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pathologicalreid · 7 months ago

Note

Hii I am making a Spencer Reid x citizen! F reader. They have been dating for a really long time but for a while reader has been dealing with a stalker, suddenly the stalker becomes much more violent and maybe even kidnaps her if we want to get real cray cray. Just lots of protective reid and angst to comfort!!

don't lose your head | S.R.

a stalker uses your work as a tudor history professor to follow your every move, so you go to the only place you can think of for help - the BAU

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: professor!reader, fiance!spencer, erotomaniac stalker, lots of tudor history facts, kidnapping, decapitation, happy ending, s11 (post-maeve), guns, death, spencer feels a lot of guilt, unhelpful police, exhaustion, nausea, dry heaving word count: 3.71k a/n: yall if i wanted to make this into a series would you read it 😭 i had so much fun writing this!!! and yes the title is a reference to six! thank you sooo much for requesting!!

you

You told Spencer after the fourth note. While the first two had been near your office door – harmless enough to have been brushed off as a student prank, the third note had been left on your desk. When someone had gotten into your locked office to leave you an intense love letter, you knew you were out of your depth.

After years of hearing stories about the BAU needing to battle the chain of command, you thought the best thing to do was to first go to the campus police. You were a professor, so the natural assumption was that they’d look into it.

They didn’t even take a report. No one listened to you.

From the campus police, you went into the city police, then the county, and by the time you marched into DC Metro, you hadn’t slept in a day. Spencer was in Utah on a case, and you didn’t have anywhere else to go. Once DC Metro told you there was nothing they could do without an open investigation or further evidence, you went back to your apartment.

The fourth note was there waiting for you, covering the camera that you kept on your front door.

Since you had the first three notes already in your bag, you plucked the newest one from where it was stationed on the front door and stuffed it in with the others before making the trip down to Quantico.

You had no idea when the team would be back, but the security guards at the front desk recognized you from the times you’d come to pick Spencer up or bring him lunch and they let you up anyway.

There were no notifications on your phone from Spencer letting you know that they were flying home, but the only place you felt safe was in their headquarters. The idea of going to see Penelope crossed your mind, but as a profiler-adjacent, she’d likely see right through you. You never dropped by, especially not when Spencer was away.

Settling yourself at his desk, you pulled an empty manila folder from a drawer, placed the notes neatly inside, and left it on Spencer’s desk before sitting in his chair and waiting for something to happen.

“Hey, Reid,” you heard a familiar voice from behind you. Slowly, you spun the chair around and looked at the team as they filtered in the glass doors.

Confused, Spencer tilted his head at you, clearly wondering why you were staking out the bullpen as he approached you. As he got closer, he observed the bags under your eyes, bloodshot from your lack of sleep over the last few days, “What’s wrong?”

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you clutched the folder like your life depended on it – for all you knew, it did. Your eyes followed Spencer as he knelt in front of you, accepting the folder when you handed it to him, “I think I’m in trouble,” you whispered, voice raspy from lack of use.

Your fiancé flipped through the pages, reading each of them a few times while you garnered attention from other members of the BAU. Tara, Derek, and JJ all crowded around Spencer’s desk, curious on your surprise appearance.

“I…” you faltered as you tried to explain what felt inexplicable. “The first one was folded over the doorknob of my office, the second one was slid beneath the door to my office, the third one was left on my desk, and the fourth one,” you glanced nervously at Spencer, “it was on the apartment door.”

Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed, “apartment door? Our apartment door?” As he questioned you, he stood up, leaving you with four federal agents staring down at you.

Despondently, you nodded, steepling your fingers in your lap and letting your shoulders droop.

“I’ll go get Hotch,” JJ said, nodding at everyone else to confirm her intentions before turning around, making her way up the steps to Hotch’s office.

From there, you ended up in the roundtable room. Tara had personally brought the letters for the lab to be checked for prints, and the techs had sent Garcia scans that were now projected on the screen. Each member of the team had them up on tablets, but you and Spencer knew the words by heart.

Shaking her head, Tara looked up at everyone, “I mean, who writes like this anymore? ‘But if you please to do the office of a true loyal mistress and friend, and to give yourself up body and heart to me, who will be, and have been, your most loyal servant,” she shrugged, continuing to look over the letters.

“They’re love letters,” you explained, tugging the sleeves of your sweatshirt over your palms before crossing your arms in front of your stomach. “The words aren’t original, they’re all passages from the love letters of Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn.”

Pointing to something on her screen, JJ frowned, “And what does his greeting mean? He always starts with ‘my rose without a thorn’.”

Nodding dejectedly, you focused your eyes on the now-empty manila folder on the table in front of you. “That was what Henry VIII called Catherine Howard, she was his youngest wife. It’s widely accepted among scholars that she was around seventeen when they got married, but others say she could’ve been as young as fifteen,” you answered, wondering if more details would help the investigation.

“So, we have Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard, which wives were those?” Rossi asked, looking around the table for someone who knew the answer.

In the middle of scrawling something on an evidence board, Spencer answered quickly, “Two and five.”

Folding your hands in your lap, you scoured your memory for anything that could be helpful. When Hotch asked if those numbers meant everything to you, you just shook your head. “Is there any significance to the two wives he chose being Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard?”

Your lips parted in surprise as the blood drained from your face, “They were the two wives who were beheaded.”

An eerie silence fell over the room, interrupted only by a chime from Penelope’s laptop, her shoulders slumped forward in abject disappointment, “The lab didn’t find anything on the letters. No prints, no hair… nothing, but uh…” her voice trailed off as she looked up at Hotch, it was almost like she was seeking permission.

Each member of the BAU looked at each other with the same concerned expression on their faces. “What do you all know that I don’t?”

“Two bodies turned up last week in the greater DC area,” Morgan was the brave soul who spoke up, “they were both missing their heads, and they were both college professors.”

Goosebumps spread over your entire body, a chill of fear causing the tip of your nose to feel cold, “Oh, I…” you fumbled over your words, standing up from your chair and rushing to leave the roundtable, nearly throwing yourself out of the bullpen on your way to the women’s restroom.

Entering one of the stalls, you haphazardly gathered your hair at the back of your head and you dry heaved into the toilet. You dropped to your knees as nothing came out.

A knock at the door barely garnered your attention, you didn’t even bother responding as Spencer was already entering the stall, “Oh, honey.”

That was it, you sat back on your heels as tears welled in your eyes, looking up at Spencer as he sat down next to you. Immediately, you turned your body to face him and leaned forward.

Welcomingly, Spencer grabbed you, firmly wrapping his arms around your torso as he pulled you into his lap, “I have you. I’m right here.” His voice was gentle, no more than a whisper as he kept a firm pressure around your body, “You’re safe with me,” he reassured you, using one hand to keep you upright and the other to rub your back as you cried.

Your face was buried in the crook of his neck as you wept, the sensation of fear ran through your body like electricity, and you felt content for the first time in days in the safety of Spencer’s arms. “I- I just teach. I’m n- not built for this,” you cried, words slightly muffled by his shoulder.

You were a history professor, teaching a course on the six wives of Henry VIII, this was never even in the realm of things you considered when putting together your syllabus.

Taking a shaky breath, you pulled away from Spencer, and he reached behind you for a wad of toilet paper to dry your face. “Spence,” you said, though it came out as more of a whimper.

“When’s the last time you slept?” He asked, cupping both of your cheeks in his hands while he studied your exhausted expression.

Shrugging, you shuffled off of him, dropping the wad of toilet paper in the bowl and flushing it, “A day? Two?” You weren’t entirely sure what day it currently was, the events of the last few had caused everything to sort of blend together.

Spencer nodded in understanding, “Okay,” he responded, slipping his phone out of his pocket before typing something out, “Why don’t you go lie down in Morgan’s office for a little while? He won’t mind.”

You blinked a few final tears from your eyes before affirming, “Yeah, uh. I need to grab something from my car.”

“Okay, are you parked in the garage? I’ll go down with you,” he offered, getting up and lending you a hand up, mumbling about the state of the bathroom floor as he did so.

After washing your hands, the two of you made your way through the hall and to the elevator before Garcia called out for Reid, “Hotch needs you for something, he said it’s urgent.”

Glancing back at you, he pursed his lips before selecting a lower-level special agent to go with you to the parking garage. “Be right back,” you told him as you stepped onto the elevator.

him

Once he was finished with Hotch, Spencer made his way back down the hallway, expecting to find yourself settling in Morgan’s office only to find it empty. Turning back in the hallway, he nearly bulldozed into Morgan and JJ, “Hey, what’s the rush?”

“Have either of you seen Y/N?” He asked, trying not to let panic rise in his voice, but there had been ample time for you to get to the parking garage and back. You should’ve been back by now.

The two of them shared a look, “Uh, no, I haven’t seen her since she left the roundtable room. Is she alright?” JJ asked, blue eyes filled with concern.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, Spencer hit the number one on speed dial – your number – and brought the phone to his ear before rushing to the elevator and moving to the side as JJ and Morgan piled in with him. Frantically pushing the button for the parking level, he cursed as the phone went to voicemail.

“Reid, what is it?” Morgan asked as the elevator started moving down.

Redialing your number, Spencer muttered to himself, hoping you’d pick up, “I sent her down with an agent. Hotch needed my apartment key so that Tara and Rossi could go look for anything.”

As the steel doors opened, the three of them drew their firearms, each of them taking a different direction when Spencer realized he didn’t even know where you had parked your car. “We have an agent down,” Morgan called out, calling Garcia and putting the phone on speaker. “Baby girl, we need medical and crime scene techs down to the lower-level parking garage,” he said into the phone.

“Spencer,” JJ called out, garnering his attention as he made his way through the garage to where JJ and Morgan were now stood, Morgan was applying pressure on Agent Franks’ wound, and JJ was looking at a car.

The passenger door to your car was open, and the vehicle was chiming as an alert to get you to close the door. As he stepped forward, something glimmered at the edge of his vision. Crouching down, he picked up your engagement ring from the cement, “He’s got her,” he said, a wave of déjà vu nearly toppling him over.

