#even more if the lie was like.. such a petty and mean one like just to cover stealing somehhing from someone i barely know??

[moodr1ng]

ughh having another normal one.. a girl who was at the weekend party i was at and who i hadnt met before lost her bonnet and coincidentally she saw me wearing mine this morning and thought i had taken hers bc she couldnt find it but i told her it was just mine.. but she never found hers and messaged me asking if i had it.. so i said id check if i has two of them but that i knew for sure that i did come with mine in the first place. and when i say for sure i mean like. i have a checklist i made for packing where i wrote it down and crossed it off. i checked it was there multiple times while packing. when i arrived and unpacked (before she ever got there) i took it out and put it at the head of my bed and didnt move it anywhere else. thats where it was this morning when i put it on to hide my bedhead djdkdjdks.. so im 100% sure that it is mine, it never moved from where i had it, i dont have a second one, and also like.. unless we have absolutely identical cheap bonnets bought online, im pretty sure i can tell its mine just by looking at it. but im so afraid that she secretly thinks that i stole it and then lied about it like an absolute cunt that im compulsively rechecking and rechecking my stuff, even tho theres no way it could somehow be here when ive already checked three times, bc atp i would rather that i DID accidentally have it so i could apologize and refund her to get a new one. rather than have someone think im a thief and a liar. and she probably doesnt think that, she has no reason to and its not like i think shes unreasonable or whatever. but im so fucking paranoid and obsessed w not being perceived as a liar v specifically (like i have this kinda delusion where im persuaded that everybody always thinks im lying when i tell the truth, even when theres no reason theyd think that or for me to lie) that its making me insane and anxious. and all over a fucking bonnet. like. the one i have cost me like 5 bucks.

it makes me so anxious that i considered ACTUALLY lying, telling her i had it and then wiring her money for a new one, even though i literally do not have it. but im forcing myself to not do that bc going to such ridiculous lengths to placate my paranoia is only gonna validate it i think

[dezwade]

started thinking about Marcus too hard again. 50 dead, 100 injured

[littlelamy]

you were right!

a/n: okay, i know you guys might be tired of me doing these but this is my last one! i hope you all like it 😜 gifs from @rafeyscurtainbangs

The blazing Moroccan sun beats down on Rafe, its intensity mirrored by the firestorm raging in his mind. Dust hangs in the air around him, adding to the harshness of the moment as he stands over the well. Below, Groff coughs and groans, his face contorted in pain, but Rafe barely spares him a second glance. His rage overpowers everything else, even the satisfaction he should feel. He narrows his eyes, voice laced with anger and finality.

“Checkmate, bitch!” he yells down, his words slicing through the hot, tense air. The motorcycle engine he’d used to get out here sits idle a few feet away, rumbling like his frustration.

He turns on his heel, muttering a curse, fists clenched. As he stalks away from the well, he pulls out his phone and dials Sofia’s number, his chest tight with the realization that everything he thought he knew was a lie.

Sofia answers after two rings, her voice as casual as if he hadn’t just found out about her betrayal. “Hey, babe, what’s up ?”

Rafe’s voice is steely, cold. “Is it true? Is it true, what Groff just told me? Is it?”

The silence on her end is all he needs. He can practically hear her scrambling for words, but she never manages to answer. His face twists in anger.

“Pack your shit. Get out of my house,” he snarls, a final, unforgiving edge in his voice. “God, after everything I did for you? We’re done. Done.” He hangs up before she can say another word, shoving his phone back into his pocket with a bitter scoff. Betrayed, twice over—and he’d ignored the only person who saw it coming.

He stands there, baking in the Moroccan heat, his mind racing back to a month ago in Kildare, when you and he had argued over Sofia. You’d warned him that she wasn’t who she seemed. He’d brushed you off, accusing you of jealousy—knowing damn well that there was more to it. You were his best friend, but it was complicated; that line had already been crossed too many times, with late-night kisses and tangled sheets. But you two hadn’t spoken since that fight, since the way he’d brushed you off had hurt deeper than either of you cared to admit.

Taking a breath, he pulls out his phone again, fingers hovering over your name. He hesitates, swallowing his pride, before finally pressing call.

The phone rings, and you pick up after a few moments, your voice tight with annoyance. “What, Rafe?”

Your tone makes him pause, but the way you sound almost comforts him, even with the irritation clear in your voice. You’re there—back in Kildare, probably sitting cozy in your little apartment. Meanwhile, he’s out here under the scorching sun, alone, trying to piece together his pride.

He clears his throat. “Hey… princess,” he says, voice softened, the pet name slipping out before he can stop it. He can almost feel you rolling your eyes on the other end, but he presses on, the words weighing heavy on him. “I—uh… Look, I’m sorry. You were right.”

There’s a surprised pause, and he hears you shift in your seat as if you’re debating whether to hang up or let him speak. When you do answer, your tone is a bit softer, cautious.

“What happened?”

Rafe lets out a dry, humorless laugh. “Turns out Sofia was exactly who you said she was. A snake. And here I was, thinking you were just being… petty. But I guess I’m the idiot, huh?”

You breathe out, and he can picture you shaking your head, lips pressed together. “You wouldn’t listen,” you say quietly, as if the words hold more hurt than anger.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair, the frustration evident in his voice. “I know. I was so damn sure you were just jealous. I mean—” He pauses, grappling with how to say it. “Hell, I thought you were jealous because you… I don’t know. I thought you didn’t want me with her because we…” His voice trails off, but the implication lingers between you.

“Yeah,” you say softly, almost to yourself. “I get it.”

Rafe bites his lip, letting the words sink in. “Can I see you? I’m done here in a few days, and I could be back in Kildare very soon. I could stop by, explain… properly.”

A beat passes, and when you finally speak, it’s careful, guarded. “After everything you said last time, why should I?”

He laughs softly, almost self-deprecating. “Because I think you might be the only person I can trust right now. And… I miss you.” His voice drops, laced with a warmth he can’t help. “Even if you’re just going to gloat and rub it in my face.”

You chuckle, and he smiles, savoring the sound. “I don’t know if I miss you or if I just feel sorry for you,” you tease, but the playfulness is back in your tone, if only faintly.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, amusement lacing his words. “Act like you don’t care. But come on, you miss me. Admit it.”

A small silence follows, and he imagines the way your lips twitch into a smile. Finally, you relent. “Maybe a little. But you’re bringing wine. Good wine.”

“Oh, don’t worry, baby,” he says, the flirtation back in his voice. “Only the best for you.”

You scoff, but he hears the hint of a laugh. It’s the closest thing he’s had to a good moment in a long time. He takes a breath, savoring the thought of leaving this mess behind and getting back to Kildare—back to the only person who knew him well enough to call him out, and care anyway. As the call ends, he puts his phone in his pocket, a grin spreading across his face, motivating him to get that crown and go to his princess.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif

[qqueenofhades]

Obviously the main contrasting narrative of the Harris campaign is (rightfully, the ads almost write themselves!) prosecutor vs convict. But I keep thinking about how, in one of her first campaign speeches, she had Biden on the phone and he said something like "I'm here, I love you Kid" and she said "I love you too" and just... That compared to the Jan 6th Mike Pence situation. Like this election is about democracy over fascism but it's also about love and kindness and sincerity on the level of person-to-person relationships.

Well... yeah. As Minnesota governor Tim Walz put it when he was doing the TV rounds for Kamala the other day, the Republicans are just weird people. They are mean, petty, reactionary, focused on revenge and retribution and making people suffer, their rhetoric is about shame and violence and punishment, they are all about Who Your Enemy Is, and their drift into ever more extreme fascist positions is a reflection of that. And strongman/fascist authoritarianism is often popular during moments of chaos and upheaval in the rest of the world, because the unknown feels so scary and people keep falling for the lie that a helpful dictator strongman will turn up and make it all better. It never happens, but it is a powerful lie and it can work for several years at a time, as we have (unfortunately) seen. (And Tim Walz is definitely climbing the list of Old White Guys I Like; supposedly he is on Harris' initial VP shortlist, and while I certainly have favorites of my own, she could very much do worse.)

However, and this is why fascist movements always plant the seeds of their own destruction, this constant garbage spew of hate and vitriol never ever works forever, and usually not even all that long. Because once you spend your time destroying everyone else on your mean stupid crusade of mindless bigotry, you lose friends, you alienate the ordinary people who are more interested in having something to be FOR rather than just constantly against, and eventually you eat your own. And while it will shore up your ever-dwindling cult base, it will not be able to expand beyond the people who are already fully indoctrinated, and it will lose more people than it attracts. As I have said before, one of the key tenets of fascist movements is presenting themselves as powerful, inevitable, and almighty: just surrender to them now before We Crush You (tm) later! But they are not! They are goofy, stupid, mean, and just plain (thanks Gov. Walz) WEIRD! Nobody wants to be those guys!

So yes. With the whole fact of a party where one guy tried to get his first VP killed and now has picked another reactionary loser who is the least popular VP pick in 50 years, and the other is joyfully supporting his VP, a woman of color (after serving loyally to the first Black president, Biden has set the way for the -- knock on wood -- second, and that is also amazing), it's really easy to see the difference, and very clearly, people do. Kamala offers something to rally FOR, and that is always, always more powerful than mindless hate. Sucks to be the GOP. (As usual.)

[ki-yomii]

➥ pairing | jeon jungkook x f!reader ➥ word count | 4.4k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; fwb, angst w/ a happy ending, teasing, finger fucking, squirting, praise kink, frottage, dirty talk, pet names, commitment issues, jealous!jk, possessive!jk, dom!jk, idiots in love, misunderstandings ➥ summary | after being stood up one too many times, you realize you're in love with jungkook. and that just won't do. ➥ notes | istg i've re-written this more times than i care to count 💀 enjoy!

🖤 masterlist | inbox | AO3 🖤

cnt make it 2nite

The text is blunt - biting. No explanation offered, and certainly no false platitudes found in the lifeless string of black letters. Rather simple and straight to the point.

As you should have expected from Jungkook. He wasn’t known for his verbosity, and even less so for his love of texting.

But as you chew the fat of your cheek, reading it over and over again in an attempt to glean some hidden meaning that isn’t there, you admit to yourself - at least privately - there’s no more avoiding the truth.

One that’s been hovering over your shoulder for weeks like a shroud; an unwelcome guest you can’t ignore anymore: Jungkook’s been avoiding you.

It shouldn’t be surprising.

Moreover, it shouldn’t hurt.

There shouldn’t be an ache in your chest every time you see his contact or the plummet of your stomach when that inevitable excuse comes through.

In the end, he owes you nothing. The arrangement between you is casual, just a little fun between good friends.

It still fucking sucks though, you think, sucking your teeth.

Night thoroughly ruined before it’s begun, it’s only a matter of deciding how to respond now. In the past you’ve used a plethora of options, but you’re stumped. Unsure how to correlate the level of hurt to the nature of your not-relationship.

Should you be petty, passive-aggressive, indifferent - or worst of all: honest?

Hah, no way. I’d rather die.

Beside you, the bartender politely averts his gaze and busies himself with polishing a stack of pint glasses. It’s a slow night, and that’s saying something as this bar’s a little hole in the wall.

It’s never overly busy, which is one of the reason’s it’s a favorite meeting spot of yours. The floors might be sticky, but the music’s decent, the strobe lights they kick on after 10 PM aren’t offensive enough to induce a migraine, and the drinks are cheap with a heavy pour.

Watching him work is impressive - and almost distracting enough for you to ignore the needle sharp ache taking root beneath your ribs, the churn of your stomach.

Humiliation burns hot, creeps up your neck to settle into the apples of your cheeks as you’re stood up.

Again.

It isn’t the first time - it won’t be the last.

But it cuts deeper than all the rest combined, harder to shake off. You can’t lie to yourself anymore. The growing distance between you throbs like an open wound, as if Jungkook himself plunged a hand into your chest.

Scooped out any tender, soft thing he could find and left you hollowed out. Drained.

Not taking his flakiness personally used to be so easy. And now… well.

Goddamnit. A palm scrubs over your decolletage roughly to soothe the throb of your heart. What the hell did you expect to happen, getting involved with Jeon Jungkook, huh?

Everything from his stupidly pretty eyes to the dangerous curl of his mouth, the thick soles of his boots to the lapels of his leather jacket scream walking red flag.

Never mind the fact his proclivities are an open secret among the group. He’s never tried to hide his distaste for commitment. Finds it too monotonous. Predictable.

An eternally free soul much preferring to flit from one experience to the next, never shackled down for long. The Icarus of myth made flesh.

He runs through women like he runs through shoes, and you witnessed enough of the ensuing heartbreak and tears to be wary.

But knowing and feeling something are two very different things.

The dichotomy throws you off-kilter and finds you abandoned in a bar, once again, to choke on a regret so bitter you swear it’ll burn a hole through your throat.

What’s going on with me, you think, this is nothing new. He does this all the time.

You used to get on so well.

Any initial misgivings faded away in the face of Jungkook’s blinding attention, his unfaltering kindness lurking just beneath that surface of grit and gravel.

Even after you fuck, he never acts any differently, as casual between the sheets as he is lounging on your couch.

It's been great, it's been enough - until now.

Just the thought of going back to your empty apartment, alone, only to wake up and fall back into Jungkook’s orbit tomorrow when he swings by with a half-assed apology on his lips, and your favorite drink in hand is enough to make your skin crawl.

