mouth hard. Just raw need with no rhythm. His hips snapping forward as your lips stretched right around him, balls slapping your chin. His fingers curled tighter in your hair. Spit and pre-cum spilled from the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin as you choked around his cock. 

“Look at you,” he growled, breath ragged. “Mouth full, eyes all teary. You gonna cry for me, baby?” 

You whimpered, gagging again, but you didn’t pull away. 

You took it. 

Because that’s what he wanted. 

Because you wanted to give it. 

His thrusts started to stutter, the grip in your hair turning bruising as his cock pulsed on your tongue. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna come-” 

He thrusted one last time deep in your throat, holding it there as he spilled out and down, thick, hot and endless,” 

You swallowed around him instinctively, moaning brokenly through your nose as he came, the taste of him flooding your mouth, leaking past your lips. 

He finally pulled back, dragging his cock from your mouth with a wet pop, watching the way your chest heaved, the mess across your chin and down your throat. Your lips were red and swollen, spit and cum glistening on your skin. 

Shawn reached down, thumbing your jaw, tilting your face up to his. 

“That,” he said, voice low and smug, “is what happens when you don’t listen.” 

And you were shaking. 

Not from fear. 

From the way your pussy clenched again at his words. 

- 

The world felt different the next day.  

It started with a phone call from a road agent. 

Asking if you’d be willing to show up early, maybe even talk through a segment rewrite. Something about a new spot on the card. Suddenly, your name was on the run sheet for a backstage promo with a top-tier talent. A bump up the ladder. A shift in perception. 

No one said it outright. 

But everyone looked at you a little longer. 

A few agents smiled too wide. A few of the girls avoided your gaze entirely.  

You kept your head down. Pulled on your gear. Tied your boots with shaky finger and a queasy stomach that wasn’t just from the nerves. The camera guys were ready in place when you were on set for your promo. Your partner running lines off to the side and then...there he was.  

Shawn. 

Leaning against a road case, arms folded, watching. 

Like he belonged in the shadows. 

Like he’d been there all along. 

He said nothing. Just met your eyes across the set with a look that made your stomach twist. 

He looked so normal.  

But his smirk was the same.  

His eyes were the same. They flickered down to your body once, slow and deliberate like he still owned you from that night. 

Your skin prickled from the head.  

You turned away quickly.  

You had to focus. After all, this was your moment. You worked hard to get here. 

Did you? 

The segment went clean. You hit your marks. The crowd popped in post. You were booked to go over next week. 

You were getting the push. 

And Shawn never said a word. 

He didn’t need to. 

As you passed by him on the way out, he didn’t move. Didn’t reach for you. Just let his eyes follow you, dragging along your spine like a reminder. Like a handprint that hadn’t faded from the night before. 

You kept walking.  

But he remained there. Throughout your career.  

There.  

In the background.  

Always knowing.  

[m-neuvillette]

Tokyo Revengers Men reacting to you hug them for the first time

Baji, Chifuyu, and Kazutora x fem reader

Author notes: creepy guy in Baji’s that touches you, protective Baji, fighting, abuse in Kazutora’s, panic attacks in Kazutora’s, swearing. Ugh I love Tokyo Revengers men, why can’t they be realll :(

Baji:

You unlock the door to the pet shop and walk in. You turn around to lock it again since the store is still closed. You head back to the employee only area and drop off your bag and jacket in your locker. You hear the door open and turn to see who is walking in. You see Baji walking in while also tying up his hair. “Oh perfect you’re here.” Baji mumbles out with his hair tie in his mouth. “Do you mind opening up for the first hour by yourself? I got a call from one of our suppliers saying his car broke down fifteen minutes from here. We need some of the materials today so I’m going to drive out there. If you’re not confident in opening by yourself I can call Chifuyu or Kazutora.”

You shake your head, “No I can open by myself! We don’t have any pets coming in till ten so I can hold down the store.”

Baji smirks, “Atta girl. I’m off then, don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.”

You wave to him while he walked back out of the employee only area. You grab your name tag and head up to the front of the store. You clean up some displays and get the cash register going then once it hits eight, you are unlocking the doors once again and turn on the open sign. Time is going by pretty slow, maybe it’s because you don’t have anyone to talk to. You then hear someone come in and greet them, “Good morning! Welcome in.” They give you a smile and go straight to the treats section. They pick out a couple bags and come to the register and check out. It was a quick transaction and before you know it you are the only one in the store again.

You look around to see if there is anything you can do to kill time. You decide to organize to toy wall. You hear another person come in and you step out from where you are to greet them, “Good morning! Welcome in.” The guy looks around and makes eye contact with you. The guy is tall and big but that isn’t watch catches your eye. His clothes are ripped a bit and messy, he also is swaying a bit. Is he drunk at eight a.m.? You decide to step back to the toy wall to help with your nerves.

Five minutes go by and you haven’t heard the guy. You think about going to look for him to make sure he hasn’t done anything. You are snapped out of your thoughts with two arms caging you with a smelly breath breathing down your neck. “Hey, sweetheart. All alone? Let me keep you some company.” The guy slurs out. You can just smell the alcohol oozing off of him.

You speak in your customer service voice, “Sir, I can help you find something or schedule an appointment if thats what you need.”

He moves one of his hands off the wall then runs it up and down your body then stops at your butt and squeezes it.

You smack his hand then jump to the side. “Do not touch me.” You snapped.

“Come on babyyy. I know you liked it.”

You take a deep breath and in your customer service voice, “Sir please leave. You are not welcome here anymore after what you did to me.” You really hate that out of all days this creep would come in, is the day that you’re by yourself.

He laughs while reaching his arm out towards you, “No I think you want me here. Now let’s go and have some fun.”

His hand gets closer and you can only step back and close your eyes. That’s when you bump into something hard. You open your eyes and turn your head to see Baji staring ahead with a deadly glare. You breathe out, “Baji…”

Baji grabs the wrist of the guy and snaps it. The guy howls in pain and tries to pull his arm back but Baji doesn’t let him. “She told you not to touch her and leave. You failed to do both. Now you’ll deal with me.”

He steps in front of you then pushes you back a bit with his other hand. You understand his silent message and you step back enough to give him enough room but also being able to see what will happen.

Baji then winds the hand that just pushed you behind him and sends it flying into the guys face. The guy crumbles down to the floor. “Stop it, please!”

Baji grabs the guys hair and pulls him to look at him, “Isn’t that what my girl said? Why should I stop because you asked? Isn’t that what you did, you piece of shit.” He then smashes the guys face with his knee.

The guy then falls flat onto the floor not moving. Baji rolls his eyes but grabs the guy by the collar of his shirt and gets him to stand, “Apologize to her then I’m throwing you out of the shop.”

The guy looks at you with blood running out of his face and having a harder time than earlier making eye contact with you, “I’m sorry! I’ll never touch you again and I’ll never come back!”

Baji tightens his grip on the guys shirt and drags him to the front. You hear the front door open then close. He then walks back to you and looks you up and down, “You okay?”

You just stare at him not moving not knowing what to say. He speaks up again, “Uh hello?”

Not having the words to respond you just walk over to him and wrap your arms tightly around him. Baji is quick to wrap an arm around your waist and put a hand on the back of your head, pulling you closer to his chest.

“I need you to answer me. Did that guy ever touch you before I came back?”

You gulp and let out a meek, “Yes.”

You feel Baji loosen his grip, “Fuck, imma kill him.”

You hold him tighter not letting him walk away, “No, it’s fine now. Just, I don’t want to let go yet.”

Baji groans, “Fine but only because you like this.”

“I like it very much and with how fast your heart is racing, I think you like it too.” You put your chin on his chest and look up at him, “After all, you said I’m your girl.”

“I do like hugging you, it’s nice and warm. Also you are my girl, I’ll protect you anytime.” Baji flicks your forehead.

“Ow! What was that for? Wait since that means I’m your girl, does that mean you’re my man?”

Baji smiles, “Yeah, yeah it does.”

Chifuyu:

You should have known your Friday night with your “friends” would have gone this way. They sent you to the wrong bar on purpose then proceeded to block your number. Guess it saves you the hassle of blocking them later. All you know now is that you’re cold, tired, and upset. You look down at your phone to see that it is 8, you sigh and look back up. You look around to your left and right then look up at the sky. The area you are in is not safe for a girl to be out this late by themselves.

You shift back and forward on your feet trying to figure out what to do. Walking on your own to your apartment is out of the question. You could call a taxi like you did to get here but doing it alone at night made you uncomfortable. You do have one idea but you don’t want to be a burden. You could call Chifuyu and ask him to pick you up, but he’s closing the pet store all by himself tonight. The last thing you need to do is to add more stuff to his plate. You feel your phone buzz and you look down to see the notification.

Chifuyu

Hey. How is your night going?

You want to hit your head against the brick wall behind you reading that.

It could be better.

Did something happen?

You could say that.

What happened?

Well they sent me to a random bar in this bad area. Once I realized they weren’t here I tried to message them but they all blocked me. So now I am here alone.

You see he read the message but a couple minutes go by and no response. You go to look away but your phone starts ringing and you see Chifuyu’s profile pop up. You murmur “shit” under your breath. You answer the call, “Hello?”

“Hey sorry I had to get the customers out of the store. But where are you? I’m coming to pick you up.”


“NO! You don’t have to do that, I’ll just take a taxi. Plus Baji is going to be mad you closed up early.”

“Baji doesn’t care. He had to come in tonight to fix some shipping logs so he’s at the store now. He even pushed me out the door when I told him. So send your location to me.”

You sigh in defeat and pull your phone from your ear to share your location with him. “Did you get it?” You hear some rustling on Chifuyu’s end and then “THEY SENT YOU THERE?! That place is dangerous for you to be all alone! Fuck, I’ll get there as soon as I can. Just try to stay out of sight.”

You try to keep the tears that are building up in your eyes at bay. You whisper out a meek, “Okay.”

“Hey come on don’t cry on me-“ You then cut the call not being able to handle the situation any more. You walk to a pair of stairs up to a random building and sit down. You bury your face in your hands and can’t hold back the tears anymore. You let out heavy sobs and short breaths. Why did this have to happen to you? Why did your “friends” do this to you? You were nothing but kind to them. Now you are also burdening Chifuyu.

You don’t know how much time has passed since you started crying. You hear an engine of a motorcycle getting closer then hear it stop. Chifuyu then calls your name, “I don’t appreciate you hanging up on me but-“ before he could finish you are throwing your arms around his neck and pulling close, “Chifuyu…”

Chifuyu’s brain short circuits at the situation. His heart races at the thought of you hugging him. You two haven’t known each other for too long, you met through Baji at a bar the Toman guys frequent. He really wishes the hug could have been under a different circumstance because he can feel your wet face in his shoulder, your body shivering, and the sad tone in your voice.

Chifuyu hasn’t returned the hug and isn’t moving. Did you make him uncomfortable? You loosen your grip and go to step back before you are pulled back into a warm embrace by two strong arms. Chifuyu whispers, “Don’t let go.” You two stand by his motorcycle holding each other for a couple minutes in silence until a big gust of wind blows. The dress you are wearing really isn’t doing much to keep you warm so you bury yourself into Chifuyu more.

But Chifuyu has the opposite reaction he lets go and steps back. He takes off the light tan zip up jacket he had on and puts it on your shoulders. “They really left you looking like this all alone in the cold? Damn I would beat them all up if they were here.”

You put your arms through the jacket and zip it up, “I shouldn’t have worn this dress.”

“Why?”

“It isn’t the most practical.”

Chifuyu stares at you blankly. “I don’t care, I think you look very pretty. But let’s get you out of the cold.” He then turns around and grabs a helmet then holds it out to you. The both of you ignore your blush while you grab the helmet. “Thank you Chifuyu and I mean for everything.”

He hops on his bike then helps you get on behind him, “It’s no problem really. Do you have any plans tomorrow?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Okay then we are going back to my place and playing video games all night. We’ll stop and get takeout on the way back too. Then I’m taking you out for breakfast, because I will not waste my time with you. Also you can also change into some of my clothes when we get to my place. As much as I love you in that dress, I bet you want to be more comfortable.” Chifuyu then starts his bike then starts to take off to his apartment.

You cuddle up to him enjoying his warmth, “That sounds perfect.”

Kazutora:

You knock on Kazutora’s apartment door and hear a “It’s open.” You open the door and walk in. You kick off your shoes and walk into his living room setting up the tv for movie night. “I brought the snacks!” Holding up bags from the convenience store down the street from his place. Kazutora gives you a nod while setting up the movie.

You see he has a bunch of pillows and blankets on the couch. Kazutora follows your stare, “I set up the couch per your instructions.”

“YAY! Thank you, now I can bury myself.”

Kazutora laughs, “Do whatever you want. Just don’t take all the snacks with you.”

“Don’t worry! I got all your favorites.” You respond while handing him one of the bags. Kazutora lightly smiles then guides you to the couch.

You pull your snacks out of your bag then bury yourself in the blankets. Kazutora just giggles and shakes his head at your antics then starts the movie.

You never heard of this movie so you turn to Kazutora and ask, “What’s the movie about?”

He shrugs, “Don’t know. The worker at the video shop recommended it to me. All he said was that it was really good and had a good message.”

You nod and turn your attention back to the tv. You eat your snacks while the movie goes on. It ends up being about a young boy with his abusive parents. What an interesting recommendation. Maybe the boy becomes super successful?

About twenty minutes into the movie you are cold despite all the blankets you’re under. You look back at Kazutora who’s oddly interested in the movie. Sensing your gaze he turns his head making his earring make the little ‘ding’ noise.

“Kazutora are you cold?”

“No. Are you?” You shake your head and he doesn’t say anything. Kazutora ends up sliding close to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulder to pull you into him. He’s radiating heat, he’s so warm.

You snuggle into him and sigh, “You’re really warm.”

“Well I gotta make sure you’re not cold, right?” He says while tightening his grip on your shoulder.

The movie goes on and that’s when the physical abuse starts. The dad starts beating the mom in front of the kid then yelling at the kid. The mom is just screaming then starts fighting and punching back at the dad. Kazutora shifts slightly but you pay it no mind, thinking he’s just trying to get comfortable.

The next couple scenes are the parents trying to convince the boy to pick “who the better parent is.” In your opinion they are both assholes. But while you think about what the boy should say you feel Kazutora stiffen. That’s not like him.

The boy starts to cry and say he can’t pick a side and the parents yell at him. Kazutora quickly takes his arm off of you and cover his ears while folding his body in half.

You’re shocked by his reaction. You get up and try to kneel in front of him to get him to look at you, “Hey, what’s wrong?” You question.

Kazutora starts to heave, “Turn it off. Turn it off. Turn it off. Turn it off.” He keeps repeating really fast. You quickly turn around and turn off the tv which stops the movie.

You then turn your full attention back to Kazutora and put your hands over his and rub your thumbs against his knuckles. “It’s off.” Kazutora takes hands off his ears but is still heaving.

“Hey, take a deep breath with me okay?” You say while standing up and putting your hands on his shoulders, “Let’s get you to sit up okay? That’ll help your breathing.”