Impatiently waiting for the elevator to take him back up to the sixth floor, Spencer trudged to the roundtable room, desperate for another look at the evidence board. The dates of each letter that you had received, the content of each letter, and the reason for all of this didn’t make any sense to him.

It had to be an erotomaniac, it was the only thing that made sense. You were an object of someone’s desires, and their delusion had to have become so strong that they took you.

Quietly, someone stepped into the roundtable room behind him, “What are you thinking about?”

Imminent death. Statistics of harm and death in cases involving erotomanic kidnappings. “Synchronicity,” he answered simply, entertaining JJ’s conversation as he continued to study the letters. The love letters were at the core of it all, so the answer needed to be written in there. Everything that had come to you was almost an exact copy of words written by Henry VIII.

“Ah, that’s Jung, right?” JJ asked, her voice was kind, and she was using the same tone she used when doing cognitive interviews with victims. He didn’t have time for her pity, they were on a clock.

Sighing, Spencer picked his dry-erase marker back up and scrawled on the board, “It’s a concept that he introduced, yes. It’s meant to describe the occurrence of events which seem like they’re significantly related but there’s no discernable causation.”

JJ nodded understandingly, taking a spot next to him and looking at the notes, “And what occurrence of events are we thinking about right now?”

“I suppose more than anything, I’m wondering if there’s an action that I took in the past that somehow caused me to find myself in this situation twice,” he answered, circling the word ‘the place chosen by yourself’ on the evidence board.

Humming, JJ turned to face him, “Does Y/N know?”

Pressing his lips together in a thin, white line, he nodded tightly, “I told her years ago, when we had first started dating, actually. I never thought…” his voice trailed off as he set down the marker, “She came to me, JJ. She came here to be safe, and he grabbed her from the parking garage.”

“You sent her down there with an agent, you thought you were doing the right thing,” JJ tried to comfort him.

Scoffing dismissively, he stepped back and took a seat in one of the chairs, “I can’t stop thinking about if it would’ve made a difference. If her asking me for help would have fixed anything, or if it would have ended the same way.”

Taking a seat near him, JJ paused for a moment, seemingly at a loss for words, before responding, “We can’t really afford to think like that though, in our line of work.”

Spencer scoffed, “No, we can’t. Especially not now, but the timing of it is weird. It’s been almost exactly four years, and now…” his voice trailed off as his eye caught on something on the paper. “The timing is off,” he muttered, picking up the first letter you had received.

“What is it, Spence?” JJ asked, tilting her head to the side curiously.

Shaking his head, he read the letter again, “This letter, it’s from the first letter Henry VIII wrote to Anne Boleyn, but in this version, he says he’s been waiting for months to be with her, but they waited seven years to be together because they were waiting for his marriage to Catherine of Aragon to be annulled.”

Still confused, JJ leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, “Okay, what does that mean.”

“We ruled out a student because the crimes didn’t read as mature, but what if it’s a different kind of student?” He proposed, standing up from the chair abruptly and starting to write on the board.

Rolling her chair closer to the board, she shrugged, “I’m not sure I’m following.”

Holding up a single finger, Spencer wrote a name down on the board, “Y/N has a grad student TA, he’s been working toward his PhD for seven years. He’s been her TA for three months – that lines up with the timeline in the letters.”

“Okay,” JJ said, starting to follow along, she waved at the team members in the bullpen to get their attention before hitting the call button on the conference phone. “Penelope, what do you have on a Geoffrey Williamson? He’s a TA in Y/N’s class.”

There was typing on the other line before a sound of disgust came from the technical analyst, “He is a different kind of smarmy, it looks like he transferred programs two years ago to Y/N’s university after he… oh. It looks like he bounced from foster home to foster home as a kid, his parents never fully gave up their rights but couldn’t follow through on their case plan. He was unsuccessful in his last dissertation defense three months ago,” she continued clacking on her keyboard, “after which his mentor teacher dropped him and the school gave him one more semester before pulling his funding. He asked Y/N to be his new mentor teacher and it looks like she turned him down -very nicely, might I add.”

Scoffing, Morgan crossed his arms in front of his chest, “That sounds like a stressor and a trigger if I’ve ever heard one.

“Garcia,” Hotch spoke into the phone, “Do you have a location for Williamson?”

There was more typing as Spencer could feel his carotid pounding in his throat, “It looks like he lives in student housing, but… he recently inherited an old factory after his biological father passed away two weeks ago.”

Nodding, Hotch looked around the table, “Send us the address, and forward it to Rossi and Lewis too.”

“Done, go get her,” Penelope urged into the phone before hanging up.

He slipped your engagement ring into his pocket before adjusting the strap on his Kevlar, thrumming with nervous energy as Morgan coordinated with SWAT, waiting outside of the old textile factory as the tactical team organized themselves in front of the BAU.

Spencer and JJ took the left side, Rossi and Tara took the right, and Morgan and Hotch went through the main doors.

“No!” Your voice broke out through the steel corridors of the factory, immediately followed by a yelp.

There was an awful noise then, like metal scraping against itself, “Fucking say it!” An unfamiliar male voice broke out in a holler.

Steeling himself, Spencer had to hold himself back from rushing into the room where your voice was coming from, each one of your sobs was like another strike at his resolve. “Good Christian people,” he heard you say, your voice was strained, “I am come hither to die, for according to the law, and by the law I am judged to- to-“ Your voice broke off into a heap of wails.

“What is she saying?” JJ whispered, waiting for SWAT to clear the corridor.

All of the blood had drained from Spencer’s face, “She’s reciting Anne Boleyn’s execution speech, from right before she was beheaded.”

JJ nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation – they needed to get in there, and they needed to do it quickly. SWAT waved them over, and the two of them filtered through the open doorway. The space was dimly illuminated by candles, but the only thing Spencer could focus on was your head, bowed toward the ground as you watched the ground. Above you, Geoffrey was holding a sword, ready to cut your head off.

“Geoffrey Williamson, FBI!” JJ called out, announcing themselves to the UnSub before he could get any further in his convoluted execution, “Put the sword down! Let Y/N go.”

Spencer clocked the UnSub’s grip tightening on the sword as he zeroed in on you, “I can’t! She has to pay for this! She has to finish the speech.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but as you raised your head slightly, he found himself silenced by your gaze. Roll, he mouthed the words to you, hoping Williamson was too focused on JJ to notice what he was trying to tell you.

“And by the law I am judged to die,” you continued the speech, your voice wavering.

Taking a deep breath, Spencer watched as the UnSub raised the sword despite JJ’s instructions to set it on the ground, “Y/N, stop talking!”

Releasing another sob, you finished the execution speech, “And therefore I will speak nothing against it.”

As soon as the last word was out of your mouth, Williamson brought the sword down, and as it swung, two things happened. JJ pulled the trigger on her firearm, killing the UnSub, and you rolled out of the way, the chains that bound your hands and feet clanging on the ground as you did so.

Holstering his weapon, Spencer ran over to you, dropping to his knees in front of you, “It’s done. It’s over,” he tried to reassure you, but you had begun struggling against your restraints as Spencer tried to settle you down, “Stop, it’s me, baby. Baby, it’s me,” he said desperately.

Once you had maneuvered yourself into a sitting position, you looked at Spencer with big, watery eyes before completely breaking down. “I just wanted it to end,” you babbled as your face crumpled.

“I know, honey,” he said, reaching out to pull you close as JJ contacted the rest of the team, asking for a chain cutter to get your restraints off of you as they weren’t able to find the keys on the body. “He’s gone, you’re safe,” he urged, holding you tightly.

You weren’t seriously injured, but there were enough bumps and bruises to make Spencer insist on a trip to the hospital. Until the EMTs could make it to you, he was fine with holding you on the floor of the factory. Keeping you close. Keeping you safe with him.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid hurt/comfort #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds hurt/comfort #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst #spencer reid x y/n #margot's requests

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goldfades · 2 months ago

Text

STOLEN MOMENTS IN PARKING LOTS──RAFE CAMERON

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for this request!

─ summary | rafe tries to provoke jealousy by showing public affection for sofia, but as tensions rise, he confronts you and reveals his feelings.

─ pairing | rafe cameron x ex!fem!reader

─ warnings | NSFW!! (with plot) under the cut!! p in v, praise, pretty soft, nothing too cray but it's in the backseat of his car soooo. some angst in the beginning, rafe tries to fight someone (when does he not?), mention of drinking, ummm maybe cheating cause i lowk forgot about sofia cause bro does break up with her... but wtv! it's for the plot!

─ ev's notes | my requests are open if you wanna send anything in! i actually love rafe more than i do life itself and... i wanna feed yall so PLEASE. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD SEND ME ANYTHING. anyways... sorry i just had to get that out there!!

ok love u bye!!! pls send me requests!!!!!!

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The air feels thick around you as you weave through the crowded beach, trying to keep your gaze anywhere but on Rafe. His laugh, louder than it needs to be, cuts through the noise of the party, and you can’t help but notice Sofia wrapped around him.

She leans into his touch, her smile bright as his hands roam casually over her waist, like he used to do with you. You catch a glimpse of them, Rafe pulling her closer, his lips moving to hers in a display meant for everyone, but especially for you. You look away, forcing yourself to focus on the bonfire, the drinks, anything. But it’s impossible to ignore the magnetic pull. It’s like he’s everywhere at once, the weight of his stare pressing into you even though his attention should be elsewhere.

And maybe it is—his lips are on her—but his eyes, whenever you risk a glance, are always searching for you.

You tighten your grip around your drink, jaw clenched against the swirl of emotions building in your chest. Each stolen glance at Rafe pulls at something deep inside you, but you refuse to let it show. The heat of the bonfire warms your skin, the crackling flames a welcome distraction as you will yourself to block out the image of him with her.

The party hums around you, but all you can hear is his laughter—so familiar, yet distant, like he’s a world away, even though he’s right there.

But before the thoughts can spiral further, someone steps into your line of sight, blocking the view you’ve been pretending not to care about. You blink up, surprised to see a guy you vaguely recognize from around town, his easy smile and tousled brown hair a stark contrast to the tension thrumming inside you.

