#i just feel the need to hide everything all the time

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Coming Home to You

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Fandom: UConn Women’s Basketball

Summary: it’s senior night a very big night for Paige indeed.. and you can’t miss it not when you’re each other’s home

For the past few weeks, keeping this secret had been absolute torture. Every time Paige texted me about how much she wished I could be at her senior night, my heart ached. I wanted to tell her, wanted to ease that longing in her voice, but I knew it would be worth it. Everyone was in on it—her teammates, the coaching staff, even her parents. The only person in the dark? Paige herself.

Now, as I sat on the plane with my niece squirming beside me, I felt the anticipation bubbling in my chest.

“Auntie, are we there yet?” my five-year-old niece, Aria, whined, her little legs swinging beneath her seat.

“Almost, baby,” I reassured her, smoothing down her curls. “Paige is gonna be so happy to see you.”

She grinned, showing off the gap where she had just lost a tooth last week. “She’s gonna be so surprised, right?”

I laughed, nodding. “Yeah, she has no idea we’re coming.”

Aria giggled, kicking her feet harder. She adored Paige, and the feeling was mutual. Anytime we FaceTimed, Paige always asked about her, sending little gifts and promising to teach her how to dribble properly one day.

As the plane began its descent, my stomach tightened. I had spent months away from Paige, only seeing her through a screen, listening to her talk about the season, about how it felt knowing this was her final year in a UConn jersey. She deserved to have her people there, and I needed to be there for her—just like she’d always been for me.

By the time we landed, the rush of excitement made my fingers tingle. Paige’s mom picked us up, greeting us with a warm hug before driving straight to campus. The plan was simple: hide in the tunnels until the seniors were honored, then walk out as they announced her name.

Aria bounced in her car seat, unable to contain herself. “I wanna run to Paige first! Can I? Can I?”

“Of course, baby,” I smiled, pressing a kiss to her temple. “She’s gonna love it.”

Game Night: Gampel Pavilion

The energy inside Gampel was electric. The crowd was buzzing, the students loud as ever, and the court gleamed under the bright lights. My heart pounded as I hid just behind the tunnel entrance, holding Aria’s hand tightly while the announcer began reading out names.

Each senior walked out to cheers, their families meeting them at center court. Paige was the last one to be called.

“And finally, our captain, our leader—number five, Paige Bueckers!”

The crowd erupted. My breath hitched as I peeked around the tunnel, watching Paige step forward, waving to the fans, her eyes already glassy with emotion. She thought her parents were the only ones waiting for her—but that was about to change.

“Now,” I whispered to Aria, squeezing her hand before letting go.

She took off like a shot.

“PAIGE!”

Paige barely had time to turn before Aria’s tiny body launched herself at Paige’s legs. Her arms instinctively wrapped around Aria, shock flashing across her face before realization dawned.

“What—? Aria?” Her voice cracked, looking down at the little girl clinging to her.

That’s when I stepped out.

The second Paige’s eyes met mine, everything around us seemed to fade. Her mouth parted in disbelief, her hands still frozen around Aria as if she thought she might be dreaming.

I smiled, my throat tightening. “Hey, baby.”

The moment shattered as she let go of Aria and practically ran to me, wrapping me up in the tightest hug imaginable.

“You’re here,” she whispered, her voice trembling against my ear.

“I’m here,” I murmured, holding onto her just as tightly. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

She pulled back slightly, cupping my face with both hands, her thumbs brushing over my cheeks as if she needed to make sure I was real. “You—you flew all the way here? When? How? Why didn’t you tell me?”

I laughed, my own tears welling up. “Because I wanted to surprise you. Everyone knew except you.”

She shook her head, laughing through her disbelief. “You’re evil.”

“You love me, though,” I teased.

Her grin softened into something more tender. “Yeah,” she murmured, pressing her forehead to mine. “I really, really do.”

The crowd was still cheering, the moment stretching between us as if we were the only two people in the gym. Paige’s hands never left my face, and I could feel her heart racing just as fast as mine.

“This is the best surprise ever,” she whispered.

I bit my lip, glancing down at Aria, who was grinning up at us, completely unbothered by the fact that she had just helped execute the best senior night surprise in history. “I had some help.”

Paige laughed, ruffling Aria’s curls before scooping her up into her arms. “You little sneak,” she teased.

Aria giggled, hugging Paige’s neck. “I missed you, P!”

“I missed you too, munchkin.” Paige pressed a kiss to her cheek before turning back to me. “God, I can’t believe you’re actually here.”

“I wasn’t gonna let you finish this without me,” I said, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “You deserve to have the people who love you here, Paige.”

Her expression softened, and she tugged me close again, this time pressing a lingering kiss to my forehead. “I don’t know how I got so lucky,” she whispered.

I smiled. “I think we both got lucky.”

She let out a soft laugh before glancing at the crowd, then back at me. “You’re staying for a while, right?”

I nodded. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

Her grin turned into something mischievous. “That’s a dangerous offer, baby.”

“I’m serious.” I squeezed her hand. “I don’t wanna be apart anymore. I wanna be with you.”

For a moment, she just stared at me, and then—right there, in front of everyone—she leaned in and kissed me.

It was soft, sweet, and full of every unspoken word between us.

When she pulled away, her eyes were bright, full of something deeper than happiness. “Then stay,” she murmured. “Stay with me.”

I grinned. “You don’t even have to ask.”

She kissed me again, and this time, I knew—no matter where life took us, no matter what came next—I would always come home to her.

Paige’s POV

The adrenaline from senior night hadn’t worn off, but the moment we stepped inside my apartment, exhaustion hit me like a freight train. The last few hours had been a blur—cheers, speeches, hugs, and the overwhelming joy of seeing her again. Seeing them again.

Aria clung to me the entire time, refusing to let go even after we left the arena. Every time I tried to pass her off to her aunt, she just tightened her grip around my neck, mumbling, “I missed you too much.”

I wasn’t gonna fight her on it. I missed her too.

Now, after a well needed shower, the little girl was curled up against my chest, completely knocked out, her tiny fingers still clutching the front of my hoodie like she was scared I’d disappear again.

I glanced over at the love of my life—because that’s what she was, no doubt about it—as she set her bag down by the door, stretching out her arms with a soft groan.

“You look dead,” I teased, my voice barely above a whisper.

She shot me a tired glare, but the small smile on her lips told me she wasn’t really mad. “I feel dead. That flight, the sneaking around, wrangling her—” she gestured at the sleeping child nestled in my arms. “I deserve a medal.”

I laughed, adjusting Aria slightly so she wouldn’t slip. “You deserve a lot more than that.”

Her expression softened, and she stepped closer, reaching out to brush a stray curl from Aria’s forehead. “She missed you like crazy, you know.”

“I missed her too,” I murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of Aria’s head.

Her eyes flickered to mine, something unreadable in them. “And me?”

I smirked, tilting my head slightly. “You? Who’s that?”

Her jaw dropped. “Oh, okay. That’s how we’re playing this?”

I bit my lip to hold back a laugh, but the playful glare she shot me made it impossible. “Come here,” I said softly, and the teasing faded from her face.

She stepped between my legs, resting her hands on my shoulders as I pulled her closer with one arm, the other still supporting Aria.

“You know I missed you,” I murmured, letting my forehead rest against hers.

Her breath hitched, and I could feel the weight of the months apart in the way she exhaled, like she was finally letting herself breathe again.

“I hate being away from you,” she admitted quietly. “I hated every second of it.”

I tightened my hold on her waist, pressing my lips to her temple. “Then don’t be.”

Her fingers dug into the fabric of my hoodie. “You make it sound so simple.”

“Because it is,” I murmured, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes. “You said you wanted to stay. So stay. I don’t care how we make it work—I just know I don’t wanna go another night without you.”

She swallowed hard, searching my face like she was trying to memorize every detail. “Paige…”

“I’m serious.” I brushed my thumb over her cheek, letting myself get lost in her warmth. “I love you. I don’t wanna keep doing this long-distance thing when we both know where this is going.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and she let out a shaky laugh. “And where’s that?”

I gave her a knowing look. “Where do you think?”

Her lips parted slightly, her eyes flickering between mine, and I could see the exact moment she realized I meant every word.

“You mean—”

“I mean,” I cut her off gently, “that I see forever when I look at you.”

Her face crumbled, and she let out a soft, shaky breath before pressing her lips to mine. It wasn’t rushed or desperate—just right. Just home.

When she pulled away, her forehead rested against mine, and she whispered, “I see forever with you too.”

I smiled, feeling something settle deep in my chest. “Good.”

A tiny, sleepy voice suddenly mumbled between us.

“Paige?”

We both froze before glancing down. Aria stirred slightly, blinking up at me with half-lidded eyes.

“Yeah, munchkin?”

Her tiny hand reached up to touch my cheek, her voice drowsy. “Don’t go away again.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, holding her just a little bit closer. “I’m not going anywhere, baby.”

She sighed contently, snuggling deeper into my hoodie.

I glanced at the love of my life, who was watching us with nothing but pure adoration in her eyes.

Home wasn’t a place. It was this. It was her. It was the sleepy little girl in my arms, the steady heartbeat against mine, and the unspoken promise that we’d never have to say goodbye again.

I had everything I needed right here.

---

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                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[rhyrhy]

Venom in the veins 🕸️

Spider!Ellie x Fem Villain reader

✦ Synopsis: When trust is broken, and alliances shift. Your local friendly neighborhood spiderwoman! is forced to choose between her love and loyalty!

✦ Warnings: enemies to lovers to enemies..? Angst, violence, death/grief , language, romantic tension, familial issues. 5k words.

A/n: thank you to @s0phi3w4lt3n , because their lovely brain is helping make this possible. This is chapters 1-2. (3-7 will be separate posts!) + Ellie’s suit desc is based off this beautiful art!

October 5th

I guess I finally understand what it means to wear the weight of something bigger than yourself.

Nobody tells you how lonely this gets. They say it’s a responsibility. A privilege. But nobody warns you about the nights when your body’s so sore you can’t move, or when you have to smile at people who would hate you if they knew the whole truth.

And the worst part? I should’ve seen it coming.

I should’ve known the second I woke up with a spider bite the size of a penny and a bad feeling in my gut.

But I was just a dumb kid clinging to Joel’s leg in the ER, sure I was about to drop dead…

Being a hero wasn’t as simple as they made it look in the comics she read. It wasn’t just about the mask—it was about juggling the power, the responsibility, and the weight of knowing that, at any moment, everything could come crashing down.

And in the end? It was always a game of masks. Who’s hiding behind them, and who’s fooling who?

Ellie wasn’t the best at keeping secrets.

Especially not when she had a spider bite the , wrapped in white gauze and held together with SpongeBob bandages that did little to ease her nerves. Her pain tolerance wasn’t exactly low, but weren’t black widows deadly? She could still feel the long-gone venom burning in her bloodstream—or maybe she just thought she did.

“Joel, I’m too young to die!” A younger Ellie whined, tears streaming down her cheeks as she clung to his leg.

“You aren’t dying. They said you’ll be sore at most.” He sighed, patting her head.

“Dramatic” wasn’t the word he’d use to describe the distraught figure clinging to him like she truly believed her life depended on it. Eleanor “Ellie” Anna Williams, at the ripe age of twelve, gave her adoptive father more wrinkles than he could count.

This time, it wasn’t a scraped knee from wobbly attempts at skateboarding, or a burn on her forearm from trying to make him breakfast. It was a spider bite. She didn’t get a good look when she flung her head after the sting set in, but she was almost certain what that eight-legged creature was that had crept onto her hand while she doodled on her notebook in science class.

She rambled about it the whole way from the school’s nursing office to the emergency room. Not even the radio could drown out the frantic girl, who loved all things nature—as long as it wasn’t trying to kill her. She’d just learned to use a training bra. She couldn’t die now.

“I’m not?” she said, her green watery eyes looking up at him.

“No. Weren’t you listening to what the nice lady said? The one in blue scrubs?”

To be honest, she wasn’t. However, she did remember the woman he was referring to—and the way she made her heart race. Even now, as a young adult, Ellie would bring her up when questioned about her gay awakening.

“You’re goin’ to be fine kiddo” He bent down to her level, his Texan accent dragging out his “n”s.

Comforting her had become something Joel mastered over the years. Trying to navigate Ellie’s spectrum between smart mouth and nervous breakdowns wasn’t easy for a man in his early thirties. But he’d found a way to wedge himself somewhere right in the middle—right where she needed him.

If there was one thing Ellie learned quickly, it was that Joel knew best. With legs full of scars and scrapes and a pair of worn-out Converse that Joel begged her to throw away, Eleanor—who preferred just ‘Ellie’—skated into her high school years.

Going from Little Orphan Annie, which she hated when assholes at school called her that, to your average teenager in the big city of Seattle, everything was completely normal.

Except it wasn’t. At all.

In fact, nothing about Ellie was normal. But the unusual started small—extremely small—and Ellie didn’t know any better. At first, she thought it was just the weed she smoked with Jesse still messing with her system.

Because ever since that fateful day in seventh grade, weird, borderline supernatural things had started happening.

She couldn’t tell you exactly how it all started—at least, not without cringing through the many, many journals she kept as a teenager—but somewhere in the mess of scribbled notes and half-finished sketches, there was an entry about a joke gone wrong.

One night, on a dare to see how long she could hold a handstand, Ellie found herself upside down—only she wasn’t just balancing. She was walking. On her ceiling.

The next morning, she convinced herself it was just some weird, half-awake dream. But when she tried it again—yeah, no. She wasn’t dreaming.

“Holy shit!” she blurted out, stumbling back to the ground.

“Language!” Joel’s voice rang out from the living room, blissfully unaware of the very sticky situation unfolding just a few feet away.

Ellie swallowed, staring at her feet. “Holy shit…” she whispered again, this time to herself.

For a while, she tried to ignore it. Between figuring out her sexuality and preparing for an upcoming science fair, she had enough on her plate. So when weird things happened—like catching something mid-fall way too fast or feeling vibrations through the walls—she brushed it off.

But the signs were getting harder to ignore. Especially when she asked Riley if she could hear that sound—

—and Riley just stared at her.

“Hear what?” Riley asked, setting up their volcano project.

“That—” Ellie waved her hand vaguely. “You seriously don’t hear it?”

Riley squinted. “Williams, I love you, but you have absolutely lost it.”

Ellie would’ve argued back, but the sound was coming from three tables down.

“Booger-eater James?” Riley snorted, nodding toward the kid hunched over a glass box of spiders. Not sure how that was science experiment. “He’s just standing there. With his creepy crawlers. I pray for him once we hit eleventh grade—he’s never getting a girlfriend.”

Panic set in—sudden and overwhelming—as her mind spiraled. Was this some weird side effect of the bite? Or was it something worse? She thought about her biological family, about the things she didn’t know, about the one thing she did worry about when it came to her health.

These were crazy person signs, right? Or worse—crazy person genes running through her blood. Torn between telling a school counselor or just locking herself in the bathroom to cry, Ellie excused herself from Riley and approached the table. But the closer she got, the louder the sound became. A crawling, chittering hum that made her stomach flip.

There was no way she was communicating with something that had more than two eyes and eight legs. An arachnid, for crying out loud.

Don’t get her wrong, Ellie loved science. But people who claimed this kind of stuff? They got laughed out of programs. Stripped of titles, accreditations. Blacklisted. Snow White talking to animals was one thing. A teenage girl talking to spiders? That was an entirely different planet.

But the more she thought about it… the more it made sense.

The heightened senses. The weird reflexes. And that bite mark—the one she was so sure would scar? It was completely gone the next morning when her bandage fell off in the shower.

What started as a sneaking suspicion was quickly turning into a daunting realization.

Ellie tried to ignore it. She really, really did.

For the next few weeks, she chalked it up to stress, exhaustion, anything that made more sense than the alternative. But the signs weren’t stopping. If anything, they were getting worse.

The way her body moved before she even had time to think. The way she could feel things that weren’t there—like the vibrations of footsteps before someone entered a room. The way her grip had changed—how she accidentally shattered a glass one night at dinner, how the basketball stuck to her hand a second too long in gym class.

She stopped journaling about it. She stopped mentioning it to Riley. But she couldn’t stop thinking about it. this was so , so much worse than the time she wasn’t allowed to leave the dinner table until she finished her brussels sprouts.

And that was how she found herself standing in front of her bedroom window one night, hoodie zipped up, black Converse laced tight.

Sneaking out wasn’t new to her. She’d done it before. Skating out to meet Jesse, tagging walls in alleyways. But this?

This wasn’t just sneaking out.

That night, she got her first real taste of herself without the skintight suit she now wears like a badge.

Little did she know at the time, how important that near miss would be.

“Glad nobody saw that.” An embarrassed Ellie giggled to herself, standing to her feet after stumbling for the hundredth time.

Parkour always seemed a little odd to her—she preferred her guitar or a late-night reading session, but those seemed to lay still on her bookshelf nowadays. I mean, who wanted to potentially hurt themselves running along buildings, jumping from concrete to concrete, brick to brick? Short answer: she did.

Long answer: the stairwell right behind her apartment building, leading to the city’s rooftops. Mariano’s, her favorite pizza joint that always closed way too early in her opinion, the old library that closed down only to be replaced a few doors down, and the laundromat. Dusting off her jeans, she’d do this for what felt like hours.

The back and forth would make normal civilians sick—feet swollen to hell. But for Ellie, after a fight with Joel about curfew or an unnecessarily long school day, as soon as the sun set, this was her heaven.

She wasn’t normal. She’d established that a long time ago. But it’s not like she could exactly tell people she could do these kinds of things. They’d look at her the way Riley did. A FYI, she was so right about James—after graduation, he still never got a girlfriend.

Ellie, on the other hand, had quite a few up until graduation.

A shared kiss with Riley, a faded stick-and-poke cat the girl in her art class gave her, and her unforgettable first time with the first girl she could truly say she loved: Dina.

To say “fair share” was a bit of an understatement. It was more about quality than quantity. Her building real connections, some still lingering around. Some took the high road, choosing to stay the bitter ex. But Ellie didn’t see it like that. She appreciated the good and the bad, even if she did have to get a real tattoo over that stick-and-poke cat.

But times like these, where she let her feet carry her across the city, were when she was allowed to forget about all that, leave it in the past where it belonged, and focus on the future. But even with her tassel turned, she always found herself in that alleyway, climbing up that same fire escape to get to the roof.

The city lights below flickered like distant stars. So many people, but none of them knew her name. Maybe that was for the best. In this city, the only person Ellie needed to be was herself.

The wind against her skin felt sharper tonight, like she could almost taste the city’s pulse. A distant car honked, but she didn’t hear it the same way anymore. It was all part of the rhythm, the energy that seemed to flow through her, the way the rooftops called her to them.

For now, the rooftops were hers. But she knew, deep down, that wouldn’t last forever. Heroes, villains—one day, someone would come looking for her. And maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. Maybe.

Freshly graduated, Ellie was hanging out with friends at her favorite pizza joint, the smell of pepperoni filling the air, and the sound of laughter ringing in her ears. It was one of those normal, relaxed nights. nothing out of the ordinary. Or at least, it didn’t seem that way at first.

But when a hooded figure paced back and forth in front of their table for the fourth time, Ellie couldn’t help but feel a cold chill run down her spine. Her green eyes snapped to the sound, hands slowly lowering the slice of pizza she’d been about to take a bite of.

“That young man stole my purse!” A woman’s voice broke through the hum of the restaurant, her trembling hands pointing toward the culprit.

Ellie’s green gaze snapped to the man now hurrying down the sidewalk, his steps quick, his movements too frantic. The adrenaline surged through her as she pushed her chair back and stood, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the glass door. She didn’t wear her mask yet, but the sensation of needing to act was unmistakable.

She couldn’t just let it go.

The man was fast, but he wasn’t fast enough. Ellie darted into the street, weaving between pedestrians like a blur, the sound of her footsteps muffled by the city’s noise. When she reached him, she tackled him with everything she had, the force knocking the purse out of his hand and sending him stumbling backward.

He didn’t stick around to fight back. In a flash, he bolted, disappearing into the shadows before Ellie could react.

She stood there, chest heaving as she clutched the purse in her hands. The woman, now catching up to her, approached with wide eyes.

“You got it back!” The woman gasped, her voice thick with relief.

Ellie smiled awkwardly, handing the purse back to her. “I… I guess I did.” Heart still racing.

Before she could say more, the woman pulled her into a tight hug. Ellie froze, not knowing what to do. She had no idea this small act of kindness would cause a strange warmth to spread through her chest.

“Thank you,” the woman whispered. “I don’t know what I would’ve done…”

Ellie gently pulled back, her heart still racing. She was pretty sure she was just a regular girl, with no superpowers or any big secret to her name. But in that moment, the feeling of doing the right thing—of helping someone in need—felt bigger than anything she’d ever experienced. Maybe she was crazy. But a little bit of crazy could do good.

And Ellie? She loved justice.

“Bullshit. No way you tackled him like that.” Abby’s voice rang out, interrupting Ellie’s storytelling.

“Alright, maybe I exaggerated a little bit, but I’m telling you, I kicked ass.” Ellie laughed, holding the door open for the tall blonde.

“Uh huh. Sure, Williams.” Abby huffed, walking past her into the bookstore. The familiar chime of the doorbell rang out above them, a small sound that felt like a second home.

Ellie inhaled deeply, taking in the comforting smell of ink and crisp pages being turned. She loved it here, more than the silly pictures of cats online, which, in the Williams world, meant a lot.

Abby, tall and always a step ahead in the teasing department, fell into step beside her. One of the few friends Ellie could confide in. Even if that came with endless ribbing. Ellie could admit that she’d told the “first save” story a million times, but it was one of the few she could tell without giving herself away—without breaking her promise. The promise she made to herself when she officially earned her title as ‘hero.’

But here, in the bookstore, she could nerd out all she wanted. No secrets to hide, no need to pretend. She could throw in the subtle bragging without fear of it getting back to the wrong people.

Ellie wasn’t a huge talker. She preferred humming to herself or getting lost in her own thoughts. As she scrolled past the comic book section, her fingers brushing against the glossy covers of vibrant colors and bubble letters, she was suddenly back in time. A place of nostalgia. Staying up way past her bedtime, reading comics under the covers with a trusty red flashlight.

When the small tv in the corner of the store caught her attention. A new report, crime in the city’s streets. detailing the latest wave of crime sweeping through the city. From petty purse snatching to stolen identities—and sometimes, even lives. It was all too familiar.

“This just in: Another robbery in the city’s streets. Police are still on the lookout for the suspect,” the newscaster announced.

She hated it, the fear in people’s eyes. The feeling of a warm blanket being ripped off all because a few people probably weren’t hugged enough as kids. If anybody knew a rough childhood, it was Ellie, and what she didn’t do was use that and take it out on the world. The last thing she expected years from this moment is trying to be understanding with the one who did.

If anyone knew a rough childhood, it was Ellie. But she didn’t use that as an excuse to lash out at the world.

In fact, the last thing she ever expected, years from this moment, was to try and understand the person behind the violence.

“Jesus, this city’s falling apart,” Abby muttered, her eyes still glued to the screen. “Where are the cops when you need them?”

It made her sick. The injustice. The feeling of helplessness.

“Sometimes, people just need to learn the world doesn’t owe them anything,”

Abby looked over at her, but Ellie kept her eyes on the chaos. The sirens were already wailing in the distance, but they’d never get there in time—not when the damage had already been done. And when the cops finally showed up. Just yellow police, tape and tears.

“Scary, huh?” Abby said, standing beside her, arms crossed. She shot a glance at the scene before turning back to Ellie. “Where are the cops when you need them?”