Kazutora’s body goes on autopilot while you push him upright. “Okay now follow along with me… deep breath in… deep breath out.” You lead him through a breathing exercise and it calms him down.

You’re still standing up but you lean a bit in brushing some of his multi colored hair out of his face. “You okay?” Kazutora just nods. “Want to talk about it?”

Kazutora looks away and mumbles. You couldn’t hear him at all. You sigh then apologize, “I’m sorry but I didn’t hear you.”

He makes sure to keep his gaze off of you, “I’m like the boy. I am that boy.”

You look at him puzzled, “What do you mean?”

He runs a hand over his face, still avoiding eye contact. You can see he thinks for a minute or two about what he wants to say. Kazutora turns back to you, those yellow eyes you’ve grown to love look lifeless.

Without blinking Kazutora tells you, “My parents were very abusive to each other. Whether it be in front of me or while I wasn’t home, it seemed like they never stopped. My entire childhood they begged me to pick a side and defend them against the other. I never had the heart to pick because I didn’t agree with either of them. I was a kid and I was so confused. I felt like if I did pick a side, I’d start getting abused. I never felt a loving touch from my parents and don’t know what a loving touch is. So watching the movie brought back memories I didn’t want to remember, especially after I built a great life for myself.”

You stare at him, while your mouth keeps opening and closing. You feel the tears burn your eyes but you hold them back not wanting to make him more upset. You don’t know how to respond so what you do next catches him off guard.

You throw your hands around his shoulders and pull him into you. The hug is quite awkward due to you standing. Kazutora freezes under your grip not knowing what to do.

You realize your mistake, “Shit, I’m so sorry. I can’t let go if you don’t like it.”

Kazutora panics. Yes, he’s never really had a hug and a touch like this before. But it feels so right. It feels warm and it makes him so happy. He feels you start to pull away but before you can he grabs the back of your thighs and pulls you into his lap.

He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you as close as he can. He then hides his head into your shoulder. “Please don’t. I really like this, it feels… right.” Kazutora whispers.

“Then we will stay like this.” You smile into his hair while running your hands through it.

You two sit there for a while in silence enjoying each other’s warmth. You think about how hard that must be to bring up and talk about it for him. You call out to him, “Kazutora?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you for telling me. It must have been hard but I promise, as long as you know me you’ll always know and experience a loving touch.”

Kazutora pulls himself out of your shoulder and looks at you smiling, “Thank you. You mean the absolute world to me.”

“You are my world Kazutora.” You respond quickly while placing a kiss to his forehead.

Kazutora blushes and tightens his grip on you. “I want us to go on a date.”

“That sounds perfect.” Kazutora beams at your answer then pulls you to lay down on top of him. You two cuddle until you both fall asleep in each other’s arms.

[indigospyder]

You know, sometimes I’ll think “oh I really liked reading as a child but there weren’t any books that really molded my personality.”

And then I’ll look at a self insert character I’ve made and realize it’s literally a fucking reskin of Sydney Carton from A Tale of Two Cities.

[rafesweetie]

in which you’re forced into having a talk with your ex-boyfriend, rafe cameron, on the boat ride to morocco.

being a pogue and rafe cameron’s ex was not easy. although you dated shortly before he killed peterkin, and you were sure he barely even remembered your favourite colour, seeing him blatanly disrespect you and his friends, and go down a path you tried so hard to prevent him from, was hard to watch. but now he’s picked himself up since ward died. you thought you had another chance to at least be on good terms. sending flowers and a card to tanneyhill when ward died, smiling at him when you’d see him around. it didn’t work, he still hated you and your friends.

fortunately, he redeemed himself ever so slightly by volunteering to take the pogues to morocco. rafe had to find chandler groff, you guys wanted the blue crown. it was perfect.

until jj punched him, that is. he knocked him out cold. with a scolding “jj!” coming from majority of the pogues, including you, jj carries him down into the downstairs washroom and ties his wrists to a pole. they don’t trust him, which is fair. you don’t either — you shouldn’t, anyway.

rafe was down there quietly for a mere half hour until he woke up with a groan from his head hitting the ground earlier, followed up with yelling once he realizes he was stuck down there.

all touching your noses and saying ‘not it’ the minute pope suggests someone going down there to check on him, you’re the unlucky one who said it last. shutting up your protests, john b gently coaxes you downstairs, saying things like, “you used to mack on him”, “this is good, you know him”, “he won’t hurt you,” john b leaves you downstairs once you make it to the door of the bathroom. knocking gently, you timidly ask, “can i come in?”

there’s no answer. you can picture him. wrists tied, brows furrowed, eyes closed tightly as his head leans against the wall and towards the ceiling. his gorgeous stressed face. you slowly open the door, peeking your head in. “hi,” you say gently, timid around the scary and aggressive man you have the curse of calling your ex.

“…hey,” rafe says, voice rough as he shuts his eyes tight.

unsure what to say, you awkwardly stand there and stare down at him. “um, i brought asprin,”

“right, right, like i can fuckin’ swallow it. what, you gonna throw it in my mouth like a.. seal or something?” sassy, his upper lip lifts a bit as he thinks about it and isn’t very fond of the idea.

a second of silence as you figure out what to say. “…um, ill just set it down here,” you say, putting the container down beside him. “sorry about your head.”

“yeah, uh, your little boyfriend can’t control his fists, huh?”

“…not my boyfriend,” you correct softly, though you’re not sure why you feel the need to tell him that. “but no one really.. trusts you, rafe, so you kind of brought this on yourself—“

he quickly interrupts you. “bullshit. you know why that’s bullshit? because i was helping. who got you this boat, huh? me. i did. rafe. i’m the reason that you guys aren’t swimming, or some shit, to north africa. i’m being helpful and understanding, and this is what i get. you think that’s fair?” when you’re stood there in silence at his sudden raised voice, he repeats, “you think that’s fucking fair, y/n!?” he kicks a can in anger.

it’s like you’re his girlfriend again as you sit down next to him instantly instead of running. you get deja vu to the time three years ago when he was high on coke and got kicked out of the house. everyone ignored him except for you. “..um, okay, i’m gonna give you some asprin,” you say softly. “help your head. open,” you tell him, grabbing a pill as he gives you a look but opens his mouth. you pop it in his mouth and he dry swallows. “there.”

you two share a look. you don’t think it’s a bad look by any means. he looks frustrated still, but there’s an underlying gentleness in his eyes, as if he registers you’re still the same girl you were when you two were together. “…and, um, for the record, i don’t think it’s fair that you’re down here. you helped us, thats.. nice.”

the word ‘us’ when referring to you and the pogues makes him feel weird. “i don’t get why you hang out with them,” he mutters as he looks at the ground. “tried so fucking hard to keep you away from them when we were.. together.”

“i know,” you whisper, your gaze dropping as well, to his tied wrists. you feel awful. “trust me, your warnings still play in my head when i’m with them sometimes,”

“you remind me of sarah.” he says. you’re not sure what that means.

“you hate sarah,”

“nah, nah— i don’t hate her. hate who she’s turned into,” he adjusts himself. “she makes me sad. i’m sad for her, alright? she had so much potential.“ he shrugs. “but there’s no saving her. she’s in too deep,” he looks back up at you again. “i think there’s saving you, though,”

“…this is weird, rafe,”

“how?” he asks.

“because in the years we’ve been broken up, you’ve never talked to me about this. feels like it’s a… trick or something,”

“it’s not a trick,” he assures, voice still rough. “look, i’m out half a mill, i’m tied up in a bathroom, i’m probably gonna.. die or something. i got nothing to lose, may as well tell you my concern,”

“um, i appreciate it,” you say gently, unsure how to respond. “and i’m gonna go back upstairs.”

“hey— no, woah, woah, woah,” he stops you quickly. “stay. okay?”

“i should go up and help with dinner, though—“

“no, stay. i— i want you to stay, okay? i don’t wanna be down here alone, and i want you away from the pogues,”

he doesn’t wanna be alone. you feel bad for him all over again, nodding gently as you sit back down beside him. you always were so good for rafe.

you’re not sure how long you’ll be down here with him. maybe until it’s late at night and he’s asleep. so gently, after about five minutes of silence, to ease some of the tension and pass the time, you murmur a, “truth or dare?”

rafe just smiles.

[lilreidgirl]

Do I wanna know?

Summary: You and Drew are best friends, but you want more. What happens when you get invited to a day out on Drew’s friend’s yacht and get more?

Warnings: MDNI(18+), fem!reader, thigh riding, daddy kink, nicknames used (princess, baby, little lady, good girl…), kissing, alcohol (beer), swearing, no use of (y/n), reader wears a skirt, shy!reader, pining amongst friends, English is not my first language, if I forgot anything; please let me know!!

WC: ~2.4k (no idea how that happened)

A/N: I got inspired by this photo so I wrote this at like 2 am and I’m posting it now at 5 am, this is a mess, gn my loves (NOT PROOF READ, SORRY) (also this is my first fic about Drew so yeah)

When your best friend, Drew Starkey, invited you to a small get together on his friend’s yacht, you were more than willing to go. You and him had been friends since years, getting to know each other through mutual friends and suddenly you were eating take out with a b-list celebrity every other night.

You twirled around in front of your full body sized mirror, watching with amusement as your skirt twirls with you, the ruffles bouncing as they fluttered in the wind.

“Wow. Really doesn’t take much to get a smile on that pretty little face of yours, huh?” Drew chuckled as he watched you spin around.

Startled by his voice you stopped your little turns, looking at him with a small playful glare when the dizzy fog finally cleared from your vision.

“I’m just a happy person. You should try it sometime” you shot back, but you knew it was no use. Drew was great at talking, arguing, whatever. He was great with people in a way you just couldn’t figure out for yourself.

But honestly? You were fine just standing on the sidelines watching him do his thing, waiting for him to abandon that and come talk to you for a bit.

You had been fine with it.

Lately every time he laughed and grinned at one of your sarcastic comments and every time he stared at you like he was a theoretical physicist and you had the answers to string theory, you couldn’t help but want more. Couldn’t help but want that “best friend” status to be upgraded to “girlfriend”. Hell, you even dreamt of being called his wife.

For now though, you were just going to try and enjoy the day on a luxurious boat.

Soon you found yourselves in the car. You clicked on random songs on your phone and sand along to the “wait, this is the best part, shut up”’s before yet again changing the song as Drew drove to the harbour, admiring the way you seemed so enthralled by the different songs and music.

“Would love to continue listening to your big world tour concert, little lady, but we’re here,” he announced once he’d gotten the car carefully parked.

Excitedly, you jumped out of Drew’s car, watching as he did the same before you both made your way closer to the water where many ships floated atop the sea.

At the same time, you both spotted Drew’s group of friends, waving at them as they saw you two as well.

You’d gotten to know them a bit but the amount of group hangouts you attended, didn’t really allow you to form a strong bond to any of Drew’s friends.

What can you say?

You’re just not a people person.

You’re a person person.

A Drew person.

You squashed the ridiculous thought, giggling it off before you checked that your outfit was neatly in order.

Upon seeing you inspecting your clothes, Drew leaned down and whispered in your ear, his breath tantalizingly brushed against your ear and neck as he spoke, “You look amazing, baby, don’t worry.”

As you reached the boat, the smile you had shared for a few enchanting seconds came to a sudden end.

“Hey, Drew!” Various different voices greeted the both of you and you both returned the favour with just as much enthusiasm.

One of the guys, the one whose yacht it was presumably, invited everyone aboard.

Your eyes flitted to everything around you, spotting a few seats, some complicated looking boat equipment and random day-to-day fun stuff lying around.

The smell of fish and sea breeze filled the air and your nostrils, but that scent quickly evaporated when Drew stepped next to you, finally finished with catching up with his friend and was now holding out a beer bottle for you to take. His cologne took over, overwhelming your senses. Something you were definitely not complaining about.

You accepted the beer from him, taking a sip before handing it back to him and watching as he repeated your action of drinking from the bottle.

Your gaze drifted to his Adam’s apple as it bobs when he took gulps of the alcoholic drink. He lowered the glass container from his lips, putting his strong bicep right in your line of sight.

As embarrassing as it is to admit you could have almost moaned from just looking at his muscly arm.

He must have taken off his shirt sometime between helping you up the steps on the side of the ship, his hand securely wrapped around your thigh to keep you from falling, and when he seemingly appeared behind you as you admired your surroundings.

Then your eyes found his chest, strong pecs priding over his abs that seemed carved from the very marble that Michelangelo had used to sculpt David, each muscle defined with an almost perfect precision to it.

Just before you could take a good look at his black swim shorts hanging off his hips and hugging his beefy thighs, his voice called your name.

“Hey, come on, picture time,” he reiterated what he had said when you were still zoned out.

“Oh. Okay,” Throwing your thoughts back into reality, you watched as everyone made their way over to the discussed upon place where the photo would be taken.

“Who wants to set the timer?” A girl, who you’d forgotten the name of, asked.

Something with an F? L? A? Who cares.

“Not it!” Was called by everyone but you, your face quickly morphing from a surprised look of “who the hell still uses ‘not it’?” to an accepting face that you were in fact “it”.

The girls and boys all took their places on the netting of the boat. The 5 people in front of you got ready to pose for the group photo.

Efficiently, you adjusted the tripod so that the camera of the phone pointed perfectly towards the centre of everyone.

You bent down, looking at the screen of the mobile. You saw Drew depicted by many pixels, your thighs clenching when he moved his hips up to readjust his position on the midnight blue blanket that lay sprawled over the rough nylon net.

Fuck, he was perfect.

Of course, you fixed your hair one last time before pressing the white button on the right side of the device, starting the 10 second countdown until the picture.

Swiftly, you made your way around the tripod, and plopped down onto the free space between a dark haired guy, you’ve come to know as Matthew, and Drew. You smiled sweetly at the round circles on the back of the phone as Drew slung an arm around your shoulders.

Once the photo was taken, everyone scattered and the usual chatter was back. You ran up to the phone and you looked at the image.

Well fuck.

Drew looked absolutely freaking ethereal.

His sitting in a reclined position with one leg bent and the other stretched out, manspreading, almost made you go feral. He was smiling widely toward the camera, his impossibly bright grin attracting all the attention in the photo.

His body looked like a dream. For a moment, you thought maybe you were dreaming, if you were you would hold onto the memory of the photo, even if it was just a dream, for the rest of your life.

God, pining for your hot best friend made you sound so so pathetic.

The thought that what you were experiencing was just a dream was snapped in two like a twig when Drew came up from behind you and flicked your bare back.

“Ouch!” You exclaimed, a frown forming on your face.

“‘M sorry, princess,” he swung his arms over your shoulders, holding on to you from behind like a koala would his mother, peering at the screen in your hands.

“Did it turn out good?” He asked casually, acting as if he didn’t see how your face was blushing an awfully deep shade of red and don’t even start to think that he missed the way you were obviously turned on.

“Yup,” you answered curtly, ducking down to be released of any physical contact with him, because you felt as if you would melt if he touched you a second longer.

“I’m um… gonna go below deck. The sun uh- it’s hitting me pretty hard right now. I have a headache,” you lied, coming up with some excuse to just get yourself somewhere where you can have your alone time.