Stomach twisting itself into knots, everything in you rebels against the sudden cold realization: nothing will change - least of all Jungkook.

He’ll continue to take-take-take.

You'll continue to give-give-give.

On and on you'll go; a distant star orbiting a black hole, losing little bits of itself until there's nothing left.

Then he’ll leave your life as quickly as he entered it, a blurry after-image there and gone in the blink of an eye.

Fuck, I - I can’t do this anymore, you think, a shiver rattling down your spine, Because I…

An errant thought gains teeth, sinks them deep. Refuses to budge as an awful truth - one buried so deep you forgot it was there, ever lurking in the shadows - rises to the forefront of your mind.

And then --

Oh.

It’s because I love him - because I’m in love with him.

Suddenly it hurts to breathe, your lungs burning as you drown on the air itself. The steel band cinching around your ribs threatens to crack you open.

Your heart lurches in your chest, despair following swiftly to settle over your shoulders. Moreover, there is no one to blame except yourself.

Even if you want it to, it will never work out because loving Jungkook is to love the ghost of a long-forgotten memory.

And there are too many hurts to soothe, too many disappointments to name.

I can’t believe I actually -- shit. You swipe a shaky hand over your forehead. When you swallow, a sour taste clings to the back of your tongue. Should’ve known better.

You glance at your phone, the cursor blinking back at you mockingly. Should’ve done a lot of things, I guess.

Now, you're in too deep.

Waiting without ever realizing you began to do so in the first place; a life on pause, surviving off scraps of half-measures and maybe's, what-ifs, and if only's.

Now, it's clear the only way out is through.

The time to let go is here.

You need to muster up some semblance of self, and work to untangle the threads of connection binding you together. You need space to rediscover the pieces of your heart you left with him.

How to live without the taste of his kiss, the clench of his muscles, the thrust of his cock.

A new life sans Jungkook which begins with a simple reply in place of everything you really want to say: ok.

Then you wave the bartender over.

He does you a kindness once more, pretending not to notice the tears brimming along your lower lash line. “You ready to order?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah - sorry, I was…”

His mouth twitches. You waver.

Then the screen of your phone lights up with a notification.

Refusing to look lest you cave, emotions too fresh -  scraped raw and tender, you switch on DND and turn it face down where it will remain until you go home.

You're far too fragile (and sober) to think about reading Jungkook’s reply, let alone engage with him in any meaningful way.

“I’ll take a double vodka cranberry.”

Maybe if you get drunk enough, you'll forget about the home he carved in your bones.

Bottoms up, bitch.

w8 nvm guys cnt make it

y/n?

i cn b ovr in 10

???

gn ttyt

hey, sorry. called it early.

wyd?

nothing much. you?

nm running some mtchs

cool, cool. you able to swing by today?

yeh b there in 30 :)

In hindsight, trying to have this conversation with Jungkook face to face isn’t the brightest idea. But if anything, last night showed you every choice you’ve made lately is a disaster waiting to happen.

Your life’s already a mess - and you’re hopelessly in love with a man that’ll never love you back - so what’s another mistake added to a long string of misfortune.

So what if your hands tremble and your stomach churns as you unlock the door to let him in.

So what if he leans in for a kiss and you duck to the side, his lips brushing the slope of your cheek.

So what if he pauses and gives you a long, searching look before toeing off his shoes and offering you the drink he picked up on the way.

It can’t get any worse, right?

Only the hungry, molten mixture of rage and rebellion fueling you thus far fizzles away the minute you see him head towards your bedroom with a wink.

Anguish and despair follows in its wake, nipping at your heels.

This is all you’ll ever be to him, you remind yourself as you step into the room. A fun time. Nothing serious. You have to break it off.

You shoot him a tight smile. “Did you have a good night?”

Jungkook shrugs, glancing around at the decorations littering your dresser. “Nah, not really.” His gaze slides to you, traveling from your head to your bare toes in a slow once over. “I definitely would’ve had a better time with you.”

Swallowing roughly, you rub your hands over your arms and suddenly feel far too naked - exposed in your light summer dress. “Hah,” you intone without humor, awkward and stilted. “Probably not. I was out by 11:30.”

“Mm, that’s not like you.” Jungkook hums, moving forward until he’s right in front of you. His hands reach for you, grabbing your wrists gently. His thumb strokes over your pulse point. “You’re acting weird. Is there something you want to talk about, baby?”

Of course he’d notice.

It would be annoying if it wasn’t so endearing. Jungkook always pays attention to the details, makes leaps of logic based on little more than quiet observations.

You stitch together a chuckle. “Nothing gets past you, huh?”

His eyes crinkle at the corners as he grins, his lip ring dimpling the swell of his bottom lip. Your chests brush with every inhale, sharing space and breath. 

“Nothing,” he agrees.

It’s torture. It’s too intimate.

The glow of your overhead lamp highlights the sweep of his cheekbones, the curl of his lashes as he blinks slow and happy. The barely there impression of his body is too much.

You shrink back, clearing your throat.

“No, don’t do that. Where are you going?”

His eyes, shimmering with warmth, plead with you to stay, his shoulders curving towards you. A large palm settles over your shoulder, sparks igniting wherever he touches.

“Stop hiding. You can talk to me about anything. Come on, I want to know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

Steeling your resolve, you inhale and exhale with a shudder. His expression is open, soft. You know it won’t last, and take a few seconds to commit how he looks in this moment to memory.

For all you know, this will be one of the last times you’ll be this close to him again. At least until you can beat your feelings into submission.

And then you can’t put it off anymore, unable to take the ginger strokes of his fingers. The calming caresses as if he thinks you’re something precious. Quick like ripping off a band-aid, otherwise the words will never get past the bend of your throat.

“I want to stop.”

You catch the way his eyes darken, sharpen in the dim overhead light. He knows exactly what you’re talking about, but his half-smile never falters.

Of course, he refuses to make this easy on you. To acknowledge this is happening. He’s always been a greedy man; wants what he can’t have, and destroys what he does.

“Stop what?” Jungkook says. “You’re gonna have to be more specific than that, baby.”

“Kook,” you sigh, rubbing the bridge of your nose. “You know what I mean. I just - I can’t do,” your voice cracks, a hand motioning to the space between you, “this anymore.”

A vein throbs on the side of his neck, his jaw working in response. Muscles tense and release with every grit of his teeth. He asks, “You gonna tell me why, huh? Or are you just going to ditch me and act like it didn’t mean something?”

“Kook…”

There’s a certain grief that can’t be spoken, gnarled roots burrowing deep in your chest. A sense of loss so keenly felt it almost steals your breath.

You wish this wasn’t happening, you wish you could take it all back but this pantomime of a relationship isn’t fair to you. Not anymore. And you knew this conversation wouldn’t be fun, but Jungkook’s staunch denial still manages to surprise you.

��It didn’t mean anything though,” you say.

At least, not to you, you think. To me, it meant the world.

-- And that’s the problem.

You need to stop whatever this is between you from building. He’s already shown he doesn’t share your desire for more in a multitude of ways. He’s been avoiding you for a reason, whether he was consciously aware of your feelings or not.

Undoubtedly, you trust him with your life but not your heart.

As sweet as he is, has been, he won’t treat it gently. Not through any intentional ill-will but because he can’t contain his own commitment issues let alone make room for yours.

It’s better this way.

Let what you have - had - stay a memory unmarred by the ugliness of your hurt feelings and bitter disappointments.

Jungkook’s shoulders draw up towards his ears, his gaze glacial as his hands slide away from you. “Is there a reason you’re done with me now?”

Shadows lurk in the depths of his eyes, his lips curled into a cruel smirk. Everything about him looks weighted down.

“Well, is there? I mean, shit, I think I’ve earned an answer after all the time we spent together.”

Your heart breaks for him, everything in you calling out to close the gap and offer him comfort. But you can’t. You don’t trust yourself to touch him without wanting more than your heart can bear.

“I’m not done with you,” you say. “I would never do that to you, Kook. I just - I can’t be with you like that anymore, that’s all. I need space but I’ll still be around, I promise.”

The glare he shoots your way freezes the blood in your veins. “Cut the bullshit,” he snarls. “Tell.me.why.”

You avert your gaze, arms wrapping around your chest. “Why does that - I -”

You only had one rule at the very beginning of this mess: if there’s someone you’re serious about, you stop fucking. It comes as a handy lie - a believable excuse that’ll stop any further questioning.

You don’t think you have the fortitude if Jungkook keeps pressing you, cracking under the weight of your grief and the anger in his eyes like fine china.

“I think I - I think I want to start looking for a boyfriend again.”

An expression flashes across his face, there and gone in the blink of an eye. But there’s no doubt he recognizes it for the goodbye it’s supposed to be.

This is it, you think.

You can put what you had to rest and move on, a memory on a shelf you’ll dust off years down the line when the hurt isn’t so prevalent. And hopefully, with time, you can relearn how to be friends.

Though the strange gleam to his eyes sends a prickle of apprehension down your spine, and then you find yourself being manhandled as he snaps forward like a snake coiled to strike.

Air flees your lungs as Jungkook shoves you with a firm palm, your feet stumbling over themselves as you trip backwards into your bed frame.

Wood knocks into the backs of your knees, and you fold like a stack of cards. The sheets puff out around you, the scent of your laundry detergent tickling your nose.

You blink at the textured ceiling, mouth agape as you try to process what happened.

The empty space above you doesn’t stay vacant, Jungkook quickly crowding you into the mattress with his weight as he settles over top of your body.

He molds himself to your front, his firm hips slotting themselves between your thighs. Broad palms, warm and calloused, skim your sides and ruck up the skirt of your dress as he reaches under you to grip the soft globes of your ass.

He yanks you into him, your pelvises slotting together. You whine before you can stop yourself, eyes fluttering shut at the heat of his body.

Teeth scrape along the delicate skin of your neck, the sharp pricks of pleasure-pain coaxing a shiver down your spine.

Lips brush the shell of your ear, his minty breath puffing against the side of your face as he speaks, low and husky, “So that’s it, huh?”

“What--!”

Teeth nip your earlobe, and you wince.

“My girl thinks she’s going to leave me for someone else?” Jungkook snorts. “Like I’d ever let that fucking happen.”

“I’m not your girl.”

You squirm, a bolt of awareness slicing through you as your body responds to his proximity, the weight of him over you electrifying. Liquid desire blooms behind your navel, uncomfortable and unwelcome.

“I never was.”

Blunt nails dig into the fat of your ass, and a cruel mouth latches onto the corner of your jaw. “Ah, is that right?” Jungkook asks, the rumble of his voice vibrating through your torso, your nipples tightening as they drag over the plains of his chest. “You’re not my girl?”

You swallow, and ignore the throb of your clit as the line of his cock ruts into you. “I’m not your girl, Jungkook.”

“If you’re not my girl,” he grinds into the cradle of your hips, teasing - taunting, “then why the fuck are you so wet?”

Keening, you twitch, involuntarily rocking up into the firm pressure of his shaft. The angle’s just right, spreading your folds beneath the thin cotton of your panties and giving your neglected clit the perfect stimulation.

Exposing your soaked core to the chill of your room as your body warms with mortification.

Jungkook hums in approval, giving the side of your neck a sloppy kiss followed by a stinging nip. “You think some nobody can fuck you better than me?”

“That’s not what I - ffuck!”

Heat pools low in your belly, blood pumping fast. You’re steadily losing control, the aborted rolls of your hips increasing in frequency.

“Answer me.”

A sharp burst of copper floods your mouth, your skin splitting open with how hard you’re chewing on it. Blood clings to the swell of your bottom lip, a ruby red bead you lick away with a nervous tongue.

Sweat dappled your brow, and it’s getting harder and harder to ignore the molten desire curdling your stomach.

The softness of your body knows the hardness of his, every curve has a matching divot. The heady, pleasant scent of his cologne floods your lungs with every stuttered inhale.

Your senses are overwhelmed as he surrounds you.

“Shit, Kook, please,” you plead, hands tangling in the sheets by your head.

You’re not sure what you’re asking for but at the same time, you’re not sure how you ended up here. Again.

“I don’t know what you want from me.”

This was supposed to be an amenable end to a dubious affair. It’s anything but.

“I want you to tell me who your cunt belongs to.”

Fingers inch down to tease along the soft flesh of your inner thighs, and play with the elastic of your panties.

You tremble, gooseflesh dimpling the exposed skin of your arms as knuckles brush over the length of your soaked pussy.

Your clit pulses, the pressure enough to tease.

“Come on, baby,” Jungkook coaxes, working his way beneath the fabric clinging to your core, “tell me you’re my girl.”

His cock nestles into the crook of your hip, hot and heavy through his jeans as a darkened patch blooms across the denim crotch. The sticky wetness of his pre-cum smearing into your skin as arousal swells, crashing over you.

Leaving you a whimpering, trembling mess in the cage of his arms.

“You just have to say it - say you’re my girl and I’ll be so, so good to you.” His breath warms the shell of your ear. “All you have to do is say it, and I’ll make you cum so hard you see stars.”

Jungkook doesn’t give you a chance to cobble together a response, sliding a thick finger through your sticky folds and into your needy pussy just as your lips part.