Ellie scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, they always show up too late. After the damage’s already done. It’s like they just don’t care enough to stop it before it gets out of hand. Makes you wonder if anyone’s actually doing anything about it.”

Abby sighed in agreement. “Someone should.”

Ellie’s mind wandered then, as it often did in moments like this. She’d seen it all too many times—the heroes who talked big but never seemed to get things done. But the ones who really caught her attention were the ones who operated in the shadows. The ones who didn’t care about fame or recognition.

Her thoughts drifted to The Phantom—a mysterious figure who’d been cleaning up the streets for years. Nobody knew their true identity, and that was the way they liked it. No flashy costumes, no headlines, just quiet, effective justice. They worked in the shadows, out of sight, but the results spoke for themselves.

“Maybe someone like that could show up,” Ellie murmured. “Someone who teaches people the lesson that their actions have consequences. Not just words, but real, lasting consequences.”

Abby raised an eyebrow, casting her a sideways glance. “Wait, are you seriously saying you’d want to be like them? A shadowy figure, handing out justice however you see fit?”

“Maybe. I mean, someone has to.”

And someone did. She did, she had to. things quickly escalated from saving purses to kittens out of trees you name it Ellie was there.

So what about the fabric hung deep in her closet. The one she mentions hundreds of times in her journals throughout the years.

Well, It wasn’t like she had a fancy suit. No, Ellie had to make do. Her costume came from a combination of chance and necessity. Absolutely one of those “it just happened” moments that ended up being so much more.

It started with a hand-me-down.

After one night where she barely managed to escape with a bruised arm and a scraped knee, Ellie found herself on the edge of the city. In a forgotten corner of a local alley, tucked behind an old, unused storage unit, Ellie found a discarded suit. It was a mix of gray, black, and green fabric—more rugged than sleek, a little worn out, but something about it screamed potential. Her hand reached out for it, like she could feel the joy she’d bring with it on her skin.

fit like a second skin. It didn’t stand out too much, which was good; Ellie didn’t want to draw attention, not yet. The colors worked too—gray for blending in, black for stealth, and green because… well, why not? It matched her eyes.

One afternoon, Ellie had found herself standing outside a local store, looking out over the city, when a voice caught her attention. It was a soft voice, one that belonged to a little girl.

“How’d you get up there? You move like a spider.”

Ellie smiled beneath her mask, thinking about the first time she made the jump to scale a building. She was very clumsy, but she’d learned quickly. It was funny, she hadn’t really thought much about it until now. A spider… That’s what had started this whole thing.

The bite she thought would kill her.

“What’s your name, hero?” the little girl asked, her wide eyes.

Ellie hesitated. A name?… A spider? This was a loaded question. But That’s what they called her, wasn’t it? She was just some kid trying to do right by the world.

“Spider… uh… girl… woman!” She blurted out, almost embarrassed. Hoping it sounded cool, so in the moment, she went with it.

“Spider Woman. Yeah, that’s it.”

She didn’t mind the title. It was fitting, simple.

Spider-woman. Silly, right? It sounded like something out of the DC Comics stacked in her room. And she loved it.

The name was sung like gospel on the news, printed in bold ink for those who still bothered with newspapers.

On one channel, a reporter stood in front of a cityscape, microphone in hand.

“The masked vigilante, called ‘Spider-Woman’ by the public, continues to stir-up debate. Some call her a hero, while others question if she’s just another masked threat. We hit the streets of Seattle to hear what the people really have to say.”

Cop, off duty: “Look, I don’t make the rules, but I do enforce them. Vigilante or not, she’s got a record, and that means trouble.”

Masked kid in a homemade costume: “She’s like, a ninja or something! I think she’s cool!”

Teen girl with dyed hair: “She’s kind of badass, not gonna lie.” She shrugged.

younger woman with a toddler: “Are you kidding? She’s the only one out here actually doing something! You ever had a gun in your face? ‘Cause I have. If she’s around, I know I’m making it home.”

The tv Cuts back to the news anchor at the desk, straightening their papers.

“You heard it here folks! Love her or hate her, one thing’s for sure. she’s out there. And she’s just getting started.” The news reporter finished.

But every hero had their villain.

And Ellie? She was crushing on hers.

With Brown hair tied back, wheels skimming smoothly across the pavement. No suit today, just a hoodie and jeans, her usual off-duty attire. As a creature of habit, she skated her way to the bookstore like clockwork, the same route.

Had she finished the last two comics she bought? Absolutely. A little faster than intended. But a five-minute ride was nothing for a girl who spent most of her nights swinging across the city, trying to do right by the world. In her own way.

The streets of downtown Seattle buzzed with life, familiar shop signs blurring past her periphery—the record store with the neon “Vinyl Lives” sign, the café that always smelled like burnt coffee, and the corner thrift shop with racks of clothes spilling onto the sidewalk.

Then—“Shit—!”

Ellie barely had time to swerve, nearly colliding with someone standing dead center in her path.

“Sorry!” she called over her shoulder, skidding to a halt a few feet away.

The person barely reacted. Headphones on, phone in hand, just a slight jerk of the shoulder to let her pass. like they’d done it a thousand times.

Ellie shot them one last glance, catching just a flicker of their face. The shape of their eyes, the calm in their posture despite the near collision. No sense of surprise, Weird. Most people flinched.

Shaking it off, she kicked forward again, hitting the sidewalk with a small exhale. Board tucked under her arm, she pulled open the door to the bookstore, the familiar jingle of the bell bringing an easy grin to her face.

“Like clockwork. You are so predictable, Williams,” Josh, the store clerk, greeted from behind the counter.

“What can I say?” Ellie shrugged, stepping inside. “When you’re a comic book connoisseur—”

“—It becomes a lifestyle,” Josh finished, smirking. “Indeed you are.”

Ellie chuckled, already making her way toward the shelves, completely unaware that the person she nearly crashed into was about to become a permanent part of her life.

She just didn’t know it yet. And neither did you.

Just few moments before …

“What an idiot,” a deep voice muttered, entering the back alley. Away from prying eyes.

You rolled your eyes, arms crossed as you leaned against the brick wall beside him. “She was skating. God, do you ever lighten—”

His hand landed on your shoulder, fingers pressing just enough to remind you. Not a threat. Not yet.

Your mouth shut. Swallowing your retort.

He exhaled through his nose, slow and measured. Thinking. Shit. Your gut told you to argue, to roll your shoulders back and step away. But you didn’t.

She wasn’t. You knew that. But your world didn’t allow second guesses.

Unlike Ellie, there were no scraped knees followed by fatherly reassurances. No kissing boo-boos, no gentle words. Hell, in your world, mistakes didn’t just hurt. They burned.

And the man towering over you now, eyes sharp as a blade’s, wasn’t the type to let things slide. The city dubbed him Red Hand, a name spoken in hushed whispers.

But you just settled for—

“Will you relax, old man? I get it.” You scoffed, swatting his hand away.

Old man. Boss. Everything but Dad. He didn’t deserve that title. Maybe once, when you were too young to know better. But now? Now, you couldn’t remember the last time you saw anything close to affection in his eyes. Sure, you’d hear a gruff, “You did good, kid,” now and then—but only after running his errands. Only when you were useful.

That’s how this started. You don’t grow a hatred for the world overnight. It’s molded into you when you’re most likely to sponge it all up. Seeing people for what they really are, learning early that it’s survival, not love.

Your real parents? Nothing but a shadow of the past. A blanket. A half-hearted note. A promise that you’d be “taken care of.” Not loved. Not held. Just… handled.

And he did. In his way. He didn’t mark your growth on a doorframe. He didn’t pack lunches with little notes that said, “Have a great day, love you.”

No, that was too soft. The Red Hand was feared. With just a snap of his fingers, his problems were taken care of—no questions asked.

At first, you weren’t sure who they were—the ones who carried out his orders, the ones who came and went like shadows. Or why he always denied your late-night tea parties with Mr. Bear.

One eye missing. Fur worn and faded from too many hugs. The first toy he’d ever bought you. Well, stolen. But it was a gift nonetheless.

You used to crack your bedroom door open at night, small fingers barely making a sound as you peeked through the gap. Trying to make out the hushed conversations happening just a few feet away.

Never catching much. But it was whispered for a reason. And even as a kid, you knew better than to ask.

Then came second grade. You walked through the door with puffy eyes and a fresh bruise on your cheek. He barely looked up from his paper as he slid an ice pack across the table.

“And did you hit them back?”

Your small legs dangled off the couch as you shook your head. “No…”

The paper rustled as he set it down, finally looking at you. “C’mere, kid. Let me show you something.”

And he did. With careful, practiced movements, he taught you where to aim. How to make it count. Jabs, punches.

“Those little shits won’t bug you too much after this.”

You learned quickly. Not just how to hit, but when. Where. How to read a room. How to never show weakness.

Because in his world? Weakness was a death sentence.

So no, there were no bedtime stories. No reassurances whispered into your hair. Just lessons. And you learned them all. After all, it paid to be useful. Even if that meant the occasional run to the principal’s office

The city doesn’t care. People don’t care. They’re too busy fighting to stay on top. So why bother trying to be something else? Why bother saving anyone when they’ll just let you down? He’d shown you what the world truly was. A place where you had to take what you wanted.

A place where you had to survive, no matter the cost.

You’d stopped asking questions a long time ago. Why did they leave? Why did he allow you to stay? What was that gnawing feeling deep in your gut? You’d stopped wondering about what could be, what should be. This was it. This was all there was.

And as Ellie’s world spun with hope, with the promise of doing right, yours had long since given up. Because in your world, saving lives wasn’t enough. The world didn’t reward you for being a hero. No. It rewarded you for knowing when to stop asking, when to take what you were given.

Dressed in black, learning what was most important: to keep moving.

To be continued …..

Line dividers | 2 | 3

Ellie m.list

Taglist @0h-basic

[juniperskye]

Stolen Moment

Based on the following ask: I was thinking it was Hotch and the reader's wedding but it's kind of loud and crowded and although the reader is no doubt excited to spend the rest of her life with Hotch the idea of the party didn't appeal very much because finds that type of event a bit difficult. So, she just hides but he knows where he can find her so he goes and sees her sitting in a corner with all her beautiful dress fluttering around her and he offers to skip the party and she just tells him ‘They’re here for us, it would be rude' but he really doesn't care, the only thing he wanted was for her to be his wife. I had to shorten the ask since it was a bit long, but I truly love this request – My wedding was lowkey because I knew I couldn’t handle a big wedding either.

Aaron Hotchner x Wife! Fem Reader Fluff Word count: 1645

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, reader has anxiety, wedding, wedding type content, feeling overwhelmed, Hotch being the best ever, mention of Jack, pet names, mentions of food and eating, let me know if I missed anything.

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

“And for the first time, I’d like to welcome Mr. and Mrs. Hotchner!” The DJ shouted into the mic, the crowd erupting in cheers.

Aaron and you made your way into the reception hall, hands joined as he raised them up above you, effectively showing you off to all your family and friends. Aaron turned you around, pulling you back into his arms, pressing a kiss to your lips. Everyone continued cheering for the two of you, joyous to be a part of such a special occasion.

--

The day had been so incredible, everything you could have ever asked for. You had done a private first look, the only witness was your photographer. After the first look you took photos with the wedding party before having the ceremony.

Your ceremony had been short and sweet, with Dave being the officiant, you’d been able to customize the entirety of it. He’d been amazing and personalized it to suit you and Aaron well. After the ceremony ended, Aaron and you stepped away for a private moment, signing your marriage license…but there had been another surprise, you’d also be signing the adoption papers to gain legal custody of Jack. The three of you shared a special moment, full of tears, joy and most importantly, love.

You then went on to take photos with your family and then Aaron, Jack and you took some photos as a family as well as just the two of you as a couple. The location your photographer had chosen was truly spectacular, it had been this lovely grove, the trees blooming with little white flowers, the grass green and lush. It had been perfect.

--

The reception had been scheduled meticulously:

Cocktail Hour (during photos)

Grand Entrance

First Dance

Dinner

Toasts

Dancing

Cake Cutting

Bouquet Toss

Grand Exit

You’d just had your first dance, to a slowed version of The Beatles I Will. Aaron had always been a big fan of the White Album, and that song seemed to be a perfect choice for your dance. Afterwards, you were happy to finally sit and eat, the constant interruption of family and friends coming up to you to offer congratulations and well wishes had been a little overwhelming, but overall, you were doing alright.

Aaron had kept his hand placed somewhere on you the whole night; clasped within yours, pressed to the small of your back, caressing your cheek or neck, or resting on your thigh like right now for instance. He did this to keep you grounded, he knew that this was a lot for you, having so many people around you, but more so the way they crowded the two of you, not leaving any room to breathe.

--

The toasts were planned, you had agreed that you didn’t want to do an open mic for toasts because that often took too long and you didn’t need any embarrassing stories shared in front of everyone. So, the only toasts that were expected were that of your sister, who was your maid of honor, and Dave, who was the officiant…but also technically a second-best man. Jack being the first of course.

What you hadn’t been expecting was Aaron to step up and give a speech of his own.

“I want to start this off by thanking everyone for being here with us on such a special day. For those of you that know us, well you know that I was down pretty badly from the beginning. She had me wrapped around her finger and she didn’t even know it. As our friendship grew, so did my love for her. I thought for a while that I was going to have to settle for being her friend because I needed her in my life one way or another. But then, she came up to me after months of, what I now know was mutual, pining and she said, “if you’re not going to ask me out, then I’ll just ask you.” That was the moment I knew I was going to marry you sweetheart. You aren’t afraid to call me out when it’s needed, you know how to break down my walls and comfort me through hardships, you make me laugh until my stomach hurts, and you have made me smile more in these last few years, than some people do in a lifetime. Jack and I are so very lucky to have you in our lives and I am honored to have become your husband here today. I love you so much sweetheart.”

Tears were streaming down your cheeks as your smile grew. Your guests clapped, many of them wiping their own eyes. Aaron always knew what to say, he had a way with words that overwhelmed you…he was able to say exactly what he was feeling, and you wished you could afford the same luxury. Unfortunately, the words didn’t always come so easily to you. You were able to express yourself in other ways though.

--

The DJ welcomed your guests to the dancefloor, you had been making your rounds greeting people and catching up with some friends when it all sort of hit you…all at once. It was loud and crowded and your dress was starting to feel hot and heavy.

After attempting to catch your breath for a moment, you decided to get some air…that would surely help you to regulate.

So, you snuck out into the back of the reception hall, it had been lit beautifully by the setting sun. Off across the back there was a tree that had grown out parallel to the ground, it looked right out onto the lake behind the hall.  You made your way over and sat, your dress fluffed out around you.

You’d taken a few grounding breaths, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself…despite the anxiety that loomed from being around so many people for so long, it wouldn’t dim the joy you currently felt from getting to marry your true love.

--

It didn’t take Aaron long to notice your absence. Once quick glance around the reception hall and he knew you had gone off to try and calm your nerves. He made his way around to see if you’d gone to the restroom or to the foyer…when he came up empty, he decided to check outside and the view he was met with was breathtaking.

Straight ahead of him, was you. Your back to him, sat on the trunk of this tree with your dress cascading around you. The rays of the setting sun illuminated you from the front, casting this angelic glow around you. Aaron felt so incredibly lucky to have found you in this lifetime. He had been so sure that he wouldn’t find love again…but then you came around and proved him wrong. He couldn’t be any more grateful for that.

He walked over to you, quiet enough to avoid disturbing you, but he also wanted to make sure he didn’t startle you.

“Hey sweetheart,” he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder “you doing alright?”

“Hmm, yeah I’m okay.” You sighed, leaning into his touch.

Aaron could tell you were exhausted; physically, mentally and emotionally. Today had been a big and long day. One that he knew would be hard for you to come down from. That was the thing, Aaron often sensed your anxieties before you did…you had high highs, and low lows. Today was the highest of highs…which meant a pretty big come down was sure to follow. Aaron wanted to do everything in his power to help you through that, starting now.

“Hey, why don’t we get out of here?” Aaron suggested.

“Honey, we can’t.”

“And why not? I’ll go grab Jack and the three of us will go grab something to eat and then head home to watch a movie!” Aaron smiled.

“It wouldn’t be right Aar. They’re here for us; it would be rude. Plus, this is our wedding, we’ve paid for all of this.” You huffed lightly.

Truthfully, Aaron didn’t care about all that. He just wanted to spend time with you. He was so incredibly happy to finally be married to you. Nothing else matters in this moment to him…just your happiness. All he’s wanted for the last few years was to have you as his wife, and now you were. His beautiful wife.

“Baby, it’s all for us. Which means we get to choose when it’s all said and done. What do you say?”

“Okay.” You smiled.

Aaron quickly made his way inside, he let Dave know your plan so someone could be in charge of closing everything up, he also informed your sister so she could make sure all your things were situated. Aaron then grabbed Jack and made his way back to you.

“Ready?”

“Absolutely.”

--

The three of you made your way to your favorite diner, a 50’s themed one called Barb’s. Your favorite waitress had even been working, making the night even better.

“Hey guys, did you guys…are you in…I feel like I’m missing something.” Thresa laughed.

“We got married a few hours ago.” You filled her in.

“Oh, and you guys came here? I mean, congratulations…but shouldn’t you be at your reception or something?”

“I am in our favorite diner, with my favorite two people. There is no place I’d rather be.” Aaron confirmed.

“Well, dinner is on the house tonight. Did you guys want the usual, or something else tonight?" Thresa asked.

“The usual.”

--

Aaron, Jack and you ate dinner that night, laughing and smiling and recounting your favorite parts of the day. Though you knew deep down…that years from now, when you looked back on this day, this would be your favorite part. Sitting in Barb’s Diner, eating a grilled cheese across from your husband who knows you better than you know yourself.   

You had never felt happier.

Taglist: @bernelflo@pastelpinkflowerlife@just-moondust@khxna @crimesthatnooneaskedfor

[mashtatosworld]

the pursuit

summary: you met him on the set of 'lets not fall in love' - yet you did everything but that

*the start of the 'back to you' series

You’d barely stepped onto set when you felt it - the way his gaze found you immediately, lingering long enough to make your stomach tighten.

Gdragon didn’t introduce himself at first.

He didn’t need to.

He just leaned against the edge of a prop wall, cigarette tucked between his fingers, assessing you.

You weren’t an actress - you’d made that abundantly clear when your agency first floated the idea of you being GDragon’s partner for the Let’s Not Fall In Love video.

But they assured you it would be natural, just soft glances and playful moments, no choreography, no lines - just chemistry.

The kind that could make viewers believe something was there even if nothing was.

And he made that easy.

You tried not to look at him too much between takes. Tried not to focus on the way his gaze felt heavy on your skin, even when you weren’t the one in front of the camera.

GDragon was effortless - a natural magnet, pulling attention with every charming grin. You were… not.

You were new to the industry.

Shiny and unsure, trying to fit yourself into the shape of someone who belonged here.

The rain scene was the worst of it.

Cold water cascading down as you held each other, his hand firm on your waist, the other trailing along your wrist until your fingers intertwined. His touch was light, barely there - but somehow you felt it everywhere.

It was like your body was naturally drawn to his heat.

You were shivering, trying to hide it, smile frozen and cheeks aching. You could feel his nose skim the side of your face, his damp shirt clinging to his chest.

The camera rolled, but all you could think about was how his thumb felt on your hip, firm, and anchoring.

“Cut! Take a break everyone.”

You exhaled sharply, stepping back so fast you almost tripped over the cables. Jiyong stayed still, watching you, tongue running over his lower lip - like he was about to say something, then thought better of it.

It was only when you were wrapped in a towel, sat to the side, waiting for them to release you as they reviewed the footage that he finally approached.

You didn’t expect him to notice your notebook.

You’d been scribbling between takes, half to distract yourself from how intensely aware you were of him, and half because songwriting was your real passion - even if your label didn’t believe you were ready yet.

Jiyong slid onto the bench beside you, casually resting his arms on his legs as he glanced at your lap. “What are you always writing in there?”

You froze. “Just... ideas.”

“For songs?” His brow lifted, curiosity flickering through the playful smile.

You nodded, heart hammering. “I want to focus more on music than modelling. But it's not any good - ”

“Let me see.” He held out his hand, palm up, fingers adorned with silver rings.

You hesitated.

He’d written some of the most iconic songs of the decade - his praise could make or break you. But something about the way he was watching you, genuinely interested, made you slowly pass him the notebook.

He read in silence, brow furrowed, thumb tracing the corner of the page. When he looked up, his smile had softened. “These are good.”

You blinked. “Really?”

“Really,” he said, closing the notebook and tapping it against his knee. “Come to my studio sometime. I’ll help.”

“Why would you do that?” You meant it as a genuine question. He was at the peak of his career, churning out songs for his solo album and band. And you were... a ripple in his ocean.

His smile turned lazy, teasing. “Because I want to.”

And somehow, that was enough.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You told yourself he’d forget - that it was just a line, something to pass the time between takes. But a day later, your phone lit up with a notification.

[unknown number] Still want help? - Jiyong

You debated ignoring it.

Every article you’d ever read about him flashed through your mind - the scandals, on-again-off-again exes, the late-night clubs. But you rationalised your thoughts.

It wasn't like you were going to get personal with him. This would be strictly business...

So you messaged back.

And you were glad you had ignored the influence of media headlines because the first session was when you truly met Jiyong, not GDragon.

You hovered near the door of his studio, notebook clutched to your chest like a shield. He was different here - hair messy, hoodie low over his face, cigarette dangling from his fingers and a casual smile that only grew when he saw you.

“You’re late.”

“I wasn’t sure I should come.”

His smile didn’t falter. “I'm glad you did.”

You sat beside him, the scent of leather and smoke and something distinctly him wrapping around you. He didn’t rush. Didn’t push. Just played a beat, soft and stripped down, and said, “Sing something.”

Your throat was dry, hands shaking - but you did.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

It was always late when he called.

You’d be lying in bed, makeup off, notebook balanced on your knees, when your phone would light up.

[jiyong] Studio tonight x

No please. No explanation. Just an offer you somehow always accepted.

He’d be sprawled on the couch, cigarette smouldering in the ashtray, laptop open with half-finished beats echoing softly.

“I've got a new idea,” he’d say, voice rough from hours of talking to no one.

You’d sit next to him - never too close, yet as time would pass his knee would somehow be pressed against yours. It felt deliberate. Everything with him felt deliberate.

You were writing one night - half asleep, pen dragging across the page - when you felt it.

His fingers.

Just the tips, playing with the ends of your hair. Light, curious, like he wasn’t even thinking about it.

You didn’t pull away.

Neither did he.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

He didn’t hide his interest. Not even a little.

There was no slow-build - no confusing signals.

Jiyong wanted you, in a way that made it impossible to pretend you were imagining things.

“You’re scared of me.” He said it casually, during your third session after he had pulled your chair closer to his - dragging it by the legs.

“No, I’m not.”

“Liar.”

You glared at him, but he just grinned, all bad-boy charm and impossible warmth. “You’ll get used to me.”

He wasn’t wrong.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The song - your song - dropped a week after Let’s Not Fall In Love hit the charts.

He had gifted it to you, passing over the rights entirely despite his effort and inputs. It was yours to do as you pleased.

You decided against a music video or promotional press, just a quiet link posted on Jiyong’s Instagram at 3:14am with no caption.

By noon, it was trending.

The comments were split - some fans insisting you were the new girl he was seeing, others trying to figure out who the hell you were. No one could agree on what you were to him. A muse? A collaborator? A random model who got lucky?

You knew the truth - you were his project.

His distraction.

The shiny new thing he couldn’t stop poking at.