“O…kay…” He didn’t seem convinced but that wasn’t for you to deal with in that moment. You made your way down the stairs leading below the deck of the ship, the room was nice and cozy.

With a sigh of relief you sat down on a wooden bench near the kitchen and slipped your phone out of your purse.

After a few minutes of mindlessly scrolling through various social media apps you heard footsteps nearing you, causing you to look up.

Your eyes met none other than Drew Starkey himself.

“On your phone when you have a headache? Really?” He asked unamused. “You lyin’ about the headache or you just stupid?”

“Stupid…?” you offered in a quiet meek voice.

“C’mon, sweetheart, what’s the problem, huh? You don’t like my friends or something?” He questioned as he sat himself down next to you on the oak plank.

“No, no, they’re great, I just…” You really should have been able to come up with something to say but the way his forearm was flexing as it rested on his thigh distracted you.

A smirk grew on Drew’s face. “No yeah, I uh-“ he chucked as he shook his head in what looked like slight disbelief, “I know.”

Unsure of the true meaning behind his comment you averted your eyes to the floor, focusing on the swaying of the boat on the water instead of Drew’s piercing blue eyes staring intently at you.

He leaned back with a sigh, his legs spreading wider and his arm sneaking behind your back and around your waist. “You’re kind of ridiculous, you know that?”

All you could do was nod which earned you yet another laugh from Drew.

Just as you were about to persuade yourself to actually speak, you were pulled onto Drew’s lap by his arm, his hands quickly settling you on his thighs.

“Wha-“

“I know, princess,” he cooed.

You know you should have felt at least slightly degraded or mad because of his tone but the only thing it did, was make you want to clench your thighs together. Which of course wasn’t possible because each of your legs rested on different sides of Drew.

“You look so pretty today, baby,” he said, tucking some loose strands of hair behind your ear before moving his face down to your neck and pressing soft, fleeting, sensational kisses to the side of your collar.

Your breathing became panted and you unintentionally slowly rubbed your core along the material of his pitch black swim trunks.

“Not even a thank you?” He murmured teasingly as his kisses walked over to the area right under your ear and his large hands gripped your hips harshly, stopping you from any further movement.

“Th- thank you…” You whispered, your tone dipped and coated in your lust and arousal.

You felt a small nip on your throat that made you let out a small “Ah-!”

“Thank you…?” He muttered expectantly.

“Sir?” You tried, getting your confirmation of that being the wrong answer when a more harsh bite was left just under your jawline.

“Daddy..” you practically moaned out, the small pleasure that you got from the bites making you rut against Drew’s strong hold on your body.

“Good girl…” he praised, his face finally coming up to meet yours, kissing you softly but also at the same time with an unforeseeable force.

His fingers stopped drilling into the skin over your hipbones, letting you push your aching core down onto his covered thigh.

He broke the kiss, his plump lips and hot breath trailing over your cheek as you both gasped from air.

His hand roughly grabbed the back of your head, wrapping his fingers around your messy hair, holding you tight against him.

Immediately after, his other hand took hold of your hip again, helping you grind down on his swim pants.

“That’s right, baby, use daddy’s leg,” he breathed out heavily.

“Such,” he pressed a sloppy kiss to your jawline, “a,” another kiss was placed on the corner of your mouth, “good,” he said before pecking your lips, “girl,” he murmured into your mouth before shoving his tongue down your throat.

The press of his thigh onto your bikini bottom made a perfect friction emerge against your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through you.

“What about-“ you started.

“I locked the door, sweetheart, no worries.”

The way he basically read your mind made you feel even more turned on.

Your folds rubbed back and forth in your

soaking wet swim bottoms as you gripped Drew’s shoulders tightly, eyes squeezed shut as he continued to spew out praise after praise to you.

Suddenly a knock resounded throughout the room, a sudden halt coming to your despicable actions.

“Hello? Anyone in here? Why is the door locked?” A female voice asked from the other side of the door.

“One second!” Drew called before returning his attention to you.

“We’ll finish this later, yeah?” All you could do was nod, still completely dazed.

He picked you up off his lap, helping you settle back into a standing position and smoothing out both of your guys’ clothes.

With a casual smile on his face he unlocked and opened the door, spouting out some excuse for the door being locked before leading you upstairs with him.

For the rest of the afternoon, you sat, with a drink in hand, watching Drew talk amongst his friends, his eyes flicking to you every once in a short while.

Once other people started leaving and the sun started setting, he walked up to you.

“Ready to leave, princess?”

“Uh-huh,” you uttered out, standing up and saying your goodbyes to everyone that still found themselves on the yacht.

As you walked down the dock, admiring the sunset, you gripped onto Drew’s arm.

“Everything okay?” He asked.

You looked up at him with an “Are you serious?” face, annoyed at his nonchalant antics.

“Gee, sorry, okay?” He chuckled.

“I’ll make you feel good soon. Don’t worry, little lady.”

@emma-e-a

[luveline]

𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

Spencer calls you drunk and in need of rescue. You confess a few secrets to him while he won’t remember them (or so you think). 3k, fem

cw drunk!spencer, mentioned past drug use, confident/bombshell!reader, flirting, spencer getting some well deserved comfort, a handful of his drunken compliments, insecurity, intense mutual pining

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’re blissfully sleeping in the arms of a REM cycle when your phone rings. It pulls you by the chest, a punch of shock and expectancy at once. It’ll be someone calling you into work, Hotch himself if you’re lucky. 

You search blindly for your phone. If you’re even luckier, it’ll be a wrong number. Your fingers curl around the little body of your phone and you bring it to your ear without checking the number, frazzled. “Hello?” you ask hoarsely. 

Total quiet. 

“Hello?” You pull the screen away. The caller reads: SPENCER. You pull it back rather than hang up. “Hey, Spencer. Are you there?” 

“Hello.” He laughs. “Hello, are you there?” 

“I’m here, Spencer, where are you?” 

“That’s an interesting question, actually, and I’m sure there’s a great answer, but…” 

“But what?” You sit up quickly, your throat aching with sleep. Your room is black as coal pitch. “Spencer, what time is it, my love?” 

“You shouldn’t call me stuff like that.” 

“Stop being weird and tell me where you are.” 

He laughs like a hyena. You can see it in your mind, his smile and all his pearly perfect teeth. You love it when he smiles like that and he rarely ever does. “I’m somewhere and I need your help getting home!” he says with another funny laugh. 

“Are you alright? You sound…” He sounds inebriated. 

Spencer struggled with his drug problem for so long before you found out. You just hadn’t been around enough, and when you were he’d gotten good at hiding it. You can still remember how furious you’d been with everyone, including him, because you could’ve helped, would’ve done anything to support him through it. If he’s hurting now and hasn’t told you, you love him, but you’ll be insanely angry. 

“Spencer?” you ask quietly. 

“I went for drinks with a girl but she didn’t like me and I may have drowned my sorrows too much,” he admits. “Um. Did you know gin is very strong?” 

“Aw, baby. You’re cheating on me?” 

“I’m afraid so,” he says, and hiccups. 

“Where are you?” 

After some hassle wherein you persuade Spencer to give the phone to someone else in the bar for a slightly less drunk interrogation, you dress and gather your bearings for the drive. You zip a hoodie up over your pyjamas, stuff your feet into some old converse, and set out into the dark to find him. 

He calls you again as you’re parking. “Hello,” he says as soon as you answered. “I need you to come and get me.” 

Spencer called you twice to save him. Even if he doesn’t remember, he’s called you to come and get him when he knows he needs help, and that realisation is hard to ignore. “Spencer, I’m two minutes away, I’m parking. You’re still where you were?” 

“Where was I?” 

“At the bar, sweetheart. Are you still there?” It’s scarily dark out and you didn’t grab any sort of defensive measure before you came, which you regret now, climbing out of your car to walk the dimly lit road. The bar glows like a beacon to be followed. 

“Still where?” 

“Did you hit your head?” 

“Not to my knowledge. Though I’m not sure I have much right now. I feel like I’m forgetting everything I’ve ever read, and I’ve read a lot. You know I can read about eighty average length novels in one hour on an e-reader? The buttons make it faster.” 

“You haven’t told me that before.” You shiver against the nighttime winds, footsteps heavy on the grey sidewalk. 

“I’m trying to be more conversational. Emily says it’s not working.” 

“You’re conversational. Isn’t the only condition of being conversational to prompt a conversation? We’re always talking.” 

“…What?” 

You laugh like crazy. “Spencer, you don’t need to change the way you talk.” 

“I annoy people.” 

“You don’t annoy me.” 

You approach the door of the bar, a ramshackle sheet of plywood over what looks to be a glass door. The bar building seems in similar dessaray, with modern features wrecked by scratches and smashed panes. It’s a real dive. Spencer couldn’t have meant to come here. 

You war with both hands to open the door and find yourself faced with a long and empty corridor leading to another door. Worried you’re going to get kidnapped, you bring the phone back to your ear, Spencer’s chatting an immediate greeting. “…telling me I’m doing something wrong without telling me what it is, it’s impossible.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, can you come to the door?” 

“I don’t think I have control of my legs,” he says without inflection. 

“It’s definitely the building with the smashed door?” 

“Yesssss. Are you here?” he asks excitedly. 

“I better not get murdered, Spencer Reid.” 

“Am I in trouble?” 

“How are you even keeping the phone to your ear right now?” 

“I’m on speaker phone. Milly showed me how to do it. Say hi, Milly.” 

“Hi Milly,” a new voice says. 

You rub your eyes with one hand and square your shoulders, prepared to defend yourself if the creepy door leads to a creepier room. 

Spencer is immediately visible from the get go. You open the door on to a rather cosy looking bar, which you’re thinking might be the whole point; wretched exterior, secret attraction. Warm orange light ebbs into the space from sconces and a faux fireplace, while a wrestling match playing from the small TV behind the bar casts brighter light down onto Spencer’s shoulders. He looks out of place, dressed in a white oxford shirt and a suit jacket, his tie loosened and hanging from either side of his neck, compared to the lingering patrons who sit dotted around the room in booths and on barstools. One such patron sits in a plaid shirt and a trucker hat, her hair to her back, thick and dark. 

You hang up the call and put your phone in your pocket. Spencer gasps like he’s been smacked and picks his own phone up from the bar, clicking at buttons with clumsy fingers. “No,” he hums sadly. 

“Spencer,” you say, not wanting to disturb the people spending their sorry-looking night here. “Spencer. Hey, Spence!” 

His phone tips between his fingers. The woman you assume to be Milly catches it and offers it back without looking too far from her beer. 

“Hey,” you say gently, crossing a wide empty space to meet him. The room itself is shaped like a horseshoe, the bar taking up a surprising amount in the centre, and booths and tables placed around it. Spencer’s off of his barstool as you approach, eyes like puppy dog’s, arms extended. “You okay?” you ask. 

You can feel eyes on you both from every angle, but it doesn’t matter, not when Spencer’s falling into your arms (or on to them —he’s surprisingly tall when you aren’t wearing heels). “You alright?” you ask again. 

“You don’t have to be worried, I’m fine.” 

He’s less coordinated in real life than he’d sounded over the phone, his slurring unmissable, his hands like jumping fish as he tries to hug you. It’s weird and straining to take his weight but you do it without complaint. He smells the same, at least, only his cedary cologne is sharpened by the tang of gin on his breath. 

“Thank god you’re here,” he whispers. 

“Why?” you ask, pulling away to check for danger. 

“I missed you.” 

“I missed you too, handsome,” you say, genuine but laying it on thick simultaneously as you ease his head back to cup his cheek. You can’t help yourself. He’s the prettiest man you’ve ever met, and it gets worse every year. 

He frowns at you deeply. “I don’t like first dates.” 

“Then don’t go on them,” you suggest, “you don’t need to until you’re ready.” 

“I’m ready for love,” he says. You pull your lips into a flattened line, unsure of what to say, how to explain that it’s waiting for him, but his chin dips towards his neck and his eyes lock onto your face. “You’re not wearing makeup. God, you’re so pretty.” 

You flinch away from him. “Fuck, Spencer.”

“I’m sorry! It’s not that you don’t look pretty with makeup, but I never see you without it!” 

You’d forgotten you weren’t wearing any. Makeup isn’t a shield, exactly, but you like putting your best foot forward, so to speak. You’ve no clue what you look like tonight, hadn’t managed to look in the mirror, you’d been focused on getting to Spencer before he got lost. You can imagine the puffiness.

Spencer touches your cheek. You let him turn you mostly because he’s surprised you, his eyes roving up and down your face with a fawning curiosity. 

“You’re beautiful. You know that already, but people don’t tell you enough,” he says, his hand falling from your cheek. 

“Spencer,” you say softly, “let’s get you home.” 

You thank Milly for her help and grab Spencer’s bag from the floor to hang on your shoulder. You’d make a joke about how heavy it was if you didn’t think he’d take it from you, and, considering how drunk he is, topple over from the imbalance it provides. His shirt is clammy where you push your hand through his arm to link them, his footsteps wobbly. 

“I didn’t want to go on a date,” he says. 

“Then why did you go?” you ask, helping him over the door jam into the long hallway. 

“I don’t want to be alone forever.” 

“Spencer, you won’t be.” It doesn’t feel like the best time to bring up how much you like him. You’re sure he thinks you’re kidding, doesn’t everybody? Don’t torture him, they say. Don’t toy with him. Every time you flirt with him the team acts like you can’t mean it, and for a while it worked for you; you weren’t in love with Spencer. You weren’t playing with his feelings, but you didn’t love him, and then you joined the team and got to know him, watched him fluster at every comment you made or under any soft looking and realised you could love him. It was easy to fall for him. You liked doing it. But now he’s determined to write your affection off as a joke and going on dates? 

In the morning, when he’s sober, you’ll have to tell him how you feel. Or you could let him find someone more like him… ugh. It’s such a mess. 

You grapple with the size of your feelings for him as he hums and laughs his way down the hall to the glass door. On the street, he squints and straightens his back, fighting to regain his arm from your hold to cover your shoulder instead. “It’s cold,” he says in surprise. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine, I got my jacket. It’s a short walk, come on.”

His arm stops acting as protection and starts to use you for support. “I didn’t mean to drink so much.” 

“Drowning your sorrows is always a terrible idea because it tends to work,” you lament, less scared of the dark with him at your hip, though what protection he might offer is negated by the alcohol. 

“She kind of looked like you.” 

You squeeze your eyes together quickly. “Oh.” 

“I didn’t know she was going to. But she didn’t– she didn’t– it’s hard to talk. She didn’t listen like you do,” he says, lightly slurring, “she just stared at me like everyone used to in high school. Like she could tell there’s something wrong with me.” 

“Spencer, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“I know,” he says. 

“Do you?” 

“Yes.” He frowns. “No, I don’t know. I don’t feel like there’s something wrong with me,” —his voice turns to a nearly indistinguishable mumble— “but everyone else always does.” 

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.” 

“Is that why you make all your jokes?” 

“What jokes, babe?” 

“Like that! Like babe. It’s funny ‘cos you’d never date me.” 

You’d slow if he weren’t already walking at a snail's pace. “That’s not true. Let’s talk about it in the morning, okay?” 