All words leave you, your mind wiped clean as a low, broken cry echoes out into the room. Swallowed up by the sounds of city life outside your apartment as he works to stretch you open.

You clamp down at the sudden fullness, walls tight and fluttering around his finger like they would be around his cock.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans. “You always feel so soft and wet.”

Whining in agreement, you give up any pretense of resistance, letting primal desire chase away the despair, the guilt that threatens to choke you. Wiping your mind clean of any thoughts until the only thing that remains is the thrust of his fingers and the ache in your cunt.

Your hands slip, scrambling for purchase with sweaty palms. “J-Jungkook!”

Your knees tremble where they dig into his sides, air rushing from you in heavy pants as the space between your bodies heats up. You know you won’t last long, already hanging on the edge.

Never in a million years did you expect to be so turned on by Jungkook’s rough behavior. He usually treats you like something delicate.

Though he holds no such compunction now, raw in his desperate desire to make you cum.

Jungkook peppers kisses onto whatever skin he can reach, spreading your thighs wider with his torso. His knuckles strain against the fabric of your panties, stretching out the cotton and ruining them forevermore as he slips another finger into you.

Then his dark head bows, catching your gaze, and he says, “Hold on.”

Barely seconds after you anchor yourself to his shoulders, he starts finger fucking you to within an inch of your life. His forearm ripples with strength, the movements of his fingers pressing and rubbing against all the right spots. Curling up to massage at your g-spot until you’re shaking beneath him with hitched breaths.

“Shit, shit,” you gasp, eyes rolling back as your toes flex against his side, “Kook, baby, please don’t stop.”

He huffs a laugh, dark and amused. “Wouldn’t ever do that to you, baby.”

“S’good - I - I’m close.”

You sob, tears brimming along your lash line. The sloppy sounds of him fucking your pussy ring in your ears, as embarrassing as it is arousing. He’s making you gush, slick wetting your inner thighs, dribbling down your ass to stain the sheets.

“So close, gonna - hnnng - gonna cum.”

“Yeah, that’s it. Just like that, baby. Give me that squirt.”

You shake your head. “I can’t - I can’t!”

If you could, you’d suspend time so this moment never ends. The finality of your arrangement hovering just on the other side of pleasure.

In the back of your mind, you know Jungkook’s only behaving this way because he’s jealous. Angry. He doesn’t mean it, and this is a mistake.

It’ll only hurt you in the long run but you’ll take what you can get.

After all, this is the last time you’ll be together like this.

“No,” he shushes, dropping a kiss to your sweaty brow, “No, don’t lie. I know you can. I’ll make you.”

There’s no escape.

He refuses to let you escape, using his weight to keep you pinned as he spreads his fingers open inside you, twisting and fucking so deep you feel a twinge behind your navel.

And then you’re right there, crashing over the edge as the bubble of pleasure bursts, crackling through your limbs.

You cum harder than you ever have before. Nails sinking into his shoulders with a hiss as a wounded, broken wail scrapes its way out of your throat.

Your pussy throbs, gummy walls sucking him deeper as a rush of cum gushes from you in spurts. Your ears ring with white noise, and you’re vaguely aware of the fact your hands have gone numb.

For several long moments, you float with a head full of cotton, only rejoining the atmosphere when warmth dribbles down your ass in sticky rivulets of squirt.

Jungkook’s arm is curled around your waist, holding you close as his nose nuzzles into the side of your head. Tender lips dust kisses over your crown. His cock is still a heavy weight digging into your hip but he doesn’t seem to be in any rush to relieve himself.

“Jungkook,” you sigh, a wave of fatigue crashing over you. Your eyes sting when you close them, a lump building in your throat. You ache all over pleasantly, satisfaction settling deep into your bones. In spite of that, a rift opens in your heart. “Jungkook, I--”

He kisses your shoulder, shushing you. “Don’t ruin it. Just let me hold you for a little while longer… please.”

The tears are almost impossible to stop. “It’s already hard enough, don’t make me -- I can’t just…”

Jungkook squeezes you gently. “I love you,” he says, “but I swear to god you can be so stupid sometimes.”

You jolt, eyes swinging up to meet his, wide and disbelieving. “What did you just  - I - I  don’t. ..Jungkook?”

“How could I not feel the same?” he asks, tone resigned and wary. “Honestly scared the shit out of me when I realized because, well, y’know I don’t have the best track record.” He averts his gaze, a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I almost fucked everything up too, but Namjoonie-hyung helped me get my head on straight.”

Something unfurls in your chest, and you feel as light as air. Ridiculously buoyant with happiness. Hope.

Oh, how stupid.

“We’re kind of idiots, aren’t we?” you ask, sniffling as you shoot him a watery smile. “Like… the biggest.”

Jungkook hums in agreement, a boyish gleam to his eyes. “I mean, you said it. Not me.”

[jihyoruri]

❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ 𓍢 ONLY U hanni pham x reader

↳ warnings: yn from paparazzi, and many other works under my masterlist, idol au, lesserafim member reader, hanni is jelly, swearing (of course there is its firecracker!yn)

hanni wasn’t a jealous girlfriend.

if anything, yn was the more jealous one between the two. there had been multiple times where hanni had to show up at the lesserafim dorms because yn, being petty after seeing a ship edit, refused to answer her phone all day.

it was honestly pretty funny to watch yn get jealous. the hothead never really showed those type of emotions like that, so whenever hanni got the rare chance to see yn pouting, she savored it.

“you were jealouuusss,” hanni teased, looking at yn, who was sitting on the floor with her nintendo in hand, completely ignoring her. hanni had barged into the lesserafim dorms after yn ghosted her all day..

“fuck off,” yn muttered, eyes glued to her game, while hanni sat down beside her, resting her head on yn’s shoulder. “just wait until the day you get jealous.”

“i don’t get jealous,” hanni replied playfully, earning a nudge that knocked her head off yn’s shoulder.

it was all fun and games between them—at least for hanni. she knew yn didn’t have an insecure bone in her body, so there was nothing to worry about.

and neither did she.

or at least, that’s what she thought.

hanni wasn’t lying when she said she doesn’t get jealous, so the feeling she had in her chest at the moment was very foreign.

she sat beside hyein who had a big ipad in her hand showcasing a live on weverse with yn and eunchae.

she was originally in her room but then she heard a voice that sounded a lot like her girlfriend so she went to investigate only to see a giggling hyein who had her eyes stuck on the screen.

“yn was so nice to me today.” eunchae said to the live smiling brightly at yn who just rolled her eyes.

“shut up.” the girl mumbled squinting her eyes to see the chat since she didn’t have her glasses on her which made hanni shake her head in a scolding way at the screen, she was definitely gonna bother yn about that later.

“she got us matching bracelets!” eunchae exclaimed showing her wrist and picking up bus as well. a chrome hearts bracelet being around both of their wrists, yn was an ambassador for the brand.

yn snatched her wrist from muttering curses under her breath but anybody could tell that she was more flustered than angry which made hanni shift uncomfortably at the sight.

“has yn gotten you a matching jewelry from chrome hearts?” hyein always felt cool just saying yn without unnie ever since yn told her she didn’t have to.

“she has… plenty of times” hanni trailed off watching eunchae wrap her arms around yn who didn’t make any effort to push her off this time, “but not matching.”

“you guys are like kuromi and melody,” eunchae read the comment before turning to yn with a big smile, “are we?”

“no.”

“that means yes guys.” eunchae said interlocking her hand with yn who just ignored the girl keeping her eyes on the chat, but she didn’t argue.

a frown made its way to hanni’s face, her and yn’s relationship obviously wasn’t open to the public but their friendship sure one, and it was an ongoing joke between the two fandoms that yn and her were kuromi and melody.

she watched as this time yn didn’t pull her hand away from eunchae and let the younger girl keep their hands interlocked, a sick feeling making its way to her stomach.

she doesn’t know why this was bothering her so much, maybe it was fact that even when yn tried her hardest to act like she was annoyed by her, it was obvious that eunchae will always be someone who had a soft part for.

and hanni wasn’t gonna lie she wished she was the only person that yn had a soft spot for.

“I’m going to my room.” hanni announced not wanting to watch the live anymore, “I forgot to finish cleaning.”

“oh yeah, yn is sleeping over, you begged her.” hyein teased.

oh right…

“what the hell is your problem?”

hanni looked up from her phone to look at a clearly annoyed yn who pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose which made her look less intimidating, both girls sat beside each other on hanni’s bedroom floor.

“what?” hanni replied looking off to the side to avoid yn’s gaze.

“don’t what me,” yn said aggressively, “you’re the one who begged me to sleep over and you’re not even talking to me what the hell is your problem?”

“there isn’t a problem.”

there was definitely a problem, after watching the live hanni had spent the last hour watching yn and eunchae ship videos on youtube.

“so you think I’m stupid.” yn asked when deeply offended that hanni would even think that she would take that as an answer.

“maybe I will if you don’t believe me.” hanni said with an attitude, “I said there’s no problem, leave me alone.”

as soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted it. before she could even process it, she was flat on her back against the fluffy carpet, yn straddling her, one hand firmly pinning hanni’s wrists above her head.

“let go of me!”

“I will after you tell me what’s wrong!”

”there’s nothing wrong you short stack of pancakes! let me go!”

“what the hell did you just call me?!”

“nothing! let me go!”

“I can do this all day, just communicate with me.”

“since when did you become a therapist, let me go!”

“I guess we’re staying like this.”

five minutes passed.

hanni stopped struggling breathing heavily looking up at yn who looked down at her unimpressed, “ready to talk.”

“you.”

“huh?” yn asked confused, her grip on hanni’s wrists loosening.

“I said you!” hanni exclaimed sitting up fast causing yn to fall off of her.

yn groaned as she sat up, “what are you talking about,”

“ask eunchae.” hanni grumbled.

“can you get to the point!” yn snapped, her patience was always slow, her pinning hanni down earlier was a great example of that.

“I’m jealous!” hanni snapped back, before covering her face with her hands, “ I’m jealous, alright?”

yn genuinely looked shocked at her girlfriends words, “you? jealous? why?”

“you and eunchae in your live today and you getting her matching bracelets and then letting her be all over you and then I went into this deep hole of watching ship edits of you guys,” hanni rambled.

“and YOU allowing her to call the both of you melody and kuromi when WE’RE melody and kuromi.” hanni exclaimed gesturing to their matching pjs hers and melody on it while yn had kuromi on hers.

there was silence for a couple of seconds before yn let out a small giggle.

“why are you laughing?” hanni asked in shock.

“because I never thought I’d see the day where you would be jealous and of eunchae? she’s like an annoying pet, but you’re my girlfriend.”

“this isn’t funny,” hanni grumbled shoving yn’s shoulder.

“it is!” yn replied, “because you have nothing to be jealous of its only you.”

“really?”

“yes,” yn rolled her eyes, “now please stop pouting it’s annoying.”

hanni wrapped her arms around yn who groaned, “that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” she teased, “and please never let eunchae call the both of you melody and kuromi that’s our thing.”

“ugh get off of me.”

[after-witch]

Bookworm [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Title: Bookworm [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: Mahito doesn't like that you have an interest in a book character.

Word count: 1787

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, mentions of other people being tortured/killed, supreme self indulgence of the highest order

“Who is the smiling man?” 

The silence that had existed between the two of you was broken by a question that made you flinch. Well, why not? Mahito has been quiet all morning--and afternoon, actually, which perhaps should have startled you more than his sudden words. 

But you were too happy to enjoy some quiet (you would never say “peace and quiet,” not down here, not with him); all too happy to curl up in your haphazard nest on the floor with some books that took  you away from this place. Away from Mahito.

Who was, of course, still here. Lounging in his hammock with a pile of books sagging down the netting. 

You couldn’t tell exactly what he was reading from down here--you probably needed new glasses, a subject you were certainly not going to bring up with Mahito, who might reiterate his offer to “fix” your eyes. It looked like a bundle of pages stapled together. Maybe he went to the library and printed off obscure articles to read again. 

“Hey,” he calls down, and the first hint of worry begins to prickle on your arms at his uncharacteristically serious tone, “Answer me.”

Your mind stutters, tries to put one word in front of the other, and make sense of it all. 

The smiling man? The smiling man, the… ah. From Small Spaces. The otherworldly supernatural entity who lives in a world behind mist and has a penchant for making deals with people for their greatest wishes. 

It’s not your fault that you haven’t thought about him in ages. It’s not like you had copies of your books with you, and the fun you had with imagining him in an endless number of scenarios had fallen by the wayside considering your circumstances. 

It’s hard to daydream about worlds behind mist and cornfield servants when you’re watching people be turned into grotesque experiments that had them, sometimes quite literally and loudly, begging for death.

Mahito is looking down at you now, staring expectantly. 

“He’s a character,” you say, fidgeting on the floor. “From a book series.” You look down, flip a page in your book, although you haven’t finished reading the last one, and ask, casually as you can muster: “Why?”

Mahito, up above, flips a page. You can hear the wobble in the paper--not a bound book, that’s for certain. And there’s some low, primal sense that shivers through you which says, plainly, that he’s actually reading whatever’s in front of him. 

“You write about him a lot.”

Oh.

Low, slimy dread filters into your stomach. Thick and gelatinous, resting at the bottom of your belly like an unwanted slug. 