You kept a measured distance, even as your inbox filled with interview requests and producers asking to meet. You hadn’t expected this to happen - not so fast, not this loud.

Your agency was thrilled.

They called you "lucky."

You weren’t sure luck was the word.

This was a pursuit.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The rumours started when someone caught you leaving his building at 5am, his jacket hanging off your shoulders.

Your agency had freaked out.

“It’s nothing,” you said in a meeting the next day, heart pounding as you forced yourself to sound casual. “We’re just writing.”

They didn’t believe you.

You didn’t believe you.

Because “just writing” didn’t explain the way he leaned into you when you sat at the mic, adjusting your headphones himself, fingers lingering against your jaw.

“Just writing” didn’t explain how he always walked you to the elevator, even when there were a dozen staff around who could’ve done it.

“Just writing” didn’t explain why your heart pounded every time you saw his name light up your phone.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The first time you performed your duet you were shaking so badly you nearly dropped the mic.

It was meant to be a one-off stage appearence.

A fan treat.

A casual collaboration.

But he added it as a staple part of his setlist.

The moment Jiyong walked out, hand in pocket, signature smirk pulling at his lips, the crowd screamed like they already knew what was to come.

He stood too close.

His eyes followed your every move.

And when the bridge hit, his hand found your lower back, pulling you into him like the cameras didn’t exist.

When the performance ended, he leaned down and whispered, “See? Told you we’re perfect together.”

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The internet spiralled.

Edits of you and Jiyong flooded every corner of social media - the rain scene from the music video, the too-close moments on stage, the way his hand never quite left your body. Every time he looked at you, fans slowed it down, captioning it:

He’s obsessed.

He’s soft.

He’s in love.

You tried to brush it off.

At first, you were worried he’d hate the rumours - the idea of being tied to a rookie, someone unproven, someone with no legacy.

But instead, he leaned into it.

He started requesting you at festivals.

He refused to perform the song with anyone else.

And during interviews, when asked about his ideal type, he’d just laugh - low and knowing - and say, “Who do you think?”

He was pursuing you in public, no apologies, no caution.

And it worked.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Within months, the rumours stopped being rumours.

You were inseparable - a constant presence at each other’s sides, onstage and off. The industry might’ve called you reckless, but neither of you cared.

It was fast.

It was intense.

It was everything.

And by the time he slipped that ring on your finger, eight months after your first songs release - in a quiet moment between tour stops, both of you tangled up in the same hotel bed you hadn’t left all day - you knew.

You’d never stood a chance.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

no wonder she's so loved, diva was ten years in the making!

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure

[kleftiko]

❦ WALKING IN ON YOU

ft. zoro and law

cw: fem!reader, nudity (lol duh), law is a tiny bit of a perv

—zoro

yells at YOU, like it’s YOUR fault that he got lost and entered the woman’s bath. tries to use anger to cover up the fact that his ears are burning red at the sight of you holding the small towel against your body to cover yourself (it’s not doing a very good job). can’t even form a coherent sentence as he watches the droplets of water cascade down your skin.

zoro stifled a yawn, the only sound that echoed down the hall besides the rhythmic pattern of his feet along the wooden floor. after a long day of training it was nice to have a hot bath and release the tension in his muscles.

the only problem was that he had no idea where he was going. this town’s weird bath house had no signs or arrows directing anywhere, but with his swordsman intuition he recognized the path he was heading on.

and once he found the baths he wasted no time in opening the curtain wide and waltzing in—only to freeze dead in his tracks at the sight of you. naked. dripping.

your eyes were wide, caught in the headlights and unable to move as you stared right back at zoro.

he took you in, skin still damp, the small towel in your hands in the process of drying your head. he’d seen you everyday but this felt different. it felt so much more intimate that it had zoro admiring your body—the curves, the scars, everything he could catch a glimpse of. and sure, zoro was dense, but now, with you in front of him, he could finally understand why the stupid cook was all over you.

it was only when a stray droplet of water fell from your hair to the ground that zoro finally felt the heat travel up his neck and all the way to his ears.

“what the hell are you doing, woman!” he screamed. this seemed to snap you out of your trance as well, as you snapped the towel against your body in an attempt to hide as much as you could.

“the he’ll am i doing?” you shouted back. “what the hell are you doing!”

“this is the men’s bath!”

“no, it isn’t!”

zoro was about to reprimand you again when he finally took a second to look around and noticed nami and robin’s clothes neatly folded on the bench.

“zoro!” you yelled, and his attention drew back to your body. “get out!”

but when he finally left the bath, he couldn’t get the image of you out of his mind. the blush on his face refused to budge as he stalked down the hall, now even more in need of a bath.

—law

malfunctions. thought he heard ‘come on in’ when you said ‘hold on a min’ and immediately combusts upon seeing your boobs. you’re almost as dumbfounded as he is, but regain some kind of composure to start yelling at him to get out. and bless this man, he can barely comprehend anything when he sees you like this and spins around to leave, only to hit his head on the doorway.

law was psyching himself up. he had been outside your door for almost two minutes trying to build up the courage to knock. the polar tang had just docked on a new island and he wanted to ask if you’d want to go walk around town with him. he shouldn’t have been so nervous, you were a member of his crew and a friend, but recently he’d been wanting to spend more time with you—try to figure out these feelings bubbling up inside him.

so he finally knocked, feeling his heartbeat in his ears as he did so. and once he heard your respond from the other side he opened the door.

“y/n-ya, i was wondering if you wa—“ but he couldn’t finish his question.

as soon as he saw you, clad only in your underwear bottoms, arms wrapped around yourself as you attempted to hook your bra, he choked on his words.

his eyes immediately fell to your boobs, not yet constrained by the fabric around them and almost fully on display for his gaze only. he couldn’t believe it. all those days in your boiler suit had him (guiltily) fantasizing what you were hiding underneath, only able to see you when they’d stop by an island and you’d dress in casual clothes. but here, now, had almost all of his dreams fulfilled as he witness the curves of your body and your soft tits in front of him. images flashed in his mind that he only allowed at night within the security of his bedroom.

he only came to when you nearly screeched.

“oh my god, law!” your arms came around to hug yourself, unintentionally squeezing your boobs. “get out!”

he blinked out of his daze. realizing his mouth was hung open, he shut it and spun around immediately, only to smack his forehead against the wall.

you called him again, this time out of concern but he ignored you. instead nearly scrambling through the entrance and slamming the door behind him.

he doesn’t think his heart had ever beaten this fast before, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get the image of your gorgeous body out of his head.

wanna read more? check out my masterlist

[astrolook]

The First Lord in Different Houses: Your Personal Astrology Adventure! 🌟

Grab your chart, get comfy, and let's dive into the First Lord and how it impacts your identity. Whether you're the life of the party or the secret genius, this is where the magic happens, and honestly, it's kind of hilarious too. 😜

First Lord in the 1st House

You walk into a room, and everyone knows you’re there—there’s no hiding.

Confidence is your middle name, and you never miss a chance to strut your stuff.

You are an introvert’s worst nightmare!

Independent? Yeah, you invented it.

People say, “Look at them go!”... and you say, “Yeah, I know, I’m fabulous.”

First Lord in the 2nd House

You might lowkey feel like a walking bank account sometimes (it’s okay, you’ve got the swagger).

Money, possessions, and fine dining—that’s your love language.

Your idea of a good time? Maybe buying a new shiny thing or investing in something ‘important’.

A strong connection to your self-worth... and your credit score.

You get really excited about sales. Like, really excited.

First Lord in the 3rd House

Conversations? Oh, you’re always ready for one. And you’re the one leading it.

Your brain is like a Google search engine: full of random knowledge and probably some memes.

You could talk a dog into believing it’s a cat, and they’d never know the difference.

Restless much? Thought so. You’re onto the next idea before the first one’s finished.

Social media’s best friend—wait, is that a notification?

First Lord in the 4th House

You’re basically the “mom friend”—making everyone’s home feel cozy and safe.

Family gatherings are your jam (but only because you secretly judge everyone’s cooking).

Your vibe? “My house, my rules, but I’ll let you have a snack.”

You might look for a place to hide from the chaos and recharge... hello, couch naps!

Your home feels like a warm hug—and you give really good hugs.

First Lord in the 5th House

Drama? You’re probably starring in it (or at least watching it from the front row).

Flirting is your second language—don’t even try to resist.

You’re the life of the party, even if it’s just your dog and a Netflix marathon.

Hobbies? Well, they’re more like passions that take up all your time.

You’ll probably try to make everything a competition. “Who can make the best TikTok?”—Spoiler alert: It’s you.

First Lord in the 6th House

You love a good routine, but only because it means you’re in control.

Your daily mantra: “I’m not stressed, I’m busy—there’s a difference.”

Healthy eating? Absolutely. Just as long as it’s also fun (kale smoothies and 12-step meal prepping, anyone?).

You might accidentally become a perfectionist because, well, why not?.

You can’t relax until everything’s in place. Spoiler: It’s never in place.

First Lord in the 7th House

Relationships are your thing—friendship, romance, business partnerships, you name it.

You need a partner in crime—someone to do life with.

You’ll be the diplomat in any situation: “Let’s just all get along, okay?”

It’s not “me,” it’s we. You’re practically the CEO of Teamwork.

You thrive on validation from others—but hey, who doesn’t love a little support now and then?

First Lord in the 8th House

You’re that one person who probably has a secret collection of ancient texts—or at least watches a lot of true crime documentaries.

Deep transformation is your thing—your emotional rollercoaster has no brakes.

You have a knack for digging into other people’s deepest fears... or maybe just for figuring them out.

You’ll never shy away from a good existential crisis. Isn’t life just a series of changes?

You live for the intense, the mysterious, and, of course, the taboo.

First Lord in the 9th House

Wanderlust is your middle name—you’ll plan a trip to the other side of the world just because.

Your mind is always soaring above the clouds—metaphorically, of course.

You’re a fan of philosophy, and you probably have a shelf full of “deep” books that you’ll talk about for hours.

You think big, dream big, and might just try to change the world (at least your corner of it).

If you haven’t been to at least three countries, are you even living?

First Lord in the 10th House

You’re here to make a mark, and the world is your stage (just don't forget your best performance).

Career is serious business for you—but you’ll look fabulous doing it, of course.

Your reputation? Oh, it’s everything. You’ll take great care of that.

People might ask you what you do, and you’ll casually drop your “BOSS” vibes.

You’re the leader, the boss, the go-getter. They just haven’t realized it yet.

First Lord in the 11th House

You’re always looking toward the future—Hey, have you seen that next big thing?

Your friendships are everything, but don’t expect small talk. It’s all about big dreams and world-changing ideas.

You’re the social butterfly, flitting between events and people... but deep down, you’re a visionary.

If you’re not organizing a group project, are you even living?

You can totally turn any group into a movement—don't underestimate your powers.

First Lord in the 12th House

Solitude is your best friend—you probably thrive on some alone time... okay, a lot of alone time.

You’ve got that “mysterious vibe” going—people aren’t sure if you’re an enigma or a guru.

Spiritual awakenings? You have all the answers, but you don’t always share them.

You might be a secret healer, helping others in ways no one will ever know.

Boundaries? You prefer to merge with the universe, thanks.

Feeling curious about how each House Lord affects your identity and life journey? 🌠

Message me for a complete astrology reading / synastry compatibility reading, and let’s unlock the hidden secrets of your chart together! 📩

Karmic Paths & Soul Purpose: A Complete Guide to the North Nodes & South Nodes in Astrology (13-page report) - $5

Get my full PDF guide for just $5! Payment via PayPal. Once payment is confirmed, I will send you the PDF. It covers North Node & South Node in signs & houses, who you were in your past life, your career, family, love and your relationships in detail. Message me to grab your copy! 🌟

[ghostlyferrettarot]

💎Pick a Picture: ‧₊˚💎✩ ₊˚How do you let your beauty shine?‧₊˚💎✩ ₊˚

❗️This is a collective reading, take what resonates and leave the rest❗️

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✨️Masterlist✨️

💎Pile 1:

Hi pile 1, the cards are talking to you about something really beautiful, something you probably don't always recognize clearly, but that is within you all the time. I feel like you don't just have external beauty, but a radiant, natural, authentic beauty that comes directly from within. The most special thing is that your beauty is expansive. Just like nature at its best, like a garden blooming with all its flowers, its light grows and touches everything around it. Your beauty is not something superficial, it is deep, because it is born from a place of compassion and understanding towards yourself and others.

Do you know what your cards and general aura tell me? That your light shines brighter when you give yourself permission to be yourself, when you stop looking for external validation and focus on what makes you feel good inside. Your beauty shines when you nourish yourself. When you take time to take care of yourself, to pamper yourself, to feed yourself with what makes you feel good, whether physical or emotional. When you surround yourself with what makes you feel at peace and happy, showing the brightest version of yourself. When you let go of external expectations and simply allow yourself to be, then your true radiance appears.

Your energy is that which will inspire others to love themselves more, to accept themselves as they are. When you are authentic, you open yourself up to a beauty that cannot be measured, because it is the beauty that comes from the heart, when that energy is projected outward, making everything beautiful around you.

💎Pile 2:

If you chose this pile, I want you to know that your beauty doesn't need to be forced. Your beauty isn't something you have to work to show, it's simply the reflection of your inner light.

What stands out most about this reading is your ability to show yourself without fear.

The beauty of your aura comes from the ease with which you present yourself to the world. You do not need external validation or approval, because your confidence and warm energy are so great that you are not afraid to show yourself as you are. Your energy is a warm refuge that offers comfort without asking for anything in return. I feel like you embody the beauty of The Sun (is one of the cards that popped out really quick as I was shuffling). You don't hide, you don't limit yourself. You give yourself to life, you give yourself to people, to experiences. You live with overflowing joy and an optimistic attitude that lights up everyone who crosses your path. That ability to enjoy the moment, to laugh with your whole being, is what really makes you shine. It's not just how you look, but how you make others feel, and that's what makes you someone absolutely beautiful.

Your beauty is not only in the clothes you wear, or in your makeup (if you wear it). It is in the way you share your energy with the world, how you make everyone feel better about being around you. That is your power, that is your radiance, in your true light, you are the SUN.

💎Pile 3:

Hi pile 3! The first thing that comes to me with this reading is that you are really alluring, but your beauty is not just external. Your beauty is calm (you may be more in the introverted side), but powerful, because you know who you are and you are not afraid to show your truth, even when that means being vulnerable. People see you, and what they see is not just what it is on the surface, but that quiet strength you radiate when you don't give up. Your beauty is in the way you face difficult times, in the way you get up again and again without losing yourself. There is a greatness of soul in you that is what really makes you shine, and it is something that is felt in the air when you are around others; you are a beautiful soul pile 3 :").

I feel like you have learned that vulnerability is not weakness, but a source of strength that allows you to be open, authentic, and sincere with others. And that vulnerability, far from making you weaker, makes you someone strong, capable of connecting with others in a genuine way. You have the power to show your scars and still remain beautiful, because you have learned to love them, to see them as signs of your power.

When you let your beauty shine, you do so from a place of deep acceptance of yourself, even in your most fragile moments. You know that you don't have to be perfect to be incredibly beautiful. In fact, perfection doesn't exist, but what does exist is that magnetic energy that you radiate when you accept yourself as you are. By accepting yourself, you open a space for your beauty to shine. Your beauty also comes from that quality you have to remain calm in times of chaos. It's as if your energy has a special ability to reassure others, to make those who are close to you feel safe, protected and understood.

💐Thanks for reading! Tell me if it resonated and i hope you have a great day!💐

[shanastoryteller]

Feliz San Valentín!!! 💖💖💖 May I have some more time travel JC? Maybe about his relationship with the Nie brothers? I'm obsessed, THANK YOU

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

Nie Mingjue doesn't have anything against Wei Cheng.

He's not nice, exactly, or soft. Or demure or conciliatory or amenable or any of the thousand different ways there are to describe someone who couldn't out stubborn a mule. Which means he really shouldn't be any sort of acceptable spouse to a sect leader.

Father's marriage to his mother had been arranged. He has dim memories of the woman who raised them, but in all of them she's soft. A strong cultivator, of course, with enough skill with a saber to make her a suitable wife, but by all accounts her personality hadn't matched her sword style. Huaisang's mother was the same, with a warm and courteous relationship with Father and nothing more. He'd liked her. She'd been kind towards him, treating him as her own, but that had just made it worse.

When she'd fallen ill and died, he'd just lost a mother for a second time, and it didn't even feel fair for him to be as gutted as he was, not with Huaisang sobbing into his side. She hadn't even been his mother. Even though he had more and clearer memories of her taking care of him than he had of his own mother, which felt like one more betrayal.

Wei Cheng isn't anyone's mother.

He's arrogant and irreverant and he's raised an arrogant and irreverant son. Wei Wuxian is even more prone to trouble than Huaisang, and it's not like Nie Mingjue can just leave him to it anymore than he can Huaisang, so he ends up in trouble too, getting chased through the woods and hiding from angry stall owners and giving the slip to his own disciples because Wei Wuxian cheerfully taking his punishments is even more annoying than how Huaisang whines through them and -

"Hiding from your brother?"

He looks up, startled, and sees Wei Cheng standing next to him. He hadn't noticed him approaching. He hadn't even known that Wei Cheng knew where this place was, but he suppose he can't be too surprised. He does have a habit of sticking his nose into everything.

"No," he says immediately, then cringes. "A little."

He really doesn't want to hear him talk about birds again. He wishes Wei Wuxian would stop catching them for Huaisang. What kind of respectable cultivator collects birds?

Wei Cheng's face goes fond and wistful and a little sad. He forgets, sometimes, that Wei Cheng isn't really Wei Wuxian's father, that he's his uncle, or something. Was Wei Changze his younger brother? Nie Mingjue thinks of something happening to Huaisang or Wei Wuxian when he's not there to protect them and it makes his heartrate pick up. It's terrible, for Wei Cheng to lose his brother like that, and he hadn't meant to remind him of it. Nie Mingjue wants to change the subject but doesn't know what to say. "Um. Did you need something?"

"Hm?" His eyes clear. "Oh, yeah. Your father's looking for you."

Nie Mingjue can't hold back a sigh. He just wants a couple hours without someone needing something from him.

Wei Cheng doesn't scold him. Instead his lips twitch and he says, "Forget it. He can talk to you later. Don't stay out past dinner."

He startles. "Are you sure? Won't he be mad?"

Father doesn't get mad often. But he does expect to be obeyed.

Wei Cheng rolls his eyes. "If he does, it'll be at me. He can yell at me if he wants."

Father doesn't really yell. But he and Wei Cheng do fight a lot.

"Thanks," he says, relaxing. That's another difference. Neither his mother nor Huaisang's would have ever directly gone against his father, not even on something this small. It just wasn't their place. It's not Wei Cheng's either, but it seems like no one's told him that. If Father didn't want Wei Cheng taking liberties, he shouldn't have offered him so many.

Wei Cheng reaches out, squeezing his shoulder, hand broad and warm and reassuring. "Don't worry about it. Stay out of trouble."

There's a teasing lilt to the last part, because it's always Huaisang and Wuxian getting him in trouble, but that just makes Nie Mingjue laugh, sharp an unexpected.

Wei Cheng is nothing like his father is supposed to want.

But he's not so bad.

[ilium-ilia]

a fox cries; never howls

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | in limbo au | masterlist

Part (1/3): marco's girl

a/n: this is an alternate universe to my story, In Limbo. you do not need to read In Limbo to understand this au, but if you are reading In Limbo, i recommend not reading this story until you've read chapter 14 due to some spoilers. please take care to read the warnings on each chapter, this is a very heavy fic.

tw: rape/non-con, pedophilia, human/sex trafficking, forced prostitution, abduction, suicide, self harm, whump, hurt/comfort, reader has long hair for plot reasons (can be natural, braided, etc)

Each time it happens, you tell yourself it’ll be different, but it never is. 

Broken promises lay in glistening shards around the heels strapped to your feet as you grit your teeth through the pain. No matter how much you beg and plead, it’s always the same. That visceral ache shooting through the core of your being still brings tears to your eyes the same it did the first time. It will continue to plague you. Haunting your cheeks in messy streaks as it drips onto the counter your hands so desperately palm at. Each tear that splatters by your fingers shimmer with black flakes. Running mascara. It stains everything it touches—especially you.

You’re prettier that way. Ruined. At least, that’s what you’ve been told. 

Always pretty on your knees; bent over; looking up; crying; pleading; beg; beg for it; and keep crying; yeah, just like that. 

Your skin is scarred, marked in the shape of greedy lips, and it stings like the wound is fresh. Words seep into the soft tissue where it continues to fester. Burrows its spindly roots until it can bear fruit. You can pull at the stem all you like, but you can’t escape the fact that it’s now a fundamental part of you. It’s the only thing keeping your bones from crumbling. This mantra. This throe. 

“Not tryna hide, are you?” 

Avaricious fingers dig into the firm cartilage of your throat as you’re yanked back and forced to look at yourself in the mirror. The ripples of your defilement echo throughout your body—and you’re forced to watch it. The bounce of your breasts and the smudged makeup dripping along your cheeks. In some odd way, you are a masterpiece. You’re sculpted of nothing but obloquy yet carved just like if you were made of stone. You would close your eyes if you thought you could get away with it.

But Marco likes when you watch. Savors the tremble of your lips as your eyes find him in the mirror. Pristine teeth glint in the pallid light. Perfectly white and straight. He always takes care of himself—of his appearance. It shows in the carefully carved muscles that flex in his abdomen as he pistons into you; in the well groomed locks of his dark hair. This is the sweetest liquor he could ever indulge in—enjoying not only destroying you, but of making a show of it. 

He must always be the performer and the audience; having his cake and eating it too. 

A fury of grunted whispers slice straight through your ear drums. It’s a hardly comprehensible slurring of English and Russian, and though your fuzzy brain can’t make sense of it, you know what it means. Marco teeters close to the edge, hands dragging your body back against him as he holds himself flush against the crux of your ass. Hot warmth spills into you, and despite the hand around your throat, you’re finally able to breathe. This impiety does not offer you comfort in your tainted skin, but it offers you the one commodity you rarely seem to come by: rest. 

That incessant ache lurks deep in the pit of your stomach, even as Marco pulls out, but it’s quiet. Doesn’t demand your attention. You feel the dull throb that harasses the raw tissue of your cunt, and you try not to wince as you feel his seed spill out. Chuckling, he releases your throat in favor of wrapping his fingers around your hair, bunching as much as he can into the palm of his hand. It’s overgrown. Messy and dead. But he refuses to allow you to cut it. 

Nothing about you gets to change without his permission—not even your appearance. 

“Look at you, my sweet little girl,” he coos. Sharp teeth nip at the side of your jaw and you wince. You’re surprised his mouth doesn’t unhinge; that he doesn’t shove you into his maw and swallow you whole. “So goddamn perfect. Can’t get enough of this pussy. Christ.” 

When Marco backs away, you swear your knees will give out. Without his puppeteering hands to hold you up and bend you to his desires, you’re nothing but mush. A disgusting mess of smeared eyeliner and dripping cum. You can hardly stomach the sight of your body in the mirror. Neck littered with faint teeth marks, body bare and on display—used and abused to his content. You’re abhorrent. A pathetic creature you can’t stand to behold. 

Marco’s belt clinks just as a knock rattles the door. Your heart thuds loud enough in your ears that it nearly drowns out the sound of his heavy footsteps crossing the glorified dressing room. You attempt to steady yourself as you back away from the mirror, but the straps of your heels dig into your toes. They’re the only article of clothing you’re allowed. Marco says he likes the way they make your legs look longer. Likes the angle it gives him when he bends you over to fuck you.