“I won’t remember to ask you in the morning.” 

“Spencer, you remember everything.” 

He drags his feet. “I wish I wasn’t so weird,” he whines. It’s playful at the forefront but desperate otherwise, and it gives you pause. “I wish I was normal, and you could like me normal.” 

You look down at your hands, panicking, a flash of Is this a good idea? like an alarm in your head as you turn on the sidewalk to face him. He’s looking at you like he’s begging you to disagree with him. 

You’re happy to. 

“Spencer, I like you like this,” you insist loudly. His eyes and all his sweet lashes track the movement of your hand as you touch your chest, and your neck. “You’re not normal, I’m not normal. Do you know how many times I’ve been rejected? Just for being me? I’m too bossy, too outspoken, too– too high maintenance. I've had friends with good intentions tell me I need to lower my standards, need to relax, because otherwise I’m going to end up alone for the rest of my life. I feel alone all the time.”

“But you’re perfect,” he says, puzzled. 

“To you. And you’re perfect to me.” Your hand crawls to the base of your throat. “So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. You think I’d come and get anybody else in the middle of the night dressed like this?” you ask him, gesturing to your ratty pyjamas and your dingy converse. 

“You look so cute,” he says mournfully. 

You roll your eyes. He’s too wasted for this conversation. “Come on, sweetheart. You can think about this too much in the morning. Let’s just get home in one piece.” Physically and emotionally. 

“Can I come home with you?” he asks. 

That had always been the plan. “Ask me nicely and I’ll consider it on the way.” 

— — 

Spencer shuts his eyes, hands itching to clap over his ears as you scratch the head of a spatula across your frying pan. “Is three eggs too many? People usually have two but that’s never enough for me.” 

“I think…” Oh my god the metal screeching is so loud. “You should have as many as you want. You know your body. There’s this study on intuitive eating…” I'm too hungover for this. “Three eggs is better than two.” 

“So you want three?” 

He cannot eat right now. “Yes. Please.” 

Spencer’s half sick with dehydration and half grief. He stayed at your house last night and he was too drunk to be nosy. He slept in your bed. He slept in your bed. He woke up to you at your vanity doing your hair, the nutty smell of hair oil mixed with the heat of the hair tool on high and realised with a start that he’d missed something he thought about all the time. 

You’d tipped your head back to smile at him. “There’s my boy. Sweet dreams?” 

He didn’t dream, but if he had, it would’ve been another agonising wish where you were his girlfriend, or his wife, or just there looking at him with love. He wakes up feeling sick because it isn’t true. And now you’re making him breakfast, humming a tune under your breath, sourdough sizzling under the grill and a shoddily blended avocado sitting in the bowl in front of him. 

You asked him for one thing. He picks up the fork and starts to mash the avocado again. He can’t fight the foreignness of sitting in your kitchen, a gap in his memory. 

He knows he told you about his date, how she looked like you, how she didn’t seem to like him much, but he’s struggling to collect the finer details. Why had you picked him up? He must’ve called you, but you could’ve said no. He remembers thinking you looked beautiful, but he always thinks that. 

The avocado is making him feel sick. 

“Here,” you say, sliding a plate of toast in front of him. “Do you want butter?” 

“I think I'm gonna throw up.” 

“You’re okay.”

“I can’t believe how I acted,” he says, pressing his palms to the hollows of his eyes. 

You turn off the hob. Fat bubbles and pops until it’s cooled. The clock on the wall by the refrigerator ticks incessantly. His slept-in shirt feels too tight despite the undone button. 

“Hey…” You round the island but don’t touch him, your voice gentle. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

He drags his hands down his face. “I can barely remember what I said.” 

“You were really nice to me… told me I looked pretty without my makeup, n’ that I was perfect. You were really nice.” 

Your tone is off. No flirtatiousness, no endless confidence, you sound wistful, like you’re glad he said it. You take the bowl of avocado he’s made a mess with and put it aside with the toast, resting your arm on the counter, and leaning into his space. “Spencer, last night? You didn’t do anything to be embarrassed of. You were nice, and kind. You tried to open the car door for me and you almost lost your eye, but you were fine. You don’t have anything to be worried about, really.”

“But it’s you.” 

“Gonna touch your hair,” you say, giving him enough time to move away as you reach out and rake back his fringe. His heart leaps into his mouth. “You said something last night like that, you know? Do you remember that? You said if you were normal.” You grace the skin beside his eye with the tip of your thumb, your perfume floating his way as you move. “And I said–”

“I’m not normal,” he says, remembering now. 

You’re not normal, I’m not normal, you’d said.

But you’re perfect, he’d said. 

To you. And you’re perfect to me.

“Right. We’re not normal, Spencer Reid, so forget that girl. She didn’t deserve you anyways,” you say. 

You draw a short, silken line down his cheek with the side of your pinky. To be touched so lightly has his stomach in knots —he’s not shocked by the swiftness with which your affection can make a bad situation good again. 

You turn away. “Now we should eat before everything goes cold.” 

He watches your shoulders move, and he remembers one last detail. So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. 

The way you’d said it… you couldn’t really mean…

“How’s your appetite? Still feeling sick?” you ask. 

Spencer smiles to himself, the ghost of your touch glowing warm on his cheek. “I’m feeling a lot better, actually.” 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!!! please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed, i appreciate anything and it always inspires me to write more<3!! my requests are pretty much always open for bombshell!reader (even though this one strays a bit from their usual story haha) so if you wanna see more let me know❤️

[cursed-peanut]

Before Sukuna was defeated, he hid your identity from history as well as he could. He wanted to make sure his beloved lover was never found by the sorcerers. However, after his death, no one was there to stop you from being found and sealed.

They would have killed you, but the love poetry and letters Sukuna had written to you was proof that you were his only weak point, so you were sealed in the fear that Sukuna could possibly return centuries later and you could be used to calm him as a back up.

Centuries later and the ancient sorcerers were right. The fearful King of Curses was revived and the higher ups of the Jujutsu world wanted Itadori Yuji executed for being his vessel.

However, Gojo Satoru had other plans.

Your prison realm was stored away deep within Jujutsu High, and he knew exactly where you were and how to unseal you.

“Where…am I? Who- who are you?”

“You are currently at Jujutsu High, a school that trains young sorcerers for the world ahead of them. And I am Gojo Satoru, a teacher here at Jujutsu High and the strongest sorcerer of the modern age. But don’t worry, I didn’t unseal you to hurt you.”

“What did you unseal me for then?” You have no clue what he’s talking about. You’ve been stuck in a cube for what felt like — and was — many many centuries. And this strange man with white hair and a blindfold is telling you about things you barely understand. Your head is spinning.

“I wanted to reunite you with someone.” The man turns around, waiting for you to follow. “Are you coming?”

“How do I know you won’t kill me?” You say shakily, tears pricking the corner of your eyes. You’re so unbelievably scared.

“I won’t. I just want to bring you to someone you know. Someone you love. Sound good?” He finally turns to face you again. Even though he’s blindfolded, it’s like he can see you shaking on the floor.

You wearily bring yourself to your feet and purse your lips. “…okay.”

————————————

Gojo: Hey, Yuji. I’m with someone

I’d like you to meet. Meet me at

the training field in 20 mins.

Yuji: Okay! See you soon Sensei.

————————————

The walk to the training field felt long but also fascinating. Everything around you was so new! How long had you been in that cube? You’re pulled from your wonder when you see someone sitting on a step by the field. His fluffy pink hair reminds you so much of Sukuna it makes your heart break. You miss him so much. Perhaps Gojo has taken you to meet his descendant?

“Ah, Sensei! Who did you want me to meet?”

“Hello Yuji! I wanted to introduce you to someone very important. Say hello to L/N Y/N!”

“Oh, hello Mx. L/N! I’m Itadori Yuji.” He gives you a bright smile and a firm handshake.

“Hello…” There’s a beat of silence before Itadori turns to his teacher.

“So, why’d you want me to meet this person?-“

“How is Sukuna right now?” You perk up at this. Did he just say Sukuna? Was this kid Sukuna? No, definitely not. Then what…

“Huh? Well, he’s completely slient for once. It’s actually quite refreshing to not have his constant nagging- why’d you ask?” Suddenly an eye and a mouth apear under Itadori’s left eye.

“Y/N…”

“Huh- hey!” Itadori slaps his cheek to stop Sukuna from freaking you out.

“It’s okay, Yuji. Let it happen.”

“But-“

“Sukuna?” Itadori’s confusion intensifies when he sees you tearing up. Not out of sadness, but rather happiness and confusion. Just who are you?

————————————

Please don’t copy or take as your own. Likes and reblogs are appreciated!

Like what you read? Here are all my other works and consider following me! If you’re interested in this AU, here is the masterlist for all works in this AU so far. If you would like to request something, please check my rules first before doing so.

[mywritersmind]

JUST FRIENDS - LN4

summary : just friends…? in which lando and his best friend have a night out like any other, until a spicy song starts and lando can’t take it any more.

or: they make out to the song sports car

listen up : kissing! talk abt sex! tate mcraes new song sports car was on repeat so enjoy.

words : 1507

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I pull down the visor, the mirror greeting me as I swipe on my lipstick. I’ve gotten oddly good at doing my lipstick in fast cars, specifically, my best friend's fast car.

Lando shifts gears as I finish my last touch up and slap the visor shut, “Red’s a little bold, no?” He glances at me, his eyes hot against my skin as he adjusts his grip on the steering wheel.

“When have I been anything but bold?” I blink, shutting my lipstick and handing it to him. I don’t miss the slight smirk at our routine.

He pockets it, shaking his head as we pull up to the club. Lando gets out first as I check out my nails, knowing damn well he’ll be at my door in seconds.

He opens it, looking at the people staring with a blank look. Then he looks at me, my skirt short and my heels high. I walk past him and straight into the club.

He follows me, his head down, probably an excuse to look at my ass. He slips his hand in mine as the crowd gets tighter, people screaming and saying hi to us left and right.

Our group is easy to find, all cheering as we arrive and immediately pushing drinks into us. The club is small and pretty private, but loud as fuck and filled with the smell of smoke, alcohol, and lust.

The dance floor is packed, the Dj raised along with little glowing stands which bottle girls and randos dance on.

I tug on Lando’s shirt, a white button up that’s already halfway undone, and offer him a drink. “Who’s gonna drive you home if i’m fucked?” He says plainly.

“Oh you’re driving me home, now? I thought you’d piss off with your new supermodel of the week.” I raise a brow and such on a lime.

His eyes flick to my lips, “I could say the same for you, love.”

“I am the supermodel, darling.” I wink, getting dragged away by my friend who’s laughing at the interaction and landing myself on the dance floor.

I’m two drinks down when I see him again, a girl flushed in his lap and his hat backwards on his head.

He’s talking and she looks absolutely fucking absolved in his words, probably drooling over his accent or his lips. Yet as he rattles off, probably talking about his new car or training, his eyes are set on me.

They practically burn my already hot skin, my arms going up as I dance with the music. It’s funny, really.

My best friend is Lando Norris. We get looks everywhere we go, yet the one look I can’t get over is how his eyes track me.

He’s got a girl in his lap and I've got a guy grinding behind me, yet I can’t seem to shake him. I watch his tongue sweep against his teeth, his eyes moving to my legs smoothly.

The girl puts her hand on the back of his neck, getting him to look at her. She’s not smart, if she were, she’d bother with a guy who’s actually looking at her.

He’s looking at me again, his gaze now flicking back and forth between me and the man behind me. I have a slight smirk on my face as I turn around to look at him.

He’s hot. Dark skin and eyes to match, I bite my lip before moving my hands to his shoulders and bring him in. He’s sweaty but the kiss is hot, I just hate that it’s so hot because my best friend is watching all of it.

Once the guy goes in for another kiss, I dodge it and make my way over to the bar, leaning up against the cold surface and wiggling my fingers at the bartender.

Lando is at my side seconds after I take my first sip of the icy drink. I pretend to not see him. “Lemme try.” He goes to take a drink but I swiftly pull my hand away, shaking my head.

“No way, Mr. Sober.” I grin as he leans against the bar, his head tilted slightly back and making his hair look godly. “Who’s gonna drive me home?”

“So you’re coming with me?” He stands up a bit straighter, “Not gonna find that guy?”

‘That guy’ in question is probably already fucking a girl in the bathroom. I laugh, “No. My best friend has separation anxiety, so.” I shrug as he grins and pushes off the bar.

“Dance with me.”

“Not a chance, Norris.”

His teeth catch his lips, making me look down at them. Fuck him and his fuck boy tactics.

“You’re Lando Norris!” a guy stumbles up to us, clearly pissed and far too excited to see Lan.

He mumbles about getting a picture and just as I walk away I hear Lando say, “Yeah, mate…”

I hand my drink off to someone, my hands in my hair as I groan and shake the feeling of Lando teasing me.

A few girls scream near me and I don’t realize it’s because of the song change until I hear the lyrics.

Hey, cute jeans

Take mine off of me

I laugh as someone pushes into me, not everyone knows the song, but almost everyone knows her voice. I find my friend, her hand tightening on mine as she pulls me to the center of the dance floor.

Before I know it, I'm screaming the lyrics that Tate leaked to me on top of the raised glass. My friend is messing with her hair and shaking ass as she sings along.

In the alley in the back

In the center of this room

With the windows rolled down

Boy, don’t make me choose

I laugh, throwing my head back and swinging my hips. I barely realize my friend is gone until her figure is replaced by Lando in front of me.

“You like this song?”

I raise a brow, “Yes?” I keep dancing, pretending that every part of me is aware of how close he stands.

I think you know what this is

I think you wanna, uh

I sing along still, until it gets to the next lyric, my mouth shutting as Lando watches me.

Oh, but you got a sports car

A grin takes over his face, cocky and completely evil. “I like it too.”

“Oh? You like Tate now?”

“I fuck with fucking and I fuck with cars… seems like enough to me.” His hand finds itself on my waist, pulling me tighter.

This is dangerously close to crossing our lines.

We could go again like three, four times

“Am I your type, Y/n?” He’s speaking into my ear now as butterflies hit my stomach, “Want me to fuck you in my sports car?”

I hold his arm in an attempt to not fall off this fucking stand. He looks way too good, his hat gone and his hair messy.

“Don’t get cocky now, Lan.”

“Oh, like you’ve been in other sports cars?” The quirk of his brow makes my heart beat faster.

I think you know what this is

I think you want a ride

I shake my head, “We’re just friends.”

“Friends who kiss other people in front of each other for fun?” He pulls me closer, staring down at me, “Try again, Y/n.”

While you drive it real far

“So what are we, Norris.” I stand him up, still not taller but my confidence building, “I dare you to tell me.”

He swallows, his adam's apple bobbing as his face leans closer, “How ‘bout I show you?” At this moment, I know i’m completely fucked.

Oh my guy-uy

You don’t wanna waste my time-ime

His hands are gripping me tighter as his head dips and his lips crash against mine.

Let’s go ride-ide

Let’s go ride-ide-ide

Oh, my guy-uh

My arms snake around his neck as his tongue parts my lips and slips into my mouth. It’s too hot, especially for the public to witness but I'm too kiss drunk to care.