“I… don’t know what you mean,” you say, voice only half-there, because while you are apparently stupid enough to lie to Mahito’s face, you’re not stupid enough to think he’ll believe you. 

You are just stupid enough to think that he won’t know exactly how deep your interest in this particular character goes; before Mahito took you, you thought about him all the time. You’d take walks and daydream about him, write story after story; you’d even commissioned fanart of him, because it wasn’t like there was a plethora of fanart for a character from a middle grade horror book. 

Mahito huffs out a sigh. Quick and short, it sends a shock right down your stomach. 

“Get you a man,” he starts, and confusion buzzes through your brain until he continues. “Who is an otherworldly entity that is so petty when an 11 year old beats him that he traps her in another world, leaving her to a fate worse than death, and laughs until he cries about it.”

You wrote that. There’s a vague memory of when you posted it--after you’d taken a walk, you think, and reread your favorite parts in the books for a few hours. But the way Mahito says it makes it sound--you don’t know how to explain it. Like saying the words out loud almost pains him; they come out clipped and bitter. 

Bitter? But why?

He doesn’t stop there. He reads something else, voice getting higher, almost mocking the way you talk. And that bitterness is still there, a thread continuing through every syllable.

“What if we kissed in the corn maze before you turned me into a scarecrow servant whose soul slowly gets dried out and useless and in the end you feed it, crunchy and tasteless, to your hellhound.” 

He takes a breath. Then--

“One particular aspect of the Smiling Man’s cruelty that I truly adore is that he can make people feel understood. He can make them feel like he cares, like he’s lending a listening ear, like he’s wanting to help them out and make them feel nice.”

Another breath--and he continues, again and again, reading your posts. Quoting your stories. Listing off the titles, the imagine posts, everything you’ve said about him.

All the while, bitter and mocking, his voice raising now and then in an imitation of your own. 

Then he gets to the last page of his clearly self-created tome and stares down at you, waiting, expectant. 

And you… you actually glare up at him. 

Because you're scared, sure. You’re always scared in some way, when you’re with Mahito. But there’s something else too, something that digs its way out of the rot in your gut and sticks up a petulant middle finger.

How dare he do this. How dare he take something that was yours and make it his; put it in his mouth and sneer over it. 

“Have you been--” Your mouth sticks together, refusing to let you accuse him of what you know he’s been doing. Stalking your online profiles. “That’s… that’s private,” is what you finally mutter, cheeks feeling hot and that half-buried petulance pushing you forward. “It’s not any of your business.” 

“Private?” He mutters the word softly, cradling the sound.

And then--

Mahito doesn’t often move fast around you. He prefers to be slow, languid. Calculating. You think it’s because that terrifies you more.

But now, in a moment, he goes from being slouched in his hammock to leaping down and crouching right in your face--there’s sudden pain in your head, and you realize he’s grabbed your hair and yanked it back.

That metaphorical middle finger sinks back down into the slimy gut sludge.

“Not from me,” he says, low, a warning. “Not for you.”

This is all it takes for tears to prick inside your eyes.

Mahito’s lips quirk up. Just a little. Just enough for you to notice.

“You’re going to cry already? I didn’t even do anything.”

Your eyes dart up and back, towards where he’s currently gripping your hair hard enough for it to sting.

He sighs through his nose. “This isn’t anything. You know that. Don’t be childish now.”

But--he lets go of your hair, and doesn’t grab for you when you scoot backwards on your blanket nest. Instead, he plops himself down, crossing his legs and resting his chin on his elbow.

You don’t speak. You don’t want to, and you don’t know what to say. Sometimes it’s better to be quiet around Mahito, so he doesn’t get ideas. Although he comes up with them on his own just fine, even if you try to stay silent.

It’s Mahito who breaks the silence.

“Why do you like him so much?”

How silly, to feel embarrassed right now. With the creature in front of you, and what he can do. But that’s what makes your cheeks burn: embarrassment. 

“I don’t know,” you mumble, because while you are stupid in so many ways, you’re still smart enough to know he wants an answer. “I guess I just like antagonist characters sometimes.” Well, most of the time. But it’s better to keep that from Mahito, if you can.

Mahito’s lips quirk here and there while he thinks. Then he looks at you with something like genuine confusion.

“You say that you like how awful he is. The awful things he does. So…” He tilts his head a little. “You should like me. Right?”

Your fingers pick at the loose threads of your clothes. Your eyes don’t meet his entirely--they flick up and down, from your legs to his face. 

“It’s not the same thing,” is what you come up with. But how to explain that to a curse?

Mahito frowns. 

“I don’t understand.” No bitterness, no pouting. A simple statement of fact.

“He’s not real.” You swallow against the minefield that all of this is making you step through, hoping you’ll avoid them. “But you are. That makes it different.” 

Mahito leans forward, grabbing your wrists, pulling you closer to him with a yanking, childish gesture.

“So you should like me more,” he says, a slight pout in his tone. “Because I can really do those things.” His eyebrows raise, and you swear you can hear a buzzing light bulb go off. “I could turn someone into a scarecrow for you.” He smiles, sudden, excited. “Do you want me to find some school children to torment?”

“No!” Your voice cracks. There are brief images in your mind--the people he’s tortured and killed, experimented with, before you were here and while you’re here and probably after you’re dead and gone--and you shake them away. 

Mahito’s eyebrows furrow. He groans and rolls his eyes backwards until they are entirely white, not in mockery or an attempt to scare you, but in irritation. Fingers squeeze your wrists briefly and let go, and you stay quiet, trying to fight your urge to cry, until Mahito slowly rolls his eyes back to stare at you.

His gaze flicks over you, until he catches your eyes with his. 

“You won’t write about him anymore.”

You don’t take a moment to answer this time.

“I won’t.”

“You won’t read those books anymore.”

“I won’t,” you stay. “I haven’t. I--don’t even have copies anymore.”

Mahito smiles, a little. Maybe it’s a good thing you never asked him to find you a copy, a thought which had been a brief temptation a while back.

And then he leans in closer again, until his nose touches yours.

“You won’t think about him anymore,” he says, quiet, solemn. Not an order but a matter of fact. 

You don’t answer. You swallow against a bitter taste in  your throat; you swear, sometimes, that the sludge in your gut is real and tries to make its way out sometimes.

Mahito presses his nose against yours until it starts to hurt.

“You won’t,” he says again, this time more to himself. “I’ll make sure of it.”

[dollfacefantasy]

greedy ♡

satoru gojo x fem!reader x suguru geto

you and satoru get greedy and break the rules. but suguru's there to teach the both of you that there are limits for a reason.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, overstimulation, daddy kink/ddlg, dacryphilia

a/n: part 1 <3

Quiet. When Suguru hung up the phone, that was all he heard.

The house had been so quiet lately, but to be clear, he was not complaining. After the little lesson he taught you and Satoru a few weeks ago, the two of you had been getting along much better. There was bickering here and there, but he was much more gentle with you and you were less likely to get upset from his teasing. He could actually leave the two of you alone now without the worry of your whines ringing through the house or Satoru's cocky laughter permeating the thin walls.

The two of you were alone right now. He'd gotten a work phone call that unfortunately couldn't wait. It was supposed to take fifteen minutes, but the other party's incessant rambling dragged it out to over an hour. He was done now though, and as soon as he clicked that little red button, he felt relief flow through him. He could return to his two favorite people now.

He's quick to return to the bedroom. On the way there though, he hears some whining. Not the kind that had been filling up the house when you and Satoru were at each other's throats. This was needy and breathless.

Pushing open the double doors, his eyes immediately lock on the two of you. You were on your back, Satoru on top of you and between your legs. His pale body was on full display from behind. His muscles rippled as he thrust into you, soft enough to not make the bed creak. He had your legs pinned up by your sides and his face in the crook of your neck.

Suguru clears his throat. He sees your eyes snap open to meet his. The look on your face told him that you knew you'd been caught red-handed. Satoru doesn't even raise his head to look at the other man. His guilt shuts him up and traps him in a rare moment of silence. His hips reluctantly come to a stop, but they tremble with the need to keep driving into you.

"I can't leave the two of you alone for one hour without you breaking the rules? I expect better," Suguru says, breaking the silence, "I'm happy you're getting along, but that's no excuse to start fucking like little rabbits the second I leave."

That wasn't a lie. Suguru was pleased with the progress between you two. This wasn't about jealousy or some other petty qualm. Had he come back to Satoru eating your pussy or humping your leg, this wouldn't have been an issue. But you both knew the rule. The rule was that Satoru was not allowed to truly fuck you without Suguru being present.

Rules were essential to this dynamic. You and Satoru needed them. Each of you craved them, yearned for Suguru to enforce them on you and keep you in your place. So that was what he was going to do.

"Daddy we didn't mean-" you start timidly, but Suguru cuts you off.

"You didn't mean to? You didn't mean to let Satoru shove his cock inside you? You didn't mean to whine for more?" he taunts, "What about you Satoru? Look at me when I'm talking to you."

You feel the warmth of Satoru's breath leave your neck as he pulls his head up. He drops your legs and rises to his knees so that he can turn his head to face your shared lover.

"We're sorry," he says, sounding more sheepish than you, "I'm sorry. It was my idea. She's just so... she's so soft... and warm... and I'm sorry."

"Oh I'm sure you are," Suguru chuckles as he walks further into the room. He stands at the end of the bed. The tense air in the room makes it seem as though he looms over the two of you. "You're so sorry you didn't even pull out."

Neither of you had a response for that one. Satoru was in fact still buried balls deep in you right now. He couldn't pull out when your velvety walls were still fluttering around him, providing him the most muted form of pleasure.

Suguru knows his words have rendered the both of you temporarily speechless. He shakes his head with a mocking smile on his face before walking a few more paces to the recliner in the corner of the room.

"Well don't let me stop the two of you. I wouldn't want to intrude," he says.

But it's a leading tone. You know it's a trap. It's some crazy reverse psychology shit that you can't figure out fully while full of Satoru's dick.

"Daddy..." you whimper while peering at him around the white-haired man's torso.

"What?" he asks you, "I'm giving both of you want. Go ahead. Enjoy yourselves."

You want to protest more. As good as it felt physically, something wasn't right about this. Satoru doesn't seem to hold the same suspicions as you though because his hips resume the pace they had before Suguru walked in.

He drops back on top of you, his chest flush against yours, smooshing your breasts against his sweaty skin. His head falls back into the space where your neck connects to your shoulder. Your worries are quick to scamper away from your mind to make room for the pure bliss brought on by his thrusts.

Each stroke into your slick embrace brings a grunt out of him and a mewl out of you. Your arms lazily drape around his neck as he rocks you into the mattress.

"So fucking good, baby," he mumbles against your flesh. You can tell he's trying to be quiet, to keep the praise from Suguru's nearby ears.

He continues pumping in and out, back and forth in a rhythm fit to hypnotize you. His pelvis connects with your ass too many times for you to keep track of. All you know is that you never want it to stop.

After a little while, you're getting close. You hadn't been too far away before Suguru walked in. Satoru can feel you tightening up around him, and he's not faring much better. He has his plush, pink lip between his teeth. His pretty blue eyes look up at the ceiling as if thanking whatever higher power there was for bestowing him with you.

His fingers dig into the warm dough of your thighs. You're reaching that peak, but you can feel Suguru's eyes on you. You can feel his dark gaze baring into you and the man on top of you. Whatever his plan was still lingered, like a panther in tall grass waiting to strike.

"Daddy... can I cum?" you whimper and catch his eyes over Satoru's shoulder. You had to prove you were still a good girl. Nothing was right in the world if Suguru was mad at you.

"Do you even need to ask me? You didn't feel the need to ask before you let Satoru spread your legs," he responds. It's short and simple. Cut and dry. You feel the urge to squirm out from under your one boyfriend to rush and plead for forgiveness at the feet of the other.

But you don't because Satoru starts hammering into you harder, chasing the high for both of you.

"Toru," you whimper and cling to him tighter.

"I know, princess. Me too," he mutters.

Only moments later, the both of you are twitching messes of moans and whines. Satoru fucks his cum deep inside of you, and your pussy milks every last drop out him. He doesn't stop moving until he feels he has none left to give.

When he is done, he collapses on top of you. He feels like some kind of weighted blanket, keeping you secure against the smooth sheets and soft pillows. You nuzzle him lazily while he pants in your ear. The situation is so comfortable, it lulls you into a sense of security. You almost forget the fact that you're being closely observed. That is until the one observing you pierces the silence.

"Pull out of her, Satoru," he states simply.

Without a word of protest, he obeys, leaving you empty as he unsheaths himself from your dripping cunt.

"Now, baby girl, I want you to lay on your tummy with your head at the end of the bed," he directs.

You also follow the orders with no resistance. You snake around your lover's lanky limbs and get in the position he wanted. You're facing him now. There's no escape from his watchful eyes.

"Good girl," he says. It's simple though. Not affectionate enough to make your chest swell with the feeling that you did something right. "Satoru. Stick it in her again."

Satoru had already been a bit flushed, but his cheeks tinge an even deeper shade of pink now. "What?" he asks.

"You heard me, baby boy. I want you to slide your cock into her again," he repeats.

Satoru's brilliant eyes blink with confusion. He strokes his cock, still glistening with the remnants of your release, to try and get it half hard. He had good stamina, so it wasn't a huge issue.