“Hey,” he says, his voice smooth, the kind that carries well over the music. “You looked like you could use some company.”

You offer him a half-smile, more out of politeness than genuine interest, but something in you shifts—an instinct, maybe, to distract yourself, to prove to yourself that you’re fine. If Rafe can move, so can you. So, you shrug, meeting his gaze for longer than you have with anyone all night.

“Maybe I do,” you reply, your voice light despite the ache still gnawing at the back of your mind.

He steps closer, leaning casually on the railing next to you. “Name’s Tyler. You’ve been to these parties before, right?”

You nod, taking a sip of your drink, your eyes drifting briefly toward where Rafe stands before snapping back to Tyler. He follows your gaze but doesn’t comment on it. “Yeah, once or twice,” you say, playing along.

Tyler’s grin widens, sensing an opening. “Let me guess, you’re not a fan of the scene? You don’t seem like the type to be into the chaos.”

You laugh softly, surprising yourself. “Not usually,” you admit, swirling your drink. “But it’s better than staying home.”

“Yeah, I get that,” he says, his eyes roaming over your face, lingering a second longer than necessary. “But I’ve gotta say, I’m glad you came out tonight.”

There’s a warmth in his words, a casual flirtation that makes it easy to forget the lingering tension in your chest. You tilt your head, giving him a look you haven’t given anyone in a while—playful, even if only for the moment. “And why’s that?”

His smile turns a bit more mischievous as he leans in, lowering his voice. “Because I wouldn’t have had the chance to meet you.”

You feel a small spark of satisfaction flare inside, the kind that comes from knowing you’re being noticed, admired, even if it’s fleeting. You toy with the edge of your cup, glancing up at him beneath your lashes. “Well, aren’t you charming.”

Tyler laughs, a low, easy sound that feels like a balm against the tension in your mind. “Just telling the truth,” he says, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm as he gestures toward the fire. “Want to grab a seat by the bonfire? I’d hate for you to be stuck standing here all night.”

You hesitate for a second, glancing toward the beach where Rafe and Sofia are still tangled in each other. But the sight no longer stings as much—it’s dulled, replaced by a sudden urge to push back, to be seen with someone else, just as he’s parading her around. It’s petty, you know that. But right now, you don’t care.

“Sure,” you say, offering Tyler a real smile this time, one that lights up your eyes. “Why not?”

As the two of you make your way to the fire, you can feel Rafe’s eyes on you, burning hotter than the flames, but you don’t look back. Not yet. You settle onto one of the logs beside Tyler, letting his easy conversation and light touches distract you, pretending for a moment that you don’t feel the weight of Rafe’s gaze following your every move.

A few hours (and drinks) later, you find yourself leaning against Tyler’s car, his hands on your waist, lips trailing down your neck as the distant sounds of the party fade into the background. You’ve lost track of how long you’ve been out here, away from the noise, away from him. The warmth of the alcohol buzzes through you, making it easy to forget about the tension that had been gnawing at you all night.

Tyler’s mouth finds yours, and you lean into it, closing the gap between you. His kiss is heated but unhurried, his touch light on your skin, and for the first time tonight, you let yourself slip into the moment. The back of your mind, the part that’s always aware of Rafe, quiets—just for now. Tyler’s hands move down to your hips, pulling you closer, and you tilt your head, deepening the kiss as his fingers trace soft patterns over your waist.

For a few blissful seconds, you don’t think about Rafe at all. It’s just you, Tyler, and the cool night air pressing in around you. Tyler’s touch is comforting, a distraction, a way to escape the complicated mess of emotions Rafe always drags you into. And for the first time tonight, you don’t feel like you’re suffocating under the weight of what used to be.

Tyler breaks the kiss, his lips still brushing against yours as he grins. “You sure know how to make a guy’s night, sweetheart,” he teases, his voice low and breathy, pulling you in even further.

You laugh softly, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “Do I, really?” You reply, matching his grin, feeling the haze of everything slip further away.

Tyler’s hands tighten around your waist, his mouth once again capturing yours as you press against the cool metal of the car. His kisses are eager now, more insistent, and you match his energy, allowing yourself to get lost in the moment. The taste of alcohol lingers between you, the sound of your breathing mingling with the distant crash of waves and faint music from the party you left behind.

You close your eyes, momentarily letting go of everything—of Rafe, of the tangled mess he left behind in your head. Tyler’s lips move against yours, and for just a second, you feel light. Free.

But then, everything shifts.

The tension in the air thickens in an instant, and you sense it before you even open your eyes. A sudden presence, looming and charged, like a storm about to break. When you finally pull back from Tyler and glance up, your heart stumbles in your chest.

Rafe stands a few feet away, his expression dark—dangerously dark. His eyes lock onto yours first, blazing with an anger so intense it makes your stomach flip. Then his gaze flicks to Tyler, and you can practically feel the rage rolling off him in waves.

“What the hell are you doing?” Rafe’s voice is low, almost a growl, but it’s enough to send a chill down your spine.

Tyler, oblivious to the storm he’s just walked into, straightens up, his arm still loosely around your waist. “Relax, man,” he says, trying to sound casual, though there’s a note of uncertainty in his voice. “We were just—”

Rafe doesn’t let him finish. He takes a step closer, fists clenched at his sides, his whole body vibrating with barely-contained fury. “I wasn’t talking to you,” he spits, his eyes still fixed on you. But then his gaze cuts back to Tyler, and something dangerous flashes there. “But if you don’t get your hands off her right now, we’re gonna have a problem.”

Tyler scoffs, dropping his arm but not backing down. “What’s your deal, Cameron? She’s not your girl anymore.”

Those words are like a lit match thrown into a gasoline fire.

In an instant, Rafe’s on him, shoving Tyler hard against the side of the car. “What did you just say?” Rafe’s voice is low and menacing, his face inches from Tyler’s. His fists are white-knuckled, trembling with the need to unleash the anger bottled up inside him. “You think you can just put your hands on her like that?”

Tyler stumbles, but he manages to push back, his hands coming up defensively. “Chill, man! It’s not that serious!”

But it is. For Rafe, it’s everything.

You can see it in the way his jaw clenches, in the wild, desperate look in his eyes as they flicker between you and Tyler. He’s spiraling, and you know this side of him all too well—the part that lashes out, that destroys when he feels like he’s losing control.

“Rafe, stop,” you say, your voice sharper than you intended, cutting through the haze of tension. You step forward, placing yourself between him and Tyler, your hand pressing against Rafe’s chest. His muscles are taut beneath your touch, coiled and ready to explode. “This isn’t worth it.”

For a moment, Rafe doesn’t move. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, his eyes locked on yours, searching, desperate for something he can’t find. He looks down at your hand on his chest, and for a second, you think he might back down.

But then he shakes his head, his voice tight with frustration. “What’s your fucking problem?” he snaps, his words aimed at you now. “Do you not miss me? Is this how you move on?”

You flinch, taken aback by the raw vulnerability buried beneath his anger. His words hit harder than any shove, cutting through the defenses you’ve been trying to build all night. You open your mouth to respond, but the words stick in your throat.

Rafe’s hands grip your arms suddenly, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to hold you in place. His eyes bore into yours, intense and searching, the anger faltering for a split second as something else flickers there—something almost like hurt. “Tell me,” he demands, his voice quieter now, but no less desperate. “Tell me you don’t miss me.”

Rafe's grip tightens for a fraction of a second, his eyes still locked on yours, searching for something, anything, that will ease the storm raging inside him. His question lingers between you, thick and heavy, but you can’t answer him, not here, not like this. Tyler, still lingering nearby, lets out an irritated scoff, but there’s a tremor in it. He knows better than to challenge Rafe further—everyone does.

You feel Rafe’s breath against your skin, shallow and ragged, as if he's waiting for the moment you confirm his worst fears. But instead of answering him, you take a deep breath, your hand brushing over his chest. “Come on,” you murmur, voice softer now, low enough that only he can hear. “Let’s go.”

For a brief moment, Rafe hesitates, his gaze flickering toward Tyler, like he’s still deciding whether to throw another punch. But your hand slides down, gently tugging at his arm, and his attention snaps back to you. Slowly, his grip loosens.

Tyler, sensing the shift, straightens up but keeps his distance, his bravado from earlier slipping away as he watches you lead Rafe toward the beach. “Whatever, man,” Tyler mutters, though his voice wavers, betraying the fear he's been masking. “You two deserve each other.”

You don’t even look back at him, and Rafe doesn’t either. His focus is entirely on you now, the tension between his clenched jaw and the way he follows your lead without protest. Tyler slinks off, disappearing into the crowd as if he’s suddenly remembered who he’s dealing with.

As you walk further from the party, the sounds of the bonfire and distant music grow fainter, leaving only the soft rush of the waves and the cool breeze whipping against your skin. Rafe’s fingers brush against your hand, and though the anger in him hasn’t fully burned out, his pace slows as the two of you near the shore.

The silence between you is heavy, electric. You can feel the weight of everything unsaid pressing down, the tension thick enough to suffocate. His frustration, his desperation—it’s all still there, simmering beneath the surface. But now, without an audience, without the pretense of Tyler or Sofia, it feels rawer, more exposed.

Rafe stops just shy of the water, his grip on you tightening again, though not out of anger this time. It’s almost as if he’s holding onto you for stability, for some anchor to stop him from drowning in whatever dark place his mind has gone. “Why are you doing this?” he asks, his voice quiet, rough around the edges, but no longer carrying the rage that had consumed him moments before. “Why are you acting like you don’t care?”

You feel the words clawing at the back of your throat, the urge to lash out or deflect, but the vulnerability in his eyes makes it impossible. Instead, you stand there, caught between the pull of the past and the mess of emotions swirling around you now.

It’s all too complicated, and yet somehow, painfully simple. You’ve never stopped caring. But Rafe… Rafe has always made things more difficult than they needed to be.

Rafe’s question lingers in the salty night air, hanging between you like a taut string waiting to snap. His eyes search your face for something—an answer, an apology, anything to make sense of the confusion brewing in his mind. But you’re not ready to give him what he wants. Not yet, at least.