He kisses me harder, his hands at my hips and dipping below my waist band so his fingers press against my bare skin. I bite his lip a bit and pull him in tighter against me.

Lando bites me right back. I whisper it against his lips, not holding myself back from the lyrics, “I think you wanna, wanna.” He kisses me again, his hand at my ass and his breath hot against me, “But you got a sports car.”

I feel his lips morph into a smile against mine, his kiss deepening as if he’s hungry for me. I move my hands to his hair, his groan vibrating against me.

“Let’s go.” He says over the sound of the music and people below us.

“Where?” I ask, still breathless and too close to him to pay attention to anything else.

That damn smirk is back as he tugs at my hand, “My sports car.”

[euthymiya]

“What’s got you so grumpy?”

Sukuna dodges your finger. It fails to meet its destination of his cheek as he tilts his head to the side, earning a frown from you before you huff and try again.

He looks up from his phone with an irritated glance when your fingertip digs into his face.

“What are you talking about?” He grunts.

He knows exactly what you’re talking about. Normal Sukuna is irritable enough—grumpy Sukuna is about as bad tempered as a hornet who’s had its nest kicked. (Which is to say: he’s pretty fucking unfriendly at the moment.)

“You’re sulking,” you point out—and that statement earns a sharp glare from him as you seat yourself on his lap. (Still, he makes room easily for you, leaning back on the couch and putting his phone down to the side so his hands can rest on your hips. Grumpy Sukuna is never grumpy enough to push your body away—if anything, it’s the one way to get him less agitated).

“I’m not fucking sulking,” he says. It’s almost petulant, but you have enough grace to spare his dignity and not point it out. “I don’t sulk.”

“Are you sure?” You raise a disbelieving brow—he clicks his teeth at the way you choose to question him, but it softens considerably when your lips peck his jaw delicately. “You look pretty sulky to me.”

“Get your eyes checked.”

“Can’t. Then I might see you for all your ugliness. We wouldn’t want to throw years down the drain once I come to my senses do we?”

It’s his turn to raise a brow, sarcastically snorting as you give him a cheeky wink. “If you wanna try ‘n be a smart ass, at least be realistic about it. Saw you checking me out just this morning through the mirror.”

“Maybe you need your eyes checked,” you huff, “I was not checking you out.”

“Pretty sure you were,” he smirks, lips pulling into a haughty grin. Getting under your skin with his smugness is about the only way to cheer him up, it seems, because he looks rather pleased when he adds, “it’s okay. Don’t blame ya for bein’ possessed by my impressive physique.”

“Too bad your personality isn’t as dazzling,” you quip back easily.

It’s meant to be lighthearted, of course—but it seems to be the wrong thing to say. Quite wrong, in fact, because as soon as the words escape you, he tenses before locking his jaw.

There’s a flash of something in his eyes. Something you don’t think you’ve ever seen in Sukuna’s face—doubt. It’s a little odd, in all realness. Sukuna is not a doubtful person. He’s confident, and he’s confident enough that it’s almost to a fault. He’s cocky and smug and sometimes a little too self-assured for it to be considered good for his health.

It’s a bit unsettling to see his face almost fall at something you say, especially when you just say it for the sake of light banter.

“Yeah?” He chuckles dryly. It sounds dangerously self-deprecating—enough that it makes you frown. “Good thing I have my abs to keep you glued to my side then, huh?”

“Well, it’s not just your abs,” you hum, one hand smoothing over his shirt to feel the ridges of his muscles through the shirt. “Your boobs are pretty great, too.”

To prove your point, you give his left pectoral a gentle squeeze. He scowls before shoving your hand away as blush creeps along the back of his neck.

“You fucking freak,” he mutters.

Something is bothering him. You know you can’t directly ask it out of him, otherwise he’ll deny it left and right, but something is bothering him. Sukuna is not good with words or emotions. In fact, he’s pretty awful at anything that has to do with anyone’s feelings. (He’s better about yours more than other’s, but he’s pretty far from good.)

You don’t mind. There’s something oddly charming about witnessing the way he navigates softening up for you—it’s like watching a baby take their first steps. Wobbly. Slow. Unsure. Pretty badly executed, but endearingly rewarding all at the same.

Except, this time, it’s not your emotions he’s navigating. For some reason, yours are easy than his own. Navigating yours means he doesn’t have to try. He knows you better than he knows himself. Knows when your feelings are hurt by the twitch of your brows alone. Knows you’re sad by the dimness in your eyes. Knows you’re pretending joy when your laugh is quieter than usual. Knows you’re faking it when your smile is a much more tight lipped and a less bright version.

But his own feelings are complicated. A lot more than he cares to try and understand them for. In true Sukuna fashion, he always aims to ignore his problems until they seemingly disappear.

But you’re too difficult to let that slide. He brushes things under the rug, and you pull the rug from under his feet and make him fall face first into his problems.

“Hey,” you nudge him, cupping his face with your hand gently, “what’s gotten into you? It’s weird when you’re not pissing me off a couple of times every hour.”

“And that’s supposed to be a good thing?” He challenges, like your words seem to tick him off more, “what are you sittin’ here for if I’m always pissing you off?”

Oh, you think. So that’s what it is.

You smile, humming before you gently tilt his face up. Something vulnerable is attached to that frown of his. Like he’s waiting for your answer because he needs something to hold onto. Some metaphorical lifeline where your feelings are attached to his own, just to keep you chained together. Where you’re always somewhere that he also is. Where he doesn’t have to care about his emotions because what you feel is what he feels, too, and as long as you’re okay, so is he.

But you care. You seem to care a pretty great deal because you lean in and brush your nose against his as you kiss his lips softly.

“Who cares if you piss me off?” You snort, “I piss you off better. I’m pretty good at it.”

“You are,” he agrees instantly.

You give him a fleeting huff against his mouth as you mumble, “you don’t have to agree so fast.”

It pulls a small laugh from him, making his arms snake around your waist and tug your body closer. Chest to chest, heartbeat thumping in two, synchronized rhythms.

“What happens when I’m all old and expiring and my abs are gone?” He raises a brow. You hum, stroking a thumb along his cheek as you smile and admire him.

“We’ll still be pissing each other off, I bet.”

“That’s supposed to be good?” He repeats, this time much more unsure. Anyone else could hardly catch the air of hesitance in his words, but you catch it instantly.

“Why not?” You shrug, “it always worked for us, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, “that’s until it doesn’t.” He spits the words out, not meeting your eyes. It’s like they taste acrid is mouth and he can’t bring himself swallow them down.

You don’t say anything. Instead, you lean in and just press a line of kisses from his chin to the corner of his lips, purposely dodging his mouth and littering small, delicate pecks along his cheek. And then his forehead. And then the bridge of his nose.

Never his lips, though. And he gets increasingly frustrated by it.

“What are you waiting for?” He grumbles, eyeing you with a look that screams: quit fucking around.

You fight back an amused smile. “Does it piss you off?”

“Course it does. Kiss me properly or back off my face—”

“Cause you love me right?” You ask cheekily. He pauses, thinking on it for a moment before slumping wearily.

“And if I do?”

“You piss me off too. Because I love you too,” you whisper, forehead against his as your hands cradle his cheeks. Because you do.

When he texts late, and makes your blood boil, it’s only because you love him. When he’s brutally honest and doesn’t say what you want to hear, you’re only mad because you care what he thinks so much. When he’s stubborn and refuses to meet you halfway, you’re only angry because there’s no one else you’d rather cross the bridge with than him.

He pisses you off. You care enough to be pissed because it’s him. And when you piss him off too, he cares enough to deal with it because it’s you.

It’s a funny, twisted little way to love and be loved, but it works. For some odd reason, it does. It’s a seamless, smooth, crackless road.

You don’t ever fix something that’s not broken.

“That doesn’t make sense,” he sighs, resigning himself to your weird, roundabout explanation. You laugh, pinching his cheek as you grin brightly.

“That’s because you’re a bit dim.”

“Yeah,” he rolls his eyes, “okay. Anything else?”

“Yeah, actually. I love you.”

He pauses. Swallows for a moment before his arms tighten their grip on your hips just a smidge before burying his face into your neck and mumbling, “me too. Love you so much, it pisses me off.”

“I like to get under your skin like that,” you stroke his hair, beaming as you add, “guess you’ll just have to deal with it.”

His lips stretch into a small grin before a low, rumbling chuckle breathes itself against your skin. “Guess so.”

————————

a/n: insecure modern! au sukuna who doesn’t admit it and refuses to acknowledge that he’s aware he’s difficult to love and can’t understand why you love him but he also doesn’t want to question it for fear of scaring you away is very near and dear to me and i’ll be talking about it from my grave still. you’ll just hear my ghostly voice spooking you through the night talking about how he’s a softie deep down under all the layers. like an ogre okay? ogres have LAYERS.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Till The Water Boils Over Or The Frog Drowns.

Pairing: Yan!Gojo x Reader x Yan!Geto (JJK).

Word Count: 5.8k.

TW: No Curses AU, Dub/Con -> Non/Con (Revoked Consent), Fem!Reader, Oral Sex, Unprotected Sex, Kidnapping, Financial Abuse, Psychological Abuse, Infantilization, Spanking, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, and Forced Codependency. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

[Part Two]

It started the day Satoru first introduced the concept of ‘time out’ to your relationship.

He was immature and you were stubborn. You loved him, but without Suguru’s even temper and calming presence, sparks tended to fly in a way that left you at each other’s throats. With your arms crossed over your chest and your eyes narrowed, you’d watched him sigh, roll his eyes, and storm out of your shared bedroom, slamming the door behind him. You gave yourself a second, then another – sucking in a shallow breath and shutting your eyes, talking yourself through all your usual cool-down methods. You were supposed to go out, tonight, to a restaurant you and Satoru had both been talking about for weeks. You still had about an hour before Suguru was supposed to get home, before you were all supposed to leave together. It wasn’t a good day to fight, even if you knew Suguru would smooth everything over as soon as he got home.

When you were done, you moved to the bedroom door. One hour was plenty of time to talk things out. One hour was plenty of time to kiss and make up, even if you would hold a grudge for a—

You pushed gently on the door. It didn’t budge.

You tried the knob. It turned, but the door still didn’t open.

You pressed your shoulder into the wood, shoving with more force than you ever should’ve had to use. Something shifted – a chair slotted underneath the handle, Satoru’s back leaning against the other side of the thin wood – but didn’t give.

The frustration you’d only just managed to suppress resurfaced immediately. Still pressed against your side of the door, you called out, attempting to keep your tone soft, light. “Satoru? Baby?”

 The sweetness in his voice was equally artificial. “I’m right here, angel.”

“I—I think the door might be jammed.” You tried the knob again, rattling the metal for emphasis. Satoru only hummed in response, and you grimaced. “Are you gonna let me out, ‘toru? I really don’t have time to be—”

“Ninety minutes.”

“…ninety minutes?”

“Ninety minutes,” he repeated. You could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “After that, we can check and see if you’re still feelin’ so bratty.”

You were almost thankful there was a door between you. If it hadn’t been there, you might not have been able to stop yourself from throttling him. “Satoru, I really don’t have time to—”

There was an obnoxiously loud hum, the sound of footsteps moving down the hall. You groaned, resting your forehead against the cool wood. Whatever. He was being petty, again. You could do ninety minutes. And, even if you couldn’t, he’d probably be back in ten, tail between his legs and pouting for your attention.

You quickly resigned yourself to passing the time as quickly as possible. You laid face-down on your bed, bemoaning your taste in men and picturing all the ways you could break up with Satoru, once he let you out. You scrolled through your phone, spamming Suguru with half-coherent messages and memes from the very depths of your camera roll. You re-organized your closet, sorting your clothes by color and alphabetizing your shoes. You managed to read a full page of one of the bulky historical fiction novels Suguru kept on the bedside table before deciding you’d be better off breaking up with both your current boyfriends.

You checked the time when you were done, and discovered that you’d managed to kill a whopping fifteen minutes.

God, you were so fucked.

Only half-consciously, you gravitated back to the door, slumping against it. You opened your mouth, ready to call out to Satoru and say whatever you had to say to get out, but another voice cut in before you got the chance. “Baby?”

Suguru. He must’ve gotten back early. You let out a shallow sigh, letting your head fall forward in relief. “Right here,” you said, making no effort to hide your exasperation. “Can you open the door? I think ‘toru blocked me in.”

His deep chuckle was muffled, but still clearly audible. “I’m afraid I can’t. He’s still pretty mad, couldn’t stop talking about how you copped an attitude with him.” There was a pause, a shoulder being rested against the other side of the door. “I think he mentioned something about a dress?”

You were glad he couldn’t see you – he would’ve hated the way you grimaced at the reminder. “It’s a nice restaurant. I wanted to dress up a little, but he’s just so immature, and when he saw the dress I wanted to wear—”

Suguru cut in. “The red one, right?”

“Yeah, with the window on the chest.” You sighed. “Please, Suguru? I really don’t want to spend the next hour of my life locked in my own bedroom.”

Another laugh, this one more stifled than the first. “He just knows how pretty you’d look, babe. Probably doesn’t want anyone else to find out how beautiful our partner is.” When you didn’t respond, he added, “Didn’t he just buy you somethin’ brand new? He can’t complain if he’s the one who picked it out, right?”

You pursed your lips. He had – a pure ivory dress, a little shorter than mid-thigh and sleeveless, not exactly conservative, but not meant to show as much skin as you usually preferred to. It’d come with matching gold jewelry, and you’d politely accepted the gift, kissed him on the cheek, and stashed it under your bed to rot. It wasn’t ugly, nothing so expensive could be, but it suited Satoru’s tastes, not yours.

“I don’t know,” you muttered, trying to soften the harsher edges of your distaste. “You know how Satoru is. Everything he picks out is just so—so him.”

“I’m starting to think you both might be causing problems.” You kicked the base of the door, but Suguru didn’t indulge your outburst with acknowledgement. “Just try it on, alright? If it’s that bad, we can always go without him.”

It took another minute or so of condoling, but soon enough, you were slipping into Satoru’s gifted dress, cursing as you struggled with the tiny, finicky zipper and smoothed wrinkles out of abused silk. You pulled your fingers through your hair once before returning to the bedroom door and knocking defeatedly. As if to add insult to injury, the door swung open in an instant, a smiling Suguru waiting on the threshold.

“See? Absolutely gorgeous, as always.” He leaned forward, cupping your cheek. You let his lips brush over your forehead before pulling away. Thankfully, he wasn’t cruel enough to draw it out any longer – his hand falling to yours and taking it up, tugging you gently towards the living room. “Satoru’s going to forget he was ever mad at all as soon as he sees you.”

You didn’t bother responding, only slumping against his side and letting him guide you forward. Distantly, you heard Suguru calling out to Satoru, but you were already busy – too occupied promising yourself that this would never, ever happen again to care what either of them was saying.

You would, of course, be wrong.