When you turn to face him, he’s already sitting on the loveseat shoved into the corner of the room. A fresh bottle of mead sits on the tray next to him, and he pours himself a generous amount before knocking it back for a sip. The soft amber liquid overflows and dribbles past his lips, soaking his bare chest. His verdant eyes find you as he collets the drink on the tips of his fingers, then sucks them clean one by one. 

“Didn’t you hear that knock? You have a guest,” he says, tilting his jaw toward the door. 

With each step you take, you feel Marco’s seed dribble down your legs. It makes a sticky mess between your thighs, and you know he wouldn’t have it any other way. This is how he marks you. How he makes sure everyone knows who you belong to before he lets them take a piece of you home. 

A stranger with a thick neck stands at the door when you open it. His eyes are an odd shade of grey that sends a shiver down your spine as he looks you over, greedily drinking in the sight of your bare body. The chill of his gaze gets worse as the door closes behind him. He begins to crowd you and the sharp stench of vodka fills your nose. There’s something familiar about him. Every man in this club is familiar to you, in some way. Always hazy. Too fuzzy to place a name to. You think it’s your brain’s way of protecting itself. Of purging the bad things done to you as best as it can, lest you crumble in the palm of Marco’s hands. 

The sharp point of your heel catches on the plush rug that sprawls out in front of Marco’s feet, and you squeak as you nearly lose your footing. Both Marco and the stranger chuckle. The cacophonous tone grates against your eardrums, but you hide your discomfort as you stare at the ground. You wait. For the exchange. For the banter. They speak in Russian with one another through laughter as cash is passed to Marco. The air is still cold, and your thighs are still soiled, but the stranger looks at you like he would never dream of having any other meal than you. 

“Well, go on then,” Marco prompts. You look up at him with dull eyes. He swirls the mead in his cup as he tilts his head. “On your knees, babe. Wants to use your mouth tonight. Be a good girl, now.” 

Comply. Listen. It’s all you can do. So you sink to your knees like the well behaved girl you always are. Resting on your haunches, you look up at the man with a tight throat. He smiles, and your stomach drops. Roils and screams as he begins to unbuckle his belt. As he fishes himself from his trousers, you remind yourself all things are temporary. Especially pain. 

Nothing lasts forever—though, it often feels like it will. 

When it’s all said and done—when you’re thoroughly used—Marco walks you to the door like a gentleman. Hastily adorned clothes hang from your body as you pull your jumper tight around your core. Your cervix still aches from the virulent abuse it had taken earlier, but you attempt to ignore it as he opens the exit. Your only reprieve from this nightmare is that he didn’t parade you throughout the club like this; looking like a whore for hire, advertising you to anyone else with fingers itching in greed. Tonight, he allows you to take the back exit far away from prying eyes. 

Cool night air cuts through your scanty clothes, and you stare out at the vast space of the car park before you. Weekdays bring little business and customers to Makarov’s club. Most of the strippers who work for him end up lazing around in back rooms and closets, getting drunk or high enough that they can forget all about their shitty night. 

You wish you had that luxury. 

“Hey,” Marco hums, grabbing your wrist. You turn to face him. Dim shadows from the flickering hallway lights cast his face in darkness, but the glint in his eyes is unmistakable. “See you tomorrow, babe.” 

He sends you off with a kiss. Sloppy and wet—he likes messes. Savors making one out of you. Sweet mead and mint seeps into your mouth as you kiss him back with a tight jaw. When his hands caress your cheeks, pulling you closer, you wonder if he can taste the brine and bitter cum that lurks in the back of your throat. If he relishes in feeling every single way in which you’re destroyed. 

“See you tomorrow,” you murmur. 

Breathing only comes easy the moment you’re locked in your car. The movement is fluid—that gentle expanding of your chest—but it’s still agonizing. Diaphragm seizing with the sobs you fight back, it’s another reminder that you’re alive. As long as you draw breath, you don’t belong to yourself. 

Hot tears sear down your cheeks as you turn the key in the ignition. A gentle rumble follows as the engine hums to life. It’s a smooth, quiet purr. A car that’s much more expensive than you deserve. A lovely gift from Marco. It’s not at all uncommon for him to give you things. Expensive things. A car; an apartment; clothes—you’ll pay it back eventually. The numbers just add up to the big debt that’s hung over your head since you were sixteen. It ebbs and flows but not enough to save you. Not enough for you to belong to yourself again. 

As you bring the heels of your hands up to wipe your eyes, a gentle glow catches your attention. It moves. Dances and swirls in the numbra of the car park. Blinking, you focus on it. Golden yellow embers flicker and fade as life is breathed into them. It’s faint, but it reminds you of the well adored fireflies in America. Squinting, you can make out the outline of a car. It sits patiently and silent, but the windows are cracked. Faint smoke swirls through the openings where it climbs into the dull night sky and dissipates. 

Someone sits inside of the car, puffing away in a nicotine haze, but when your eyes lock onto the fingers pinching a cigarette, they freeze. Glowing embers quickly smother and die somewhere inside of the vehicle, and you’re left with nothing. You stare into the darkness, and it stares back. You feel its gaze tingling along your spine. Sniffing, you look away from that void. Be it man, or be it monster, you know nothing ever happens to you without Marco’s permission. 

That sentiment is equally as terrifying as it is comforting. 

When you arrive home—to the apartment paid for with your own body—you shower. No amount of water and soap is enough. You can lather yourself in all of Marco’s favorite scents, but the mint on his tongue still follows you everywhere. It lingers like an old scar that refuses to fade. As you exit the bathroom, you leave feeling just as disgusting as when you entered. Nothing but some sordid creature that hardly knows how to take care of herself. 

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you feel sick. Golden glitter still stains your eyelids, and the teeth marks on the side of your throat have only grown more noticeable. Still, nothing is worse than the mark on the back of your neck. Though you can’t see it, you feel it. It makes your skin itch and crawl, and you find your fingernails tearing at it. As if you could rip it off like a bandaid. But it stays. Festers and embeds itself deep inside of you. 

Swallowing, you try to forget it as you continue to dry off. This is your brief moment of comfort, where you’re too far out of reach and well out of sight to be gawked at and abused. Your only reprieve before you spend another night rotting as a trophy of glitter and bone. 

Weekends are better, but only marginally so. Wide eyed men fill Makarov’s club to the brim with wads of cash and twitchy fingers. Lingering gazes and hands brush against the crux of your ass and the back of your neck as Marco parades you through the crowd by your wrist. With your strappy golden heels and matching exiguous outfit, you’re flashy merchandise. Something soft and sweet that he flaunts in an attempt to make a quick quid or two as a way to fund his means of pleasure and keeping control of you. While you’d normally spend most nights on your hands and knees, on busy nights, Marco allows you to earn your living in an honorable way—

—dancing. 

Sharp heels tap on soft mahogany as your hips and arms sway, practiced and repetitive, atop a round table. Dull music thrums and shakes the dust off your bones as the men on the crescent sofa surrounding you chat and laugh the night away. Marco’s in the mix of them all, cold glass resting on his knee as his foot taps against the floor. A hazy film covers the spring green of his irises as the liquor settles deep into his marrow. Each time you rotate his way, you watch his pupils dilate. A vast forest covered by the smokey darkness of that void, he licks at the alcohol on his lips as he stares at your clothed cunt. 

His fantasy fills your mind before his own can even make sense of it. Every spare glass and bottle that litters the table around your feet would be thrown on the floor in an instant just to put you on your back. To open your vulnerable stomach. To tear off the little clothing protecting your feeble dignity and truly put you to work. He’d spread your limbs and pin them like a specimen to a board, and he would cut and slice until you have nothing left to hide. Until there is nothing left of you at all. 

“Babe!” 

Marco’s voice cuts through the discordance of the crowd and pulls you out of a nightmare and back into the present. Your terrifying reality. Slowly, you turn to face him, and he looks up at you with a grin on his face and a card stuck between his fingers. That sly haze still obscures his vision as he offers you his hand. Numb to the feeling of his skin against your own, you take it and allow him to help you down from the table. He wastes no time in dipping his fingers into the strap of your lingerie where he secures the card beneath the band. 

“Looks like you’ve got work to do,” he teases. 

Warm hands settle on the curve of your hips as he guides you to turn around, faced away from him. Then, they wander up. Greedy fingers brush along the line of your spine before they find purchase in your hair, grabbing it as if he were trying to help you put it up. You hate how long it’s gotten. That he won’t let you cut it. He doesn’t care if it’s straight, curly, braided—anything. Marco wants it long. Uses it like a leash in which he keeps you bound to him with. 

“I know you’re a good girl, so I’m sure you won’t forget, but a little reminder never hurts,” he coos into your ear. Intoxicated breath fans across the side of your face as he leans closer to breathe you in. A shiver prickles across your skin as he kisses the back of your neck, and your throat involuntarily contracts at the sensation. It’s as if he’s marking you again. Branding you. “If this… patron wants more, I get to watch.”

Swallowing, you nod as best as you can with his fist gripping your hair. “I know.” 

Chuckling, he relinquishes his grip on you before stepping back. “Of course you do, smart thing you are. I’ll be waiting here for you.” 

You wait until you’re well away from Marco and his friends before you fish out the card he stuck beneath the strap along your hip. A pitched ringing plagues your ears as you enter the VIP section of the club. Things are quieter. Less crowded and the speakers don’t blare as loud. But the silence allows something malevolent to burrow inside of you. It festers as incessant tinnitus and broiling nervosity in your stomach. A wordless, desperate prayer breathes past your lips as you approach the room in which your patron awaits you. 

You pray he is kind. You pray that he wants nothing more than to hold you and vent his problems, like others have. 

When you open the door and step into the threshold that always makes your palms sweat, you think for a single fleeting moment that you are lucky. The room is abandoned. Dim lights illuminate the dull leather of the couch in front of you and yet there is no man sitting there for you to serve. Gentle music drones over the wireless speakers, giving the impression that there should be someone here with you. The attendants even set out the ice and whiskey for his drink. It now thaws on the tray, water nearly overspilling in its decay. 

Brows furrowing together, you look down at the card to ensure you haven’t misread it in your haze. The attendant’s handwriting is chicken scratch. He always manages to make a nine look like a zero, but you’re certain this is a six. The door clicks shut behind you as you sigh, too defeated and confused to make sense of this confusion. A pit forms in your stomach at the thought of slinking back to Marco with some saturnine cloud hanging over your head. 

If you can’t find work tonight, he’ll make some for you. 

That pit quickly becomes a gaping hole the moment a fat palmed hand clasps over your mouth. Cardstock flutters out of your fingers like dainty butterfly wings, and hits the ground just as your back collides with an immovable chest. You don’t scream, but your heart nearly stops when you feel the cold press of metal against your throat. You are stuck in a vicious cycle. One of fear and sharp blades you’ll never wield yourself. 

“Not a fuckin’ word.” The voice that growls in your ear rattles your spine as the words erupt in his chest. Faint tobacco stains his fingers. Its earthy aroma seeps into your nose as your hands tremble against his tattooed forearm. “Don’t wanna hurt ya, so make this easy and listen to me, yeah?” 

Marco has taught you plenty well enough that the word no should be expunged from your vocabulary, so you nod. 

“Good.” 

You’re as stiff as a board when this stranger releases you. No amount of curiosity can get you to turn around and face the violent truth, not even as a thick jacket is tossed over your shoulders. The fabric is warm. Freshly removed off of the man behind you and placed on you as if it were a blanket. He presses his hand on your lower back and despite his caution, you still jump. 

“We’re going for a quick drive. Easy now. You’ll be home before sun up. C’mon,” he mutters. 

There is no such thing as saying no. There is no such thing as fighting. 

The knife vanishes from your sight but it’s all you can think about as this stranger leads you through the haze of the club. Everything blurs around you as you’re escorted to the nearest exit through quiet hallways that reek of cheap perfume. The only thing you can focus on is your feet. The glittery heels that match perfectly with your pedicure. You want to trip. To fall forward and hit the ground. Cry out and demand attention. The hand on the small of your back is all too grounding for you to make any mistakes. 

You approach and exit through an emergency fire door and the alarm doesn’t trip. Night air hits your skin like razor blades as you’re escorted across the car park. He shoves you into the back of a black car, and you only squeal a little when he slams the door behind you. When he situates himself in the driver's seat, the car hums to life and quiet lights flicker on just enough to scarcely illuminate his face in the rearview mirror. His eyes are dark. The darkest you’ve ever seen. 

“There’s a blindfold in the seat next to you. Put it on,” he orders. Stuck on autopilot, you do as he says. It’s a thick scrap of cloth, something you hastily tie around your eyes and knot at the back of your head with trembling fingers. It only touches your skin for a fleeting moment before it’s soaked in briney tears. “Don’t even think ‘bout takin’ it off.” 

Not even your morbid curiosity can convince you to peek from between the threads. The word no is not in your vocabulary. Neither is disobeyment. 

Each turn the man takes as he brings you to some unknown destination has you swaying in your seat. Every pule that leaves your lips is smothered behind the palm of your hand as you wipe snot along the ridges of your knuckles. You do well to keep the aftermath of your fear to yourself. Even though this man has abducted you—something that was all too easy for him to do as you fawned, and you’ll surely pay for this when Marco finds you again—you do not want to ruin the coat around your shoulders with spit. 

Of course you think of escape. You always do. It’s a self soothing daydream that florescences in the neurons of your brain. Unlock the door. Open the handle. Jump out. It’ll hurt. It always does. And it’ll hurt when you’re caught, but it always does. 

You don’t move. Freedom is just a dream.

Despite the knife he greeted you with, this man is surprisingly gentle. His touch is soft when he eventually parks the car, and his fingers do not dig too terribly into your skin as he helps free you from the back seat of his car. You do not trust his softness as he leads you into a room that smells like alcohol and cigarettes. Nicotine burns your nose as you’re settled into a plush seat, and for a fleeting moment you think you were only driven around the block before being thrown right back into Marco’s maw. 

That theory is proven terribly wrong when your blindfold is ripped from your eyes. 

A man with impressive tepidity sits across from you at an antique wooden desk. Rich red walls close in on you. Crushing. Looming. Smoke blurs the space between the two of you as he puffs away at a thick cigar, blue eyes scanning a single piece of paper. He’s dressed nicer than you anticipated. A dark button up shirt, neatly combed hair and groomed beard—he hums to himself as his eyes scan the page in front of him before they land on you. You look away as if his gaze has burnt you. Instead, you focus on your nails and the manicure Marco made you get last week. Baby pink gel; his favorite color on you. 

“It’ll take more than crocodile tears to tug on my heartstrings, love,” he hums. 

The climate in your mouth suddenly becomes sere. All the snot and saliva that had built up before seems to vanish at his words. He’s nonchalant; terrifyingly so. 

“I don’t… uhm,” you attempt. 

“No need to explain yourself,” he interjects. “I understand. We all need to make a living.” Pausing, his eyes flicker back to the paper in his hands. “You’re Marco’s girl, aren’t you?” 

Thick obloquy heats the pit of your stomach as your fingers twitch. That term—that title. It fills you with more shame than you can name. You attempt to swallow down the cotton-like dryness in your mouth as your hand paws at the back of your neck. Expertly manicured nails scratch at the skin, and you wish nothing more than to peel back the layers of your epidermis and toss them aside to rot. 

Stiff, you nod. 

“John Price,” he introduces. 

He drops the name like it bears weight. As if it should crush you with each heavy letter that it carries, yet it doesn’t add on to the anxiety raging in your stomach. Your hand falls back into your lap as you dare to look at him once more. His eyes are sharp, as if he’s using his gaze alone to cut back your layers, but there is nothing to show for it. No secret except for a sour ignominy that you’ve carried for so long it imprints in your very skin. 

“Has Marco not told you about me?” he asks. He’s not upset; or if he is, he hides it well behind curious eyes. 

“No,” you answer truthfully. 

John chuckles. “Thought the man would’ve at least told his benefactor about me.” 

You blink. “...Benefactor?” 

“No need to play dumb. Like I said, it takes a lot more than faux tears to get me to feel sorry for you.” 

Your fear and confusion grips you so relentlessly that you don’t even feel it anymore. It’s wound so tightly around you, restricting blood flow to your body, that everything tingles if it is not numb. This man—John Price—gives you no chance to rest or fix your muddled thoughts. He tosses the paper in his hands across the wooden top of the desk, and your eyes nearly cross at the numbers printed on the pristine sheet and the amount of commas between them. There’s math. Addition and subtraction. Transactions of a bank account with a name at the top: 

Marco Anatolijus Kanas

Funny. You’ve never seen his full name before. He’s only ever been Marco.

You’ve only ever been his girl. 

While you stare at the numbers, John throws question after question at you, none of which you know how to answer. He asks about transactions. He asks about what they’re for. Each and every time he’s met with the same answer. You are just as clueless as him. Marco does not concern you with his real work. The work that gets him enough money to have a bank account as padded as the one you’re looking at currently. 

His finances make the sparse contents of your stomach curdle. The amount of money you owe him for your unfortunate existence is trivial compared to what he already has. So miniscule it would hardly budge his savings. Marco has been making you work half your life away for something akin to a mere couple quid to him, and it stings just as bad as it always does. Seeing it at face value just how trapped you are—how Marco owns you and always will. 

“Don’t get coy with me.” John’s getting frustrated. Each question he presents you with is met with the same carking response of I don’t know. It’s nothing but the truth, but he seems to be informed otherwise. You’re significantly less important than he believes you to be, but the man looming behind you doesn’t help in settling your nerves enough to explain your situation properly. “Word on the street is Marco’s girl supplies him with his spending money. You’re tellin’ me I heard wrong? Or are you too daft to ask him what he’s using his finances on?” 

You swallow. What a polite way to put it—the things Marco does to you. 

“He… He makes money off of me but I… I don’t know how much or what he uses it for,” you choke out. “Well, I… I know a little bit but it’s not, it’s not like, whatever you’re asking, it’s just… it’s stupid things, it’s like, my housing or… it’s not… important.” 

There’s a quiet beat that settles between you and John, and you feel whatever vexation he harbored for you previously quickly evaporate in the air. He’s silent for so long that you force yourself to look up at him. You’re expecting curiosity, even the most morbid of iterations. John Price is not curious. You can tell by the way his jaw unclenches and eyes soften that he finally understands what you’ve been too inept to say. 

“How long have you been workin’ for him?” he questions, softer this time. 

“Since… I was sixteen,” you reply. 

“Sixteen?” He’s appalled. Repeats the word like it’s the worst taste he’s ever had on his tongue. “What’s he making you do for work? Dance?” 

Shame sears the back of your neck, leaving nothing but wounded, marked skin in its wake. You palm at the burn. Try to will it away with desperate fingers, and the movement causes the coat resting limply around your body to slip off your shoulder. This is the first time you’ve considered lying to John. Omitting the truth just to save the small shred of dignity you still have left, no matter how imaginary it might be. 

“Yeah. I… dance on stage but he… has me do private sessions too but he… sometimes he-” 

A hand brushes against the side of your arm and you flinch so hard your teeth nearly pierce through your tongue. Weathered wood squeaks beneath your weight as you freeze after nearly jumping out of your skin. This well meaning hand that startled you so terribly is well meaning. It pauses in its endeavor to cover your body once again with this stranger's coat, and instead lets it fall. You had almost forgotten all about him—the strange man who stole away Marco’s favorite toy from right under his nose. 

John and the stranger share a look as you retreat back into yourself. Hands folded over your bare lap, you didn’t feel naked until they finally understood who you are—what you are. Pristine nails dig into your palms as you swallow back the bilious vomit that threatens to spew free. 

“If we take you home, will you be safe there?” His eyes land back on you, but you can’t bring yourself to give him the same courtesy. 

You shake your head. “He’s going to be so mad. He… he pays for my apartment. I don’t have any money of my own. I don’t have a phone. I… There’s nothing. I have nothing. Marco’s provided everything for me and I never… he never gave me the chance to…” 

“I understand,” John interjects, carefully quelling your rambling. He waits for a moment before leaning back in his chair, retracting every bit of malice he exuded while interrogating you. “I’m sorry, love. Should’ve done our research better.” 

“It’s okay… Marco didn’t leave much of me to find.” 

John’s eyes darken in a way that would leave most men with their tail tucked between their legs. You’re too busy making yourself small to notice. “We’ll fix that.” 

In the next few hours, your life changes drastically. It’s sudden and feels just as violent as everything always does, yet it is intimidatingly soft. The gazes that are cast your way scream pity instead of lust, and you are handled with so much care you’re convinced you’ve become nothing more than a tchotchke. At least these men treat you with fragility rather than flippancy. 

You learn the man who took you from Makarov’s club is named Riley. You’re able to get a better look at him without the blindfold and terror willing your vision elsewhere. He’s intimidating. Arms drenched in ink, it’s almost enough to smother the scars that map the story around his body. It can’t shroud the ones on his face. The thin line that dissects his eyebrow, or the one on his nose which only makes the curve of the bridge more dramatic. His eyes are darker than anything you’ve ever seen before—so empty and yet full at the same time; nothing but a contradiction as he watches you pull his coat tighter around your shoulders. 

It is decided that—for your safety—you are to live with Riley until it is determined you are out of Marco’s reach. 

Despite your apprehension, you can’t say no. 

Riley’s house feels like a den. Well guarded but comfortable, the plush cushions that cradle you on the couch feel false. Fake. Everything does, but it’s mostly you. Your hair. Your clothes. Your skin. Nothing about you is tangible, not even to yourself. 

You’re still swaddled in Riley’s coat by the time he tells you that your room is ready. Really, it’s his room. You want to tell him you’d rather sleep on the couch than in some stranger’s bed, but you can hardly bring yourself to speak a single word to him. He scares you, but not in the way people usually do. It’s not the fear of pain that he riles within you, but rather something light. Something that flickers and sputters, waiting to grow. You smother it as he hands you proper clothes to change into. You don’t know where he got them from or why they fit so well, and you don’t care to ask. 

His room is… what you expected of a man like him. Plain walls, sturdy wardrobe and bed. A wristwatch ticks on the nightstand. It laments quietly, so much so that you only notice it when you sink into the mattress. He’s changed the sheets and pillowcases for you, but it’s not enough to snuff out the faint scent of tobacco. You like it, you decide. Or rather, you don’t mind it. Grounding earthy notes are much better than the synthetic chemicals Marco soaks himself in. 

Sleep comes about as easy as you expect it to. A TV drones on quietly in the living room as you toss and turn among unfamiliar sheets. Dull anxiety claws within the cage of your chest, but it holds itself at bay better than you anticipated. Or rather, you are just too numb to fully appreciate the pain. You should be afraid. You know it, and it’s lurking there even if you can’t fully feel it yet. 

It manifests suddenly as you feel the ghost of Marco’s hands on you. His teeth digging into your skin, demanding flesh. He wets his maw with your blood just as he wets his cock with your cunt. It sears. Rips through you in the brutal way it always does. Raw. Sinew on bone. And you don’t cry because it’s what he wants. He wants that brine and that sapor and he’ll claim it with claws and a smile. 

His mantra pants. It sweats and drips. It’s wet on your ear. 

There’s no escaping him.

You wake just after the sun does, and it is only then that you cry. 

Grief is the quintessence of escape. You’ve crossed the threshold—you were dragged beyond it—and now there’s no way back to the way things were. Your life wasn’t good, and it was far from comfortable, but it was familiar. You only know how to navigate things when bound. Chained to an unforgiving master. How are you supposed to live with free hands? 

What happens when Marco yanks your leash and finds no tension? 

What becomes of his favorite toy—Marco’s girl—then? 