"My babies acted out for a reason, right? Not just because you're needy brats I’m sure," he mocks, "I need to make sure the two of you get your fill. We don't want this happening again, do we?"

The both of you shake your heads. Suguru chuckles at the seemingly synchronized motion.

Satoru climbs back on you and mounts you again. You whine as his lengthy shaft fills you up for the second time. He slides it all the way to the hilt with ease. You were still nice and ready from your last round.

He doesn't wait to start thrusting. The tight fit of your cunt around him gets him to full mast in no time. He falls into a similar rhythm as before, his hips bouncing off your backside with timed precision.

You tug his forearms closer so that he's boxing you in. He nuzzles his face into your neck again and keeps in there to muffle some of his whimpering.

Glancing upwards, your gaze meets Suguru's. It's unwavering. He doesn't smile, doesn't coo at you or encourage you. He watches. He waits for you and Satoru to start hitting that peak again.

It's not too long before he gets what he's waiting for. The both of you were still sensitive from the last time you came. Only a handful more strokes and Satoru is draining himself again, filling you up for the second time.

Like last time, you're both breathless and limp, melting into one another. Your skin is sticky with sweat, both his and yours. You squirm a little to signal for him to get off, and he's about to. But then Suguru speaks again.

"Don't even think about pulling out," he says.

You both look at him. It's starting to become clear what he had in mind.

"You don't pull out until I say, and now is not that time. You're gonna wait until you're hard again, and then you're gonna fuck her again."

"But daddy-" you start to whine.

"None of that," he says, his tone sharp as a blade.

It shuts you up in an instant. Even the normally chatty Satoru has nothing to say.

There's a brief pause between everyone for the moment, but then you feel it. You feel the push and pull of Satoru's body starting up again. You whimper and drop your face into the blankets.

He starts slow this time, but Satoru's needy by nature. He can't keep himself from pistoning into you at a certain point. His lower half ricochets off yours while he keeps a bruising grip on your hips. Strangled whines burst from you with each pump while his noises flow in a constant stream.

He ruts into you on the bed until he's cumming again, but Suguru doesn't give him the ok to pull out. He simply signals to go again. And Satoru does. He fucks you again. And again. And again. Until the both of you are absolutely cum drunk.

You'd stopped counting how many times he'd brought you to the height of pleasure. Your pussy was aching now, throbbing with the desire for peace rather than the need for release. You aren't too sure how Satoru's doing considering he's melted down into a whiny mess behind you. He doesn't even need Suguru's direction anymore. He can't stop fucking himself into your cunt.

Tears roll down his glowing cheeks and quiet sobs leak from his lips.

"So good, baby. So so fucking good," he whimpers, "This pussy's all I need."

You whine in response and claw at the blankets beneath you. Tears are building on your own lash line from the white hot overstimulation of your insides. You sniffle. You had the safeword, but you couldn't bring yourself to use it. This was the most pleasurable pain on earth. The sweetest spot between heaven and hell right in your bedroom.

"This is what you get for being greedy babies," Suguru chides. He palms himself while still sitting in the recliner. A bulge had long-since formed in his pants from watching the two of you go at it. But as he made you two give in over and over, he held back.

"We're sorry, daddy," you cry, tears finally spilling on your face, "Shoulda listened to you."

"You're right. You should've," he smirks.

Satoru huffs in your ear, a sign that he was going to cum again soon.

"Too full," you whine and writhe under him, "Can't take anymore, Toru."

He simply whines against you and tightens his grip on you.

"S-sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, fuck baby," he whimpers, "You're a good girl. Such a good girl. Taking my cum. Gonna make it up to you."

He sobs as he shoots inside you again. You don't know how he's not firing blanks at this point. His body shakes with the torturous euphoria in the pit of his belly. It makes him pause and just lay on top of you as he rides it out.

You think this might be it. This has to be the last one. But Suguru still doesn't say anything. You cry into the blankets as Satoru begins to roll his hips on yours again. It's slow and reluctant at first, but soon enough, that needy rutting is back.

"Harder, Satoru," Suguru grunts from the corner.

Satoru's head bobs up and down in a sorry excuse for a nod. Running on fumes, he thrusts into you harder. His tip batters into your abused sweet spots, his balls slapping against your puffy clit.

More sobs and tears pour from you. "Daddy, please," you cry and look up at Suguru with bleary eyes, "I'm sorry. Please daddy. I'm a good girl. I'm sorry."

Suguru's eyes flutter, and he has to tilt his head back to regain his composure and stop himself from cumming in his pants on the spot. Once he's got it under control, his eyes return to you.

"You can be a good girl, babydoll. Keep taking Toru's cock. You're almost done. I promise," he says.

"Noooo," you sob and your face falls again. You reach out as if Suguru could save you, as if he wasn't the driving force behind Satoru, "Daddy, please!"

You continue wailing into the blankets, and Satoru's eyes roll back. He's panting like a dog, tongue hanging out of his mouth and all. Whines echo from him as if on a loop. His eyes screw shut, and he slams into you particularly hard before he loses some consistency and grows more erratic.

"Sugu- fuck- Daddy," he corrects himself, "C-can't go anymore. Hurts."

"It does hurt when you don't listen to daddy," Suguru agrees, "Keep going."

He whines and drops back down on you. He shoves his face against your skin and takes a deep breath. His long arms snake around you and hold you to him like a toy. His hips jackhammer into you with the hope that this was the last time.

You're pretty sure you black out with your next orgasm. You feel the spark of ecstasy between your legs, and then you see stars. Literally. Your vision goes white and then your eyelids shut to a dizzying burst of colors.

You can vaguely hear Satoru losing it in your ear. You sort of feel him drooling on your shoulder. You don't remember feeling if he cums or not. You feel him limp on top of you and then hear Suguru speaking distantly.

The next thing you know, a hand is sweeping over your forehead.

"You with me, sweet girl? Are you ok?" Suguru's voice coos in your ear.

Your eyelids are heavy, but you manage to crack them open. The first thing you see is Satoru passed out next to you. Above him is Suguru. The only response you can make for him is a whiny babble. You extend your arms for him, and he indulges you this time. He scoops you up and brings you to rest at the top of the bed. He gives Satoru the same treatment next.

Finally, he climbs into bed, letting the both of you curl up to his sides. Satoru's cheek is squished on his pectoral muscle while you rest on Suguru’s bicep. His eyes look just as fucked out as you imagine yours to be.

"There's my babies. All tuckered out like they should be," he coos and rubs the both of your backs.

"Daddy..." you mumble.

"That's right. Daddy's got you. Daddy's got the both of you," he murmurs.

A kiss lands on the top of your head and then Satoru's.

"Both of you babies are gonna take a nap and then we'll get you cleaned up, ok?" he says, "I think the both of you learned your lesson."

You can almost hear the smirk in his tone, but it’s of no matter to you as you’re already slipping into the comforting thralls of sleep.

[babyleostuff]

SAYING SOMETHING THEY DIDN'T MEAN IN A FIGHT | PERFORMANCE UNIT

𐙚 JUN 

it would take a lot for jun to say something he didn’t mean, especially when it comes to you. he was always wary of what he was saying during fights or quarrels to not say something he’d regret later, but there were times where he was just too tired to think about what he was saying. i think he’d be the quickest out of all of them to apologise, like the second the hurtful words leave his mouth he’s already apologising, he just can’t stand your sad and disappointed expression. 

“i’m so sorry, honey. i didn’t mean it, i truly didn’t mean it. i know i can’t make excuses now, i’m so sorry, baby.” 

jun started babbling, not even letting you breathe after what he had just said. you wouldn’t lie - his words hurt, especially because jun never raised his voice at you during fights, so yes, you were sad and upset, but at the same time, a part of you couldn’t help but think how adorable he looked right now. 

jun’s eyes were wide in panic, and he was holding your hands tightly in his, as if he was scared that you’d run away, which to be honest - you’d do if he didn’t have such a strong hold on you. hearing something so hurtful from the person you loved the most wasn’t easy, you felt betrayed and disappointed by his actions, but you didn’t want him to get so worked up over this either. “jun, baby, calm down.” 

“no, i won’t. you have to believe me that i didn’t mean it.” you cupped his face in your hands, so his frantic eyes would focus on you for more than a second. “let’s just talk about it, k’ay?” 

jun nodded his head quickly, helping you settle on the couch next to him, where you’d calmly talk about what had just happened (he’d keep on apologising for the rest of the day, even if you said you forgave him).

𐙚 HOSHI 

things could get heated with this one really quickly, especially if he was stressed because of work or his schedules. hoshi would never intentionally take out his anger on you, but at the same time i don’t think he’s the best at managing his emotions, especially anger. he’d be so disappointment in himself after, though - like, the moment he says something hurtful (that he of course didn’t mean) he’d blame himself so much, and knowing that he hurt you would break his heart. 

no words could describe the disappointment and embarrassment with himself that hoshi felt then. how could he hurt his loved one in such a cruel way? you didn't do anything wrong and he let his words and anger get the best of him, leaving you sobbing quietly in the middle of the living room. 

“baby…” he felt like he didn’t deserve to call you that after what he had said, and you definitely looked even more upset hearing the pet name. “why would you say that?” you asked, your voice laced with so much sadness, hoshi felt his own heart breaking. he was sure your crying face would haunt him in his dreams now, but he deserved it. 

hoshi knew it’d be for the best to leave you alone for a while now, so you could calm down and collect your thoughts, but he was afraid that if you left now, you wouldn't come back. he wouldn't even realise when his own tears would start running down his cheeks too. “I’m so sorry,” he’d whisper, covering his face in shame. 

“i can’t hear you, honey,” you sniffled, wiping your face dry. “i-i’m s-sorry,” he hiccuped between the sobs. at the end, you both would start crying in each other's embrace. 

of course you wouldn't forgive him right away, but you didn't want him to worry that you would leave him.

𐙚 MINGHAO 

i feel like making minghao mad isn’t that hard, but that doesn’t mean he’d just lash out and take all of his anger on you, especially because he is a person that is good at managing his emotions. things could get really heated because of his pettiness and passive aggressiveness, though. sometimes he wouldn’t think through what he was saying or how he was acting, and how it would affect you. 

“wow, minghao,” you muttered, looking at him with disbelief. “is there anything else you’d like to tell me?” 

when he didn’t answer, you turned on your heel and walked out to your bedroom, slamming the door behind you. minghao, on the other hand, stood in the middle of the living room trying to wrap his head around what had just happened - what he had just said to you. the guilt started to catch up to him, his chest filling with crushing pain.

what made minghao feel even worse was that he didn’t react immediately and apologised. he didn’t even realise how much his words had hurt you at that moment, which made him feel like he was the worst boyfriend ever. 

he’d give you some time alone, but when bedtime came, he’d softly knock on the door, your favourite snacks on a plate, and your favourite hoodie of his in his hand, and wait for you to open up. then, he’d apologise and have a proper, calm conversation with you. it was rare that you went to bed angry, minghao always made sure you’d make up before falling asleep, because in no universe would he be able to fall asleep knowing you were angry with him.

𐙚 CHAN 

chan would never intentionally say anything to hurt you, you were the love of his life and he swore to do anything to keep you happy and safe at all times, so you’d have to get in a really big fight for him to say something hurtful. and honestly it would break his heart seeing your reaction to his words, he just wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. and as much as i don’t think that chan is an insecure person, i think he’d need a lot of reassurance after a fight that you still love him and that you’re not going to leave him. 

chan stared in horror as a tear ran down your cheek. “baby, i didn’t… i don’t-” he saw your eyes fill with even more tears and if he only understood what had just happened, he would have immediately hugged you, but the problem was that he himself didn't know what had just happened. how the fuck could words like those even leave his mouth? 

“are u going to say anything else?” you asked, sadness filling your voice. "say something chan," but he couldn't, he stood still, he even stopped breathing. shame and embarrassment consumed him completely, he didn't know how he would ever be able to look at himself after saying such nasty words to you. 

he would stand and watch as you passed by him to leave the apartment, but he still wouldn't be able to move. when he finally realised that you had left the house and left him, he would just break down and cry in the middle of the room from the feeling of being so helpless. what if you really left him?

he wouldn't try to text or call you because he’d be afraid that all he’d hear would be "we’re over chan, don't call me ever again," and he wouldn't be surprised if you did. he acted like a total jerk.

when it finally started to get dark and you managed to calm yourself down, you went back to your place to calmly talk to your boyfriend, but all you’d find would be chan sleeping on your side of the bed, cuddled into your pillow with dried tears on his cheeks. that night he would be the little spoon, cuddled in your arms.

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[babybutchianthe]

↑ i am constantly thinking abt this reply because it is deeply reflective of the general attitude i see displayed toward palamedes, and camilla too, wherein people seem to assume that they are inherently more rational and comparatively unbiased as a whole when compared to everyone else. they are treated as if they are comparatively free from the same confines of thinking that affect other characters; they are characterised as a shining example of a truly equal necromancer-cavalier bond, of loyalty and love, and are treated as if they are perfect geniuses who can do no wrong—an attitude i feel very much inclines people to romanticise their devotion & treat paul's birth as a victorious thing.