~

Barricaded doors quickly became a weekly inconvenience. You and Satoru fought often (never intensely and never for very long, but often), and he owned the apartment – meaning, despite all your whining, you couldn’t exactly tell him that his doors couldn’t all lock from the outside. Your ‘cool-down sessions’ (Suguru’s words, not yours) lasted anywhere from twenty minutes to a couple of hours, and Suguru was always the one to let you out. When you couldn’t be locked up and left to stew, Satoru would take it upon himself to leave the apartment – if only for as long as he thought it would take for you to forget you’d argued at all. You got used to it quickly. It wasn’t fair, you didn’t enjoy it, but you got used to it. You’d always had more patience than you really should’ve, when it came to Satoru’s antics.

And then, Suguru started showering with you.

Finding time to spend together was an ever-present obstacle in your relationship. Satoru alternated sporadically between planning lectures and grading papers late into the night to rolling his eyes at the concept of due dates and dulling out extra credit on a whim, and trying to guess if Suguru would be free was a pursuit in futility – his sermons were scheduled, but he was almost always being called out on some mysterious errand on behalf of one of his countless, faceless apostles. You didn’t work at all, but you went to school, and you kept yourself busy. You’d never be as busy as Satoru and Suguru, but you did your best to keep up with them.

Currently, you were basking in the afterglow with Suguru, your head resting on his chest and his arms wrapped loosely around his waist. Satoru was already gone, rushed off to some early-morning lecture, but Suguru didn’t have anything to do, and you—well, you could miss a lecture or two if it meant spending time with him. And, even if you couldn’t, it was hard to imagine tearing yourself away from the feeling of his calloused fingers tracing aimless patterns into the small of your back, of his lips pushing warm, open-mouthed kisses into your shoulders, your collarbone, your throat. His hands drifted to your hips, grip tightening ever-so-slightly, and you felt a raspy groan reverberate against the side of your neck, Suguru pulling you close as he—

“Save it,” you said, drawing back. He pouted and you grinned, pecking the corner of his jaw and sitting up, letting his sheets pool around your waist. “Just for a few minutes – I feel gross.” A full groan, this time. You laughed, combing his disheveled hair back and pressing another kiss into his forehead, this one lingering just a beat longer than the first. “You’ll survive a shower, Suguru.”

You felt him shift underneath you. Before you had a chance to pull away, he was sitting up, his arms still around your waist – keeping you messily laid across his lap. “I’ll come with you.”

“You’ll wait your turn.” And then, when he only hummed in response, “I’m being serious. Somebody in this relationship has to wash their hair every now and then.”

His face was already buried in the crook of your neck, and he was moving toward the edge of the mattress with your body still tucked against his chest. He was planning on carrying you, presumably. Sometimes, it felt like if it were up to Suguru, you’d never walk anywhere on your own again. “I know.” His voice was still raspy with sleep, his usual articulation weighed down by the fatigue that came with a morning spent in bed. “I’ll help.”

“That’s really sweet, but—” You strung your arms around his neck as he stood up, taking you with him. “—I think I’ll be alright on my own, Suguru.”

For the first time all morning, his eyes flickered open, wandering idly in your direction. He held your gaze for a beat, then another.

Finally, the edge of his lips quirked upward – the sly, knowing grin you’d fallen in love with soon painted across his lips. When he spoke, it was in a tone to match, all confidence and cloying, calculated sweetness. “No.”

You faltered, at that. “…no?”

“Don’t wanna be away from you for that long,” he mumbled, by way of explanation. “Whatever you need to do, I’ll take care of. Don’t want you to have to worry your pretty little head over anything.”

You tried your best to laugh, but it was a weak effort, better left unacknowledged. “I don’t know how I feel about my boyfriend offering to, I don’t know, shave my legs or something.”

He only soldiered on, as if you hadn’t said anything at all.

~

You felt Satoru’s hands on your waist first, then his chest against your back. His mouth found the curve of your throat as if by instinct, teeth grazing against a bruise Suguru had left in the same spot the day before. You felt him lean against you and dropped the knife you were holding onto a nearby cutting board, bracing yourself on the edge of the counter to compensate.

You glanced over your shoulder as his head bowed, face soon buried in the dip of your shoulder. He must’ve just gotten home – he was still wearing his sunglasses, only the first three buttons on his shirt undone. You grinned, twisting around just far enough to kiss the top of his head before turning back to your ingredients. “Rough lecture?”

“Grad students,” he muttered, the dread in his voice plainly audible. “One more fucking extension request, and I swear, I’ll fail the entire class.”

You hummed, letting him sink further into you. You might’ve let him stay there, too, if one of his hands hadn’t fallen to your ass while the other slipped underneath your loose shirt. Before he could creep upward, you jabbed an elbow into his chest. “Keep it in your pants. You still smell like a college campus.”

Of course, he didn’t budge. “But I missed you,” he whined, as shameless as he was clingy. “I had to leave so early, and I was stuck in my office for so long, and I’m gonna die if I have to wait any longer. Is that what you want? For me to die?”

“You could always go to Suguru, if you’re that insatiable.”

“But I want you.” You felt a thumb slip below the waistband of your sweatpants (or, Suguru’s sweatpants, technically – he’d been unbearable unless you were wearing his clothes, recently) and batted his hand away. Your efforts were, predictably, unsuccessful. “Please, baby?” And then, after a beat. “You don’t care about dinner more than you care about me, do you?”

You felt something delicate inside of you falter, crack, then fall apart entirely. It was strange – how long you could nurse a wound without acknowledging it existed at all. “It’s not that, I just—” You stuttered, then stopped entirely. You deflated underneath Satoru’s weight, and as if in response, he held you that much tighter, keeping you as close as you could be, lest he carve open his chest and force you into the open cavity. “I… I guess I feel like I haven’t really been doing a lot for you two, lately. You pay all the bills, and Suguru goes out of his way to take care of me, and there just… It makes me feel kind of useless.” You tried to punctuate the confession with a smile, a laugh, but both were hollow beyond the point of recognizability. It would’ve been better if you hadn’t tried at all. “You get it, right? I just—I don’t want to be the only one not doing anything.”

There was a beat of silence. You felt Satoru settle against you, his chest pressing into your back before he pulled away, detaching from you entirely. You sighed, letting yourself relax.

And then, just as suddenly, you were off of your feet and in Satoru’s arm, one tucked under the bend of your knees while the other supported your back. You managed a stammered, half-coherent protest, but if Satoru was listening, he wasn’t bothered.

He carried you out of the kitchen and into the living room, your half-finished recipe forgotten in favor of dropping you onto the nearest couch and kneeling over you, already pulling on the collar of his shirt. “Sounds like our baby’s been thinkin’ too much.” He was grinning, his glasses sitting low on the bridge of his nose. “Let me put a stop to that.”

You opened your mouth, but you didn’t have time to respond. His mouth was already crashing into yours; swallowing down anything you might’ve said and replacing it with a breathy moan, a haze over your conscious thoughts.

You didn’t bother trying to talk your way out from underneath Satoru, again.

~

You couldn’t breathe.

It took you a moment to realize what was wrong, another to put together why. You felt the blunt tip of Suguru’s cock hit the back of your throat as Satoru’s chest pressed into yours, the latter pressing the air out of your lungs while the former forced you to choke what little was left up. Satoru had set a relentless pace; his thrusts brutal, his tempo erratic, his hips crashing into yours with enough force to bruise. Two of Suguru’s thick, calloused fingers were lodged between your body and Satoru’s drawing quick, precise patterns into your clit, while both of Satoru’s hands were wrapped around the underside of your thighs, keeping your knees pinned to your chest, your body folded in half and pressed into the mattress. They’d always been taller than you, with Suguru kneeling by your head and Satoru looming over you, they both seemed so much bigger. They both seemed so, so much stronger than they ever had before.

You couldn’t breathe. The lack of oxygen was already rushing to your head, already replacing your sense of logic with a shrill, panicked buzz. Your body hurt everywhere they touched it, the warmth pooling in your core and arousal left behind by previous climaxes not enough to dull the sharp sting of Satoru’s nails against your skin, not enough to soften the harsh edge of the grin you could only barely see spread across Suguru’s lips out of the corner of your eye. It was a struggle just to move your jaw, and even then, any sounds you were able to make were borderline incoherent – your little chants of ‘red, red, red’ so stifled and so garbled by Suguru’s cock that you couldn’t have blamed him for not hearing you at all. It was only when you tried to pull your head back that his eyes fell away from where Satoru’s cock was fucking into your dripping cunt and to your face, tears of distress already beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes. You let out one more panicked cry, hoping beyond hope that he’d be able to see the fear in your expression and know something was wrong, but that grin you had loved so much only widened, sharpened. “Like that, princess?” You felt his free hand on the top of your head, fingers carding through your hair while the patterns being pushed into your sensitive clit sped up, intensified. “Faster,” he cooed to Satoru, his voice laced with something vicious and mocking. “If she can still cry, she can still fuck.”

He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it. Suguru just liked to be mean in bed, and Satoru liked to indulge him. That was the only reason they were doing this to you, that was the only reason Satoru listened; leaning that much more of his weight onto as his cock beat against the walls of your cunt. “Fuck,” Satoru muttered, as Suguru’s cock twitched against the roof of your mouth. “Got tighter when you said that. Is that what you want? For me and him to fuck you unconscious?”

This time, you didn’t try to pull back, you jerked – lurching out of Suguru’s hold, drawing back until you could gasp and pant and fill your aching lungs. “Red,” you half-choked, half-cried. “Red, red, stop, too much, I can’t—”

Satoru cut you off with a throat groan. You felt his form tense against yours, heard a shameless moan spill past his lips, and suddenly, it was like you’d forgotten how to breathe entirely. “Too close for that,” he muttered, his lips close enough to ghost over the shell of your ear. “You can take it for me, angel.”

You couldn’t, but you didn’t have time to tell him that. You opened your mouth, but all you could seem to spit out was a keening, pitiful whine as you felt something deep in your core pull taut and snap, as your cunt clenched around him and you came undone on Satoru’s cock for the nth time. At the same time, he went stiffed above you, forcing his hips flush with yours and filling your abused pussy with something thick and searing. The feeling was alien, strange. You could’ve sworn he said he would wear a condom, tonight.

It felt like you laid there for a small eternity – trapped under Satoru’s limp body, Suguru still petting idly through your hair. You stared unblinkingly at the ceiling until, days later, Satoru pulled himself upright with a raspy grunt, turning to Suguru. You were vaguely aware of his head being lowered into Suguru’s lap, moving to finish the job you hadn’t wanted to, but that seemed distant, unimportant. The room was too small, too closed-off. You weren’t getting enough air. You were too warm. You were too small. You—

You needed to leave.

Your body was on the edge of the mattress before your mind could make the conscious decision to move. You were shaking, despite the damp humidity clinging to your skin, but you tried to ignore that and focus on getting your feet underneath you, on fishing Satoru’s shirt off the floor and pulling it over your head. You’d need pants, too, and your wallet – maybe you’d still have a little cash stowed away, something from before Satoru insisted you start carrying one of his platinum cards. You’d spend the night in a hotel, or better yet, rent a car – get out of Tokyo altogether. You had a friend who lived outside of the city – or, you used to, at least. You couldn’t remember the last time you talked to someone other than Satoru and Suguru.

You made it to the doorway before Suguru called out. “Going somewhere, princess?”

You froze, but didn’t look over your shoulder. You could barely stand. You needed to go. “I just—I think I need a little air.”

“Give us a minute. Me or ‘toru should go with you.” There was a lull to his voice, an airiness just barely audible over the slick, sloppy sound of Satoru’s mouth moving over his shaft. You could remember admiring that about him, once, constantly thinking about how lucky you were to have such a cool, confident boyfriend. Right now, though, it was hard to think of his unfaltering composure as anything but inhuman. “It just wouldn’t be safe to let you—”

“I need air,” you repeated, because it was true, because you did. Little, black spots were already starting to dot your vision, and it felt like someone was trying to wrap their hands around your throat and squeeze. “I… I think I might be gone for a while, too.”

For all his tenderness, Suguru didn’t sound very concerned. “How long?”

“A couple hours,” you tried, and then, much more quietly, when he let out a disbelieving hum. “…a few days?”

This time, Suguru didn’t have to say anything at all. Leaning against the doorway, Satoru’s cum still dripping down the inside of your thigh, it took less than a minute for you to crack on your own. “I think we… I think I might need a little space.”

There was another beat of silence, occupied only by a soft groan from Suguru, the sound of noisy swallowing from Satoru. Finally, he sighed. You didn’t dare to look, but you could picture him shaking his head, smiling as he rolled his eyes. Acting as if you’d just said the stupidest thing in the world. “What do you think, Satoru? Have we waited long enough.”

“—too long.” Satoru’s voice was hoarse, breathy. In your peripheral, you could see him dragging the back of his hand across his lips as he raised his head. “We’ve had everything ready for months, now.”

That was all Suguru needed to hear. He turned back to you, letting his head lull to the side. “Come back to bed, won’t you, princess?”

You didn’t respond. What little air you still had hitched in your collapsing throat as you attempted to move forward, only for a hand to catch your shoulder and hold you in-place. It was Satoru – now standing less than a full step behind you. He didn’t bother with a warning before wrapping his free arm around your waist and dragging you into his chest and off of your feet. You made a weak effort to thrash, to squirm, to dig your nails into the forearm laid over your midriff, but Satoru didn’t make a sound, didn’t let you go, only hauling you back to where Suguru sat on the edge of the mattress. You shouldn’t have felt as betrayed as you did. They’d both always been able to pick you up and throw you around like a kitten, being carried from place to place by its scruff. It was always only going to be a matter of time before they stopped listening to your half-hearted protests entirely.

“Over the knee,” Suguru said with a sort of flippant, beckoning gesture. “I want to make sure we get off on the right foot.”

Wordlessly, unceremoniously, you were dropped face-down into Suguru’s lap – his thighs pressing into your exposed stomach. Satoru lowered himself to the floor in front of you, sitting cross-legged and reaching out, cupping your face delicately. More out of reflex than anything intelligent, you tried to push yourself up, but a hand on the small of your back was enough to keep you paralyzed. Sometime between the doorway and the bed, the shaking had gotten worse. You doubted you’d be able to keep your legs underneath you, anymore. “Twenty-five,” he announced – an executioner reading out his victim’s sentence. “Fifteen for trying to leave us, and ten more for not listening to me. Does that sound fair, Satoru.”

“So mean, Sugu’,” Satoru whined, but you could already see a crooked smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “The poor thing doesn’t even know what’s going on.”

“Which is why we have to make a strong impression. I want her to know there’ll be consequences for misbehavior.” You felt his hand drifting up the length of your spine, lingering on the sensitive junction between your shoulder blades. “Twenty-five, okay, princess? I’m going to need you to count for me – if you lose track, we’ll have to start over.”

“Suguru, ‘toru, I don’t—I don’t understand what—” You were cut off by a sudden, bruising blow to the plush of your ass – all force, no friction. It took you a second to realize that it was Suguru’s hand, another to consciously acknowledge that he’d spanked you. Like you were some bratty toddler. Like he wanted to hurt you.