The sound of the ocean crashing against the shore fills the silence between you, your pulse racing in time with the waves. You look away, focusing on the dark horizon, your toes sinking into the cool sand as you try to gather your thoughts. Why are you doing this? The question echoes in your mind, but it’s not as simple as Rafe seems to think.

Maybe it’s because you’re tired—tired of feeling like he’s pulling the strings, tired of the toxic push and pull of your relationship. Maybe you’re doing it because it hurts too much to care about someone who only seems to care when you’re slipping away. Or maybe it’s because, deep down, you know that no matter how hard he tries to provoke you, to force a reaction, the person who’s really hurting is him.

You glance at him, and for the first time in a while, you let yourself really look. His eyes are still wild with anger, but there’s something else there too—something that cracks through the hard shell he’s built around himself. His chest rises and falls unevenly, his breathing ragged from the tension that’s been gripping him since the moment he saw you with Tyler. His hands, though no longer tight on your arms, still linger, as if afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go entirely.

“I’m not acting like I don’t care,” you say finally, your voice quieter than you intended. There’s a vulnerability in the admission that makes your stomach twist, but you force yourself to hold his gaze. “I just… I can’t do this with you, Rafe. Not like this.”

He looks like he’s about to argue, his brows furrowing, but then he hesitates, the frustration flickering in his eyes giving way to something closer to desperation. “Then how?” His voice is quieter now, too, though it’s laced with an edge of exasperation. “Tell me how, because I don’t know what to do anymore.”

You almost laugh at the absurdity of it all, but the ache in your chest keeps you from it. He doesn’t know what to do? The guy who’s spent the entire night trying to make you jealous, parading Sofia around like some twisted declaration of victory, now stands in front of you, unsure, vulnerable.

But this is Rafe Cameron. The boy who hides his insecurities behind anger and control. The boy who pushes you away just to pull you back in, like some sick game where neither of you ever really wins.

“You think this is all my fault?” you ask, taking a step back, breaking the physical connection between you. His hands fall away, and though his body stays rooted in place, his expression twists as if the loss of contact has left him exposed. “You think you can just act like that all night, throw Sofia in my face, and I’m supposed to be okay with it?”

Rafe winces at your words, and for a moment, he looks away, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I wasn’t trying to—” He stops, gritting his teeth, clearly wrestling with what to say. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Right,” you mutter, folding your arms over your chest, the bitterness in your tone impossible to hide. “Because trying to hurt me is the only way you know how to get my attention?”

He stares at you, his lips parting like he wants to protest, but nothing comes out. Instead, he clenches his jaw and looks down, the anger draining from his posture, leaving behind only exhaustion. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” he says finally, so quietly you almost don’t hear him over the waves. “I just… I didn’t know how to make you miss me. I don’t know how to do this without screwing it up.”

The confession hits you harder than you expect, a crack in the armor he’s always so careful to maintain. It’s the first time all night he’s shown you anything real, anything beyond the bluster and anger he uses to shield himself. And it leaves you speechless.

Rafe lets out a frustrated breath, rubbing the back of his neck as he stares down at the sand, avoiding your gaze. “I know I’m not… good at this. At us.” His voice wavers slightly, like admitting it is a betrayal of the tough, unshakable image he’s spent his whole life building. “But I can’t stand the thought of you with someone else. Especially not him.”

There it is. The raw, vulnerable truth buried beneath layers of anger and bravado. The truth you’ve always known but never heard him admit out loud.

You swallow hard, feeling the sting of his words settle into the hollow ache in your chest. “Rafe… I can’t keep doing this. The fighting, the jealousy—it’s too much.” Your voice cracks, and you hate how exposed you feel saying it out loud. But it needs to be said.

His eyes snap back to yours, wide and frantic, as if he’s afraid you’re slipping through his fingers. “I’ll stop,” he blurts out, stepping closer, the desperation back in his voice. “I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t—don’t walk away.”

You bite your lip, torn between the part of you that wants to believe him and the part of you that knows it’s not that simple. He’s said things like this before, made promises in moments of weakness, only to fall back into old patterns when the anger returns. But this time, there’s something different in his eyes—a genuine fear that this might really be it.

“I don’t know if you can stop, Rafe,” you say quietly, the honesty of your words hanging heavy between you. “You’re always so angry… and I can’t be the one trying to fix it every time.”

He doesn’t respond right away, his jaw tightening as he absorbs what you’ve said. But then, to your surprise, he nods, his expression shifting from desperation to something more resigned. “You’re right,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I am angry. But not at you.”

You blink, taken aback by the admission. It’s the first time he’s ever acknowledged that the rage he carries isn’t about you—not really. It’s always been deeper than that, rooted in things he’s never fully let you in on.

“So what then?” you ask, your tone softer now, more searching. “What are you so angry about?”

Rafe looks away again, his jaw clenched as if he’s trying to hold something back. But then he sighs, running both hands through his hair in a gesture that screams frustration. “Everything,” he mutters, his voice rough. “My family, my life… I don’t know. I don’t know how to fix it.”

You watch him, your heart aching at the sight of him so lost, so broken. For a moment, all the frustration you’ve felt toward him melts away, replaced by the familiar ache of wanting to help him, to fix what’s been broken between you.

But you know that’s not your job. It never was.

Rafe’s confession hangs in the air, weighty and raw, his vulnerability exposed in a way that catches you off guard. For a moment, all the anger and frustration that has built up between you feels insignificant. The walls he keeps so tightly guarded have crumbled, and in their place, there's a boy you recognize—a boy desperate for something solid in a world that’s been spiraling out of control.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you reach out, brushing your fingers against his arm. His breath hitches at the contact, and slowly, his gaze finds yours again. His eyes are dark, a mix of anger, longing, and something deeper, something that’s always been there but never fully spoken between you two.

“I’m not walking away,” you murmur, barely able to find your voice as the tension between you thickens. “I’m still here, Rafe. But you need to figure out what you want… and stop trying to hurt me to get there.”

His expression softens at your words, the desperation giving way to a flicker of hope. For a moment, he just stares at you, his lips parted like he’s trying to say something, but no words come. Instead, he steps closer, his hands brushing your waist, hesitant, as if testing the boundaries between you.

“Tell me what to do,” he murmurs, his voice rough and low. “Tell me how to fix this.”

The warmth of his touch sends a shiver down your spine, and despite everything—despite the anger, the games, the toxic cycle—you find yourself leaning into him. The truth is, you don’t have all the answers. You never have. But standing this close to him, feeling the heat radiating from his body, you know one thing for certain—you miss him. As much as you’ve tried to push him away, you can’t deny the pull that’s always been there, the magnetic connection between you.

“You start by being honest with me,” you say quietly, your fingers finding their way to the front of his shirt, gripping the fabric as if anchoring yourself. “No more games, Rafe.”

He nods, swallowing hard as his hands slide up your waist, pulling you closer, the space between you shrinking with each passing second. “I’ll be honest,” he whispers, his breath ghosting over your skin, sending a rush of heat through your body. “I’m done with the games, baby.”

Before you can respond, his lips crash against yours in a kiss that’s desperate and hungry, all the frustration and longing pouring into the contact. It’s not gentle; it’s raw and unfiltered, like he’s been holding back for too long, and now that he has you, he can’t stop himself.

You gasp against his mouth, your hands tangling in his hair as you kiss him back just as fiercely. The world around you blurs into nothingness—the sound of the waves, the distant party—it all fades away until the only thing that exists is him. His hands roam your body, gripping you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, and you melt into him, the heat between you building with every passing second.

He pulls you even closer, his body pressing against yours as his lips move with a kind of desperation that makes your heart race. It's overwhelming, the way he kisses you, the way he holds you like you're the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. You feel the intensity of everything he's been holding back—the anger, the pain, the desire—and it ignites something deep within you.

You break the kiss, gasping for air, but he doesn’t let you pull away for long. His lips find your neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your throat, and you can’t stop the soft moan that escapes your lips. His name tumbles from your mouth in a breathless whisper, and you feel him tense against you, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough and hoarse as his hands slide under your shirt, his touch igniting every nerve in your body. “God, I’ve missed you so much.”

Your heart stutters at his words, the sincerity in his voice taking you off guard. It’s not just the physical connection that’s pulling you back in—it’s the raw emotion behind it, the way he’s finally letting you see the side of him he’s been hiding for so long.

And then, somehow, you find yourself back in parking lot, against his car. His lips never leave yours, his kiss hungry and desperate.

“Rafe…” You barely manage to get his name out as he lifts you slightly, pushing you against the side of his car, his body pressing you firmly against the cool metal. His lips find yours again, and this time the kiss is slower, more deliberate, as if he’s savoring the taste of you.

Your mind spins, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all—the way he touches you, the way he kisses you like he’s afraid this might be the last time. There's a desperation in the way he clings to you, like he's trying to make up for every moment he's hurt you, every second he's pushed you away.

Rafe’s hands grip your hips as he pulls you tighter against him, his touch searing through the thin fabric of your shirt. The way his body presses into yours is almost suffocating, but in a way that you crave, like you’ve been starved for this kind of contact for too long. His lips move against yours with a mixture of urgency and tenderness, a contrast that leaves you dizzy, struggling to catch your breath.

Every kiss feels like a question, as if he’s asking for more, for you to let him in completely again. And you want to. Despite all the games, all the hurt, there’s something undeniable about being with him—something that makes your heart race in ways you haven’t felt since the beginning.

You can feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tighten as his hands slide up your back, his fingertips grazing the bare skin just under the hem of your shirt. It’s almost like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you, as if this is his last chance to make things right.

His lips leave yours for just a moment, trailing down your jaw and finding that sensitive spot just below your ear. You shiver as his hot breath fans against your skin, your body reacting instinctively to his every move. His name falls from your lips in a breathless whisper, and you feel him pause, his breath hitching at the sound.