By the time you finally gather the courage to leave the room, you find Riley in the kitchen. It’s what drew you out of your hiding spot originally; that scent of freshly cooked food. Sizzling meat and steaming eggs. He works at the stove with his back turned to you, arms dancing above the heat as he fries up a breakfast that should make your mouth water, yet it fails to do so. 

“Morning.” He hears you before he sees you, but he pauses with a spatula in hand to look at you from over his shoulder. He gestures to the island in front of you—something you suspect was only built to compensate for the lack of counter space on either side of the stove—then hums to himself as he turns his attention back to his work. “Breakfast’ll be finished soon, if ya wanna grab a seat.” 

There’s a stiffness that plagues your limbs as you sit on the high top chair Riley pointed to. It rolls off you in waves. Taints the air; souring it with your presence. You are not comfortable in this place—with this man. His palm haunts the chapped skin of your lips the same way his chest haunts your back and you can’t help but wonder what he and John would have done to you had they deemed you guilty. If they had looked at Marco’s girl and saw an opportunity rather than a pitiful creature, would you be sitting here now? 

Breakfast is a quiet affair of scraping plates and muffled chewing. Riley doesn’t sit next to you. Rather, he stands on the other side of the counter with a bowed head as he shovels egg and bacon into his mouth as if he’ll starve if not. He tries to rest his elbows on the counter, but it’s too low. It curves his spine uncomfortably, and he shifts as if standing on hot coals. 

Hunger does not pull at your stomach. Nervosity fills you to the brim—too full to consume something other than the ache. 

“I’m sorry ‘bout last night.” Riley’s nearly finished with his food by the time he speaks, prompting you to look up at him for the first time since you sat down. All you’ve managed to do for the last few minutes is drag the tip of your fork around your scrambled eggs. “Boys really thought you were dangerous. That you were workin’ with Makarov and Marco. Shouldn’t have grabbed you like that.” 

Dull teeth dig into the wet flesh inside your cheeks. “It’s okay.” 

“It’s not okay,” Riley argues adamantly. “But I am sorry.” 

It’s difficult to discern the purpose of his apology. Is it to make himself feel better for what he did? For dragging you out of that club and into John Price’s office? To interrogate you until your innocence was proven? Does he say sorry to comfort himself, or you? To prove he’s not as monstrous as he looks with dark eyes and tight lips. He is, after all, awfully kind for a monster. You have yet to meet a beast that knows how to apologize without digging their teeth into you afterwards. 

Perhaps his apology is truly for you. To settle fried nerves. To make you feel safe. 

You know better than that. 

You were safer in the clutches of Marco’s jaw than you are now. 

“Riley, can… can I ask something?” 

A cheeky remark bubbles along his tongue. You just did. He takes one look at you and decides to bite it back. “Course.” 

A noisome lurch pulls at your stomach, embittering the sparse bites of food you were able to force down your throat. Thunder roars in your chest as your heart attempts to break free—leave your body behind to rot while it escapes. 

“Would I… Could I get the pill?” you ask. 

“The pill?” he repeats. 

“Yeah, like… the… the morning after pill?” 

His silence doesn’t surprise you, but it stretches long enough to be concerning. Looking up from your cold food, you’re met with soft eyes. They’re the softest ones that have looked at you for what feels like ages. Gentle. They don’t greedily rake over your body to soak in every twitch of your skin—rather, he reads you. Between the lines and and in the margins, he devours every word. 

For the first time in your life he makes you feel more like a victim than a toy, and you’re not sure if that feels any better. 

“Will you be alright by yourself if I go buy it for you?” he asks. There’s no judgment; only pity. 

You nod. 

Riley mulls it over as his tongue swipes along the back of his teeth. When he straightens, he brings his plate with him as he steps back and hums. Your attention is quickly brought back to your hands as he sets the dish in the sink to be cleaned later. 

“Alright.” You try not to choke as he motions to your plate. “Should eat. I’ll be back soon, yeah?” 

Once again, you nod. “Okay.” 

Not a single morsel has been consumed off of your plate by the time Riley returns home, and you are not in your seat. Disappointment buzzes at the base of his skull, but he’s not surprised. He knows what it’s like to be too full to eat—to be plagued with something not even hunger can triumph. He sets aside the pill box to clean up after you. Food in the bin. Plate in the sink to be washed later. 

It’s quiet. It’s never this quiet. Not even when he’s home by himself, which he usually is. Riley stands in the kitchen with furrowed brows as he looks around the room like he’s misplaced something. His keys. His lighter. 

God, he could use a smoke. 

Heavy feet cause old wood to creak as he pokes his head into the bedroom. An imprint of your body still dips into the mattress from this morning, but it’s gone cold. He was going to stay politely stationed in the doorway until the thought flickers across his mind that you’ve left. Got too scared of the brute whose home you’re trapped in and ran off. Away. Hiding from the world—from Marco. 

There’s little reprieve to be found when he notices the light shining through the crack of the bathroom door, but it’s smothered the moment he hears you crying. They’re pathetic, stifled pules. Ones you attempt to desperately hide, yet they bleed out of you anyway. He wants to leave you alone, to let your emotions wash over you, but he can’t. 

Even with your crying, the house is too quiet. 

“Everythin’ alright?” 

Both his voice and knock startle you, and your sobbing swells. Breathing out of control, he can hear you choke on the snot flowing through your sinuses. You’re panicked, and he realizes that this is more than grief. More than anxiety. More than fear. 

You’re terrified. 

You’re standing in the bathtub like a scared cat when Riley opens the door. Tears stream down your face. Relentless. They nearly glisten as bright as the kitchen knife in your hand. 

You told yourself it would be easier for him to clean up the mess of your corpse if you killed yourself in the bathtub. Blood festers and rots in the smallest of crevices, but there’s none of that to be found in the ceramic that surrounds you. However, you’re having trouble getting any blood to flow at all. You’re not sure if it’s you or the knife, but you’re hardly able to break the skin on your wrists. The crimson blood that flows through your minor cuts feels trivial. There needs to be more. 

It’s not enough. You’re scared that you might have to stab yourself. Spill your guts in the tub. Witness your offals for yourself before you fade away. Something. You want to die, but you don’t want it to hurt. 

You don’t want it to hurt, but you need to leave. 

“Hey. Hey, easy now.” Riley feels as if he’s talking to an animal. Some feral cat poised to bite and scratch if he’s not cautious. He approaches you with his palms faced out in surrender, and the walls around you seem to close in. “You don’t wanna do this sweetheart. Give me the knife.” 

“You don’t understand. I can’t. I can’t do this. You-You don’t know what he’ll do to me. Marco he... It’s- I- fuck, I can’t. I can’t do this, please just let me do this.” 

Each word is muffled. So far from your ears that it hardly reaches you. Still, they spew along with your cries. It doesn’t deter Riley from closing in on you. Swallowing the spit building on your tongue, you hold the knife with both hands. A simple kitchen blade, now brandished like a weapon. It’s nearly laughable. You couldn’t even kill yourself. How can you expect to hurt him? 

“I know it doesn’t feel like it, but it’s gonna be okay. We’ll make it okay, but I can’t do that if you’re not here.” His words feel stupid in his mouth, but he knows he has to try something. “Please. Give me the knife. I don’t wanna hurt you. Hey, give- fuck!” 

There’s a lunge. Grabbing. Blade on skin. Blood on tile. 

Riley meant it when he said he didn’t want to hurt you, but you still cry out as he yanks you out of the tub. Once again, your back is against his chest. You are enveloped by him as the two of you sink onto the bathroom floor, held down by his weight, and it is then that you truly can no longer hold yourself together. Vision darkening, chest ceasing; you panic. It rips through you with shaking hands and writhing legs, causing your feet to kick at the dull kitchen knife at your feet. 

For a moment, you are lost. Consumed by overwhelming grief and fear, and still Riley holds you through it all. You feel his heart beating against your spine, feel the exhale of his lungs dance on the top of your head. It’s a flicker in the darkness. In the primal fear of knowing you are still somehow chained to the man who has abused you for countless years. 

Dread transcends physical space. Marco planted it inside of you the first time his lips found the quiver in your throat. 

“Breathe, sweetheart. I’ve got ya.” 

Riley’s voice fades in like radio static. Disconnected and muffled, yet growing evermore clear. Then, it hits all at once. The slight sting of your wrists and the ache in your leg. Did you trip? You feel the growing bruise pulse and throb on your shin, and another one in your hip. It’s hardly bearable, but neither of them are as uncomfortable as the warm, sticky mess seeping into your shirt. 

It takes several seconds for you to realize it’s blood. 

“There, good. It’s alright,” Riley whispers. His voice is thick—heavy enough to make your stomach sink. 

“Am- Am I bleeding?” you stutter. 

“No, you’re alright. Don’t worry ‘bout the blood.” 

But you do. You worry about it because you don’t want it to hurt, you don’t even think you want to die anymore—you just want it gone. For it to dissolve around you, or for you to waste away into dust. Your chin rests against your chest as you look for the source, scouring your own body for the wound. Your wrists, your arms your legs—

—the wound is on Riley. 

Blood gushes through a gash on the top of his forearm, obscuring your view of the damage. It’s just as steady as every stream you ever used to jump over as a child. It slices through the meticulously crafted ink that graces his skin, and you feel as if you’ve cut through the canvas of a painting. Ruined something good. Something more useful than yourself. More than that, you hurt him. 

“Oh my god, your arm,” you gasp. 

“It’s nothing,” Riley attempts to assure. 

“There’s so much blood, I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s nothing,” he reiterates. “Just a cat scratch, sweetheart.” 

His cat scratch takes twenty minutes to patch up. You count the time on the ticking of his wristwatch as you lay in his bed. Body too weak and afflicted with malaise to make something of yourself, you stare at the ceiling as you listen to him hiss and grunt. It’s the blood, you’re sure. Despite the flow, he manages to smother it to nothing more than a scab beneath pristine dressings. 

It takes him another ten minutes to clean you up. He assesses the wounds you left on yourself—shallow horizontal cuts along the delicate skin of your wrists. You stare at them as he cleans and bandages them, and you tell yourself the sting from the antiseptic is what makes your eyes water. 

You’ve created a mess for nothing, and Riley is the one paying for it. 

“There.” He secures the last piece of tape on the gauze. It feels unnecessary. Band-aids would have sufficed, and you tried to tell him as much only for him to mutter something about infections. “Not too tight?” 

You shake your head. “It’s fine.” 

Content, he hums as he steps away from the bed, gathering up items off of the nightstand. You watch as his fingers swallow rolls of tape, forearm flexing beneath his own dressings. Teeth digging into your bottom lip, your heart lurches, as the guilt pierces through you like a blade. You’re not sure why it lurks. Is it because you hurt him? Because you tried to leave a corpse for him to come home to? 

“I’ll get you some water. Ought to take that pill sooner rather than later,” Riley says, turning to leave the room. 

He only makes it a few steps before you stop him. “I lied.” 

Pausing, his eyes find you with more confusion than you expected. “Yeah?” 

“I lied about… needing the pill. I just said it so you would leave,” you admit. You push yourself up from the bed, legs swinging over the side of the mattress to sit and properly look at him. “When… I first… Marco used to make me take birth control. Like, the actual pills. I got pregnant anyway. Made me get the IUD after that. It’s more effective, so I don’t think I’ll really need it. I mean, I’ve never needed it before, so…” 

Listening, Riley nods as you bare the raw parts of yourself. It’s impossible to share without that warble in your tone—that pain that always leaks into your voice—but in some strange way, it feels good. Refreshing. You’re airing out an old, festering wound that hasn’t ever seen the light of day. 

“You got a kid to take care of? If they’re with Marco-” 

“No,” you interrupt. Riley’s words die on his tongue. “No, he… he made me get an abortion, too. It’s for the best, really. Kids shouldn’t be around that monster anyway.” 

Again, he nods. The house feels loud. Every inch of the four walls around you seems to buzz with an energy you’re not privy to. 

“Well, some water wouldn’t hurt. Food wouldn’t either, since you never finished breakfast,” he continues as he turns. “Want anything specific?” 

He’s so… casual. Nonchalant despite the trauma you subjected him to. He should be angry with you. Furious at having made a mess; at having hurt him. His entire life was turned upside down the very same moment yours was—he should hate you for it, but he doesn’t. 

“Whatever’s easiest.” The floorboards are loose by the door. They squeak as he crosses the threshold, and you feel your stomach lurch. “Riley?” 

Pausing, he turns on his heel as his head pokes back into the room. “Yeah?” 

So calm. So patient. 

“Thank you. For everything. I just… Thank you, Riley,” you choke. 

For the first time since he caught you in that club, he smiles; small and kind. 

“Just Simon to you, yeah?”

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[idkanymark]

[So close to what]

best friends to lovers au | haechan x f!reader

INTRO: your best friend is in love with you but you’re too scared of ruin the friendship to accept his feelings.

w. slightly suggestive

NOTE: Exam season is over and I finally have a little bit of time. How are you?

Do you guys prefer when I use the name Haechan or Donghyuck? Please let me know!

---------

"Did you hear?" Ryujin asked, leaning in with a knowing smirk.

"Heard what?" you replied, raising a brow.

"Hoseok wanted to ask you out—but Haechan stopped him."

"What?" You blinked, stunned.

Everyone knew about Haechan’s feelings for you. He never said it outright, but his actions spoke loud enough. From high school to university, he remained by your side—teasing, annoying, and somehow still your favorite person. You’d lost count of how many times you tried to strangle him, probably resembling Homer and Bart, yet you couldn’t imagine life without him. That’s exactly why you never acknowledged his feelings, and Haechan was smart enough never to say them aloud.

"Do you really not see him as more than a friend?" Ryujin pressed.

"Yes, I'm sure” you said firmly.

Well… that was going to change soon.

Especially that evening, you and Haechan were having your usual dinner night—something that had become routine ever since you recently moved in together near campus.

Coming back from work, you expected the usual - maybe Haechan napping on the couch or raiding the fridge before dinner. What you didn’t expect was to find Haechan shirtless, playing with your dog.

You’d seen him shirtless plenty of times before. But not since he started hitting the gym. And wow—he had changed. Broad shoulders, toned arms, defined abs. When did this happen?

You were too busy staring to realize he had caught you. He turned, amusement flickering in his eyes as he fought back a smirk.

“Oh, you’re back?” he said casually, like he hadn’t just sent your brain into overdrive. “I already prepped everything for dinner.”

“Oh? Mh—yeah, I—” Wait. Why did it suddenly feel hot? Was there no air in here?

“I’m just gonna take a quick shower first!” you blurted before bolting to the bathroom, your heartbeat hammering in your ears.

As you shut the door behind you, you swore you heard him chuckle.

Haechan 1 - 0 You.

By the time you stepped out of the shower, you had successfully convinced yourself that you were not affected by Haechan’s sudden gym-induced glow-up. You were just tired. Stressed. Hungry. That’s all.

You walked into the kitchen, determined to act normal, only to find Haechan already setting up the ingredients. His damp hair was pushed back, a few strands falling lazily over his forehead. The sleeveless shirt he threw on did absolutely nothing to hide the changes you were desperately trying to ignore.

"Feeling better?" he teased, glancing at you with that look—the one that always meant trouble.

You rolled your eyes and reached for the cutting board. "Just hand me the vegetables."

The two of you moved around the kitchen in a familiar rhythm, chopping, stirring, and sneaking bites of food when you thought the other wasn’t looking. Everything was fine—until you struggled with the knife, your hands slipping slightly on the carrot you were cutting.

Before you could react, Haechan was behind you. Right behind you.

"Here, let me help” he murmured, his chest just barely brushing against your back as he reached around you. His hands covered yours, guiding your grip on the knife.

You swore the temperature in the room shot up ten degrees.

"You’re holding it too loosely” he continued, his voice lower than usual. "You need to be firm."

Firm. Right. Firm grip. Not shaky hands. Not the overwhelming awareness of how close he was, how warm he felt, how good he smelled—why does he smell so good?!

"You okay?" he asked, his breath fanning against your ear.

No. Absolutely not.

"Yeah! Of course! Totally fine!" you blurted, stepping forward so fast you nearly knocked the bowl off the counter. "You know what? Maybe you should handle the cutting. I’ll just… stir."

Haechan watched you with amusement, the corners of his lips twitching upward. "You’re acting weird” he said, crossing his arms.

You grabbed the nearest spoon and pointed it at him. "I am not acting weird. You’re acting weird!"

He just chuckled, shaking his head as he picked up the knife again. "Whatever you say."

Haechan 2 - 0 You

And for the first time, you started to wonder if maybe—just maybe—you weren’t as immune to him as you thought.

-----

A road trip was long overdue. Ever since Haechan got his driver license, it had been your thing- just you, Haechan, the open road, a questionable playlist, the endless banter. Nothing had changed.

Or so you thought.

As you hopped into the car, adjusting your seat, Haechan shot you a lazy grin. “I got everything we might need so you can ride comfortably.”

You choked on air.

Ride comfortably?

Your head snapped toward him, but he was already looking straight ahead, fingers drumming against the steering wheel like he hadn’t just said that. Oh, this man was choosing his words very carefully these days.

“Oh?” You cleared your throat, narrowing your eyes. “And what exactly does that mean?”

Haechan turned to you, feigning innocence. “You know, snacks, pillows, a blanket in case you get cold—” He glanced at you, his smirk deepening. “Why? What did you think I meant?”

Your brain short-circuited.

“I—nothing. I just—shut up and drive” you muttered, yanking your seatbelt on as heat crept up your neck.

The car rumbled to life, and soon, you were cruising down the highway, music filling the space between you. But something was different. You could feel it in the air, thick and charged, every teasing glance from Haechan making it worse.

“So” he started, tapping his fingers against the wheel, “when are you gonna admit it?”

You frowned. “Admit what?”

“That you’ve been acting weird around me lately.”

Your grip on your drink tightened. “I have not—”

“You literally sprinted to the bathroom the other day after seeing me shirtless.”

Your jaw clenched. “I was hot.”

“Oh, I bet you were.”

Your head snapped toward him, and he was already grinning like he won some kind of game. You hated how smug he looked. You hated even more how right he probably was.

You exhaled sharply, turning your gaze back to the road.

Haechan 3 - 0 You

And this trip was far from over.

-----

The sky was drenched in deep oranges and purples as the road stretched endlessly ahead. The entire trip had been a game—one you were losing miserably. Haechan had been relentless, throwing teasing remarks and smug glances your way, collecting points without even trying.

But not this time.

You shifted in your seat, stretching your arms above your head with a casual sigh. “Ugh, I should’ve worn something lighter" you muttered, tugging at the neckline of your top just enough to draw attention. “It’s so hot in here.”

Haechan didn’t react at first, his eyes fixed on the road. But you caught it—the quick flicker of his gaze toward you, the subtle shift in his grip on the steering wheel.

Encouraged, you went in for the kill. “Maybe I should just take this off" you mused, fingers hooking under the hem of your shirt as if you were actually considering it.

That did it.

His knuckles went white against the wheel, his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, and he exhaled slowly, like he was physically restraining himself.

Still, he said nothing.

The air inside the car grew thick with something different. No teasing comeback, no cocky remark. Just tension. Heavy, undeniable tension.

And that’s when you knew.

Haechan wasn’t winning this round. You were. You finally got a point.

A slow smirk crept onto your face as you leaned back, satisfied. “Hey, pass me the aux.”

For a second, he didn’t move. Then, finally, he let out a sharp breath, shaking his head with a disbelieving chuckle as he grabbed the cord and handed it to you.

“You’re so annoying” he muttered, gripping the wheel a little too tightly.

You grinned, plugging in your phone. “Something wrong?”

He scoffed, dragging a hand through his hair. “I hate you”

No, he didn’t.

Haechan 3 - 1 You

-----

The ride to Busan had been long. Five hours of charged silence, stolen glances, and the occasional throat-clearing that neither of you acknowledged. By the time you arrived, exhaustion was settling into your bones—but the universe clearly wasn’t done messing with you.

Because the moment you stepped into your Airbnb, you were met with a problem.

“A bed?” Your voice pitched slightly. “There’s only one bed?”

Haechan, standing behind you, blinked at the sight like he was just now realizing it.

You turned to him, arms crossed. “Haechan. You booked this place.”

“I didn’t know that!” he defended, throwing his hands up. “I just saw the good reviews and a nice view—how was I supposed to check that?”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. The tension had already been unbearable, and now, this? It was like karma was punishing you for something.

Still, you were exhausted. Arguing wasn’t worth it.

“I’ll order food" you sighed. “Go take a shower, you must be tired from all the driving.”

Haechan smirked as he grabbed a towel. “Try not to freak out during our honeymoon, sweetheart” he teased, throwing a wink before disappearing into the bathroom.

You picked up a pillow from the couch and chucked it at the door.

By the time he came out, hair damp and smelling annoyingly good, the food had arrived, and you were already eating. He plopped down across from you, stealing a fry off your plate without asking—typical.

For a while, there was just the quiet clatter of chopsticks and the hum of the TV in the background. Then, finally, he spoke.

“I’ll take the couch.”

You paused mid-bite, blinking at him.

Something about the way he said it made your stomach twist. You should have felt relieved. You should have nodded and moved on. But instead, there was this stupid little twinge of… what? Disappointment?

No. Definitely not.

“Alright" you muttered, pushing your rice around with your chopsticks.

Haechan glanced at you, lips twitching like he was debating whether to say something. “Unless…” he started.

You looked up. “Unless what?”

He grinned, leaning his chin on his hand. “Unless you want me in bed with you.”

You stared at him. “I will smother you with a pillow.”

Haechan laughed, shaking his head as he leaned back. “Relax, I’m just messing with you.”

You rolled your eyes, pretending the warmth in your face was from the food.

And the night was far from over.

-----

The tension from the car ride still lingered as you both got ready for bed. Haechan was setting up his spot on the couch, fluffing a pillow as if it would magically make it more comfortable. You sat on the edge of the bed, watching him.

He had driven for almost five hours straight. He deserved a comfortable bed—not a stiff couch—yet here you were, letting your ridiculous nerves and hormones get in the way.

What kind of awful person were you?

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "Haechan."

He hummed in acknowledgment, not looking up.

You hesitated, then finally blurted, "Would you like to sleep with me on the bed?"

That got his attention.

Haechan froze mid-motion, blinking at you as if he hadn’t heard you correctly. "I’m sorry, what?"

You exhaled sharply. "I said: Would you like to sleep with me on the bed?"

A beat of silence. Then, "Are you sure?" His voice held an unusual hesitation, as if he didn’t quite believe this was happening.

"I’ll change my mind if you don’t jump on the bed in the next few sec—"

You didn’t even get to finish.

Haechan was already diving onto the bed, a satisfied grin on his face.

You rolled your eyes, shifting under the covers as he got comfortable beside you. It felt… strange. Too quiet. Too real. You both instinctively turned your backs to each other, but that only made it worse.

Minutes passed. Maybe an hour. But sleep never came.

You sighed softly, rolling over. "Haechan, are you awake?"

He turned too, now facing you in the dim light. "Yeah."

Your breath caught. Being this close, lying in the same bed—it was something entirely new. His face was barely a foot away, his eyes searching yours as if waiting for something.

He looked ethereal.

"Can I tell you something?" His voice was quieter this time, careful.

Your heartbeat stuttered. "Yeah."

He hesitated for only a second before saying, "I’ve liked you for a while."

The confession hit you like a slow-burning flame, creeping through your chest and spreading warmth and panic all at once.

"It could ruin our friendship…" you whispered.

"It won’t" he said immediately. "We will never break up."

There was no hesitation in his voice, no doubt. Just certainty. And for some reason, that certainty felt like the safest thing in the world.

"Do you feel it too?" he asked.

You swallowed hard, then nodded. "Yes."