@dve i feel summarised this phenomena the best: "i think cam and palamedes are nowhere near as revolutionary as a chunk of the fandom would like for them to be". i'd even go as far as to say that, in their role as foils to gideon and harrow, they are meant to showcase just how damaging the necro-cavalier dichotomy is to the individuals involved. i've spoke on this before but the bond is explicitly modelled on the example of john & alecto—which is already not ideal—and was built on a foundation of deception, with john hiding the fact the lyctoral process did not necessarily have to end with the death of the cavalier: the sacrifice of the cavalier is baked into it, because the history of cavaliership is indelibly tied into the avoidable deaths of the first cavaliers.

the equality ascribed to their bond is based on their seeming inversion of the exploitative nature of the necro-cav bond—compared to silas' siphoning colum, it seems improbable to say that they are anything but true equals who break away from the model, revolutionary in nature. they are devoted to each other, endlessly loyal! to the point camilla will violate the wishes and autonomy of palamedes in the name of her devotion.

camilla frames the fact she cannot sustain both of their souls in her body as her being weak, as opposed to being a product of the reality maintaining two souls in a single body the way they are doing is extraordinarily difficult and unnatural, doing herself a disservice in the process, because in her eyes she is failing in her duty to him.

his presence in her body is killing them both, and she frames this as [their] choice, but then wants pyrrha to lie to him about the fact it's killing her: meaning his choice would be based on her exploiting his absence in this moment, on a deception.

they can't keep this up forever, it is killing them both, but camilla's devotion to him means she won't accept that and doesn't want to give him reason to vacate her body. she wants pyrrha to lie—even though it's killing him too!—because she doesn't want to let him choose to let her live at the cost of his own life.

her death is avoidable but her role and her duty is to die for him, to sacrifice, to hold the sword for her necromancer. she won't let him, the necromancer, choose the cavalier's life because it is intended to be used by him—a soul to be eaten. she won't let him choose, violates his wishes and autonomy in the name of her devotion to him; i personally don't think equality in a relationship is based around denying the other their autonomy and lying to them, do you? and in this moment, camilla is treating herself as expendable, their inevitable death as inconsequential because it prolongs palamedes for as long as possible.

palamedes, conversely, has a very interesting perspective on lyctorhood:

he presumes that the original lyctors, the first necromancers and their cavaliers, sought to merge themselves from the start and that they achieved this incompletely. he posits the existence of true lyctorhood; palamedes views two becoming one, one being two, as something admirable, a truth not yet seen—grand instead of petty.

we also see somebody else who expresses a similiar belief in a perfected lyctorhood, one of the original lyctors, mercymorn the first:

the original lyctors did not seek out to merge with their cavalier, their other half in necro-cav terms, and only did so as a result of a lie, the idea of a one-way energy transfer. from mercymorn's perspective true lyctorhood is a process that preserves the cavalier; from palamedes' perspective true lyctorhood is a process that merges the cavalier and necromancer to form something new, the truest response to the call of "one flesh, one end" yet seen. palamedes' conception of lyctorhood is removed from the original context of lyctorhood's formation, and is shaped heavily by the ideals of the society he and cam were raised in.

If the cavalier and the necromancer do not take "one flesh, one end" as a maxim for their passion for each other, their bond is nonexistent. They must each take the other as their ideal. […] Their love is the love that fears only for the other: the love of service on both sides. Some have tried to characterise this relationship as the cavalier's obedience to the necromancer, but the necromancer must be in turn obedient to the needs of the cavalier without being asked or prompted: theirs is arguably the heavier burden. — Tamsyn Muir, A Sermon on Cavaliers and Necromancers

suffice to say, i do not think paul is a defiance of the empire's ideals, so much as a perfected expression of them; paul is the embodiment of the love of service on both ends, the product of a mutual death. their choice to die as two to become one was exactly in line with what a necromancer and a cavalier are intended to do.

"One flesh" is the underpinning of our whole Empire [...] One end is one empire. — Tamsyn Muir, A Sermon on Cavaliers and Necromancers

[celaenaeiln]

One of Dick's greatest strengths is his ability to manipulate every single person in existence.

Genuinely I think this makes him the smartest person in the room. Not only is he a brilliant detective, but the fact that he's able to outmaneuver and control virtually everyone including other geniuses and masterminds makes him the most terrifying. There's a reason why his enemies have give up using intelligence against him and simply resorting to brute force.

Now hold your horses before you bring your crowbars and let me explain.

Dick once said, "On an even playing field, I always win."

And it's true. But how do you even the field if your enemies are geniuses, detectives, or metas?

"Well, if you don't like how the table is it, turn over the table."

And that's exactly what Dick does.

Let's begin from his younger years. Dick is 19, newly out of Batman's wing and in no position to take on a skilled mercenary on by himself. But the mercenary isn't going to stop just because he says please. So.

DEATHSTROKE WAS CLEARLY NOT EXPECTING TO GET OUTPLAYED BY A 19 YEAR OLD.

"You're right Slade, he's not a fool so choose a dumber kidnapping victim next time."

Ofcourse this is the least of his abilities.

This cover is perfect because it shows how two of them are literally in a constant game of chess. And evidence of Dick's tactical expertise was never more obvious than the bombing of Bludhaven.

By all means Dick had won.

And he's right. Dick is incredibly intelligent, and he has to be given how he maneuvered the entirety of the world to save him city. Not just the heroes and villains, but everyone - the heroes, the villains, the government, the civilians, the organized crime - everyone. He ruled the freaking world at that moment.

@haroldhighballjordan actually made a post about this that explains this scene so well

But yeah Slade knew he lost so in his petty vengeance what he basically did was set the whole fucking chessboard on fire.

The perfection to which Dick had calculated and moved millions of people to force Slade into abandoning their game and leave him shrieking and seething in rage over his loss. Another reminder that this game only happened because Dick manipulated Rose away from her father, away from his control to a better life.

Spyral is one of my favorite comics because it shows just how good of a manipulator Dick Grayson is.

One of Dick's coldest traits is his ability to manipulate a situation to fit his needs.

In the beginning Dick wanted to calm the meta down and take him in but the second his opponent let out the slightest hint of weakness, look how fast he flips his words. This man is brilliant.

And his planning came to fruition as the meta wore himself out, allowing Dick to take control of the situation and the opponent with no harm to himself-a quick, two second exit. He can manipulate emotions, thoughts, and people to get what he wants like he's playing chess with a child.

But it's not just other people- he can completely change himself to become a whole new person. In the earlier chapters, Dick is learning how to shoot a gun for the agency.

Dick's a terrible shot. Not a single bullet lands in the center of the target-there's no way he's ever going to shoot well....or atleast that's what he wants you to think-

"Yeah, well, that's what spies do."

"We lie."

He's a puppet master and the final boss.

part 2

[irndad]

hi im back! okey so def can see spencer still wanting to hug and snuggle with you even when fighting or mad at each other. he even gets genuinely ??? confused ??? when you try to sleep on the couch instead of in bed at night. he holds you and either reader or him is like "i know we are snuggling right now but i am still super pissed off at you." lol i can just see it. he may be petty when mad but he wont stop trying to touch you bc its a biological need of his and no argument is more important than needing you 🥺

enjoy this I did it very fast!!!! ily

He knows he’s not easy to be with sometimes. She would never say it, but it’s true. He doesn’t always get the jokes, sometimes pushes things too far and without even knowing it the ground gets pulled out from under him. 

And sleep- Sleep is so complicated. The memory of the first time she slept in his bed is etched into a place he could never erase. Spencer had always had trouble sleeping, either fear or alertness plaguing him into the late hours of the night. He used to lie awake, the kind of exhausted that feels like it’s seeping out of your bones, while constantly facts he’d unwittingly memorized about how sleep deprivation can cause brain damage. 

But then she’d come into his life. All soft words and gentle disposition, and there really is something magic about the way that everything just dissipates when her warm, soft body curves into his own. He’s slept well almost every night since. 

Except today, she isn’t coming to bed. 

It’s his fault, and he knows it. He wasn’t being fair. She hadn’t seen him for two weeks (and he hadn’t slept nearly enough without the weight of her form beside him since the last time he saw her) and she’d said that she wanted to be prioritized more. 

“I haven’t seen you in weeks, Spence!”

His head was killing him. Was it actually possible, for a headache to kill you? Her voice is audibly upset, and it’s alarming how he could be the cause of it. 

“Please,” he had said through labored effort, “Can we talk about this later?” 

“When would you like to talk about it? Because I don’t ever know if you’re leaving-“

“Do you even know what it is that I do?  That it’s not a choice for me to go? I have to do this. I can’t pick and choose and honestly, I don’t want to. If you don’t get that, we’re not doing what I thought we were doing.”

It sounds foreign, his own voice. And it’s after he’s said it that the sick taste reaches his throat because oh, that means the end. Her lovely face is unreadable for a brief moment, before something like grief splays over her expression.

It’s silent for a beat, and Spencer wishes he could swallow the words back up, rewind his life like a battered VHS tape where he’s not so stupid to mess up the one thing that’s ever brought him peace.

“You’re not yourself, Spencer. I’m gonna give you a minute.”

A minute, it turns out, is hours in the living room. She hadn’t left, thank fucking god, but she hadn’t come back. Of course she hadn’t. She wasn’t the one who needed to apologize. 

He’s just so tired. 

He thinks of her so-sweet voice, the curve of cheek- the junction of her neck and shoulder, and how much he would like to have her pressed against him. He pads out into the living room like a nervous puppy, and sees her sleeping on the olive green couch she had picked out. Her hair was splayed across the arm of the sofa, and her head laid on a throw pillow, their fuzziest blanket draped across her form. 

His first thought is how low he’s dropped, that he’s jealous of a blanket. 

His second his that she is not coming to bed. He sits beside her gingerly, and the scent of her body wash lingers in the air. 

“Are you planning on coming to bed?”

“I didn’t think you’d want me to.” He can tell she wants to sound cold, but the truth is much worse; she sounds guarded. 

“I always want you to.” It’s the most honest thing he’s said today, and it’s just not fair, how much he revolves around her. How he has waited 14 days, 13 hours and 34 minutes to hold her again and managed to ruin it within the first 20 minutes of having seen her again. He grabs her hand, soft and pliant against his in a way that almost makes his heart leap. “Please? Come to bed?”

Her gaze softens, the warmth and light that guides him back in her eyes, and he hopes his relief isn’t too visible. It’s then that she drinks him in. It feels too revealing like she can see right through him. His clothes are old. He’d rushed off the jet to see her, and the half moon circles under his eyes only lend to the unimpressive picture of himself. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” she breathes, touching the side of his face. He instantly leans into it, the contact more than he’d be willing to give up to save his dignity. “Come here.”

She wraps her arms around him, and he pulls her into his lap, squeezing her tight to his chest, like she might disappear. 

“I’m still mad at you,” she says, looking at him with such affection it betrays her words.

“That’s okay,” he says into her collarbone, “As long as I still have you.”

[nativegirltapes]

angel and drew while on a ......."break"......

notes: ask and you shall receive! angel lowkey look like a bitch in this + this is kind of long for hcs, but i think u guys like the drama so i really wanted to try and cover most bases. if you want me to clarify or maybe even make a part 2 lmk ! <3

honestly, they’re on “breaks” quite frequently due to angel’s impulsive nature. in the spur of the moment when she’s upset she’ll tell drew “don’t contact me! don’t talk to me! i need time!” and storm off in the car he’s literally paying for. sometimes he’ll try to follow after her, but sometimes if it’s something stupid she’s upset about, he usually just gives her time because he knows she’ll come around.

but when it’s an actual break from one another (because of all the odessa drama), they’re both going through it. angel is sad but is also taking more time to focus on school because she thinks it’s all she really has aside from drew. she isolates herself from almost everyone, besides frat guys she invites over to hopefully fill some void? which void? she’s not sure. she never actually does anything with them, kind of just trying to prove to herself that she can have anyone she wants and she doesn’t need drew. but how is that benefitting literally anyone? again, she’s not sure.

drew doesn’t really isolate when you’re on a break because he does enough of that on normal days. drew tries to spend more time with his friends, specifically his guy friends. he’ll invite them over or go over to their houses. his friends will ask how you guys are doing and drew never ever wants to paint you as a bad person, even when you are on a break for a “pointless” reason, he’ll just lie and say “she’s going through some stuff right now so we’re just kinda taking a break right now, you know?” he’s the sweetest to you, even when you’re not exactly together :((

they both have nights where they really miss each other so they’ll just call each other and ask if they want to see each other, they never say no. it’s kind of an unspoken rule for the both of them; if one calls saying they want to see the other, you can’t say no (but it’s not like they want to say no anyways). it’s so silly because whenever they do this it’s kind of awkward. they’re making small talk because they’re both too stubborn to make it seem like they “care” again. but eventually they both give in and it usually ends in a heavy makeout sesh. “this doesn’t mean we’re back together you know?”

angel is so petty so sometimes she’ll post pictures of her out and about (partying) on her instagram stories and purposefully have guys in her pics because she knows drew will see it. when she realizes that drew seen it but didn’t say anything she’s throwing a fit. but in all honesty, drew doesn’t even care that much. he knows angel’s tactics and knows that she wouldn’t dare do anything.

there’s a lot of late night phone calls where they usually get pretty deep, asking each other if they should just break up for good/a longer period of time. angel is always like “i want this to work drew.” and drew is like “i’m giving you the space you want. what more do you need?” he’s too sweet. angel is so messy though because she knows she has no intentions to break up with drew ever, she just loves causing a scene.

i feel like the worse drew would do when they’re on a break is hang out with one of his girl friends one on one. and while no, there’s no romantic intentions, he still would never tell angel that. he’s just able to decipher platonic and romantic whereas angel’s insane ass is not ………. kind of.

angel is shitposting on every platform she has, especially her finsta and tiktok. sometimes when she’s feeling extra fiesty she’ll even remove drew as a follower just so she can make him “overthink”, but because he’s an old man, he literally do not gaf! half the time it’s just her ranting or talking about her day since she’s used to sharing everything about her day with drew :(

[cyripticchronicler]

Hiii I have a request for Matt Murdock I was thinking him with an reader who’s job has gotten more stressful and it starts to get to them they get dizzy and lightheaded but brush it off until it happens around Matt and he can sense that it happened and he gets all protective and caring

Preferably fem reader but gn is also totally fine so everyone can enjoy it !