You feel his hand reach for the door behind you, opening it before he practically threw you into the backseat. Rafe climbs on top of you, and his lips are on yours again. You moan at the contact, your head falling back into the cool leather of his backseat. God, how you missed those cushions.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he murmurs against your mouth, his voice rough with emotion, barely holding himself together. His hands tighten their grip on your waist, and you feel his desperation in every touch, in every kiss that follows. It’s not just physical—there’s a vulnerability there, a need that goes far deeper than the surface.

Your heart skips a beat as you realize what he’s truly saying. This isn’t just about the heat of the moment or the chemistry that’s always drawn you two together. It’s about him finally letting you see past the walls he’s built—past the anger, the bravado, and the façade he shows everyone else.

You tilt your head back, giving him more access as his lips move lower, trailing down your collarbone, and your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. The world around you seems to blur, the distant sound of the waves crashing against the shore and the soft hum of the party fading into the background until all that’s left is the two of you, tangled together in the dim glow of the night.

He leans back slightly and all you could hear in the darkness of the night was the clink of his belt, and a shiver went down your spine as you think about what's coming. You almost immediately slip out of your shorts as you slid back, giving yourself enough room to spread out before Rafe is in between your legs.

You can make out his face in the darkness, the faint moonlight casting shadows across his sharp features, highlighting the tension in his jaw. His eyes, those piercing blue eyes that have always had a way of making you feel seen—and sometimes too exposed—are locked on you, and it makes your heart (and pussy) beat faster.

“Rafe,” you breathe, your voice barely audible as his lips return to yours in a searing kiss. It’s slow this time, deliberate, as if he’s savoring every second, every taste of you. His hands slide up your sides, taking the edge of your shirt with them, and your breath hitches as you feel the cool night air against your skin.

Then, you feel his warm tip against your thigh. Never leaving your lips, Rafe slowly leans his cock right into your sopping pussy. You let out a soft moan, the feeling of being filled up by his cock again making your head spin with pure bliss.

“Oh, shit,” he draws out as his head falls back, the feeling of your warm cunt overwhelming. “God I missed you, pretty baby.”

And it feels like time has stopped, like the only thing that matters is the heat between you, the way your bodies fit together perfectly, like this is where you’re meant to be. His hands roam over your back, your sides, exploring with a kind of urgency that makes your pulse quicken as he pushes in deeper into your pussy.

It hurts, at first until he bottoms you out. He's still for a moment as he leans his forehead against yours, his breathing heavy. After he felt you tighten around him, he instantly pulled your hips before he began thrusting in and out of you slowly, as if he was warming up.

“Oh, fuck,” you cry out as your hands find his shoulders. Your breath comes out in short, ragged gasps as you cling to him, your body responding to his in ways that are both familiar and intoxicatingly new.

He's fucking into you at this point, his own grunts echoing in the empty car. You could feel the windows begin to fog up as his thrusts become more sharp, more meaningful. It’s overwhelming, the intensity of it all, but you can’t stop yourself—you don’t want to. You’ve missed this, missed him, even if you won’t admit it out loud.

At the sound of your cries of pleasure, Rafe chuckles breathless. “Oh, yeah? You like that?”

All you could do was nod as he begins increasing the speed of his thrusts, he was rocking into you with brute force but he was still gentle, somehow. His hands reach up to find your throat, holding it as he fucks into you harder. Rafe lifts your hips a little more so that he could reach that sweet spot, and you knew it was over.

“Rafe, fuck!” You cry as your head falls back into the cushion, your mouth slightly open and your eyes rolling back in your head. You're shaking, at this point—you're not holding back whatsoever.

Anyone who was walking by his car could probably see and hear what's happening, and probably think he was murdering you. And they were right, he was absolutely obliterating your insides. But you didn't care, and neither did Rafe.

His breathing is heavy, matching the erratic rhythm of his hips, and he leans closer, his forehead resting against yours. His scent—a mix of saltwater, cologne, and something distinctly him—invades your senses, grounding you in the moment, making everything else disappear.

“Oh, my god I'm gonna—”

Before you could even finish your sentence, the tight knot in your stomach snaps and it feels like everything is still for a moment. You can't even hear yourself anymore, it feels like you were on a cloud as you cum around his cock.

A few more deep thrusts and he was spilling inside you, his own body shaking above you. His lips find yours in a sloppy and desperate kiss, his hips keeping you placed right beneath him. He doesn't pull out—no, he wouldn't even dare. He doesn't want to. Not yet, of course. You both just lay in the afterglow of your lovemaking.

“I missed you,” he finally whispers, his voice rough and edged with something almost like pain. His fingers tighten around your waist, as though he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go. The words hang in the air between you, heavy with meaning, and your heart stutters at the vulnerability laced in them.

For a moment, neither of you moves. His breath is warm against your skin, his presence overwhelming but somehow comforting, like a weight you didn’t know you needed. You want to say something, to respond, but the words get caught in your throat, tangled up in the whirlwind of emotions that threaten to consume you.

Instead, you reach up, your fingers grazing his jawline, feeling the stubble under your fingertips. It’s a small gesture, but it speaks volumes—an acknowledgment of what you both know but can’t yet fully voice. His eyes close at the contact, and for a split second, the tension melts away, leaving just the two of you in this moment.

Then his lips are on yours again, but this time it’s different. It’s slower, more deliberate, like he’s savoring every second, every taste of you. His hands trail up your sides, pulling you impossibly closer, and your body responds in kind, the need for him growing stronger with every kiss.

You lose yourself in the feeling of him—how perfect he feels when he's inside of you, the heat of his skin, the way his fingers trace patterns along your back. The world around you fades away, leaving just the two of you in the darkness, tangled together in a way that feels both new and familiar at the same time.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, everything else fades away. The jealousy, the anger, the hurt—it all dissolves into the background, leaving just the two of you, wrapped up in each other, caught in a moment that you know you won’t soon forget.

You’ve been through hell with Rafe, and maybe there’s more waiting ahead, but right now, none of that matters. Right now, all you can think about is him—the way he touches you, the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded, the only thing that’s real.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

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tiredsmashbros · 3 months ago

Text

SMG34: LIPBITE COMIC WIP UPDATE

oh boy... i know a bunch of folks are hyped for this comic... and boy oh boy are ya'll's prayers going to be heard... kind of... butt for the celebration milestone, and granted majority are from this comic, i thought it was best to give EVERYTHING that i have currently.

starting off STRONG with what you freaks most want: the completed pages. andddd yep that's it that all that i have done LMAO. i've been fixated on my own smg4 oc: tsb, and during the end of my summer was unfortunately fucked over by some personal issues that fortunately got resolved last minute good grief the anxiety prevented me from drawing the gays sigh... aNYWAYS LINEART WIPS!!!!

here are linearts i have completed / in the progress of!! want to aim like i did in the past by finishing up lineart first, and then speed through with color + minor rendering. the reason i have a few colored is to test out what it would look polished and my god... i have improved A LOT. THESE GAY PEOPLE GIVE POWER I AM NOT KIDDING BELIEVE ME IM NOT CRAY- anyways onto wip pages!

jumpscare: tsb stickman sketches. oh yeah. this is how i sketch and i blame sensei eiichiro oda /j. and in case anyone is unable to understand it {i don't blame u LMAO}, smg4 wakes up from the dream and is startled to see mario by his bed. they have a short convo before mario leaves, and we get a job to smg4 in the bathroom trying to put up a brave face. until the moment he leaves he's stunned due to seeing smg3 at his front door. will i elaborate more on specifics or unwritten dialogue? NOPE! gotta keep secrets to make it even more enjoyable at the end!!

currently at 13 sketched pages total, but this is probably gonna be reaching towards 20-ish pages, surpassing part two, but it will depend on how i come up with how to end it. additionally to confirm there will be a PART FOUR / chapter 3, to end this story. my goal is to have it done before i finish my senior year, or at least during the summer after i graduate bc good lord who knows whats gonna happen.

and lastly, before i end this crazy update, SCRAPPED PAGESSS!!!!!

CONTENT WARNING : NSFW SKETCHES !!!! PLEASE LOOK AWAY IF YOU ARE A MINOR OR DON'T LIKE THIS TYPE OF STUFF!!!

oh boy... dont draw comics while sleep-deprived at 6am... idek what i was even aiming with this ngl other than just for fun, but i scrapped it due to not being what i had in mind for the story. if it doesn't serve a purpose or narrative, its bye bye YEAH BYE BYE THIS IS THE CLOSEST NSFW UR GONNA GET FROM ME HAHAHAHAHA- i say that despite writing a nsfw jojo wattpad smh im only confident doing it in words good lord. btw not watermarking these bc i gen don't care since they're legit scrapped {left top part was kept and completed} so idk what to do with these. im just throwing it and walkin away

now to end with this update, i can hear your question, "when will this be done?" and to answer that question: i'm not entirely sure due to my heavy focus on my smg4 oc: tsb, but my best chance is postponing my oc lore a bit and complete this before november UOIYGJDSIUHJKDWSXYUGHJKCS but we shall have too see...

if you want to join the ping list comment on this post LMAO [click]

ignore below if you're not from the tsb birthday partydddjdhdhdjd

...

thurs: smg34 is canon in the tsb universe / au. though most of their encounters are platonic or best-friendy-way, they eventually express their feelings to one another and start dating 3/4’s way of the tsb storyline arc. tsb is a supporter of his friend's relationship and admires and takes inspiration from their relationship heavily to input his future love life. yearning to be in a similar position... to learn what is to really love someone... or what it's truly like to be loved...

#smg34 #smg4 #smg3 #smg4 smg3 #smg43 #smg3 x smg4 #smg4 x smg3 #smg4 fanart #smg3 fanart #smg4 comic #smg34 comic #sketches #comic wip #comic #tsb 1k birthday party #tsb official

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hysteria-things · 10 months ago

Note

hey! love your stories

can you do a story where Matt/chris x Reader have to hide their relationship from EVERYONE (including the internet) but one of them slips up and exposes everything.

if you can make a story like this thank you!!!

EXPOSED

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: chris x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: a tiny slip-up causes the fandom to go a little cray cray.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: FLUFF, swearing

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 505

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: thank you for 1.5k i love you guysss!

“why are you so heavy.” you groan as chris is hugging you, his legs wrapping around your waist.