Something shifted. The space between you felt smaller, your breaths mingling in the stillness of the room. Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to.

And then, he kissed you.

It was soft at first, almost hesitant—like he wanted to take his time, like he wanted to memorize the way you felt. His lips moved against yours slowly, testing, savoring. But when you kissed him back, he exhaled against your skin, pulling you in just a little closer. His fingers brushed against your cheek, warm and steady, anchoring you in the moment.

The kiss deepened, unspoken emotions spilling into it—years of teasing, of unspoken tension, of lingering glances neither of you ever acknowledged. And now? Now it was undeniable.

When you finally broke apart, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, his hand still cradling your face.

Then, just as you thought the moment couldn’t get any more overwhelming, Haechan smirked.

"Oh, by the way," he murmured, "I did know there was only one bed"

Silence.

Your eyes widened. "You WHAT?!"

Before he could react, you shoved him, grabbing a pillow to physically wipe that smirk off his face.

Haechan burst into laughter, dodging your attacks. "Hey, don’t be mad! It worked, didn’t it?"

"YOU’RE UNBELIEVABLE!"

Still grinning, he caught your wrists, pulling you back down beside him with a chuckle. "Come on, sweetheart, you still feel like yelling at me?"

You huffed, glaring at him. But the warmth in his gaze, the lingering feeling of his lips on yours—it was impossible to stay mad.

Haechan 4 - 1 You

And somehow, you didn’t even mind.

But then the laughter finally died down, leaving only the sound of your breaths in the quiet room. Haechan was still grinning, lying beside you like he had just won the biggest game of his life. Technically, he had.

You glared at him, still trying to process everything. The confession. The kiss. The fact that he had planned the one-bed situation all along.

But before you could throw another insult his way, he suddenly smirked—that famous smirk, the one that always meant trouble.

"Do you remember my suggestion?" he asked, voice dripping with amusement.

You frowned. "What suggestion?"

Then it hit you.

Your brain rewound back to earlier that day. The car ride. The teasing.

"I got everything we might need so you can ride comfortably."

Your eyes widened, heat creeping up your neck.

Haechan noticed the exact moment you put it together because his smirk deepened.

"Are you still up for it?" he asked, his voice lower now, playful but laced with something else. Something dangerous.

You swallowed, your pulse hammering in your ears. You should say no. You should roll over, ignore him, and go to sleep like a rational person.

But you didn’t.

Instead, without breaking eye contact, you reached for his hand, lacing your fingers with his before tugging him closer.

Haechan���s eyes darkened slightly, his smirk faltering just enough for you to know you had caught him off guard.

“I don’t mind a ride”

That was all he needed.

In a flash, his arms were around you, pulling you flush against him. His warmth, his scent—everything about him surrounded you in an instant. His lips brushed against your temple, trailing slowly down to your cheek before hovering just inches from your lips.

Haechan 5 - 1 You

But by the way he was holding you, it felt like you both won.

[narcissisticsmoker]

It started with the way she said his name. The crack in her voice, the way her fingers trembled when she tried to talk about him, like she was afraid saying too much would break her all over again. I sat there, pretending to listen, pretending to care about every pathetic detail of the boy who didn’t deserve her in the first place. But inside, I was seething.

Because I was there the whole time. I was the one she cried to. I was the one who held her while she broke apart. I was the one who swallowed every desire, every filthy craving, because she needed a friend.

But friends don’t look at their friends’ mouths and wonder how they’d taste stretched around their cock. Friends don’t sit through sob stories with their fists clenched, picturing their hands around her throat instead. Friends don’t burn with the need to fuck the memories of some other man right out of her pretty little head.

But I was never her friend. Not really.

My fingers found her knee without thinking, tracing small circles, then higher, just enough to see if she would flinch. She didn’t. Her breath hitched, her thighs pressed together for a second, then eased apart. Her body was begging me without a single word.

You don’t want to talk about him, I said, voice low, rougher than I meant it to be. You want me to make you forget.

Her lips parted but nothing came out. She didn’t have to say yes. I could feel it in the way her pulse raced under my fingertips. I took her hand, pulled her up from the couch and led her to my room, closing the door behind us. There was no hesitation. I pressed her against the wall, my hands already around her throat, my mouth on hers before she could second guess a single thing.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was a warning. I was taking everything. Every moan, every breath, every soft little sound she tried to hold back. My fingers slid into her hair, tugging her head back so I could kiss down her throat, feeling the way her pulse pounded against my tongue.

Clothes didn’t matter. I stripped her fast, impatient, tossing her shirt to the floor, sliding my hand between her legs to find her already soaked. You wanted this the whole time, didn’t you baby. All those nights crying to me, you wanted me to pin you down and fuck you until you couldn’t even remember his name.

She whimpered, legs trembling as I dragged her to the bed. I tied her wrists to the headboard with the scarf I always kept ready. I’d imagined this moment too many times not to be prepared. Her body was trembling, but it wasn’t fear. It was need. It was mine.

I knelt between her thighs, spreading her wide so she had nowhere to hide. My mouth covered her, tongue sliding through the mess of her arousal, licking up every drop like it belonged to me. She cried out my name, her hips lifting, chasing my mouth, and I gave her everything. Teeth, tongue, fingers stretching her open, fucking her slow until she begged me to ruin her.

And I did. I climbed over her, pinning her down, thrusting inside her in one brutal stroke that made her scream. I didn’t hold back. Every thrust was a punishment for every tear she ever shed over him, every time she let herself think someone else could touch what was mine. My fingers curled around her throat, squeezing just enough to feel her pulse throb beneath my palm.

Say you’re mine, I growled against her ear. Say it or I’ll fucking break you.

Yours, she gasped, nails digging into my back even with her wrists bound. Yours. Only yours.

The words sent me over the edge, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I fucked her like I was carving my name into her bones, like every thrust was a claim, every bruise a signature. I didn’t stop until her voice was hoarse from screaming, until she couldn’t even think about anyone but me.

I kissed her after, slow and possessive, fingers still wrapped around her throat, feeling the pulse that only beat for me now. Her body, her mind, her soul.

Mine.

Forever.

[hotchscoffeecup]

tied up in knots

pairing: emily prentiss x fem!reader

rating: m (mdni 18+)

word count: 3.6

summary: after dropping a less than subtle hint (a book on shibari bondage) into your go-bag, prentiss suggests a new and exciting sexual endeavor for you to explore together as a couple. after solving the case, she sneaks into your hotel room to bring this vision to life and you’re more than happy to play into the fantasy.

tags: shibari bondage, vaginal fingering, strap on sex

“Are you alright?” Spencer asks, eyeing you curiously.

You blink out of your momentary stupor and look at your boots before glancing back up at the jet. “What?” You feign a laugh. “Sorry, just wondering what’s taking the stairs so long to descend.”

“I’m just asking because you’re holding onto your bag there like it’s going to grow legs and run away” Reid inclines his head towards arms, which are currently cradling (okay, clutching) the tote bag you usually let hang casually off your shoulder. He snorts a short laugh, “Which is of course impossible.”

You force a chuckle and thank God when the jet doors hiss and the stairs descend. The rest of the team arrives and you don’t miss the intense look Emily levels at you from beneath her long lashes as she silently passes you to ascend the steps onto the jet. Her vanilla almond body wash envelops you and it alone is enough to bring a furious heat to your cheeks.

Or maybe it’s the fact that she’d slipped a book on shibari bondage into your bag in passing in the bullpen like it was a totally normal thing to do. You felt its weight like a stone and worried that everyone around you knew what haughty material you were hiding.

Emily had said nothing when she’d dropped the book into your bag. In fact, you’d not even realized what she’d done until your personal phone buzzed, which was odd. You almost never received any texts or calls while at work that didn’t go directly to your work cell. Prentiss’ name had flashed on screen and you’d wondered momentarily if she’d meant to text your work phone.

I got you a present.

Brow furrowed, you’d bent down to check your bag and found a small book with a black and white cover titled: Shibari 101: A Beginner’s Guide to the Art of Japanese Bondage and immediately panicked, allowing the magnetic snaps of your tote to snap back together and hide it from sight. You’d managed to smack your head against the bottom of your desk and yelped in pain, drawing the eyes of all of your coworkers.

Derek had arched a brow and leaned back in his desk chair to investigate the source of distress.

“Everything ok over there?”

You’d nodded and rubbed at the back of your head, cracking a smile and shrugging. “Clearly, I just need another cup of coffee.”

Derek smiled and returned to his work. “You and me both.”

You swallow nervously and relinquish your grip on your bag, allowing it to swing by your side and remind yourself that none of your teammates have xray vision.

After securing your go bag into the overhead bin, you slump down into the nearest seat and tuck your tote back behind your legs.

Hotch wastes no time passing out Manila folders to everyone. As the plane kicks up speed and soars into the air, he briefs the team on the case they’re heading to in Cheyanne, Wyoming to investigate. While his balanced tenor drones on about what they know so far, you feel your phone buzz in your lap. You carefully click the home button to wake up your screen and read the message from Emily.

I’ve got big plans for you. Check page 102 for a sneak peek.

You gulp nervously and nearly jump out of your skin when Hotch says your name.

You drop your phone back into your lap and look up, eyes searching and landing on Hotch, who looks less than pleased. “Anything you’d like to share?”

Emily snickers softly across the way and bites at her cuticles before pretending to read over the case file.

You shake your head. “No sir, sorry.”

He presses his lips together and nods. As he returns to what he was saying, you shoot Emily a dangerous look and she only smirks in response.

“Thanks everyone,” Hotch says in dismissal and everyone breaks up to return to their preferred in-flight activities.

Reid cracks open a well worn Chaucer novel, Morgan slips on his favorite pair of Beats headphones, and JJ and Rossi join Hotch towards the front of the plane to continue coordinating what will happen when they touch down in Wyoming.

You abruptly rise to your feet and shuffle towards the back of the plane where the coffee pot light blinks warm and invitingly. The coffee mugs clink as you pull one down from the locked cupboard overhead and pour yourself a fresh cup.

Emily sneaks up behind you and passes a subtle hand across the small of your back.

“Have I ever told you how good you look in blue?” She asks smoothly.

You cut her a sideways glance and ignore her as you tear open a packet of Splenda and pour it into your coffee.

“Oh c’mon,” she croons with a playful jab at your ribs. “I gotta be honest, I’m hot just thinking about it.”

Your eyes fly open and you take one step into her personal space, so close that you can feel her breath on your lips.

“Jesus, Emily!” you hiss. You glance over your shoulder and no one is looking in your direction. You grab her by the wrist and abandon your coffee on the counter to drag her further away towards the restroom. “You can’t just drop bondage books into my purse while we’re at work!”

Emily looks down the slope of her nose at you and licks her lips daringly. “Adds a little something to it though. Makes it all a little bit more naughty.”

A furious heat blazes across your cheeks as her tongue pops on the last syllable of the word naughty.

“There it is,” she says, lowering her voice. Her words are all feline as she speaks. “That basal instinct that comes with sex and the urge to explore the more clandestine parts of our hedonistic needs.”

You swallow, feeling her words slide over your skin and elicit goosebumps across your arms.

“Page 102,” she whispers in your ear before stealing your cup of coffee and sashaying back down the aisle towards her seat.

Blowing a strand of hair out of your face, you brace your hands against the counter and wonder what the hell you’ve gotten yourself into. Are you wholly and utterly enamored by Emily? Yes. Have these last six months of secretly dating been the most exhilarating (and somewhat stressful hiding it from the team) experience ever? Also yes. She was brilliant and daring with a beautiful mind and body to match. Sometimes you just felt…inexperienced, but you loved exploring your sexuality with Emily. She introduced you to such fun and tantalizing behaviors in the bedroom. Hell, you’d never known pleasure like the kind Prentiss delivered. Just thinking about it sends a rush of heat through your core and you have to bite back the smile spreading across your lips.

“You look happy.”

You startle, smile fading instantly as you clutch your chest. “Christ, Morgan.”

He chuckled and reached over you to get a coffee mug. “Lost in a daydream, huh?”

You glance over his shoulder and see Emily taking a sip from your coffee and a small smile returns to your face. “Yeah,” you answer, letting your mind wander to whatever might be awaiting you on page 102. “Something like that.”

•

You heave a sigh of relief as you step out of the bathroom, a fluffy white towel wrapped around your body while you towel dry your hair with another.

This case had been a whirlwind, but at the end of the day the team had managed to save two women and brought the man responsible for their kidnapping to justice. It wasn’t often you got to see victims return home to their families. It was a victory unlike any other in your field of work.

On top of the win, you’d been able to spend more time working with Emily. Hotch had paired the two of you together to interview the families of the two young women who had been kidnapped. You’d learned a lot from watching Emily and Derek work together and Emily and JJ. Sympathizing without becoming overly attached, knowing what to say to avoid making someone angry, knowing what to do when someone inevitably gets angry because the situation is out of control and you’re the only one that can help bring them a modicum of peace. This was something Emily does with ease, likely the result of growing up under the tutelage of an ambassador.

You don’t even realize the smile curving at your lips as you think about Emily and the way the baby blue scoop neck she’d been wearing clung to the curve of her body.

A knock at the door causes you to jump and you stumble to the bed where the contents of your go bag are haphazardly strewn about.

“Just a second!” You call out as you search for something to throw on.

“It’s Emily!” Her voice is muffled behind the door.

You relax a little and stop frantically throwing your clothes about. Holding your towel tight to your chest, you cross the room and unlock the door.

When you open it, Emily flashes you a smile; her teeth white against her berry lipstick. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, the dark fringe framing the delicate arches of her cheekbones. You look down either side of the hall for signs of the team before pulling her into the room.

Emily chuckles as you close the door to the hotel room and lock it. She inclines her head to kiss you and you let her steal a quick kiss before you step back and point a finger at her.

“You have been extra flirty this week, what gives!”

Emily arches an eyebrow and huffs, though a smile still plays about her lips. “Damn, I knew I should’ve been insulting you instead of complimenting you!” She snaps her fingers and shakes her head. “That’s how you win the girl!”

You roll your eyes and smile. “Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s the sweetest. I guess I’m just not used to so much affection being directed my way. It’s—” You take a step towards her and reach for her hand to intertwine your fingers with hers. “It’s nice.”

You press a kiss to her lips and glance up at her dark eyes from beneath your lashes. “I like it when you’re nice.”

“Yeah?” Emily asks. Her lips brush against yours as she speaks, “And what if I wasn’t so nice?”

Your brow furrows at the question and when you meet her gaze again it’s filled with lust as her eyes study your body.

Your pulse quickens as your mind flits back to just before you showered. As you’d pulled out your toiletries kit from your go-bag, the evocative book Prentiss had subtly gifted you had fallen out onto the floor. You’d forgotten you’d hidden it beneath all of your clothes deep inside your go bag the minute you’d keyed into your hotel room. It hadn’t been until you noticed the steam rolling out into the bedroom that you'd forgotten you’d already turned on the shower. You’d just gotten so absorbed in the outrageously complicated positions and knottings of ropes around limbs and wondering where she’d stumbled upon it.

A thud pulls you back to the present and your gaze drops down to your bare feet where Emily dropped her go-bag.

“Do you want to know what I packed?” She asks, her voice taking on a feline quality.

You swallow as you stare down at the bag and images of page 102 flash across your mind’s eye. Biting the inside of your lip, you nod and feel heat pool inside your belly as Emily smiles at you wickedly.

You gasp into Emily’s mouth as she steps forward and captures your lips with hers. Her hands clasp either side of your face as she pulls you in closer and your hands instinctively wrap around her waist.

You taste her vanilla chapstick as your tongue slips between her lips and she chuckles against your mouth as she walks you back towards the bed. When your legs bump up against the mattress, you allow yourself to fall back onto the bedspread; sliding your legs up and around Emily’s ass to pull her down on top of you. Her lips find the corners of your mouth before trailing down the column of your throat before pausing to suckle the top of your breast. Your right leg stays hooked around her waist and you pull her in closer as she pulls aside the towel and sucks your nipple into her mouth.

You moan as she teases the taut peak while her hand moves to palm and tweak the other between her slender fingers.

“Were you thinking about me?” She asks, voice husky as she releases your aching nipple. “In the shower?”

She rubs the pad of her thumb over the swollen area in slow, teasing circles and you whimper out a stilted, “Yes.”

Emily hums satisfactorily as she presses her lips against the soft flesh of your breast. She leans back and pulls the towel away from your body, exposing the rest of your bare skin now pebbled with goosebumps. Her dark hair falls over her shoulder as she tilts her head to admire the curves of your body and when her gaze drops to your core, you can’t help but feel the steady pulse deep inside of you drum harder and she hasn’t even touched you yet. You bite your lip and rock your pelvis back into the mattress to try and assuage the ache, but it only makes you that much more aware.

“You’re glistening for me,” she says, her lips curving into a sinful smile.

“And what are you going to do about it?” You challenge, though it’s extremely hard to keep your composure.

Emily arches a perfectly manicured brow and you know there’s no escaping whatever she has planned for you as she turns to scoop her bag off the floor.

You lick your lips as she reaches into the bag and your eyes widen as she withdraws several coils of black satin cords.

“Page 102?” You ask.

She smirks in turn, “If you’re still game.”

You nod, feeling excitement stir in your belly. “I am.”

“Then just lie back,” she says, “and relax.”

With soft, knowing hands she guides you into a kneeling position with your legs spread wide. The air is cool against your slick heat and you stir impatiently as she weaves the cords in and around your calves and thighs, binding them together so you’ve no choice but to sit back on your heels.

“Where did you learn how to do this?” You ask breathily, your chest already heaving with want.

Emily doesn’t lose focus as she threads the cord around your wrist and tethers it to each ankle, but her berry colored lips curve into a smile. “Would you believe me if I said the internet?”

The laugh you breathe out ebbs into a moan as Emily pulls the knot tight, drawing your wrists down and forcing your chest out. Your breasts ache to be felt by her and a needy whimper eks past your lips as she takes a measured step back to admire her handiwork.

You ought to feel vulnerable, spread out and exposed like this; but you only feel wanted and desired. That isn’t hunger in Emily’s eyes as the deep brown of her gaze admires your figure. No, it’s more than that, an all consuming reverence and you know that she’s about to worship at the altar of your body.

You rock back on your heels and whimper as the bonds tighten around your legs, sending a shiver of need up the length of your spine.

“Are you just going to stand there? Or are you going to come fuck me breathless.”

A daring challenge enters Emily’s eyes. Without breaking eye contact with you, her hands tug at the belted waist of her trench coat. As the garment comes loose and falls about her ankles, a throbbing pulse beats deep in your pussy.

A black lace teddy hugs her figure, accentuating the muscular curve of her waist. The ribbed framing pushes her tits up and all you want is to press your lips against the soft skin of her breast and taste her, but that’s not what surprises you most of all.

You swallow and feel your breathing increase as Emily’s elegant fingers trace the leather straps of a harness down to where a thick, purple strap-on is fastened against her pubic bone. She curves her fingers around the shaft and pumps it gently.

“I think you’ll be more than breathless when I’m done with you.”

She kneels on the bed and crawls slowly towards you. You squirm beneath the binds and watch a devilish grin form upon her face as she presses herself up to kiss you. Your mouth automatically opens for her and as she presses her lips against yours, you naturally fall back into the pillows stacked against the headboard. You feel the heat of your desire slick down your inner thigh and you simper against her mouth as you feel your arousal mounting without her even laying a hand on you.

Emily’s lashes flutter as she glances from you to your slick cunt. “Are we ready?”

You bite your lip and nod resolutely, a needy, “Yes,” gliding off your tongue.

Emily slides one finger into your core and you grind against the movement. Slowly, she pushes in a second and then a third. You take a sharp inhale of breath as you adjust to her fingers stretching you, but there’s very little resistance from how wet you already are.

“God, you’re incredible,” she whispers as she slowly begins to glide her fingers in and out of your core, making sure to curve just right against the soft spongy cleft within you. Each pump of her fingers against that sensitive spot sends electricity through your veins and you can’t fight the moans she easily elicits from you. The pace is wickedly torturous and you need more. You crave more. You rock against her hand, though your movement is restricted by the binds she so expertly wove.

When her thumb begins to circle your clit, your brain dissolves into nothing more than TV static as your body becomes a live wire under her electric touch.

You feel your pleasure mounting, a wave cresting higher and higher beneath her undulating hand. A furious heat blossoms in your chest and tears through your entire being as your heart pounds against your ribcage. You try to stifle the moans erupting from your throat, but it’s hard to control any part of your body as your muscles go rigid and your orgasm rips through you. The cords stretch as you pull against the power of your climax and before you can even catch your breath, she takes to one knee, positions herself up against your core, and slams the strap into you.

You rear forward and bite into the flesh of her breast to keep from screaming out as the strap fills and stretches you. Stars dot the corners of your vision as she grabs the headboard behind you and uses it to propel her hips forward, driving it in deeper with each thrust. Before you know it, you’re climaxing again, but she doesn’t relent. It isn’t until she wrenches a third orgasm from you, that she finally slips out and catches you as your spent body falls forward against her.

Her thumbs splay across your cheeks as she praises you for taking her so well. She presses tender kisses all over your face as she loops her arms around your waist to undo the ties binding your wrists. As soon as they’re free, you reach up and pull her face to yours, kissing her fervently.

You stop and rest your forehead against hers. “So that was—?”

She nods, smiling. “Page 102, yeah.”

You lick your lips and nod, confirming the information. “And how many pages are in that book?”

“About 200.”

“Let’s keep reading it.”

She flashes you a grin. “Yeah?”

You kiss her again. “Definitely.”

She helps untie the remaining cords and slowly helps you stretch out your sore and aching limbs. She massages lotion scented with jasmine deep into your muscles and you groan languidly as she digs into knots you didn’t even know you had.

After wiping you down, she calls for fresh sheets from housekeeping and helps you dress in your favorite pair of sweatpants and borrowed FBI academy sweatshirt. You’d stolen it long ago and she’d never asked for it back.

You sit in the lounger in the corner of the room and watch as she changes into her own comfortable clothing and hides away the evidence of what you’d just done away in to her go bag; the strap already washed and dried. When housekeeping comes, she strips the sheets and remakes the bed and you just watch with a lazy smile plastered to your face.

“I can feel your eyes on me,” she says teasingly.

“I like watching you,” you respond easily.

“Well, why don’t you come crawl in between these sheets and choose something to watch on Netflix.” She pulls your laptop out of your backpack and places it on the bed. “I’m going to go brush my teeth.”

And so you stand up and crawl into bed. You power on your laptop and choose an early 2000s rom-com and as Emily clambers into bed beside you and wraps an arm around your waist to pull you in to nestle against the crook of her body, you know there isn’t anywhere else you’d rather be than in this bed, sharing these moments with her…even if you were on a case.

But you’d worry about that later.

[spiderb00bs]

- REACH ME

Tara Carpenter x reader 

“Maybe Tara wanted to be more than your friend” 

Genre – smut    Warnings – mentions distant parents 

(request) 

Now playing – What You Need, by The Weeknd

Tara Carpenter was never very open about how she felt. She struggled with her emotions, most of the time keeping everything to herself until she couldn't take it anymore and exploded. She knew it was a bad thing to do, something that would only harm herself, but she still couldn't act any other way.   

Any feeling, anger, sadness, sometimes even happiness, Tara kept inside her, even if her heart was on the verge of exploding. Even though Tara had been doing this since she was practically a child, she still couldn't hide certain feelings from her friends. Which meant that everyone knew about Tara's huge crush on you.   