It took another lash to know you out of your spell-bound state and send a keening, pitchy cry spilling past your lips. The tears you’d managed to hold back minutes ago were back in full-force, dripping down your cheeks and pooling on your chin, accompanied by the occasional sniffle or ragged sob. Suguru hummed, but any sympathy he might’ve had remained unexpressed, hidden behind a thick veil of strict impassivity. “I need you to count. I know it’s hard, but it’ll only get more difficult if you don’t cooperate.” He paused, clicked his tongue. “We’re still on one. Are you going to be good, or do I have to get the belt?”

“Hurts, Suguru, you’re hurting—”

Another blow, this one to the back of your thighs and twice as harsh as the first two. Meekly, you mumbled a weak “…one.”

You couldn’t see past your own tears by the fifth strike, and by the tenth, you were sobbing openly. Each blow leaves your skin burning and your ass pulsing, but despite everything, he was far from brutal. His pace was measured, precise, and he was strategic – careful to never abuse the same spot to the point of numbness. After the fifteenth, you sniffled and forced yourself to raise your head, meeting Satoru’s eyes and silently pleading for his pity, for his help. Rather than empathy, you found a glassy stare and his hand in his lap, pumping idly over his cock. A few hours ago, you could picture yourself teasing him for not being able to go a full minute without someone touching him, even himself. Right now, the sight alone was enough to make bile rise into the back of your throat.

His thumb ran over your cheek, his palm settling under your chin and tilting your head back. “Don’t give me that look. This is twice as gentle as he’s ever been with me.”

By the time it was over, you were near-inconsolable, every number followed immediately by a string of distorted gibberish, a disjointed plea for him to stop, or be gentle, or let you go. You laid limp across Suguru’s lap as he drew slow, tender patterns into your abused flesh, every little touch sparking a new kind of pain, dragging another ragged sob up from somewhere deep and visceral in your chest. He was talking to you, cooing sweet nothings, but you couldn’t hear him. You didn’t want to hear him. You wanted to leave.

But, you couldn’t, and even if you’d had the strength to try, you wouldn’t have gotten very far. You hadn’t seen him move, but at some point, Satoru must’ve left the room. When your crying began to wane and you could bare the thought of opening your eyes, you found him standing in front of you, holding a glass of water in one hand and three white pills in the other. “Open up,” he said, drawing out each syllable for a beat longer than he really had to. “It’ll help with the pain, promise.”

You pursed your lips, grit your teeth, but Suguru’s thumb pressed into a fresh bruise and fear immediately overwhelmed your sense of caution. Suguru took precious seconds to reposition you – drawing you up by your shoulders to straddle his thigh – and Satoru’s hand found its way back to your cheek, his thumb tapping your bottom lip and slipping onto your tongue as you, reluctantly, opened your mouth. The pills were first, allowed to sit on your tongue until their bitterness reached the back of your throat, then the water, poured sloppily enough for the excess to spill out of the corners of your mouth. The reaction was instantaneous – a wave of nausea, then fatigue, your eyes immediately too heavy to keep open, your body too distant to justify attempting to control. You went slack, falling against Suguru, and he chuckled, bowing his head.

The last thing you felt was his mouth against your throat before everything went numb.

~

You woke up hours later, tucked into a bed that wasn’t yours and in more pain than you’d ever felt before.

Shock and terror startled you into consciousness before you could so much as attempt to fade back into blissful oblivion. You tried to curl up, to make yourself as small and as safe as possible, but your leg caught on something – a leather cuff, discovered after throwing the sheets that’d been laid over you to the side. A shackle, lined in velvet and sitting loosely at the base of your ankle, a silver chain connecting it to an unseen point underneath the bed. You gave it another tug, just to check, and unsurprisingly, it refused to budge. You choose to look away before the pit quickly opening up inside of your chest could deepen any further.

Instead, you turned your attention outward – to the rest of the bedroom. It wasn’t the one you shared with Satoru and Suguru, or the undecorated guestroom Satoru had semi-converted into a home office. The walls were a pale pink, the shelves already stocked with stuffed animals, fairy lights, jewelry boxes that (knowing Satoru) were no doubt filled to the brim. You weren’t wearing Suguru’s shirt anymore, either. Your blood ran cold as you glanced down and found yourself in a pastel blue nightgown – all lace and silk and frills no one could ever hope to actually sleep in. You didn’t know whether to be disgusted that they’d re-dressed you while you were unconscious, without your permission, or thankful they hadn’t waited until you were awake enough to try and stop them.

Seconds seemed to move in thick, dripping clumps. You couldn’t be sure how long passed until your disoriented stillness was interrupted, but by the time the plain, white door (a neat row of undone deadbolts visible above to the knob) swung open, Satoru stepping through with Suguru following shortly behind him. Automatically, you started to move towards them, but caught yourself, pressing you back into the headboard and crossing your arms over your chest, as if that gave you any kind of authority. As if there was any authority you could have, chained to the floor in the bedroom of a pre-schooler.

“You were beginning to worry us,” Suguru started, sitting on the foot of the bed. “But, then again, our little princess was always a delicate one, wasn’t she?”

You stiffened, bristled. You opened your mouth, but closed it as Satoru draped an arm over your shoulders, collapsing next to you. “Here,” he said, holding something out. “Suguru wanted to make you ask, but I’m not that stingy.”

 You attempted to shift away from him, but Satoru had never made things that easy. He clung to you that much tighter as your eyes fell to his hand, finding—

A cup.

A sippy cup, pink and plastic and decorated with little, glittering clouds.

The nausea was immediate, nearly overwhelming. You wanted to vomit. You wanted to throw it across the room. You wanted to do anything but accept it, but your throat was bone-dry, a steady throbbing already begging to root in the back of your skull. Wordlessly, you snatched it out of his hand and (with more than a little strain) pulled off the lid, drinking as quickly as you could. Satoru’s nails scraped against your bicep, but neither of them commented.

Suguru waited until you were finished to go on. “You’ll get used to it, after a few weeks. It’s really not that different from our prior relationship, just a few aesthetic changes ‘toru and I thought a—” He paused, grinned. “—softer environment might suit you.”

“We can be more honest now, too.” Satoru sounded too giddy, too happy. “Those last couple of days practically killed me – having to watch you leave the apartment, acting all independent n’ shit. This way, there won’t be anything stopping us from keeping you all to ourselves.”

A beat passed in silence. It took you a moment to realize you were supposed to say something, and another to actually open your mouth, to find your voice when all you wanted to do was shrivel up and shut your eyes. “I don’t really understand what’s going on,” you muttered, like that would make it true. Like enough stuttering, simpering obliviousness would be what made them change their minds. “When are you going to let me go?”

Beside you, you heard Satoru try and fail to suppress a breath of a laugh, and Suguru’s grin only seemed to widen.

[jobean12-blog]

Birds of a Feather

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader (friends to lovers)

Word Count: 2.5K

Summary: You have to attend a close relative's wedding and there's no one better to bring than your best friend, Bucky.

Author's Note: Seeing so much of happy Seb lately-and looking so good-made me want to write something sexy and fluffy so here we are. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thanks Daisy!🥰

Warnings: soft and sweet, tense and flirty, Bucky is the best in every way!

‘Come on up. Room 322.’

His thumbs hang limply over the phone screen, his brain going blank.

When he sent the text ten seconds earlier to let you know he’s arrived he figured you would meet him down in the lobby or at the hall.

Meeting you in the hotel room is a problem he anticipated when he gave himself a pep talk before leaving.

“She’s your best friend. Don’t do anything stupid…like go to the hotel room.”

His fingers finally start to move over the letters. ‘I can meet you down here…’

But maybe you need help with something?

He deletes the text, now typing, ‘is there anyone with you?,’ but that just sounds weird and possessive.

‘I can see you typing,’ you text. ‘Just come up. I need help.’

With a laugh, he deletes everything again and types simply, ‘be right there doll.’

His long legs carry him quickly to the elevator and when he presses the button for the third floor he takes a deep breath, his pulse climbing it’s way up his throat.

The door to your room is propped open with the dead bolt, but he knocks anyway.

“Come in Buck!”

Pushing it open just enough to peek his head in, he calls out, “I could be anyone, and you just invite me in without checking!”

“You just texted me you were coming up,” you sing from the bathroom, quickly continuing before he can say more, “and most of the people on his floor are friends or relatives here for the wedding.”

“Well, I’m glad to know you take your safety as seriously as I do,” he shouts back.

Your voice gets louder as you walk into the bedroom. “With you around I never have to worr…”

You stop for a breath when you see him, but your next words are lost to the blank void of his brain as he takes in your dress and how you look in it. To put it simply- stunning.

“Bucky?”

He startles, having no idea how long he’d been silent.

“Yeah doll…that’s…I’m here.”

When he finally drags his eyes to your face, you’re fighting a smile. “I asked if you could help me?”

“Oh, right. Sure. With what exactly?”

He cringes but steps closer.

“My dress?”

You turn around to show him the fabric at the back that hangs open, a tiny zipper dangling down at your lower back.

Trying to suppress a groan, but not being entirely successful he swallows hard. “That zipper looks very tiny.”

“It is,” you agree. “I realize I should have asked someone with smaller hands to help me out, but everyone is running around with their own nonsense so here we are.”

He approaches with a casual, “sure, of course doll.”

But then he does something without fully realizing it until the shiver runs along your back: he drags a knuckle down the curve of your spine.

You turn and look at him over your shoulder.

He just blinks and looks down to grab the zipper, mumbling about how small it is.

It’s quiet as he carefully pulls the zipper up and when he reaches the top he lets it fall and gently runs a finger along the top of the dress as he moves around to look at you.

“All set,” he whispers.

You smile and clear your throat before giving him an appreciative once over.

“You look hot.”

“Thanks doll. You…” and he struggles when his voice comes out a bit strangled, “you look breathtaking.”

You reach up and touch his bow tie, pulling at the neatly tied ends as you tell him, “I was hoping you’d arrive a flustered mess over how to tie this so I could do it for you.”

With a grin, he reaches up and tugs the end, untying it in a smooth pull.

“Figure you should do something in return after I battled that zipper,” he teases.

Still smiling, you take a hold of the tie, tugging it to align the ends evenly around his neck. “I didn’t get the impression it was such a hardship.”

His answering smirk is so telling you have to stifle a laugh.

“Are you feeling ready for this? I know these big events aren’t your favorite.”

“I’ll manage just fine doll, thanks. Besides, I’ve got the most beautiful date in the whole place.”

With your focus still on his bow tie he takes the opportunity to openly stare. When you smile at his sweet words he’s mesmerized by the way your soft lips part and his eyes stay glued to your mouth.

You look up to meet his gaze and he quickly lifts his eyes, a light pink sweeping across his cheeks.

You blink away and he looks down at your hands, noting the very little progress you’ve made.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

“Well…yes. I’m sure I can…”

“You’ve never done this before, have you?”

“You might be right!,” you quip, “but I’m no quitter.”

He’d be happy to stand there all night.

You finally step back, surveying your work, and frown. “I’m going to be honest, not sure I made it look as good as you did.”

He looks down and undoes the mess and you glower as he handily fixies it.

“Wow, no need to gloat you butthead.”

He lets out a full-bodied laugh, eyes crinkled, and nose scrunched, and you enjoy the sight before he explains, “I’ve done it a million times. I’m always the one in the tux when we go undercover.”

“That’s because you’re the one that looks the best.”

“Thanks doll,” he answers quietly.

“There are so many people here,” you whisper as you lead him through the crowd in the hall.

He let’s out a low whistle, nodding in agreement and aking in the décor.

You greet people as you walk, introducing Bucky to those that don’t already know him. Their eyes follow you, curiosity piqued in their expression as they wonder who he is to you.

You wonder the same. Your favorite person in the world. Your best friend…and so much more?

You take his elbow and guide him forward toward the outside set up where the ceremony will take place. On the way you find your grandmother and introduce him.

Since he can’t take his eyes off you he notices the subtle shift in your demeanor, the softening of your face and the adoration in your eyes.

He expects a gentle handshake but instead gets pulled in for a hug.

“Oh darling, isn’t he a sight,” you grandma says, patting Bucky’s cheek. “And you,” she says, turning her eyes your way. “Gorgeous.”

“Thanks grandma,” you beam.

A woman whizzes by, catching your eye and pointing to her watch.

“Looks like it’s time,” you announce.

Bucky holds out one arm for your grandma and the other for you.

“And a gentleman too,” your grandma gushes as she loops her arm through his. “Definitely a keeper.”

“You can keep grandma company,” you say as you approach the chairs.

“Of course, doll,” he says and leans in to kiss your cheek before helping your grandma into her seat.

“I’ll see you after the ceremony.” You gather your dress and turn to head back inside to meet the wedding party. “Miss me,” you call over your shoulder with a playful smile.

He stares as you walk away, quietly admitting, “I already do.”

Slight nerves take over when you hear the music start but the moment you walk out into the crowd your eyes zero in on Bucky. And what do you know? He’s looking right back at you…and he doesn’t take his eyes off you the whole ceremony.

After the ceremony it takes forever to work your way through the crowd to him, and in between catching up with friends and family or directing someone somewhere, you catch glimpses of him smiling and laughing with your grandma and happily keeping her company.

When you finally do reach him, your grandma has been safely escorted to her seat and now a woman hangs off his arm- Jessica. You know her, an old family friend, and you like her well enough, but you step up behind them right as she asks Bucky if she can steal him for the first dance, and your stomach drops.

You jerk to a stop. He hasn’t seen you. He should accept. You’ll hate it, but you’re not in any position to protest.

But then Bucky says only a gentle, “sorry, no can do. Tonight, I’ve only got one dance partner.”

Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest, and you step closer, swallowing down the emotion.

“Hey you two!”

Bucky turns, extracting his arm from Jessica and setting a warm palm at your lower back.

“And here she is. My favorite dancing partner.”

Jessica leans around from his other side and says hello.

“Thanks for coming,” you tell her.

“Oh my god, of course. I wouldn’t miss it. And I was just meeting your friend, James, here.”

She emphasizes the word friend and at her usage of his real name you have to hold back a giggle.

“Isn’t he wonderful,” you hum, sliding your hand up his bicep. “He’s been keeping my grandmother company this whole time.”

She swoons and smiles at Bucky before turning back to you.

“He is. I just wasn’t expecting you to have a date. You’re usually always flying solo at these family events.”

You feel the smile slipping from your face and an uncomfortable laugh escapes.

The simple answer never comes to you, and you feel caught like a deer in the headlights.

“Actually, that’s only because I was away for work,” Bucky steps in smoothly. “I hate to miss any chance to be her date, but my schedule can be pretty demanding sometimes.”

“Oh, you’re so sweet,” Jessica says. “Work is important of course.”

“Yeah,” he answers, “but not as important as her. So, from now I won’t be missing another event.”

Jessica’s face does a thing. It’s a barely restrained, ‘oh okay, I see.’

Bucky’s smile remains but it doesn’t look entirely natural anymore but when he looks at you, every emotion on his face is genuine.

“Ready to find our seats doll face,” he asks you.

“Sure,” you reply.

“Well, it was nice to meet you Jennifer. Enjoy the party.”

With a firm hand, he leads you away. You allow yourself to be guided up the grassy path and indoors to where a band plays. Bucky grabs you two flutes of champagne off a passing tray and hands you one.