“that’s harsh,” he says, and you roll your eyes.

you’ve known chris for a while, becoming good friends along the way. what people don’t know, including his brothers, is that you guys are dating.

you don’t want to get bashed online by preteens, and he’s just not ready to reveal it quite yet either.

your best friend laughs, snapping a pic of you guys for fun. the three of you are on a sunset walk on the street, soaking up the outdoors.

“don’t hate me.” she starts, and chris finally lets go. “you guys would make such a cute couple.”

cheeks becoming red, you feel chris’ stare on you. he smirks. “nah. that’ll never happen.”

a few days go by, and yes you’ve seen the tweets, but thankfully the fans don’t believe it. i mean, they already know you guys are close friends. nothing suspicious about that.

today’s different. you wake up from your afternoon nap with your phone blowing up. mention after mention.

QUEEN WE NEED ANSWERS @y/n_l/n

@y/n_l/n and chris??? hello???

no SHOT chris and y/n are dating😭

you pause at the last comment.

‘no shot chris and y/n are dating’

what?

confused as ever, you open up the most reliable source: twitter. twitter knows everything about everyone.

you scroll, seeing hundreds of tweets about you and chris. there’s also a video attached, what seems like a clip from the triplets’ new podcast.

you tap on the video.

nothing exciting happens for the first two seconds, just them yapping about whatever the fuck. then the camera cuts to chris. “yeah, my girlfriend y/n—” he starts, stopping when he notices.

that son of a gun.

matt’s face scrunches. “your girlfriend y/n?”

“i meant my good friend y/n. i was talking too fa—"

“i knew it!” nick exclaims, causing him and chris to get into a bickering match.

the video ends, and a message pops up.

chris <3

i’m outside

you sigh, uncovering yourself from your blanket and heading to the front door. you open it, your boyfriend smiling fake at you. he can’t tell if he’s in trouble or not. “it was an accident.” he says, almost fearful.

your eyes widen, nodding your head along with his rambling. “i wasn’t thinking. my mouth was moving faster than my brain. it came so naturally because you, you know, are my girlfriend. my girlfriend; that i love so much. who i will never betray. who i can never live without. who i—”

“chris, stop,” you say softly. he for sure thinks he’s in trouble, but you honestly don’t care about the tweets and tiktoks. it was a silly slip-up, but in reality, you guys couldn’t hide your relationship forever. “it’s okay. it was bound to happen, honestly.”

“you’re not mad?”

“no.” you giggle, cupping his neck and pulling him into a kiss.

“i love being your good friend y/n.” you say jokingly, chris smiling on your lips.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

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acotarxreader · 3 months ago

Text

Hounded

Eris x Reader

Synopsis: Eris loves his dogs more than any other living thing and they love him but soon his eldest hound has found a new interest, you and your endless supply of bread rolls. An unlikely friendship begins to form between the Son of Autumn and one of Springs last border guards, Craos is just hoping to create some sort of parent trap situation.

Warning: Fluff, banter, blood, wounds, doggos, Eris shaming the dogs belly, poor editing

A/N: Hi friends! I orginally wrote this for @erisweekofficial for the Hounds theme however I've been really in the trenches recently and only got around to finishing it now, so I'm sad to have missed Eris week but still happy to be publishing my first Eris fic! Let me know what you think!

P.S Craos (cray-us) in Irish means blazing when referring to fire and Tine (tin-ah) means fire so I named two of the dogs after these words for a lil Irish flare

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The hounds were Eris’s greatest pride and occasionally his greatest pain in the ass. He fought with this very thought the day his eldest hound, Craos had managed to dip out of his view one walk. Eris blamed himself for losing sight of his favourite friend, so deep in the thoughts of worry about the Night Courts antics that threatened to expose his double agent status to his father. Actually, he blamed them for her escape, it was easier that way. The Autumn leaves crackled against the weight of his heavy boots, his voice getting lost in the whipping whirling wind of the forest far from his residence. Eris swung harshly around on his heels, just in time to catch Craos bounding up the hill towards him, mischievous as ever.

“You scared me half to death girl” He laughed down at her, running his thumbs over her ears in soothing circles she loved so much, his other hounds leaping around waiting for their turn. She seemed to wish to pull him in the direction she bolted from, something tethering her to the distant spot in the vast woods. “Come girl, leave that hare to its escape love, you’re getting…fluffy enough without the extra feed” he laughed, leashing her to him and taking her from her pointed stance. Eris made a mental note to closely monitor Craos food as she began to get rounder than the others in the pack, no doubt owing to the budding Autumn wildlife she’d snag unaccompanied.

The following weeks lead Eris down a rabbit hole of Night Court intricacy, forever walking the line between ally and babysitter. He took comfort in the daily strolls through the thicket of woodland, his beloved pack in toe. The days he missed the walks he noticed his own demeanour change, his interest in the tangled interpersonal mess the Inner Circle was weaving waning beyond even an ounce of interest. Eris checked his hounds daily and despite their own vast staff, he loved to take care of them and nurture the breed while nurturing something he wasn’t even sure he still had inside himself. Some care for another living thing. Not in a selfish way of course, but more in a self-preservation sense, what he loved had a habit of crumbling in his hands or being crushed in someone else’s.

Deep in thought, Eris ran a hand down the head of one of his younger hounds, Tine, who laid his head on the lap of his master as Eris tried to gain an understanding of the written correspondence on the desk. Tine grumbled against Eris’s thigh before stretching down to the ground.

“Its tough work being pampered Tine” he laughed to himself, casting an eye on the other 4 hounds, curled into their own worlds by the fire of the study. Eris smiled softly at the relaxed nature, would any other living thing find such comfort in the company he provided? He forced the ever-present question away from his thoughts, casting a look to the sofa where Craos would often take her rest. Empty. Eris stood abruptly, chair screeching along the slate enough to have Tine stand to attention once again. Craos had been there when the others came in from their dinner? Hadn’t she? Another attempt by the Night Court to swipe away Eris’s attention buried him in paperwork when the dogs were returned to him.

Quick on his feet, Eris and his pack found the staff of the kennels and after a brief and sharp discussion it was unclear if Craos was with the pack on return from her exercise. Following sharp threats, Eris took to the woodland again, his hounds hunting down their own with precision. His voice reverberated off ancient trees as their crisp golden leaves began to ink with lush green colour. Thoughts of the worst clouded the shrubbed path as Eris felt the border of Spring, his second least favourite place in the realm.

“Craos!” He echoed across a section of the stream border between Spring and Autumn. The mischievous hound leapt with excitement at the presence of her master, bounding through the shallow stream to return to Autumn and its son. He gave thanks for Spring's current instability as during time previous he wouldn’t have gotten this close to the Spring border without a visit from the furry High Lord. Eris couched into the silt of the streams bank, rubbing Craos's goofy face while quietly scolding her, knowing full well she wasn’t listening.

“Petal” Eris looked up from the rushes towards the call of the sing-song siren-like voice. Not in the mood for confrontation with Spring, Eris crouched further into the brambles, obscuring himself from the female across the watery border. Craos pulled against Eris’s gentle hold, eager to cross the border again and succeed with another call from the voice. Eris watched the most feared hound in all the realm, leap like a bunny rabbit to your shadow, jumping to lick your face as you crouched to allow her.

“Petal darling easy” You laughed, coating the clearing in an ease unfamiliar to Eris. through the thick river rushes Eris watched his much-revered hound roll to her back for scratches before leaping up to follow your hand as it dug through your bag.

“Okay, sit now” you laughed, Craos eagerly obeying and happily rewarded with a small bread roll you took from your bag.

“Easy easy” You beamed as she scoffed the lot, Eris watched the interaction with equal parts confusion and intrigue and at that very moment realised the most feared son in all the realm was acting like a bunny rabbit hiding from a fox in the rushes. That very son shot upright quickly from his burrow, causing you to leap slightly with fright as Eris pulled his shoulders back in a more becoming stance. The both of you looked across the crystal-like stream, Craos jumping at your feet eager to resume your undivided attention.

“Come” Eris called across the rushing water, only to have Craos not respond to him with obedience. You slowly ran your hand down the hounds head, not taking your eyes from the High Lord’s son.

“Forgive me sir but you have no business this close to the Spring border” You tried your best to project confidence, it slipping from your grasp in the face of Eris’s heated stare.

“You’re forgive” You fought hard to not roll your eyes at the obvious display of sarcasm. Eris lightly tapped his side, Craos’ ears snapping forward to attention before bounding across the stream to her master.

“Good”

“Don’t hurt her, she’s only coming home” You walked to the bank's edge, eyes scanning Craos for any sign of distress.

“Home?-” Eris found it hard to muffle his confused chuckle “-she is my hound, property of the Autumn Court-”

“Property!?-” You found the full strength in your voice “-she is a living being and she belongs to Prythian, she is more at home in the forest and with me-”

“-And who exactly are you?” Eris was quickly losing patience as Craos seemingly shrunk in stature at her master's strengthening tone.

“It matters little, leave the dog and return away from my border-”

“-Orders?” Eris’s laugh filled the clearing, his heavy boots now stalking closer to the perimeter “-I will not take orders from anyone.”

“I hear you take orders from the Night Court” You laughed, it now skirting along Eris’s nerves instead of soothing them.

“I do no such thing” The river water’s temperature began to rise as the son of the flame began to stalk closer.

“Really? I heard you even bend over when dear Rhysie asks” You laughed again, Eris now causing the very edge of the river to steam. You raised a hand before his boot fully slid into the refreshing stream, a long wall of water dividing up the middle of the lake, stopping him in his tracks.

“Ah ah-” you shook your finger towards him “-fire and water don’t mix sir” Craos ears pinned back at your words before she looked between the two of you, unsure of her own next move.

“Your name, tell me your name” He chewed out, examining the translucent wall in front of him for cracks.

“YN, the last keeper of my Court’s boarders” You smiled so innocently, it almost lured Eris back into that unfamiliar softness until he heard the soft sizzle of the dying flame at his fingertips, it turning to steam against the new border.

“The last? Perhaps you should take that as a hint and seek further employment at a market or something?”