You and Tara were complicated to say the least, always flirting with each other, holding hands around the campus, kissing at some frat parties, you've certainly lost potential people who were interested in the two of you because they thought you and Tara were dating. All this just so that at the end of the day, you and Tara could raise the flag of friendship and make everyone around you want to kick your asses.  

Your friends had had enough. Holy shit! Sam had had enough. All they wanted most was to see you finally admit your feelings for each other, and believe me, they tried everything. Double dates with Anika and Mindy, going out bowling as a couple with Chad and Liv, Ethan and Bailey even tried flirting with both of you to see if you'd get any reaction, but Bailey just got scared of Tara's stares and Ethan backed off because he was sure he'd get punched by you if he stayed by Tara's side for one more second. Amber even locked you in the bathroom once! But that only earned her screams and more screams.   

At some point, everyone was convinced that you might have to figure it out on your own. They didn't know when, they didn't know where, and they certainly had no idea how close it was to happening. Which brings us to the present moment.  

You and Tara always liked to do everything together, and with a big test coming up, you and the Carpenter girl decided it would be a good idea to study together. Your house wasn't noisy, you're sure your brother would stay at his girlfriend's for many days, and your parents were never home, preferring work to spending any time with the family they decided to build themselves.   

Walking to your room - where you and Tara were studying - you carried two glasses of lemonade. Summer was coming and the cold drink seemed perfect to quench your thirst.   

“Man, this is really good.” You said, taking a sip of the liquid in the glass after handing Tara's glass to her.   

Convinced by your tone, Tara brought the glass to her lips, her eyes widening slightly when she saw that you were right. “Wow, you really know how to make something.” Tara says, mocking you.   

“Hey! Of course I know, who the hell do you think I am?”  

Practically throwing yourself into your chair, you felt yourself going slightly backwards in a jolt. Momentarily forgetting that the wheelchair would move if you threw yourself onto it. The sudden movement caused the glass to tip slightly, causing much of the liquid to splash onto your white shirt.   

“Oh, fuck!” Getting up quickly, you heard Tara laughing, glancing at the girl in time to catch her looking at you with a funny face.   

“ Dude, you're such a loser.” Laughing even harder at the scowl on your face, Tara turned around in her wheelchair, following you with her eyes as you walked towards your closet, pulling at your shirt to remove it from your body.   

“Yeah, very funny. Suck my dick, Carpenter."   

Tara knew you meant it in another way, but seeing your muscly back and catching a glimpse of your abdomen and the muscles in your arms made Tara wish you had meant it in the way she was thinking.   

Who could blame her? You were always Tara's ideal type, from the first day she saw you she knew she'd have a fucking crush on you. You were tall, strong, beautiful, had a style to envy, you were polite and funny at the same time. You were everything Tara had always asked the heavens for. But she was afraid, afraid of ruining the friendship you had created over all these years. So she kept accepting the crumbs you gave her, because that was better than losing you completely.   

You and Tara had made out before, but it never went beyond that. Tara knew you had a nice body, and she was even more sure now. With your closet doors open, Tara could see you perfectly well, innocently looking for another shirt, totally oblivious to the hungry gaze the younger Carpenter had in your direction.   

“You know, it's not a bad idea.” Frowning at what Tara had said, you continued looking for a clean, stylish shirt to wear, oblivious to Carpenter's movement around your room.  

“What?” you asked, genuinely confused when a strangely nervous Tara approached you.   

“It wouldn't be a bad idea for me to suck your dick.” In disbelief, you looked at Tara with slightly wide eyes.   

You'd never even talked about sex, let alone considered it. “You're kidding, right?”   

“Why? Do you think you can't handle me?” Tara asked, her fingers gripping the belt loops of your pants, pulling you closer and making you slightly nervous.  

“I can handle it. Can you handle it, Carpenter?” You said, pulling the shorter girl closer by the waist.   

God, you loved Tara's waist, it was so small in your hands, it made you feel so big.   

“Why don't you come and find out...”   

In all the talk, that was more than enough to make you move forward, kissing Tara's lips with desire. Your hands squeezed the girl's slender waist and Tara's sighs were like music to your ears. Her lips tasted like strawberries from the lipstick, and the kiss had a slight aftertaste of the lemonade you were drinking a few minutes ago.   

You couldn't believe it, Tara was simply the most beautiful girl you'd ever seen, and here you were, about to have sex with her. You were nervous, but you had to get over it. You wanted it to be good for Tara, as much as you knew it would be for you.  

Tara gasps as you lift her off the floor, wrapping her legs around your waist, Tara noticing that you were holding her with just one arm, while the other groped the walls, looking for the way out, as you were too busy kissing Tara's neck to lift your head. Finally emerging from the closet, you walk over to the bed, carefully tossing Tara onto it before climbing on top of her.   

“Fuck, you're so hot, Tara.” Lowering your kisses to her breasts, you tugged at the hem of Carpenter's shirt in a silent request to take it off.   

“ Fuck, Yn. Do whatever you want to me!” With a smile on your face, you pulled Tara's shirt off, your fingers quickly going up and opening the clasp of the girl's bra.   

“God, you're so beautiful, Tara.” Hearing your words, the Carpenter girl's body shivered, making her let out a moan as you massaged her breasts - now free of the fabric -.   

“Do you like it?” Looking at you in bewilderment, Tara saw you laugh a little. “Do you like it when I compliment you, Tara?”   

Tara moaned, confirming what you wanted to know.   

“Do you like it when I say you're being a good girl for me?” Tara moaned awkwardly as you took her nipple in your mouth, sucking slowly without giving the girl a chance to respond to your teasing.   

Taking advantage of Tara's distraction in the fog, you unbuttoned the girl's pants, pulling the garment off her body, seeing the damp stain forming on her panties.   

“Fuck, are you already wet?” You teased, leaving a kiss on Tara's clit under the fabric of her underwear, only for the Carpenter girl to let out a loud moan.   

“You do that to me.” Tara said, pulling your hair closer to her intimacy. “Please fuck me.”  

You smiled, knowing that you were making the most of this moment. Even as you felt your cock growing in your pants, you decided that you wanted to make the most of that moment.   

Removing Tara's panties, you gave her pussy an experimental lick, collecting all the juices that flowed from it. “Uhmm, you're delicious, Tara.” Hearing Tara moan, you continued your work.   

Grabbing the brunette's legs, you gained more access to her intimacy, sucking her clit and making the woman squirm in your arms. “Please, Yn. I need more.”  

Looking at the woman, you could see Tara's watery eyes, those eyes that seemed to beg for your pity, those eyes that made you want to torture her even more with pleasure. But at that moment, those eyes made you give in.  

Standing up, you unbuttoned your pants, making Tara lean on her elbows so she wouldn't miss a second of the show. When Tara saw the bulge in your underwear, her mouth was already dry, she had imagined how big you were, even felt it a few times when she was sitting on your lap at parties, but she never thought she would see it up close.   

Seeing Tara look at you as if you were a piece of meat, you let out a snort, reaching out to grab a condom from the drawer of your bedside table. “Drooling too much?”  

“Shut up.” Tara said, the smile on her lips letting you know she was enjoying the moment. “I think you talk too much.”   

Looking at Tara with a raised eyebrow, you watched the girl kneel on the bed, reaching up only to take the condom from your hand, settling back on the bed with a predatory look on her face. “You don't know what you're talking about...”  

“Come here and show me.” Overcome by desire, you took off your underwear, making your cock jump free and hit your abs.   

Climbing onto the bed, you made your way between Tara's legs, kissing the Carpenter girl as soon as you had the chance. You gasped into the kiss as soon as you felt Tara's hand reach your cock, feeling her pump a few times, you spread kisses across her neck, distracting yourself while the younger Carpenter put the condom on you.   

Moving up from her neck to Tara's jaw, you pulled away from her slightly, looking into her brown eyes. “Are you sure you want to do this?”   

Rolling her eyes, Tara put a sarcastic smile on her face. “Why? Don't you think you can handle it?”   

Getting onto your knees properly, you watched Tara lie back comfortably on your pillows. “I just want to make sure you're comfortable with it, Tara.”   

Seeing that you were serious, the Carpenter girl stretched out her arm, her hand resting on your waist, only for her to shake her head, as if finally realizing that you wanted a sincere answer from her.   

“Of course I do.” Sitting up properly on the bed, Tara's hand reached for the back of your neck, pulling you until your forehead was resting against hers. “I've never wanted anything as much as I want this, Yn.”  

Seeing you nod, Tara smiled, pulling you into a kiss and making you lie on top of her. One of your hands was on her waist, while the other guided your cock to her wet pussy.  

Carefully, you slid the head of your cock into Tara, making the woman moan into the kiss. “Fuck, you're so big!”   

“You like that, pretty girl?” Tara moaned at the nickname, ecstatic as you sank into her inch by inch.   

“Fuck, I love it.” Taking your hand in hers, she looked up at you, almost as if asking your permission.   

With your cock all impaled inside Tara, you took both her hands, intertwining them with yours and placing them on top of her head. Your thrusts began at a slow pace, but increased in line with Tara's desperate pleas.   

The brunette underneath you was ecstatic, she was loving it, you were even better than Tara had imagined. You could make the hard feel soft, and the fast feel loving, you could make Tara feel two ways at the same time. She had never had sex with someone who made her feel loved and dirty at the same time.   

The words and compliments you whispered to her made Tara's stomach churn with pleasure, your big, sturdy form on top of her gave her the feeling of protection and imposingness that she used to hate with guys out there. But Tara knew you weren't a guy, and you weren't even close to being a jerk like them either.  

You managed to be gentle and loving amidst the brutality of your thrusts, you managed to leave Tara wanting more, you were making the brunette see stars. And it was only when Tara felt that no forming that she let out a loud moan, which was quickly muffled by your lips on hers.   

You knew Tara was coming, when you pulled away from the kiss, you saw her eyes roll back, her hands squeezing yours as it became harder and harder to move inside her. Slowing your thrusts, you followed Tara all the way up her, still hitting her g-spot as you chased your own orgasm.  

Kissing Tara's forehead, you thrust a few more times, seeing tears of pleasure in the woman's eyes. Grunting, you pulled your cock out of Tara, masturbating quickly and watching the jets of your come fill the condom.   

“Fuck...” Taking off the condom, you went to the bathroom, disposing of it in the trash and getting back into bed as quickly as possible, worried that Tara would think it meant nothing to you.   

Lying next to the brunette, you could see the smile on her face. Crawling closer to her, you left a kiss on the younger Carpenter's cheek, making her look at you with heartfelt eyes.   

“Was it good for you?” you asked, still worried that you hadn't satisfied the woman.   

“Are you kidding?” Tara asked, settling down on your bare chest. “It was the best fuck of my life.” She said laughing.   

Smiling, you looked at Tara, the words stuck in your throat. “Did that... mean anything? Or like, are we just friends who fuck?” You asked, laughing nervously.   

“Yn, I never wanted to be just your friend.” Tara said, leaning in and kissing your lips.   

A feeling of relief ran through your body. Finally, you had the girl you'd always wanted, and you were going to do everything to make her happy. 

hey guys, I hope you're well.

I'm very happy to be posting here today, I hope I'll be able to post some short requests and some thoughts that you send as well.

did you see the oscars? honestly, i'm very happy that “i'm still here” won an award. And although I was rooting for Fernanda until the last minute, I'm also very happy for Mikey. And I want to say that this profile does not support ANY kind of hate or misogyny towards Mikey.

Mikey is a kind and loving soul, and she's just doing her job. So I want to make it clear that I don't support any kind of hate.

anyway, that's it. drink water, stay safe

xoxo, spider.

[crownmemes]

Questioning Sentences, Vol. 41

(Questioning sentences from various sources to ask all kinds of muses. Adjust phrasing where needed)

"Why are you late?"

"Is it just physically impossible for you not to be an asshole for longer than ten minutes?"

"What kind of a monster raised you?"

"You think I'm a bad mother?"

"Do you feel I owe you an explanation?"

"Does it feel like we're being kidnapped to you?"

"What's the point in earning money if you're not going to spend it?"

"Are you saying I'm out of touch?"

"What will you be wearing tonight?"

"How would you like to visit a domination therapist?"

"Can dogs be arrested for murder?"

"Did someone put you up to this?"

"Are there any more like her in your family?"

"How can you imagine that I could ever care for you?"

"You haven't told bedtime stories before, have you?"

"Don't feel like talking today?"

"You asked to see me?"

"Are you going to be angry all evening?"

"Will anyone be spared your ire tonight?"

"Have you noticed that when you're miserable, time seems to slow to a crawl?"

"If you tried to stand right now, could you?"

"Does he just do that to you all the time?"

"Why do you want to be boring?"

"Who'd want to kill you?"

"Do you think we made it angry?"

"Do you think that one more corpse means anything to me?"

"Where do you want to be shot?"

"Do you still have that rocket launcher?"

"Must we know everything about each other? Can't our pasts stay behind us?"

"Can I give you some unsolicited advice?"

"Everyone has a true love. Surely you believe that?"

"What if feeling nothing is the worst pain of all?"

"If you could, would you bring him back to life?"

"Do you ever wish you could be someone else? Just run away from your life?"

"Are you here to attack me again? Do I need to arm myself?"

"Why do you have to control everything?"

"You've never known this feeling before, have you?"

"Do you just make these things up?"

"Where would we be without our little deceptions?"

"Can we go back to some place that resembles civilisation?"

"If you spend all your time hiding from death, the question is, were you ever really alive?"

[sukioyakio]

Part-one Part-two

Coolboyfriend!Sukuna x Losergirlfriend!reader

an: sorry i took long with this one,i got super busy with stuff,but ive been working on the request these past days.I hope yall enjoy this.

please forgive any mistakes.

Wordcount:4,887

You wanted to do something nice for your boyfriend today but You were stressing over what to do for him.But it had to be something special that was for sure.

When he left for work, you went to use your very intelligent brain and do research on dates. And the one that seem the least expensive ahem—a date setting inside your home.

So with a wide girn you were ready. But you needed to have food as well as a decorated table.

So, making steak and some mac and cheese sounds fine. And Plus it something your more familiar with cooking mac and cheese and somewhat steak.

And,two it your not Gordon Ramsay that cooks five star meals effortlessly. Nope let not go there.

But Maybe one day

You check the clock and you had a roughly around 5 hours to get the ingredients.Because your man got an early leave today.

My man

Sounds werid to the tounge but it feels right though.

So walking to the nearest grocery store wouldnt be such a big deal for you.

Right . .

OH HELL NO!- in fact today just had to be fucking 80 degrees outside with little or no wind. Without sukuna you realize how MUCH of help he was;because people were fricking ruthless in transportations.

But even worse at a grocery stores,at least—At the one you were at but damn these people were acting as if another golden tickets from Charle and the chocolate factory were alive!

But thank god you got all the ingredients to make the mac and cheese and the steak. You mentally check that off your list.

Just from walking back from the store had your entire back sweat like an athlete.

‘God Why MUST it be so hot!’ You yelled out in your head.As you continued walking with your grocery bag.

The sun was unrelenting, with the temperature reaching a scorching eighty degrees in the blazing mid-summer heat.

You went from enthusiastic to tried real quick.

When you made it home,all you really wanted to do was take a cold shower and relax.

“relaxing, yea and a nice cold shower and gaming and-“

‘NO we Are not going to lack off now’ your mind screamed at you.As you sighs putting down the supplies at the table.

As you look at the living room and clearly see how much cleaning need to do. You sipe off the sweat and got back together to make this happen.

Your arm got into the ever nuke and crevices of the leaving room and kitchen floor dirty floor and making sure it look spotless.As your nose was not making it any better.

You kept sneezing and better yet,your glasses went falling down onto the floor.

“STOP FUCKING SNEEZING!”as You roared out loud as you rub furiously at your nose.Begging for your body to have at least a few minutes of relief from your running,stuffy nose.

After 2 hours, you cleaned everything out,and did the decorations. Which would probably scared any of decorator at your creation.

Because you put one of your black bed sheet as one of those table cloth covers and you use duct tape to hide the huge fabric that was seen under the table.

And as a bonus point you used one of your favorite lava lamp as a substitute for a candle. The brightest one ever for your hubby sukuna. You snickered thinking of his reaction.

You took a step back and analyze your creation and honestly it look like a cult meeting,but one hell of a romantic cult meeting if you were to say so for yourself.

Simply nodding to yourself.

All done you check how much time you have left. You have roughly about three hours left to cook. THANK god time was with you and your dedication.

And cooking couldn’t be hard after all youtube short made it look easy.Especially the all of these mac and cheese recipe.

Since your intelligent brain picks out the pre-shredded cheese already so you didn’t have to worry about doing all the prep for it.

Yea that was like the number one thing that was told not to do, but Hey it ain’t going to come out bad.

Right?. . .

But one must do what one has to do. And that fucking give up -never mind you push through and boiled the pasta already.That was a one check mark.Now you just needed to blend that cheese sauce.

You threw out the pasta water. And pour the cooked pasta in the pot again- just the pasta no water in there. You hope. .

Afterwards you put the already seasoned sauce into a pot as you mix all the ingredients that was told to do,which was fairly easy. Because who would fuck up some simple steps.

After the mixing for a few minutes you saw the cheese mix smoothly and then the sauce and the smell smelled heavenly.

You gave yourself a small pat at the back. ‘Yeah ut look good!’ As you Nodding with a sly smirk.

Now looking back at the recipe it said to continue to mix for a roughly about five minutes longer,and so you did that but it slowly turned burnt. And why is it sticky to the pot and more rough.

Uhhh- is this’ sweat of nervousness appear.

Is this Tina Belcher’s mac and cheese?

No. No, this was an insult to mac and cheese experts.definitely not you

You inhaled deeply. Exhaled. Closed your eyes

Ok - ok this isnt bad like other people burning the house down, or smoking the whole place. Yea definitely…

No- no! This is better that time,yeah!

You sallows a big glup, already panicking inside.

Then—you do like what any reasonable person in this situation would do.

You grabbed your phone and Googled: “how to fix gritty cheese sauce before I actually started to cry.”

And from guessing what was The first result was gonna say? “Don’t use pre-shredded cheese.”

You threw your head back with a groan; grumbling as you yelled.“I know that google,THANK YOU.”

But then—a miracle appeared.

A lone, hopeful comment buried deep in a forum. A wise internet stranger said:

“Add more milk. Low heat. Stir like your life depends on it.”you eyes are filled with hope. As You squinted at the screen.

“Alright, cheese sauce.You and me.One last round time.your the opps of mines.” You grinned at the shimmer of hope. your eyes only slimmer more with joy at the comment.

With renewed determination, you poured in way too much milk, lowered the heat, and stirred with the desperation of a person who refused to be defeated by dairy.

And slowly… the sauce started to fix itself.

It smoothed out. The clumps disappeared. The burnt part wasn’t… too noticeable if you didn’t think about it.You decided to add more seasoning to it,so you couldn’t just taste the milk.

It was edible.And that? That was enough.

You wiped your forehead like you had just returned from battle. And did a happy dance,because why not.

As you went back to doing the finished work, layering the mac and cheese in an oven pan.

First mac and cheese then mac and the cheese and then repeat until the pan was covered with the cheese.You had already set the oven temperature and now just putting the wonderful god send into the oven.

‘NOW IT THE STEAK TIME’ your mind screamed with pride.Pitting the other dishes into the sink.Seeing the sink made you groan out loud in disgust and pure terror of having to do it.

Just staring at them made you stubborn to do it,but they were gonna be done eventually. .

So you remove your focus on that to the getting a pan for the steaks.

Bending down,as you push back your glasses.Getting the pan out of the cabinet and placing it onto the oven tops. Using your feet to close the cabinet door. multitasking as you place the steak on to the pan.

then the sizzle started and it slowly started to cook the steak.

It was then you realized that you didn't season it and so you quickly sprinkle some spices on the steak.

Now you stood in front of the stove, standing awkwardly as the silence was filled with the sound of steak sizzling.

‘Maybe i should go take a shower and put something nice. . . ‘ you pause before considering.

‘Nuh i have like a hour to do all that’ you mumble underneath your breath.

As you got inpatient and turn up the heat,to now hear loud sizzling sound from the pan. You tried to flip it with the pan as if your at the same level as fucking Gordon Ramsay.

The plan was to use the oil to cook the sides but seems like the oil wants to fight with you. Oh no not fight but bring war to you.

“AHH WHAT THE FUCK!OW!OW” You scream in pain as you snatched your hand back.Holding it like it was a baby.You quickly kiss it like how your mama would.cardling it into your chest. Whimpering in pain.

‘omg pls dont show a burn mark or it will show with the dress -i cant loss my only huzz at this ass cooking’ you mumbled.

As you look at the oil sprinkling out of the pan.

A loud gulp echoes throughout the kitchen. intentionally glaring at the oils that literally cooking your steak like a villain would do to a hero.

‘Yea no,let get gloves on’You blankly said in unison with your thoughts. As you searched through the cabinet for some glove.

After a few more second of searching you found it. And now your prepared yourself for the hit oil.You take a deep breath that probably fog up your glasses up after you instantly drove in and turn off the Oven top.

Flip the streak to see .. . Such a beautiful color of dark brown.

As your hope for this meal to taste good wasnt looking so good. But Hey at the steak isnt raw.

Like the last time. . .

Now placing the steak in two place and covering it with another plate to keep it warm. And place it on the table.

You rush to grab your phone to use that you have one hour left. And that hour was use to go take a shower and get dressed nicely.

————— Walking up stairs to the apartment,as each steps he took echoes throughout the stairwell.As he opened to the according door that had his apartment floor number. He was glad that his (and yours) apartment was near the stairs.

As he stops infront of the door getting his keys,almost robotic.He’s fucking tried.He had to fucking sit down on and deal with fucking youngsters who thought they could deal with the pain of a tattoo’s. Cramping his neck and hands.

Because they wouldn’t stop moving.He shakes his head.

‘I would finally get to relax’ he says as he opens the door,staring down at the ground and taking his shoes off. And then place his backpack on the mini table near the door entrance.

What he immediately noticed was the delicious smell flowing throughout the leaving room.It was alarming for him because knowing you.As he closed the door.

“Im here . . .” Sukuna announced in the darkness. In a tried voice. Face furrowed down in confusion.

The room is dark,having him staring hard but he knew his home like the back of his head.

‘It fucking dark here,and quiet as fuck’ he thought,as his face turned into a frown. He sighed hard with exhaustion. He really doesn’t have the energy for your poo-a-boo ass try to scare him challenge.

As he walks a few steps in into the leaving room.

You were behind the counter of the kitchen,you wanted to see his face. (As if you could see him clearly from how dark it was)

But it like your stupid wish come true,because almost immediately his crimson eyes turned into your direction.

Your body jerks up,as fears creeping into your skin.Sukuna literally has such a killer face,almost deadly. ‘Can HE SEE ME??’ Your mind screamed.

You take a peak out to see sukuna is still standing. Your body relaxes just a bit.

It like this man is some ninja.

You closed your eyes regretting this scared attack of your. FUCK this man can be scary as crap.And decided enough of playing around. You were about to turn off but his deep voice echoed through the room like someone yelling in a cave.

“Boo . .” His hot breath came from behind you. Your body jumps out its own skin,as you turned already to see a set of red eyes glowing in the dark.

“AHHH!! WHAT THE FUCK!!” You screamed with a gasp.As you hold your chest,from bursting out in fear.And the other holding the counter.

“How!-What?! You were just there-You scared the living shit out of me!Kuna!” You rapidly announced,with your breath losing it oxygen it needs. As you move your head around to see where red pairs of eyes were.

“Hm” Sukuna say in a unbothered voice.As he walks towards the light switch,wanting to see you clearly then the darkness.