If this isn’t your cup of tea I totally get that !

In His Arms

Thank you for requesting, sweetie. I kind of went off track a little and I'm sorry :( (If you want me to rewrite it I happily will!) But either way, I hope you enjoy it!

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: Overwhelmed by your growing workload and the pressure to prove yourself, you keep your struggles hidden—even from Matt. When the stress leads to a breakdown, he pulls you back, reminding you that love means sharing the load.

TW: Panic attack, mentions of anxiety, pet names (I can't help it), swearing

Masterlist

Stress was a familiar feeling to you. Its sharp claws seemed always to be gripping onto you tightly. You’ve learnt how to manage the lack of air in your lungs and the painful squeezing of your heart whenever you go through a rough patch. 

That’s why the feeling of anxiety creeping up your spine was carelessly ignored. You regret that you shrugged the feeling away, too focused on your work. It’s much easier to calm your bones' nervous trembles before it worsens. 

But now it’s too late. 

You’ve been so distracted by your work. Your colleague had just gone on maternity leave after giving birth to twins. You weren’t sure what would happen to her workload, but you certainly didn’t think it would all be passed down to you. 

Now all your brain can seem to focus on is the deadlines coming closer by the minute. They flash in your mind each time you consider taking a break. You never take a break - this is your one chance to prove to your boss that you’re ready to take on more responsibility. The rumours floating around the office of potential promotions, motivating your hard work ethic. 

You’ve always been a hard worker; had always been distracted by what you consider important rather than what was essential- like eating, or sleeping. Each time you got away with it. You didn’t have anyone to look after you. 

Until Matt came along. 

He’s such an attentive man and would be even without his heightened senses. You knew he’d be worried about your desperation to complete your work, completely gone to the rest of the world as your stomach grumbled louder and your under eyes got darker. 

He’s a natural worrier. That’s what compelled you to keep your stress a secret. It’s hard lying to a human lie detector,  so you’ve taken to avoiding instead. It’s easy to avoid him when you’re so busy, anyway. A couple of messages per day seems to keep him subdued for now and you’re glad; it’s all the attention you could offer.

Your lip is pulled between your teeth, chewing hard enough to draw the taste of metallic blood. None of the words before you make sense through your blurry eyesight. As you attempt to read the same sentence for the third time, you angrily rip off your glasses and groan. 

Black spots take over your vision as you rub at your eyes aggressively, hoping the sickeningly dizzy feeling that’s making your throat feel tight will go away. It’s useless, yet you only allow yourself a second break before gulping down some water and returning to work. 

Your phone rings as soon as your fingertips touch the keys of your laptop and a curse slips out of your mouth before you can stop it. You hate yourself for the spark of annoyance that has your blood boiling when you read Matt’s name on your phone. 

He’d already left three messages from before. As well as a voice message that you hadn’t yet listened to; you were practically forced to answer the phone so as not to draw concern. You’re determined not to burden him with your issues - he’s a vigilante for God’s sake, he doesn’t need your petty problems on top of his own. 

“Hey, Sweetheart.” His deep voice crackles through your phone speaker. Instantly, your shoulders relax and your eyes flutter shut. He’s the bright sun during cold days, the flowers during winter; beautiful and everything you long to see.

“Hey, Matt.” You respond lazily, mustering up enough energy to open your eyes and read the words on your laptop screen. You use one hand to type while the other holds your phone to your ear. You can hear his smile in his voice. “I’ve barely talked to you all day. I thought you were coming to mine for dinner. Did you get my voicemail?”

Guilt nags at your stomach. “I’m so sorry, Matt,” the little sigh you can hear through the other line has your heart splintering, “I’ve just been so busy with staying on top of my work as well as Mara’s-”

“It’s okay. I know how busy you’ve been. I could come by with dinner. I can do some work while you do yours.” You hate to diminish the hope in his voice, but you know he'd be worried about your obvious stress as it shines through in your old clothing and unbrushed hair (not that he’d be able to see but feel). 

“Can we do a raincheck?” You whisper, guilt nagging at your stomach. His voice is so sweet. So understanding. It makes you want to cry. “Of course, baby. Try to eat, please. And take breaks. I’ll call you tomorrow; maybe we can go out for lunch.”

“Maybe,” If I’ve got enough work done, “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

You drop your phone on your lap as soon as the call ends. For once, you’re thankful for the large amounts of work, as it distracts you from the guilt that claws and tugs at your skin. 

⚝⚝⚝

The second time Matt calls, you’re nose-deep in paperwork that was slammed down on your desk. ‘More of Mara’s work,’ your boss said before leaving you with the rasing anxiety in your chest. Thoughts of taking your lunch break didn’t even assimilate in the blurry haze of your mind. 

Only the shrill ring of your phone brought you out of your bubble of work. Sighing, you don’t bother to check the name before picking it up, as you already know who it is. “Hey, Matt.” Your hand still scribbles words on the paper, phone pressed awkwardly against your ear by your shoulder.

“Hey. I called to see if you wanted lunch, but you sound busy.” Unlike last time, his voice doesn’t soothe your racing heart. If anything he makes it worse. “I’m so sorry,” you hope he can hear the sincerity in your voice, “I miss you. As soon as the crazy amount of work has subsided, I’ll call you.”

“Is there any way I can help?” You can’t help but smile at his caring nature, wanting nothing more than to be with him. But you know if you went to lunch you’d be too focused on work to be good company. “Remember that I love you?”

His laugh makes your heart melt, anxiety melting away with it. “Of course. As long as you remember that I love you. I won’t call so I don’t distract you from your work, but please take care of yourself. I love you so much, honey.”

“I love you too.” You hang up the phone and instead of returning to work immediately, you just sit there in silence, staring at the piles of paperwork in front of you. The sting of unshed tears joined by a nervous feeling in your stomach is enough to make you want to throw up. You’re so tired. 

You should have listened to your body. You should have gone out for lunch and taken a break. But instead, you got back to work, ignoring the bright red signs of a panic attack on the rise. 

⚝⚝⚝

Having been diagnosed with anxiety when you were younger, you’ve learned to identify signs of an upcoming panic attack. First, you begin to feel dizzy, then a little lightheaded. Your heart begins to hurt, and your stomach starts to turn. Then you can’t breathe, and you’re scratching at your skin to give your lungs more space to breathe. 

Now, as you stand in your kitchen, staring at the piles of paperwork that cover the dining room table, it’s hard to ignore how your body reacts to the sight of the never-ending workload; the feelings you so carelessly ignored before forced to be brought to attention. 

Your eyesight is unfocused, and you are unable to concentrate on the hand you’re using to prepare a small dinner. Your hands violently shake by your side and feel incredibly weak. But that isn’t what worries you; it’s the lack of air entering your lungs that has your eyes squeezed shut. 

Feelings of worthlessness travel up your throat and block your airways. You’re having a panic attack. The realization has you sliding down the fridge and to the floor, tears running freely down your flushed cheeks. You bring your knees to your chest, hands scratching at your throat as if it would allow air into your beaten lungs. 

Your body feels so weak, you’re sure you wouldn’t be able to stand up if you tried. You’re lost to the darkness and anguish the past weeks have wrought upon you; lost to the cruel insecurities your mind created to fool you into this vicious despair. 

No matter how hard you cry, how hard you claw and scrape at your skin, you still can’t breathe. Hopelessness washes over your chilled skin, pulling you into its shadows. You can do nothing but let it take you as its own, the fight for air warring off as you succumb to the darkness that spots your eyes. 

And as your eyes flutter shut, you fail to notice the opening of the window in the living room. You fail to notice the hurried steps and the gloved hands that hold your face gently. Or the man’s desperate calls of your name. 

⚝⚝⚝

The first thing you notice when you regain consciousness is the exhaustion that wracks through your frail body. The second thing is the man who lays next to you on your bed. 

Matt. 

He’s sleeping peacefully, chest moving up and down in slow breaths. You frown, unsure of why he’s here. The last thing you remember was you freaking out about the workload and having a panic attack. You must have fainted from the lack of air, you consider then immediately cringe. How embarrassing. 

“What are you thinking about?” You jump at the sound of Matt’s deep voice, eyes shooting up to watch a small smile grace his face at your reaction. “Why are you here?” The question comes out ruder than you intended, but Matt’s smile doesn't waver. 

“I was on patrol,” he begins, pulling you into his warm embrace, “and figured I’d stop by to check on you. I wasn’t going to come in, just listen-”

“-that’s not creepy at all-”

“-then I heard you panicking. Your heart was beating really fast and you were breathing really heavily. You were already passed out from lack of air by the time I was inside.” He pulls you in tighter like the moment still haunts him. You trace your fingertips gently down his bare arm, ear against his chest as you listen to his heartbeat. 

“What happened, sweetheart?” He asks when it became clear you weren’t going to speak. You sigh. “I’ve been a little stressed lately. And I should’ve listened to my body but I didn’t. There’s just so much work and such little time. I can’t handle all of this workload.” The familiar bite of tears has you shoving your head in Matt’s neck, letting him hold you tightly and reassure you that everything will be okay. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? We could have worked through your stress together,” He questions quietly and you shake your head in response. “You take the burden of everyone else’s problems, and still go out every night to face all the bad guys- I just didn’t want to burden you with my problems on top of all the rest.”

He pulls away and you try not to frown at the lack of contact. Slowly, his fingers move under your chin and compel you to look into his beautiful, unfocused eyes that sparkle in the city lights shining through your windows. “You are not a burden. Your problems are not a burden. I want to be here for you. I want you to tell me what’s going on in that smart little head of yours-” He flicks your forehead playfully before giving it a small kiss “-And I want you to know you can talk to me.”

You nod your head slowly, feeling like a child that’s just been scolded. “Okay.” He lays there in silence for a moment, seemingly contemplating his words before he speaks, “I think you need to talk to your boss,” you open your mouth to protest but he cuts you off with a gentle squeeze, “This amount of work isn’t healthy. I mean, why hasn’t the workload been separated and passed around to all of your co-workers? It’s fucking stupid if you ask me. She’s obviously taking advantage of your brilliance-”

“-Matt,” You cut him off with an amused smile. His eyes glint at the sound of your giggles as if that was his mission all along and he won first place. 

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me. If anything I’m being selfish.” He grins cheekily, kissing your palm as it raises to cup his cheek. “And why, pray tell, are you being selfish?” Your smile is sly and knowing. 

“Because I’m doing this to get my beautiful girl back and into my arms. Foggy isn’t as good company as you, y’know.” You giggle, holding him tightly as your mind settles on a decision. “I’ve missed you too.”

Tomorrow you’ll call your boss and ask for a lessened workload. But for now, you’re just going to lay in bed with the man you love dearly and let him hold you tightly. 

[kelstey]

Deja Vu

mattheo riddle x reader

warnings : smut

❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃

your back slammed against the wall, mattheo's body pressed up to the front of you as the two of you eagerly made out. you weren't meant to be in this position, but the two of you couldn't seem to get enough of each other.

his hand clung to your waist tightly, his lips hungrily kissing down your jaw then down your neck. he was bound to leave marks that everyone would see for the next few days.

"mattheo," you moaned out.

"yes?" he looked up at you as he pressed kisses down the valley between your breasts.

"we shouldn't be doing this," you said, it was a lie. you most definitely should be doing this. you needed him so bad. the two of you had broken up a few months prior - it was toxic.

there were too many arguments over the smallest and petty things. the two of you eventually had enough of each other and ended things, but the feelings were very much still there - unbeknownst to your friends that you would sneak out most nights to meet mattheo.

they'd be so disappointed if they knew that you were busy getting your brains fucked out every night and not just 'going on a walk to clear your head'.

"if you don't want this, then why are you so soaked for me, hmm?" mattheo's fingers teased you through your skirt.

"shut up," a smile broke onto your face as he smirked at your reaction.

he knew you couldn't get enough of him - no matter how many times you said you hated him. you both knew you both loved each other, and likely always would.

it only made the breakup harder to get over whenever you were having sex with another guy. turns out moaning out your exes name during sex was not the best idea.

you didn't mean to, it simply slipped out. how else were you meant to finish with the thought of somebody else? even fucking others boys wasn't that good. they never filled you or stretched you the way mattheo did.

they didn't know your body the way mattheo did. your sweet spots, the way you love your hair getting pulled, the mix of degradation and praise.

the way that you loved the feeling of getting choked - especially in missionary which mattheo always loved as he always thought it was more intimate.

that and the way he could watch each singular expression on your face as he cause you multiple orgasms within minutes of each other. you would be physically unable to walk for hours - even sometimes days afterwards.