“Is that where Rhysand bought you?” You smirked, with more playfulness than power and Eris fought away his own smile. Craos leapt forward, Eris going to catch hold of her before she could slam into the fortified border but to his surprise, she glided through it with ease unavailable to him.

“She can stay, you may go”

“She’s my hound, however, your supply of bread rolls certainly explains her newfound…plumpness” He heard her seemingly groan back in offesen and you looked from her to him.

“Now you’re annoying two females, you should potentially quit while you’re ahead” Eris scoffed at your teasing, the sound of the other hounds bounding behind him piquing your interest. The four looked to their eldest sibling across the water, heads cocked to the side in curiosity and some form of canine communication. The four followed suit of their leader and crossed to you and Craos with ease.

“Look at you lovelies” You beamed, crouching to meet the hounds as they reunited with their sister. Eris watched through the glistening border wall, his feared hounds reduced to cuddly toys under your touch. It was if he wasn’t even there. You interacted with them like they were never a threat and never would be, the way that he felt you might feel about him. A foreign feeling to a male whose reputation often goes before him.

“We-we must be going” Eris felt unsure of the ounce of guilt he felt towards separating you from his pack, some sense of something wrong flooded him when they all ran back to his feet, leaving you alone on the other side of the clearing once again. You looked down with softer eyes to the dogs at his feet, no ounce of fear from them giving you comfort.

“Don’t make a habit of feeding them all now” Eris smiled, bringing your eyes back to him.

“I thought she was stray, I didn’t know she was one of yours”

“They’re all mine, you say she belongs to Prythian but that is the very land that tried to eradicate the breed” You nodded lightly at his proud words. Silence returned to the clearing only to have Craos groan, receiving a knowing look from Eris.

“She can come back when she is not working and when I say it is okay but, the bread rolls end” another groan from his eldest hound “No more bread rolls” he reiterated to her, gaining a laugh from you.

“It's okay Petal, we’ll see” You smiled at her, the other dogs listening carefully and plotting their own access to baked goods.

“Her name is Croas, it means blazing, a more fitting name than Petal I think” he laughed heartily, the action surprising even himself a little.

“I’m going to stick with Petal, keep to your side sir” You returned the grin before dipping you head and evaporating into the very mist you built the wall from.

Eris jogged through the vast Autumn woods, desperate to crush the headaches the Night Court were giving him like the leaves under his boots. The hounds sprang into their own exploration, all staying in close proximity except Craos, who had gone to visit you. Over the past month, she began to spend more and more time with you in Spring, even missing a few nights away from home to keep you company. It didn’t bother Eris as much as he had thought, the bread rolls had stopped and Craos seemed happy, he had no reason to take away another living thing's happiness. He never wanted to do that, to begin with, it just became part of his image, his unfortunate brand he couldn’t wait to shed once he assumed power from his father.

Wartime plans swirled across his head, scenarios of defeat and success clogging his mind until he was snapped from focus by his suddenly wet shoes. He had once again jogged to the border of Spring and Autumn. This was the third time since first meeting you that his feet had taken him where his heart wanted to go and his head didn’t consent to. Unlike those times, however, he found you sat a little way up the stream by the river's edge. Eris watched Craos sprawled along your side, your hand drawing lazy circles on her stomach as you kept your focus on the book in the other.

“No wonder Spring is falling, when the border guards take such leisure during their worktime” Eris called across to you, throwing his weight into the trunk of a sinking willow, hands tucked deep in his pockets. You looked up from your deep study with a slight jolt, Croas leaping instantly to defend you and sinking back once seeing the perpetrator. Eris never thought one of his hounds would defend anyone without his instruction and yet here Craos was, delighted to be at your service. You looked at Eris's sinking shoe before tilting your head slightly, the wall of water reappearing with the movement.

“Threatened sweetheart?” Eris smirked, his hands now crossing against his chest in amusement as you stood.

“Why would I be threatened by someone who’s going to slip?” Before Eris could question further, the sinking willow slipped free a root from the crumbling soil under Eris’s weight, his full balance being thrown back to land on an equally shaky bank. Your laugh echoed off the Spring trees at the sight of the much feared Son of Autumn helplessly falling into the shallow water, it soaking him to his skin instantly. Eris felt flushed with anger, it mixing violently with embarrassment but the sight of your head tilting back with put amusement took it from him as fast as the bank took his balance and he found himself smiling.

“I don’t know how but you did that on purpose” He stood, a quick flash of flame drying him off as Craos crossed back to his side.

“I can’t be blamed for you being clumsy” You chuckled, tucking your book back into your bag, Eris catching a glimpse of the cover.

“I’ve read that, I didn’t think others would have?”

“So unique and mysterious sir, not like other High Lords” You teased, your hands finding your hips as the other hounds joined the scene, seemingly groaning to demand their dinner.

“Well, if you would let me cross this silly little water show, I could show you” You raised an eyebrow to his tone of possible flirtation. You blinked softly, a splash of water ejecting from the wall to soak Eris again as he recoiled.

“I can be blamed for that, little water show” You laughed loudly, Eris wiping the water from his face until another flash of heat dried it away. He thought briefly about how he’d killed others for less and yet no desire to do that to you.

“Maybe another time then YN, I just came for our girl anyways, come Craos better get you home for your dinner” He smiled at the obedient pup.

“She had a bread roll” You winked before dissolving away in the mist.

—-----------------

Eris dragged his hands through his hair, his rings snagging slightly on his locks. The warmth of the study fire took away the chill from the perpetual Autumn but was unable to do the same to his sentiments about the Inner Circle. They kept him away from his home for the past three weeks and so kept him away from his encounters with you which had become more frequent in the three months since your first. Still, he stayed on one side of the watery wall, happy to exchange some stories with you across its shimmering surface. Craos was only too delighted that her newfound parents had seemed to cross the bridge between indifference to let's say tolerance.

Eris stood from his desk, taking a violet-coloured book from the vast library before stalking around the grounds of his hidden home away from home, his hounds in tow except for the usual conscientious objector. The sinking sun reflected beautifully off the crisp leaves of this secluded cottage away from both Autumn and Night Court headaches. He sank down into a well-rotting deck chair, it creaking under his weight as he cracked the spine of the forgotten book you had reminded him of two months prior. It wasn’t long before the sound of heavy panting snapped Eris from the world on the tea-coloured pages.

“Craos?” He called to the growing darkness, standing to his feet as the hound came bounding through the trees before barking frantically, stirring the other sleeping hounds.

“What? What’s wrong?” A flame came to Eris’s hand instantly as Craos took the cuff of his trouser leg between her teeth and pulled to which he went willingly. She released her grip before dashing back in the direction she came from, only stopping to make sure Eris was still following. The group leapt over tree roots and mossy burrows, all quick on their pursuit of Craos and her frantic nature until the familiar flush of Spring air rushed at them. Eris’s eyes shot to your weakening body across the familiar river, your groans of pain reverberating off the trees as you fought to stand. Craos met your side quickly as you procured yourself up on one elbow, the mud and moss obscuring you slightly from Eris.

“Hi Petal, it’s okay” You tried through tears to reassure her, taking your hand from your mangled leg to rub her reassuringly, your blood tinging her fur on contact. She yelped towards you before looking back to a pale Eris, you only notice him then. You tried your best to push from the ground, the screaming sound of metal on bone attempted to deafen your cries of pain. It became clear to him then, that the giant metal teeth of a trap designed to capture naga had found a new victim to lay claim to, its unforgiving mouth crushing through one of your ankles. Eris sank a foot into the river, your shaking hand instantly raising the wall of mist to block him.

“YN, let me cross” He pleaded, failing to hide the desperation in his voice.

“I-I can’t, he’ll know-know I failed to keep the-the border and he-he might come for you for-for crossing” Your rattling breath only pushed Eris closer to the wall, it solidly pushing him back despite your growing weakness.

“Let me deal with that overgrown badger, let me across, I need to help you” he continued to plea, his palms flat against the wall of water as the hounds cried out their own appeals.

“What-what if he comes for-for Craos” You cried, attempting to sit up, your pain threshold quickly being pushed to the limit.

“Then we’ll both kill him but you need to live for that, now please” His sterness finally had you giving in, the wall dropping with an uncharacteristically loud whoosh. Eris was quick to your side, his strong hands pried open the deathly grip held on your ankle as you cried out in almost deafening pain. The pressure released on your spraying arteries caused a new flood of blood to cover you both, the loss of blood pressure stealing colour from your face as well as energy. Eris took hold of the mangled joint, his hands gently heating.

“You’re gonna hate me for this YN”

“N-nothing new there so” You half laughed through gritted teeth, it taking some semblance of worry from Eris before he began to to heat his hands to molten levels. You screeched from the feeling of healing flame, your arms instinctively wrapping around Eris's neck to bury your scream in his shoulder. The cauterising was the easy part, the fractured joints and bones not so much. With your arms gripping around him, he sank his hands beneath your legs to pull you up from the ground, the sudden upshoot and loss of blood causing you to lose consciousness immediately.

The feeling of plush fur beneath your cheek was the first thing you noticed, then the smell of crisp cedar and smoke. Your eyes flittered open to the flickering of a well-established fire, Craos lying protectively up the length of your stomach on the oak-coloured leather couch. You rubbed her gently causing her to immediately react with large licks up your cheeks, the other dogs rushing to do the same.

“Easy everyone” Eris laughed, a large mug in his hand as you sat up from the overwhelming affection. You looked down to see your mangled ankle no longer resembling a horror scene, a pristine white bandage replacing the crimson blood and torn muscle.

“You’ll be okay, I had a healer here, you might be a bit sore” Eris spoke softly, watching you inspect the wrap before passing you the mug.

“Thank-thank you” You looked back to him before taking a deep drink from the ceramic.

“You didn’t even assume I poisoned that, we’ve made a lot of progress” He laughed, sinking into the chair across from you.

“If you were going to kill me it would have been at the sight of the first bread roll” You chuckled, Croas’s ears perking up at the mention of her favourite snack.