“That was swoony,” you tell him then take a sip.

“All I did was grab it from a tray doll. Time to raise your bar a bit.”

Laughing, you smack his beefy shoulder with your free hand. “Not that! The way you gently let Jennifer have it back there.”

He takes a sip, eyes on you. “She deserved worse, but I didn’t want to start trouble.”

With your brow raised you match his mischievous grin then you take his glass and set it down on one of the small tables, leading him to the dance floor.

He looks confused at first but when your hands slide up his chest and around his neck he circles his arms around your waist.

He relaxes against you, hands warm and strong on your lower back and you rest your cheek to his shoulder.

“You’re always so comfy.”

“Thank you.”

“And you always look out for me.”

He presses a kiss to your temple.

“Of course, doll.”

“You’re my favorite person in the Universe.”

He doesn’t respond at first, not for five or ten or thirty seconds. You keep waiting for the feeling of rejection in his silence but instead it feels like an agreement and finally his words confirm it.

“Mine too, doll.”

Your quiet slow dance is the last moment alone you have for the next few hours because what follows is a whirlwind of a reception.

And the whole time he can’t take his eyes off you.

“Think I’m ready to get out of here,” you say as you slump against his side.

He carefully holds you up as he stands and reaches to take your hand.

“Come on doll face. I’ll take you home.”

When you reach your apartment door your feet are aching, and your legs are tired. You retrieve your key from the hidden pocket in your small purse and slide it into the doorknob.

“I’m going to need you to unzip me,” you say, gesturing casually to your dress.

His silence makes you slowly turn around to face him and when you meet his eyes they’re heavy with heat and desire.

“Bucky?”

“Turn back around,” he says gruffly.

You do as your told and feel his exhaled puff of air against your bare shoulder before he takes your wrists in this hands and places your palms flat against the door. His metal fingers slide down one arm then trace the curve of your shoulder, while his other toys with the small zipper.

He starts to pull it down, so slowly, you feel every brush of his skin against yours and it sends a tremble across your body. For every new inch of your skin that he exposes his breath quickens. You can feel the heat of him so close and your fingers press into the hard wood of the door.

Once the fabric hangs loosely at the sides he stops and slips his hands inside to your waist and turns you back to face him.

“You’re so soft,” he murmurs. “I…”

You drag your fingers along his temple and down his jaw. Your finger falls to his bottom lip, tracing it’s outline.

You can see it in his eyes, the understanding that everything between you is easy and you don’t have to try. It’s too good.

Your gaze drops to his lips again and your mouth goes soft. “Kiss me Bucky.”

The words are just barely out of your mouth and he’s already leaning in, lips on yours, warm and urgent, his hands rising to cup your face. Your instincts send tight, possessive fists to the lapels of his jacket and you melt completely into the domination and tenderness in his touch.

With a quiet groan he tilts his head, deepening the contact into a decadent slide, sending a hungry hand down your body once again and grabbing your ass to press all your softness against the hard planes of his body.

He catches your bottom lip between his teeth, drags slowly away, and you chase the contact, but he stops you, pressing his thumb over your lips.

He stares for what feels like forever, then kisses you again, lingering before he murmurs, “you’re so beautiful,” into the sensitive skin below your ear, and then repeats it quietly into your neck.

“Are you going to stay the night?” you ask breathless.

“If you’ll have m…”

“Yes. Yes Bucky.”

[darkbluekies]

In the hands of a madman 2024 ver

Doctor!yandere oc x reader

Summary: a doctor is very peculiar about his favorite patient, and senses a threat once they disobey him.

Warnings: yandere, poison, murder, cuff restraints

Word count: 2.4k

You gag.

“Yes, yes, I know”, he coos, grimacing and removes the wooden stick out of your mouth. “I’m sorry.”

You're left with a bitter taste in your mouth. Why does he always stick that thing as far down your throat as humanly possible? You thank heavens that it’s not one of the needles extracting blood from your arm, although you’re sure that’s what’s waiting tomorrow.

“Still nothing?” you ask cautiously. 

He meets your eyes and you know immediately. You sigh heavily. Your heart sinks to your stomach. 

Every three months, he’s doing all sorts of tests to see if you’re getting better — or what’s what he’s saying. Every three months, Dr Kry has to check every vital sign on you to make sure that his sickness isn’t getting out of his control. But you don’t like them. They hurt. Badly.

“Will I ever get to go home? I want to.” 

Dr Kry sighs and sits down on his rolling stool, coming over to your bed.

“I know you do, but you that’s not possible”, he says apologetically. “You know that too.”

“Yeah, because you keep reminding me”, you mutter. 

“That’s better than giving you false hope, isn’t it? Wouldn’t that drive you insane?”

It would, but you don’t say it out loud. Doesn’t need to.

“I want to go home!” you say again, louder this time. 

“Saying it louder won’t make you better or me change my mind”, Dr Kry says. 

You sigh and press your palms to your eyes, trying to press the tears back into your eyes before they escape. You’ve been here for too long by now. You’ve been isolated for so incredibly long. ALl you want is to go home. You know no one, talk to no one beside him. The proper, sophisticated man who’s stiffer than a stick. Dr Kry sighs and moves closer. 

“I know that you’re disappointed”, he says and puts his large hand on your shoulder. “But this is for the best. “I don’t want you to get worse.”

“I hate these fucking tests! They hurt.”

“I know.”

He glances towards the white air purifier on the shelf beside the bed. The poisoned air purifier. He’s always making sure it’s not too much, not too little. Just the exact amount to keep you where he wants you — weak and vulnerable, dependent on him. 

“I know it’s hard”, he says encouragingly. “I know that you’re in pain, but you’re doing so good. You can always call for me if you need me, okay? I’m available all day and night for you.”

You press forward a smile, but can’t help but feel a wave of sadness wash over you. Why did this happen to you? Where did you go wrong to end up here? How could a sore throat get you bed bound in a hospital room? If only you knew. 

“Let’s get you tucked in again”, Dr Kry says and helps you lie down in bed. “You shouldn’t be putting to much pressure on your body.”

He pushes up your pillows, having you lie in a 45-degree angle. It helps you breathe at night. He always tucks the blanket close to your body, as if you were a butterfly in a cocoon. He gives you a small smile before standing up. 

“Please don’t go”, you whisper. “I don’t want to be left here.”

The man looks at you, studies you carefully before nodding and sitting back down. He wipes your lonely tear with his finger. He looks at his wet finger, thinking. 

“I feel helpless”, you admit. “I don’t think I’ll ever get well again.”

Little do you know that’s exactly what he wants. 

“It’s okay, Y/N”, he says. “I will take care of you. I will stay with you until you’re well again.”

He has to force back a smile. 

“I don’t want to do these anymore”, you say monotonously. 

“I know you don’t, but you have to”, Dr Kry says apologetically and moves closer to the bed on his rolling stool. “They’re important.”

“They hurt …”

“I know, but you’re doing so good, okay? I’m so proud of you.”

You give him a small, painful smile. 

“I’ll sit here until you fall asleep, don’t worry”, he says. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You close your eyes slowly. He fades out. 

He takes blood tests the following day. Needles, pain.

“Now, you need to take a nap”, he says and tucks you in. 

The daily afternoon nap. You hate it, but he insists. While you sleep, he’s out taking care of other patients that are not you. He hates it, hates wasting his time and skill on people that aren’t you. Those patients are one time patients that are there for surgeries, consultations or checkups. No long term patients that have to stay in the hospital. Everyone gets to leave after he meets them. Everyone but you. You stay. 

You keep your eyes closed until Dr Kry leaves the room. Quickly, you sit up and get out of bed. After all these fucking tests, you’re deserving of something else than the tasteless cardboard Dr Kry gets you. Just one brownie. Something that has sugar. And maybe some coffee for caffeine too. 

Quietly, you sneak out into the corridor. There’s something about these sterile passageways that makes the hair on your back stand on its end. Is it the dehumanized area or the fact that you’re never allowed here? Is it nerves or excitement? Whatever it is, you decide to speed up your steps and hurry towards the elevators before anyone sees you. They’ll tell him. Just as the doors are about to close, someone stops the doors. A boy dressed in a similar hospital gown as yourself forces his way into the elevator. He gives you a rushed, apologetic smile. 

“Sorry”, he says sheepishly. “I am in a hurry.”

“What happened to you?” you ask and smile halfly. 

“I escaped from the therapist. A real pain in my ass.”

You can’t help but giggle. The young man licks his lips and runs a hand through his hair. 

“Have you met her?” he asks. “The therapist?”

“No”, you say. 

You haven’t met anyone but your stiff and proper doctor. 

“Don’t”, the young man advices you and leans his back against the wall. “She’s mental. I honestly think she should be the one getting interrogated — not me.” He looks at you, eyes narrowing. “I haven’t seen you before.”

“Do you meet others?” you ask. 

“In the lounge. Have you been there?”

You shake your head and lower your eyes. 

“Did you just arrive?” the man asks. 

You shake your head again. 

“How long have you been here?”

“A while.”

The elevator stops and the doors open at your floor. 

“Are you going to the cafeteria?” the man asks. 

“Yes”, you reply. 

“I’m coming with you. Maybe you can help me blend in.”

“Okay.”

The boy seems frantic, but happy. Running on adrenaline and excitement. Together, you walk through the hospital to the cafeteria and realize that you don’t have any money. Your shoulders fall. Did you come here for nothing? 

“Aren’t you going to order something?” the young man asks. 

“I don’t know”, you reply quietly. 

Before you have the time to come up with a lie why you can’t order anything, you recognise something in the corner of your eye. A blonde man dressed in a white robe. You feel your blood run cold. 

“What do we have here?” Dr Kry asks and you have a hard time reading his tone or facial expressions. “What do you think you are doing out of bed?”

He walks over to you and grabs your shoulder. You flinch. His grip is … tight. Painful. 

“You’re supposed to rest”, Dr Kry says shortly.

He looks at the young man. His eyes seem to go right through him. 

“Where are you supposed to be?” he asks. 

He doesn’t answer. Dr Kry gives him a cold gaze before grabbing your upper arm in a tight grip. He doesn’t say anything as he starts to pull you with him. His steps are quick, steady. Angry. 

“Doctor …”, you try.

He doesn’t answer. Dr Kry pushes you into the elevator and presses the button. He doesn't let go of your arm.

“Doctor, I’m sorry”, you say. 

He still doesn’t answer. You barely dare to look at him. There’s something about his face that scares you. It's stoic, unreadable. But he oozes anger. Like a dark cloud.

The elevator stops, the doors open. His tight grip remains as he drags you back into your room.

“Lay down”, he instructs shortly.

You do, too scared to disobey. Dr Kry walks past you, to the drawers by your bed. He rips out two leather bands that look like belts for dolls. Before you're aware of what he's doing, he's strapped one of your wrists to the bed railing.

“Wait, doctor-”, you blurt out.

“Be quiet.”

He locks your other wrist to the other railing. You tug at the restraints, and find them secure.

“Are they too tight?” Dr Kry asks, still with that short tone that sends icy needles down your spine.

“Doctor, what are you-?”

“Answer the question. Do they hurt?”

“No.”

“Good.”

He turns to his desk, ignoring you.

“Doctor, I'm sorry”, you say.

“You broke my trust”, he says without giving you any attention. “It's important, for your healing, that you do not deceive me. I need to be able to trust that you do as I say. How many times have you done this?”

“Only this time, I promise.”

He doesn't answer. You feel how your eyes fill with tears. Your body is in such a vulnerable state that your body betrays you. You didn't want to upset him, didn't want to put your own health at risk by doing this. 

“I'm sorry, doctor”, you sniffle. “I didn't mean to break your trust.”

He sighs and turns his head to look at you. His blue eyes soften and he rises from his chair, coming over to your bed. He can't stay mad at you, not when you're clearly dumb. You don't understand, he can't be mad at you for not understanding. He should — and is — mad at himself for not foreseeing these situations and making sure you don't do it.

“You know that I only want what's best for you, don't you?” he asks and wipes your tears with his hand.

“Yes”, you reply.

“In that case, I want you to never repeat this mistake. Mistakes are forgivable, but they should be minimized, do you understand that?”

“Yes. Do you forgive me?”

He has to force back a smile. You're so unbelievably cute.

“Yes, I do forgive you”, he says. 

“Can you take off the restraints?”

“No. I might forgive you, but I need you to know what happens once mistakes occur. This is the consequences that follow. If I can't trust you to be where I want you to be, I need to take precautions to make sure you are.”

You lower your gaze.

“Who was that, by the way?” he asks. “That young … man. Why did you speak to him?”

“I don't know, he took the same elevator as me.”

“I don't want you to speak with him again. If he's the one they're looking for, I don't want you getting influenced by his reckless ideas.”

“I don't get to speak to anyone, anyways.”

“And that's how it should be. We don't know why you're sick, and you shouldn't contaminate someone else.”

“What about you, then? You can get sick too.”

“I'm ready to take that risk.”

He's too nice, you think. All he wants is to take care of you and you put his selfless risks to hell when you decide to disobey him. How horrible of you.

“Now, you need to take that nap for real”, he says. “I will sit by my desk. If you need something you can just let me know.”

He walks back to his desk and sits down, starting to file some paperwork. You tug at the restraints. You're not going anywhere.

When you’ve fallen asleep, Dr Kry makes his way through the hospital. They’ve captured that young man and put him back into his room … and Dr Kry wants a talk with him. He opens the door quietly. The young lays in bed, sleeping. Dr Kry circles around him, taking a good look at him. Did you find him cute? Hot? Did you like talking to him? Did you think that he was better than him? Did you enjoy those ten minutes with him more than these months with Kry? Do you want to meet with him again? He glares at the sleeping man. Dr Kry walks over to the supply closet, an identical to the one in your room, and takes out one of the spare pillows. Silently, he walks over to the bed, lifts the pillow and presses it over the young man’s face. He widen his eyes, pulled out of his slumber. He screams against the pillow, his voice getting muffled in the fabric. 

“Normally, I’d make this easy for you”, Dr Kry grunts as the man starts to fight against him. “Out of pity, but you don’t deserve that mercy.”

He screams in confusion, fear. Dr Kry can make out words. What. No. Help. Stop.

“Just give in and give yourself that mercy”, Dr Kry continues. “If you continue to fight against me, you’ll be in more pain.”

The man cries. Dr Kry breaks out into a smile. 

“You’re going to die either way, you can choose to end it quicker.”

The young man doesn’t seem to get the memo. He continues to fight, cry, plead. He drinks it all in. The horror, the helplessness. The dear in headlight. He has seen the light in people’s eyes disappear multiple times during his job as a doctor. To see the moment someone becomes just a piece of flesh. He has never enjoyed it as much as now. The man stops moving. Dr Kry removes the pillow and takes a step back, looking at the lifeless body. He breathes out. Finally, he can calm down. 

And now, all he needs to do is to make sure he can not be traced back. 

He finds you sleeping soundly as he comes back to your room, wrists still locked to the sides of the bed. You make his heart ache. He sits down beside you, brushing his fingertips over your cheek. 

I control your life, my little one. You’re going to say with me and I’ll take every repercussion to make sure you don’t disappear. 

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~