"i need you so bad," mattheo lifted your body and placed you down onto his bed. the only other bed you ever felt safe in.

mattheo took your bra off with one hand, something he had perfected with you. without a second to spare his mouth enclosed itself around one of your nipples, and a hand toying around with the other just the way you like it.

you threw your head back onto the pillow, the way he could satisfy you without always penetrating you was endearing.

"stop teasing," you moaned.

"i thought you loved it when i did that?" mattheo peppered kisses down your stomach, stopping just above your skirt.

"i do but i need your dick in me right fucking now," mattheo obliged happily - whatever you asked, you received.

within seconds he slid himself into, despite the million times you've had sex with him - you could never fully get used to his large size. he was always slow at first as he slid in and out of you, making sure to tease you and have you begging for more.

then he'd work up his pace, his mouth reattaching back onto your nipple, the other hand around your neck as you turned into a moaning, whimpering mess underneath him.

the sounds of you alone made him cum. he would often get himself off to the beautiful sound of you screaming his name when he was alone. the thought of simply your face could get him off too.

"gonna be a good girl for me and cum around my cock?" mattheo panted as he felt himself draw closer to finishing. "look at you, covered in my hickies. only i can give you them, no one else. i want everyone to know you're mine."

-

"no fucking way," pansy's jaw nearly dropped, you looked up at her as you were eating.

"what?" you asked.

"mattheo and cho? what an unusual pairing," you felt your heart break into pieces, mattheo? the same one who was saying he loved you a couple days ago?

"what do you mean?" you looked around the hall and your eyes fell upon the pair. he was sat a couple rows down at your table, cho sat on his lap. you watched as he played with her hair, a hand on her thigh as he spoke to his friends. the same way he used to do with you.

"do you want to leave? i think the breakfast i just ate is away to come back up," pansy lightly laughed, unsure of how to react to you. she wasn't sure wether you were about to explode with laughter, heartbreak or anger.

"yeah let's," you quickly got up from the table and left with pansy by your side.

mattheo's eyes fell onto you as you left the hall, had you seen him? he was desperate to get your attention despite having a whole other girl on his lap.

you had his still fresh hickies on your body - but he was already with another girl. was he playing some sort of sick joke? who does that?

-

you sat on draco's lap, giving him a kiss on the cheek as he spoke away to blaise. "hey baby," you smiled at him.

"hey babe," he smiled back at you, you couldn't help but internally cringe as you pretended to be coupled up with draco.

he was there when you spotted mattheo with cho on his lap, he quickly ran after you and made a deal. he had been wanting some other slytherin girl's attention, and thought it would be an amazing idea if you two pretended to date.

you could make mattheo mad, and draco could then possibly try get with his girl. you were more than happy - belated at the proposal. except for the fact you had to be all lovey dovey with draco.

he was hot to say the least, but 'dating' someone you always thought of as a friend was slightly weird. but it wasn't unexpected as the two of you had your moments where you flirted - only innocently, of course.

draco's hand was on your thigh as you joined in the conversation between him and blaise, some random stuff as usual. you heard someone walk into the room - not even bothering to look as you could already smell the scent of vanilla, cigarettes and a slight woody smell.

mattheo riddle.

he cleared his throat, coughing. this caught the attention of the three of you, all turning around in unison to look at the boy. his fists were clenched at his side, eyes burning into both you and draco.

"didnt know you and malfoy were a thing now," mattheo's words seemed harsh - wether he meant them to be or not.

"nothing official," you flashed mattheo a fake smile.

"yeah, right," he said before sitting down on the sofa opposite the two of you. his eyes didn't leave you once, well, mainly draco's pale hand that was placed extremely highly on your thigh.

"something wrong, riddle?" you tilted your head to the side as you noticed his eyes focused on draco's hand.

"fine," he spat out.

"well, my dorm?" draco asked you and you nodded, wanting to escape the high-tension situation. you got up and fixed your skirt as draco also got up.

draco placed his hand on your lower back, walking you out of the common room. you looked back to see mattheo's eyes burning holes into the back of you. you turned back around, smirking at yourself.

"you think it's working?" you asked draco.

"is that even a question? he looked like he was away to cave my head in," draco sat on the edge of his bed, his arms supporting him. was it bad to say he looked incredibly hot? his school shirt was rolled up just above his elbows, revealing his veins.

"you know what i think would piss him off even more?" you walked over to draco, standing between his legs.

"what's that?" he smirked.

"if we fucked," you placed your fingers underneath his chin, making him look up at you. his hands travelled up the side of your thighs, then stopping at your hips.

"you don't need to tell me twice."

-

draco malfoy was a better shag than you originally thought. he pleased you in all sorts of ways - switching between being submissive and letting you ride him to dominate where he pounded any remaining dignity you had left, out of you.

you told him not to be shy on leaving hickies and any sort of marks. he didn't take that lightly either.

"draco are you fucking joking me?! i cant even cover half of these!" you scolded him, your fingers went over the sensitive purple on your neck.

"you told me to not be shy," he shrugged as he slipped back into his uniform.

you rolled your eyes, "draco where are my tights?" you panicked. you nearly flipped his whole room upside down trying to find any sign of the thin black material. you pulled your skirt up from the back of your thighs, spotting the dark red hand marks draco left.

"i didn't even realise you had that in you," you turned around to draco, referring to the large hand marks.

"you wanted to make him jealous," he said.

"jealous, yes, not to murder me or you! he's gonna go apeshit when he sees these!" you said.

"isn't that part of the plan?" draco looked at you confused.

"i suppose. come on now, there's gonna be hardly any food left for dinner," you said and the two of you made your way down to the great hall.

all eyes on you was an understatement. the hall quickly went quiet when you and draco walked in. the two of you still both slightly flushed in the face, the love bites very much visible on your neck.

theodore whistled, "didn't know you had that in you malfoy."

"y/n said the same exact thing," draco smirked and you lightly smacked his arm. "what? i'm not lying."

"shut your gob, i've already had enough of everyone staring," you said before digging into your food. you looked up across the large table, mattheo.

his eyes were on you. did he really just spend his whole time staring at you whenever possible? you put your head back down, awkwardly rubbing your neck.

"round 2 later?" draco smirked.

"don't even think about it, malfoy," a voice said and you looked up. mattheo?? again??

"you're not the boss of me," you snapped back. E

you could see the rage in mattheo's eyes. "we need to talk."

you looked at draco for approval, he nodded and you got up. you and mattheo walked out of the hall, he walked in front of you, well more so sped walked.

"slow down!" you tried to catch up to him.

"what are you doing to me?" he turned around and stopped in his tracks.

"i'm not doing anything," you said.

"yes you are! you're killing me y/n! do you know how it feels to see the girl i'm in love with walk in half an hour late to dinner, clearly having have just shagged the one and only malfoy?!" he took a step closer to you.

you gulped, unsure what to say. his closeness was also killing you. "i didn't think you'd care."

"why wouldn't i?" mattheos eyes softened as he spoke.

"why would you?! you were the one with cho's tongue half way down your throat just two days after we fucked! i know we're broken up but do you really think i don't still have feelings for you? i know you're smarter than that, riddle."

"i was only doing it for a reaction from you! clearly i got one but never did i think you would go and shag malfoy!"

"are you joking me? are we in primary or something? why would you even do that?!"

"i don't know! i thought it was a good idea and i wanted to move on from you - i couldn't just keep hooking up with you and pretend i'm not absolutely in love with you!"

"you're a fucking idiot, mattheo. i know you're a bit stupid but really!" you rubbed your temple.

"i'm sorry, okay? i just wanted you to show you cared but now that i look back i realise it was childish. i really do love you, y/n. i always will," mattheo's face was a mere few inches away from yours.

"i'll never understand you, you know that?" you let out a small giggle.

"oh i know. you're the only one who can put up with me anyways. i missed you, cho was a shit kissed," mattheo said.

"i don't really wanna hear about you kissing another girl right now," you said.

"well i also really don't want to see you with another guys hickies all over your necks but here we are," you rolled your eyes.

"i hate you," you held back a smile.

"i love you too. now let me show you how it truly feels to be fucked."

❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃

[sttoru]

!!! geto hate fuck turning into something really damn passionate! reader repeatedly moaning apologies until geto had given us a bath of his warm cum <3

ONE MORE, ONCE MORE.

⟣ note. listen this turned out way toooo detailed than what i had expected it to be HLPP i got lost in the story irlly just wanted to make this a 100 word drabble oopsies

⟣ tags. mean dom / ex!geto suguru x female reader. smut. hate fucking, mention of slapping, creampie, dirty talk; degradation, name calling; ‘slut’, spriiinkle of overstimulation, slight size difference, uhh dumbification once i think.

all you did was throw non-stop insults at him — about his attitude, abilities, skills. . . maybe his choice of clothing too. well, that last one was purely added due to your own pettiness.

the heated argument had started when you came over to your ex-boyfriend’s house to pick up the last few items you had left there before the break up. the reason of why you two decided to go off against one another was long forgotten.

that was solely due to the underlying tension between you two. there was something about seeing suguru in such a furious mood that was extremely attractive — he secretly had the exact same thoughts about you too.

the sexual tension seemed to peak once suguru had stopped your hand from coming in touch with his face. it was intended to be a slap to the face out of frustration, however nothing came out of it.

. . maybe except for the fact that you were the one getting slapped now—though in a more sexual way;

“sorry? yeah, hah, too fuckin’ late.” suguru spits whilst keeping your wrists pinned above your head, hips ramming against yours, throbbing cock now balls deep inside you, “should’ve taught twice before catching an attitude with me, sweetheart.”

oh, he was livid. that ‘sweetheart’ didn’t hold its usual sweetness. it was filled with spite, though just a crumble of longing laid underneath. as if he missed you — as if he still yearned for you.

“‘m sorry, sorr—sorry, suguru !” you mewl. that’s all you could manage to do under the grasp of that man as he had you pinned to the couch in the living room, your face a crying mess from both the argument and the turn of events.

one thing about suguru that you did certainly miss was the way he could pleasure you. he did it so well, so precisely—no other man you had been with could ever compare. it’d be a lie to say that you weren’t glad your little visit turned out like this;

“ah, fuck—missed seeing your pretty face like this,” suguru whispers under his breath, lips grazing against yours for a single second. it was enough to leave you stunned and even more embarrassed. exactly what he was trying to accomplish, “missed seeing you cry, drool and beg for my cock. missed seeing you being a little slut for me.”

your nails were digging onto suguru’s triceps, teary eyes looking at him like you were begging him to help you reach your climax — for him not to stop once you were so close to that point of no return. you knew your ex had a thing for edging you, though that’s the last thing you want right now.

not when this felt so right. the way suguru was fucking you was rough and harsh, like he was outing his frustrations on you, but it also slowly started to turn into something more passionate. seeing your tears, hearing your sobs and your pleas definitely made suguru soften up a bit more.

it was almost like he was back to his usual self; the soft and gentle boy you had met in high school. it didn’t seem like the suguru you had broken up with; the guy whose ideals clashed with yours.

“fuuuuck, ‘m sorry, suguru—promise w-won’t say anything like that anymore !” you try and beg once more, though were quickly shut up when suguru went in for a kiss. you instantly melt, not caring about any consequences in this moment—not when he’s fucking you so well. treating you so well.

his tongue invaded your mouth for a couple seconds, groaning at the feeling, before pulling away with a small grin. his harsh thrusting motions eventually turn into gentle yet frustrating grinding ones. he drove his cock into your sopping wet cunt so extremely slow that it made you beg once more.

“shh, shh. don’t overuse that little brain of yours and just cum for me, yeah? that’s all i need you to do, darling.” suguru encourages with a cocky yet sweet smirk.

he was proud that he still had it; the power and skills to drive you insane with pleasure and satisfaction. especially when he was grinding into you ever so slowly, tip grazing against your cervix with each motion.

you were right at the edge of euphoria; almost there. as was suguru, which was obvious due to the increased intensity of his hip movements, switching once more to fierce thrusts. the coil in your stomach was threatening to snap—

“mnhh, can’t wait to fill that pretty pussy again.” the dark-haired man teases through a series of grunts, already imagining the perfect picture: your cunt overflowing with that familiar sticky liquid, watching it dribble out of you.

claiming you as his. even if you weren’t anymore, suguru still had the urge to. he needed - no - desired you back. he wanted to show you those feelings and thus decides to do exactly that by finishing your little session in the best way possible,

“oh, fuck!”

whilst you were still babbling incoherent apologies, suguru had already given up on holding back. he swore to have never released so much. ever.

the warmth filling your insides was a sensation you hadn’t thought you’d have missed this much. you gasp and finish yourself off solely due to the feeling of suguru’s cum spreading in your womb.

“. . . i missed this — i missed you.” your ex-boyfriend sighs and collapses on top of you, not even bothering to pull out. you instinctively wrap your arms around his back and keep him there.

suguru doesn’t protest and just rests his head next to yours, kissing your cheek gently. a simple peck, yet it was filled with emotion.

“missed you too.” you reply quietly. it stays silent like that for a while. there was no need to speak any more—not when the silence spoke volumes;

neither of you seemed to be in the mood to separate from each other. not again.