‘This man had to be a ninja or something!’ You mumbled. Then your eyes wince from the sudden switch of color. You blink for a few more seconds.As a short realization come to you.HE TURNED ON THE Light!

“WAIT!!”You shout at him. Who was standing there with an empty expression.As you clearly feel his intense glaze. Making your cheeks flare up.

“What women?!” Sukuna barks back with a questioning expression.His arms crossed. Eye focused on you,looking up and down.he wont lie that he completely memorized by the dress.The way it made you glow in a way he never see you in.It grabs all the right places,even your little tummy-

“WAIT I DIDNT WANT YOU TO SEE ME YET !!” You shouted once more as you covered your dress like it would covered everything. After saying that you fricking wanted to verbally screamed at how cringey that was. Your eyes twitched.

“What women!!?” He shouts back to you again,his tone hold no anger.Seeing your face with a weird expression. Then shaking your head.You were one confusing and complexing person he knows.

But that what makes him like about you.

You shyly twisted your hands.Awkward laugh sip out your lips.As you glance up. “I -i wanted to surprise you-So Close your eyes!” You demanded in a soft tone. Making him roll his eyes.

He huff out in annoyance. “You made the food?” He asked with a little head tilt. Just for you to respond. “No..” you grumble. This man can’t even do a simple thing.

“Then did you order it?” He questioned again with his red eyes glowing with amusement. As you wanted to verbally choke him,the dress is so tight on you,and the food is going to get cold.

“No” You answer with an attitude. “Then what,women” Sukuna respond.

You groans out loud,annoyed. “Yes-no,god just close your eyes!!” You shouted,as you drag your hands down your face.

Sukuna lips pull up in a smirk as he already knew the answer by how much dishes they were in the sink.

“Alright,women” he says as he closes his eyes. Making you sigh in relief.

‘This man doesn’t make my life any easier with trying to surprise him’ you said in your mind.

“Wait there okay!” You exclaimed out loud.As you walked into the kitchen that to grab the two plate.And bringing it to the beautiful design table.And taking off the lava lamp. To show its beautiful cult looking table.

As you walked back to grab sukuna.You paused for a moment to pull down the dress Because it kept getting sucked and making stuff uncomfortable.

“How long are you going to take,women” sukuna grumble,as you huff out back. As you grab him softly,taking him to the table. “Okay when i say open your eyes you open them okay??!” You said with a overwhelming joy.

“1”

“2”

“3-“ “-Im not some fucking kid women”He grumbled with scoff. As you mimicked his words. “You could Open them now!” You shouts with a smile,striking a pose.

His red eyes opened,as it blinks for a seconds to recognize where the fuck was he looking at.

“Ta da!!”A glowing shine of a wide smile plastered on your lips.Your voice and face was the very opposite of what the rest of your date looked like.

“Why the lava lamp,women when there literal fucking candles in the spare closet” Sukuna replies bluntly.As he pinched his nose. The idea of you doing this for him was a nice feeling in his heart instead of annoyance.(that a lie)

“No matter! Jezz you are a party surprise worst nightmare” you Your cheerful voice echoed throughout the house. A glowing shine of a wide smile plastered on your lips.Your voice and face was the very opposite of what the rest of your date looked like.

He huff out,his red orbs staring at your eyes then glancing away.

“you must have been worked yourself . . . thanks” you couldnt help to lift an eyebrow at his comment making you only staring at him with a big smirk on your face.

Sukuna blush as he cover his face with his palm. Grunting as you tiptoeing to lean more into him “no,nonononon REPEAT yourself sukuna~~~ i want to hear it again louder!”

you sing it out in an teasing tone.Putting your hands on your hips. Sukuna eyes twitched in annoyance “shut the fuck up.punk before i go to sleep”

you gasp at his comment.

“Oh hell no!i cant have you do that” You shake your head.As you drag him into his seat, his whole body is stiff but goes along your way but it like his lips has it mind of it own-pulling up into a sly smile when your around.

He’s stomach filling with up butterfly at your presence. At a weirdo and a loser. His loser;the same girl that has him listening to your podcast long sessions of game theories. And the one that loves that talking and explaining every book that you read.

That has him playing games with you just to lose against him.That has the smartest brain cells to explain him something as simple as a biology textbook.

That what makes his cruel and grumpy heart beat for your love.

Now looking at his food you made for him,grabbing his fork and spooning some of both of the food.

The steak is kinda burnt but decent . The macaroni is cheesy but… good.He nodded slightly in amusement. Eyes close as he enjoyed the flavoring touching his tongue.

But that compliment dry out when you had spoken in the comfortable silence.

“Have you ever thought that I could have put some rat poison or poison in it? ”you hummed peacefully.Pushing your glass up. The glow of the lava lamp was shimmering your dress and face like star.

You gleamed at him with innocence staring him down like a hawk.As you continue to eat your plate of food like what you had said wasn’t concerning.

He’s eyes side eyed you and bluntly said “no” loooking back as you laughed loudly almost coughing hard. Sukuna stern,rolling his eyes.Huffing a laugh at your dumb actions.

“Dumbass” he mutters.

You heard it, and looked offended. “and what MADE you think i didn’t?!?” You asked genuinely as you contince to chuck another stake down your throat.

Sukuna stare blankly like it was a dumb question. Staring at you up and down,shaking his head.

Before saying “Because women, your not the type of person to even kill anyone. I mean look at you-you literally started to reenact an anime fight scene.” He says with a straight face his voice casual. As you listened to him,and your cheeks flush with embarrassment.As you thought he was done but nope.

“And then wanted me to help you with making the fight noises . . . So no” he finished,his face staring at you with an obvious expression.

You object.

“H-Hey!! I could kill . . Oka-AND THAT WAS LIKE ONE FRICKING TIME SUKUNA!!” You admitted with a face full of embarrassment.As Sukuna raised his eyebrow in disbelief at your words.You continued on with your glance away from sukuna eyes and into your hands that were rubbing against each other.

“Plus i wanted to reenact it since y-you didn’t want to cosplay with me . . You little asshole” you resorted with a weak tone. As you knowing damn well it hasn’t been only one time.It was many-maybe plenty when you’re bored. But to be honest,your boyfriend is always lying in bed scrolling doing nothing.

And asking the man- holy shit. That was the real pain.But it was the funniest thing we had did that night.

Sukuna took another bite of the mac and cheese, chewing slowly. His red eyes flickered from the plate to you, and then back to the plate again.

You were watching him like a hawk, nervously playing with the hem of your dress. “Soooo… how is it?” You tried to sound casual, but the anticipation was killing you.Putting your glasses more firmly onto your nose bridge.

He swallowed, licked his lips, and let out a deep sigh, setting the fork down. His face was unreadable. Then—

“It’s edible.”

Your jaw dropped. “EDIBLE?! That’s all you have to say?!”

He snorted, clearly amused. “What, you want me to start crying tears of joy? Women, it’s food. You want a gold star?”

You threw your hands in the air. “I SLAVED AWAY IN THIS KITCHEN, SUKUNA! ALMOST DIED FROM OIL ATTACKS! I FOUGHT FOR MY LIFE AGAINST THAT CHEESE SAUCE! AND ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY IS ‘EDIBLE’?!”

Sukuna leaned back in his chair, watching you with a lazy smirk. “First of all, don’t yell at me like you’re on a reality cooking show. Second,” he took another bite, “the mac and cheese is good. Steak is a little burnt, but it’s fine.”

You squinted at him. “…Is that your version of a compliment?”

“Take it or leave it, nerd.”

You grumbled under your breath but still felt a little triumphant. He didn’t hate it. That was a win in your book.

He kept eating, glancing at you occasionally. “Why’d you even go through all this trouble anyway?”

You shifted in your seat, suddenly feeling a little awkward. “I dunno… I just wanted to do something nice for you. You’ve been working a lot, and I figured… you deserved a nice night.”

He blinked, then looked away, rubbing the back of his neck.His ears turning a red color “Tch. Dumbass.”

A slow smirk crept onto your lips. “Oh my god. You’re blushing.”

“I’m NOT.” He barks.

“You so ARE.” You counter with a huge smile

He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I swear to god, if you don’t shut up—”

“But it’s so cuuuute~! You look very much like a fricking cat!”You leaned in closer, batting your eyelashes dramatically through your glasses.

Sukuna rolled his eyes but couldn’t fight the way the corner of his mouth twitched upward. He reached out, flicking your forehead lightly. “Shut up and eat, loser.”

You giggled, rubbing your forehead with a pout. “Rude.”

The rest of dinner was filled with playful teasing, snarky remarks, and comfortable silence in between. Sukuna might have been a grumpy bastard, but the fact that he was still sitting here, eating every bite of the meal you made, meant more than words ever could.

To you it just meant that you got his heart and that this date was so worth it. (And to him;he has to say seeing all this stuff and it to be for him made his cold stupid heart beat.)

And when he reached out to steal some of your mac and cheese, you knew. That it was good.

Tonight was perfect.

Hope yall have a great day.

I love to read yall comments and reblogs are always appreciated.

Mutuals taglist- @ukininayu @scoobysnakz @mononijikayu @ciggrx @lynxslokley

Made by @sukioyakio 2025

[cryptid-killjoy]

"I don't know. I get lazy on my haircuts sometimes. I'm not sure my curls would do well with a cabby's hat. I'll have to try it out." He laughed.

Were Flotsam and Clopin good friends? "Oh, fuck yeah. The best. He wouldn't be Uncle Clopin if not. Pretty sure my dad was just a busker's fan boy hiding in the tree with stars in his eyes till they finally met." He smirked just picturing it. Dale aired it on the real.

When GoGo had the gull to say money couldn't buy common sense Dale's smile grew and his body didn't just lean in, his heart did. This wasn't a boy that got to open up much so to feel anyone on his side after how hard he fought as a teenager when shit began to hit the fan to watch his own mother not choose him, always wondering what was wrong with him, why he wasn't good enough, not that he'd admit that to a soul, it just felt... good.

"You're telling me. Right? Finally." Then he leaned in real close and told a family secret. It wasn't even his secret to tell, but that's how much Dale was moved by the feeling of connection to another person at all. "She cried diamonds. She was a crybaby about everything. Well, Chip can do it. Cry diamonds. But Chip doesn't cry. It takes a lot to get Chip to cry." It might not have been his to tell, but how he ended it was the most Dale offer ever. "And just for saying what you did, if you ever really get hard up, just let me know, I'll pin him down and pluck his nose hairs. I'll get those eyes watering diamonds to pawn just for you."

Only Dale.

When GoGo belched Dale took that as cue to belch one out on purpose only to try to make his a little louder and then say his own score out loud. "Eh maybe 7. I'll do better next round. Back to the tour."

Also, only Dale. Dale's way of not letting a lady feel weird about the belch as they stared at the playground where the Renault house used to be surrounded by such a ritzy neighborhood. She said she couldn't imagine it. "Yeah well, it was a big ass fancy place with a pool. Gated shit."

He did not look ashamed at all when he was called out as the panty thief. "Because you are correct. Sue me. The panty jail is overcrowded. The most I'll get is probation." He teased.

He kept watching GoGo laugh and he wasn't sure he'd seen her laugh and smile so much. He wasn't even quite sure she could. He liked it.

She asked him if he kicked ass. "Oh puleeze. What do you think? People really need to learn starting shit with this family ends up fatal. People never get the best of us. If they ever win a battle, they only start a war."

He leaned his head back mocking it all. Dale, like most his family did not seek power. He only wanted to be left in alone.

"Look at this Feral city stricken off the US map." He laughed alcohol filled bigger picture eyes all wide quite proud. "Our friends did that. Our circle. Look at Pipes and the Utopia that is that entire country now. An entire country and city of fuck this world's rules. My family's people did that." He poked at GoGo's arm. "Have you ever considered how completely awesome you are that we love you? I mean really. You're so fucking cool."

Yup, Dale was indeed that I love you drunk.

Unless he was angry.

It was Halloween. He was home. He had no reason to be angry. He was happy.

"Oh, you want to come back for a Funkytown party? Then we're putting it on the list. It's happening. We're gonna check it off. I'm taking ya. Hap-pen-nen. It's in stone now."

He thought about her words. "You know what? It was. I didn't get then because it's just where we were. I didn't know any different to know. But it was. It was a cool place, GoGo. It was. I was fucking lucky. Minus the skeeters of course."

She didn't say much when he spoke of Megabyte but it was in her eyes. If anyone understood it was her and he hadn't even realized all this time how alike they really were. He took the taki with a nod of thanks and even though no words were exchanged it felt like a while lot more was traded between them, and it felt safe to leave it there with her.

With jacked up laptop in tow and emotions shoved back down where Dale likes to keep them the tour moved along.

Of course Skull Rock. "Yeah, we mean it when we call Willem a pirate."

As for Christmasland and capitalism, "That's why it's well hidden in the depths of this swamp. If you knew this swamp, you'd know why tourists don't have a tendency to find it. I'll tell you what. If we ever get a chance to come here at Christmas time, I'll prove it to you. But it's one of those all nighter hikes. You'll also find out once you're in, you get hijacked by so much merriment it'll make you puke and even capitalists can't escape without jingle bells on their toes and a candy cane in their hand not knowing how they even got back home. You fall asleep there you might just end up in your bed back home. It's fucked up. Like Christmas morning dream magic. It's so weird. It's like the place decides if you get to stay." He shook his head just remembering the wacked upness.

"Oh yeah. I imagine there's still zombies out here. I mean, our family used to release them in the wilds. We used to keep a population count. That was just us. Who knew what other witches were doing. Plus, have zombie releases, like hunting parties for fun. Counts could have been off. Sometimes we'd just end because we were partying it up. There's bound to have been some strays. But, after what happened to the city they've probably migrated over time even if there weren't a lot of people in the swamps to begin with."

As for the change of clean clothes. "Eh, don't worry about it. I'm a swamp boy. I'll live."

The compliments. He couldn't quite tell if she was bothered by them nor was sure he cared. He was telling the truth.

But how much had he had to drink?

"Not enough yet."

He took another swig.

"Doesn't mean it's not true, GoGo. Don't be shy about compliments. You deserve 'em."

He looked down at his Ken doll crop top and laughed.

"Hopefully that doesn't mean I look like someone who really would challenge someone to a beach off. But, cool. Now you've done it. I'll remember that for later. I'll keep up the crop top trend... for your parents." He winked.

There was something fun about that day despite it being super sad.

What else was super sad was the next scattered remains of his actual life. Piper burned down their homestead, but what still remained was random stick dolls or other Blair Witch looking symbols hanging from tree branches the closer they got to the property to scare tourists off. Dale could remember all the actual protection spells on their home only for a family member to destroy it from the inside. He wasn't even mad. It just stirred feelings.

"Woah, woah, woah. Here we are. There. Park.... wherever."

At this point it was pointless to tell her where to pull up. Nearly everything had been burned down by Piper's Hellfire. The fact it was put out was a miracle. It'd been a couple years, and the land had started to heal itself.

Dale opened his car door and take a look around despite GoGo's early concerns of zombies. He still had Chip's gun from earlier, but for now he left it in the car. He was scanning the area visually. It was huge with no house on it. They'd always had such a huge yard anyway. Plus, the yard was right against the river. It was a gorgeous open landscape now. The entire home's remains were buried like a sinkhole underground. The open image so clean and healthy left Dale breathless. He started to point.

"Bunny run. There. Picture it. House. There. Dad's houseboat was always docked there. Pontoon. There." He'd cover his mouth in between each new direction in awe of the nothingness. "Paintball course. All the haystacks. There. Garden. There. That's where we kept all our atv's and off roads. We had a mini-shop to be our own garage in there."

"Oh! It's a few miles out." He spun around. "In that direction. Best mudding run in four county swamps. I swear. We know a dry patch for motorcross too. Hill hopping was Chip's go to. He was a pro. I'll tell you another secret. When we pair up as a team my metal skills help hold a car together that might not otherwise. But I only cheat when people are assholes to me. Plus, it's not always cheating when riding against other magic users. You never know what game they've got up their sleeve. No holds barred derbies are funny. People hexing the fuck outta people."

Then he saw something he didn't have to imagine. "Oh, my fuck. Look up there. Look. Look." He started jogging through the woods. "Is that. It is. Oh God. It is. I thought the fire got everything. Look."

There up high in a tree was one of the platforms he and his brother built. These were seriously tall trees, not your average backyard tree from a suburb.

"It's the Ewok Village. Well, part of it. Oh, look another one. A hut one." He pointed in another direction. Nothing could have wiped the smile off his face then. "The zip line is gone. We used to have them running from tree to tree. We'd walk across them, had ropes, and rope ladders, or just climbed depending on the tree." Then he gave the tree a good look.

"I'm gonna try it."

He was grinning big.

"You wanna?"

He was pointing up.

The guy was having trouble sitting down in a car, got drunk, and now thought he was going to climb a giant tree. Yup, that was so Dale.

“Sounds American enough for me,” Go-Go said. They might as well just loot the store, so she picked up some snacks that she hadn’t seen before yo go along with the alcohol. Poptarts. Hot Chili Takis. Peanut Butter cups. Jelly Bellies. It was Halloween, so bring on the candy rush.

And then onwards to the lengthy tour.

Even with the expensive alcohol burning through her stomach, she was a damn good driver, and took every turn that Dale advised her too, all without crashing onto the sidewalk or into lightposts and fire hydrants. They didn’t have to worry about the average person walking back, Valerie and Thomas had already made their way to the inn, and there were no other walkers.

The classics were cool enough, even if history wasn’t really her thing. “I could see you running one of those tourbuses,” She chuckled up at Dale. “With the microphone, making cheesy jokes to all of the tourists. You would be fantastic.”

She knew who most of the people that he talked about were. Clopin, obviously, they had met a couple of times, not the least of all she had seen him and his husband tonight, having a good time at the Ball. She tried to picture him as a younger man, which was pretty amusing. She could only do so with clown makeup. “They must be pretty close friends then,” She said, about Flotsam bringing up that tree everytime they would have passed it by.

She was snacking now, mixing the spicy with the sweet. Half-melted peanut butter cups with the takis stuffed in them. It was a feast for the eyes, for the ears, and now for the tongue.

“A magic school … full of teenagers … next to a super dangerous forest,” GoGo said dryly. She didn’t have to be a genius to figure out that it was going to go all wrong from the beginning. She didn’t mean to trash on his birth mom but she couldn’t help saying - “Really don’t think she was smart enough to open a school in the first place. Money can’t buy common sense, evidently.”

The construction was forever going to be unfinished. The person who had been working on it, meticulously building it back up, was long dead. Somewhere out there wandering, most likely. Forever searching for his toddler daughter. Tragic. Moving on.

She wasn’t used to these kind of compliments yet. She was growing adjusted to them, since the Laveaus could be complimentary people if they liked you. Especially Scout. But that coming from Dale, plus the snacks, plus the liquor.

She let out a belch as the bubbles from the alcohol seemed to come back up, and then giggled at herself. “Yeah, I’m glad you guys became kiwis too.”

They went into the fancy neighborhood. There was a playground now, at the place where Dale was pointing. The place that had once been the Renault house until Boogie destroyed it. “I always forget that those two were a thing,” She laughed, looking out the window, tilting her head slightly. “I really can’t imagine it.”

When they met, Chip had multiple wives. And Maddy was at the very least engaged to Bastien, and they were married shortly after the Laveaus moved to New Zealand. Anything else just seemed - odd.

“Why do I feel like it was you being the panty-stealer and not your brother?”

They kept on driving and stopping but Go-Go really didn’t mind. They had all night. And all day. “You kicked his ass, didn’t you?” She said about the guy that was running his mouth. That seemed a very Dale-like thing to do.

Funkytown was lit and looked like it was jumping, even if Figaro and Willem weren’t there quite yet. Door clown was dancing in the doorway, his hat just being seen through the window in the front door. Small figures were silhouettes through thin curtains. There was even a thump that could be heard from the outside (Diana’s leg had fallen off again and she took a tumble down the stairs, though she was alright as always). “Well shit, I hope we get to come back for a Funkytown party.”

She’d take occasional swigs of the liquor despite driving. Without any other cars on the roads, or pedestrians, there wasn’t as much worry. The alcohol seemed to help expand her mind during all of these stories, taking in what was behind and between the words. Getting to know Dale in a new light. Hell, they had even lived together and she didn’t know him that well. This was the most that they had talked, at least since her father kicked her out.

They really were going everywhere, from downtown to rich-ville to the trailerpark. This place had a lot of history, though Go-Go was only getting bits and pieces of it right now. She parked the car in front of the trailer that Dale was indicating, the headlights bringing light onto it. It looked abandoned. It looked … rough.

“Yeah,” She nodded, knowing that feeling all too well of losing a best friend. Fuck, she knew it well, as Dale had found out earlier. “I’m sure we would have got on.”

She held out another peanut-butter taki creation and the expensive bottle of alcohol, not saying anything.

“So you just make it your mission to be everyone’s big brother, huh?” She asked after a moment, remembering Babyface and Ellie, the two youngest at the Ball apart from when Frankie was brought up.

She stopped when he suddenly called out the wait, and climbed out through the open window, sitting on the door and leaning over the hood of the car, watching as he ran in and took a bunch of electronics. Even she was eyeing some of the stuff when he brought it back. “Damn, that’s a jacked-up laptop.”

In a good way, of course.

But then back to the roads, passing through places that … looked like a dream. Especially Sherwood forest. With it not being lit up, it looked like something out a horror movie that Figaro would love. Deserted. The joust was over.

“You’re lucky,” She spoke, after Dale was reminiscing about what one could do in the city in the span of a single day. “To have grown up somewhere so cool.”

Down the even shadier road, the trees not being tended to and growing out of control, limbs going out onto the road, making their branches hit the windshield. Nothing cracked it yet, but who could tell what would happen later down the line. There was a feeling of excitement growing inside of her to see the ruins of the old Laveau house, which she had heard so much about. It was like a little kid catching the first glimpse of a ferris wheel or a roller coaster on the way to an amusement park. So closer, just a little further.

“Of course there’s a Skull Rock, why am I not surprised.”

“I don’t know whether to believe you or not,” She teased. A door to another world just seemed … so crazy. So unlikely. And something that someone would definitely snatch up and use to make money or something like that. Build a resort in Christmasland. Capitalism as its finest. “Let me guess, Santa lives in there?”

The smell grew heavier the more they went. A heady, green smell that made her feel a little bit dizzy, though that could have been the alcohol too. She was driving slower, with the swamps all around. It looked and felt as if the car could get stuck and go down into the murky depths at any second. “You said there’s zombies around here, in these woods, right?” She asked, rolling up her window for the time being.

“Oh shit, yeah, probably,” She said, taking in Dale’s outfit again. It had been funny in the first place but now there was grass stains on the pink shirt from when he had crashed into the ground. Dirt stains too, on his knees and other parts of his body. Not to mention that half of him looked like a giant bruise, partly her doing. “I’d offer ya something but - it’s not my car so there’s no sweater in the back.”

She turned her head to look at him with an eyebrow raised, and then laughed, shaking her head, looking back to the trail. It was dark out here, despite the slowly raising sun. They couldn’t see beyond the headlights. More compliments. “Right, and you’ve had how much to drink tonight?”

“My parents hate everything, to be fair,” She cracked up, thinking of what their faces would look like if they could see her right now. “Almost wish I was talking to them again, just so I could tell them about this. Alone, with you, in our costumes, in a stolen car, in an abandoned city halfway across the world, going down what seems like the darkest fuckin’ path known to man.”

They’d probably try to exorcise her or something. Slap her with reeds because she didn’t know discipline. Lock her in her room for forty days and forty nights until she came to her senses or some such shit.

“You’re not too bad yourself, crop tops suit you, actually.”