“Yes well, there's still time” Craos grumbled at her master's teasing, gaining another laugh from you. You looked around the small living room that had become your infirmary, noticing the vast collection of books, wooden figurines of great creatures and general Eris-ness about the place. The inspection made Eris shuffle slightly in his seat until you caught him watching you. You smiled back, swinging your legs to stand again, Craos moved from your side to the other end of the couch.

“Careful walking YN, I had to threaten the life of a healer to fix that ankle” He smirked but the worry was still written across his amber eyes. You took one or two shaky steps before stopping, Eris fixating his eyes on every movement as Craos seemingly decided to take things into her own hands…or paws. She suddenly jumped from the couch, knocking into the back of your knees, sending your shaking legs from under you. Eris was quicker to react than you, taking hold of your outstretched arms and saving you from imprinting your face on the coffee table.

“Saving you for the second time” He smiled down at you, allowing you to shift your weight for him to support you, his hands finding your waist to steady you.

“Maybe I’ll return the favour sometime and not drown you” You laughed again, your hands taking hold of his shoulders for greater balance.

“I have a weird feeling YN that you could save me in another way” He cut off any questioning you might have, your lips meeting his with a delicatness you didn’t know any male could have let alone one of the most feared. You were suddenly pulled away from him by the feeling of paws on your good foot. You both looked down to Craos who stood knowingly between you both, looking up with adoration at her two favourites fae, making you both laugh.

“Good girl Croas, very very good girl” Eris beamed down at her before looking back at you again, his new found salvation.

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What do you think friends?

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mtchacrvle · 4 months ago

Text

- 🌹Yandere! Clingy prince Alphabet.

🪻note🪻yandere behaviour. And a little bit of NSFW if you squint hard enough. ( not proofread )

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

-🌹 yandere prince or his real name Raizel, love to show his affection with physical touch. Such as, kissing, hugging, cuddling, etc. Any sort of physical touch as long as it's from you, he'll love it.

It could get pretty intense honestly, well, his name ain't clingy prince for nothing lol. Anyways, if he wakes up from his sleep/nap, and you're not there besides him, he'll turn the whole castle upside down. And when he finally finds you, baby girl, there's no way you're getting out of his grasp. You have other plans ? Cancel it. Cause

His clingy percentage is at 99%. Going to the bathroom? He'll be there. Going out to have a tea party with the other noblewoman? He'll be joining you in disguise, wearing a soft pink dress with a big ass hat to protect his face and you know damn well he'll demand the maids to put make up on his face and make him look like a woman. This mf would even learn to walk in heels just for you. And trust me when I tell you he has done this before, I mean it. Going on a walk at the garden? He'll excuse all the maid and he'll gladly hold the umbrella for you, with his right hand holding the umbrella and his left hand on your waist.

Overall, his very freaking clingy man. Since the minute he realises his feelings for you. that's your queue to say bye-bye to your freedom and your personal space. But mostly your personal space lol.

———

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

-🌹 Very messy. If someone hurts your feelings, even for a little bit. Their head will be off. He can't wait to be the emperor so that he can publicly show who you belong to and how much you guys are in love with each other.

He can have blood head to toe and still loves you dearly. He never sees this as a burden. No no. They disrespect you. They deserve this. You are an angel, his angel. Nothing can get between the two of you. He'll be torturing the prisoner while laughing and smiling and while thinking of you.

To sum it up, he is cray cray for you and would do anything. (⁠⑉⁠⊙⁠ȏ⁠⊙⁠)

———

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

-🌹 Never. It won't take long until he snaps, but after he kidnapped you, he won't mock nor made fun of you. But it's more into the opposite.

He'll be very gentle and soft with you. He'll even go as far as change the whole castle to your liking. Just say the word. You don't like dark colour? You want to change it to pink and purple? Sure! He'll fill out his room and office with all the books you like. You like sweets? Just nod and you'll have more than 60 different kinds of deserts and sweets in front of you.

———

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

- 🌹 uh yes? If you are not into physical touch, that's something he'll force on you. He'll kiss, hug, cuddle you even tho you clearly stated that you don't like it. He just doesn't care.

He lives for your touch. He needs to touch you even a little bit so that he won't lose his sanity. You're the only one that has been keeping him sane. He even goes as far as tying you up if you won't stop squirming and hitting him when he tries to give you affection. If you still won't stop squirming, he'll cry so damn hard. Snort even started to fall out of his nose, his eyes were red. And he'll keep on asking " why can't you just let him love you ", " I don't care if you hate it! You don't have to return the affection just let me love you! ".

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

- 🌹 It won't take long for him to open up for you. To him, when 2 people are in love with each other, there would be no secrets between them. So he would rant out to you about his whole childhood to you. He is very good and communicates too, he'll reassure you if you ever felt insecure or if you feel like he doesn't love you anymore.

____

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

- 🌹He would be very hurt by it but would won't show it to you because he don't want you to view him as "weak". Again he'll gladly tie you up if you won't stop fighting back. But don't worry, he won't hurt you. He'll only suffocate you with his hugs and love. So it's not THAT bad.

_____

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

- 🌹 Nope. These whole things aren't a game to him. Even tho sometimes you would question his actions either he really loves you or he just plays with you. And every time you ask him this, his face will drop immediately because how can you say that? He would be so confused as why would you even think that. " What makes you say that my love?! ", " am I not giving you enough love? Is that it? ", " don't EVER say that, my love for you is not a stupid game. I wish you would be able to see just how big my love for you ".

Enjoy if his darling escape? Babe the second he didn't see or have you by him he would go berserk. Sweet puppy like and clingy Raizel that you know? Gone. It's like you don't even know him. And speaking of escape. Yea, the chances of you escaping are very..very..low. with how clingy and touchy he is, yea you won't be able to escape. The top 3 reasons why you WON'T escape :

1. He's very fucking clingy (duh)

2. The security is tight af. If he can't or won't be able to cling to your side, he'll send not 1, not 2, nor 3 knights, but 5. Yea.. you bet all 6 of them are bulky ASF lol. Why 5 you ask? Well... 1 for you left, 1 for your right, 2 from your back and 2 sitting in front of you. (As if you can't protect yourself)

3. The maids, servants, butlers, knights, gardeners, cookers, everyone there would tattle if you even set food outside the bedroom. Yea all of them are snitches. Can't trust none of them.

So...yea.

____

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

- 🌹 Other than his clingy and touchy tendencies, he also very jealous, possessive and obsessive. When the emperor throws a welcoming party for Raizel younger brother, a duke from different nations has been hitting on you right in front of him. (Yea not a very smart move) he tries to be nice at first but when the duke won't budge, that's when he punches the duke nose and stab his eyes with a sword in front of the other guests.

The emperor saw this and he is proud. Yup you read that right. He is PROUD. Well the emperor ain't that sane and innocent either. He kidnapped Raizel's mother and baby trapped her. So you could say that he's proud because Raizel has his yandere and cray cray tendencies. Like father like son. And did the guest say or did anything? Nope. They just pretend nothing happens and just continue with what they're doing.

____

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

-🌹 Babies. Lots of em. Sure he's clingy, but he still needs an heir. And plus, he can imagine what it's like when you guys have children. Whose eyes would they have? It would be so adorable if the kid has your features and his personality, so that they can protect and keep an eye on you when he's not around.

The second he gets the news that you're pregnant, the whole castle would be baby proof. Every stairs would have at least 5 guards. 2 maids, 2 butlers, 4 knights would entertain your kid.

When you're pregnant, he's clingy tendencies would only increase. Whenever he goes, he would pick you up and bring you with him. He did most of the work for you, feeding you, dressing you, bathing you, picking your clothes. Everything. Oh your tummy hurts because the baby won't stop kicking? He'll rub and scold his child for hurting you. Your back and feet hurt? Come here, he'll rub and massage you until you feel better. He'll even go as far as rubbing and sucking for breast if that hurts too. Overall, he's not a bad husband or a bad father. As long as you just accept your fate and just become his, he'll give you everything you could've asked for. Nothing is too expansive or too impossible when it comes to you.

____

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

_🌹 He'll lash out his jealousy, but don't worry he won't harm or lash it out on you. He would find something or someone to take his anger out. Preferably someone who makes his jealousy kick in.

Let's just say if one day his jealousy gets out of hand and you're sure he will be throwing hands, you can "calm" his jealousy by holding him back while giving him a kiss on the cheeks or holding any part of his body. Touch his bicep or hand and ask him to calm down, he'll FLOP. He will forget why he is mad in the first place and will demand ask you to not stop touching him. If you did stop, he'll pout and sulk so bad that you started to feel bad. In the end, you always gave in, so he pout and sulk did its job lol.

____

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

-🌹On my first post about Raizel, he is a brat that always try to get y/n on trouble, he is the pain in the ass and yet, y/n still being patient with him. But what if you are not his knight? Perhaps a princess from a different kingdom?

If you are a princess, he'll approach you rather normally. Well normal in his eyes. Raizel doesn't believe in love at first sight and it would take a lot for him to like you. Let's just say that he has been keeping an eye on you for a couple of months. He'll probably ask you to dance with him and he'll make sure that your first dance is with him. After the dance is over, he won't let you go. He'll ask you if you would like to take a walk with him and he would try to get you to know better. He'll slowly try to seduce you before kidnapping you.

____

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

-🌹 He's sweet and soft ONLY to you. His darling. In his eyes, you are fragile and soft. He couldn't even have the heart to get mad at you. You never do wrong in his eyes. And yes, he's very different from everyone else. Even with the emperor and the empress. So it would shock both the emperor and empress when they see how affectionate he is when he's with you. But once you are not with him? Forget different, he's a whole new person. Everything irritates him. Someone sneeze or cough? He'll be yelling and throwing hands. All the servants walk in an egg shell when you're not around him. That's why, whenever you suddenly show up to his office,the prince would smile and run towards you. While the servant relaxed. He'll always send the servants out because he wants you to pour affection for him and he doesn't want anyone to see it.

____

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

-🌹 He's the type to "punish" you with his presence lol. He'll tie you on the bed, and would cuddle, kiss you however he likes. And in the morning, if he has work to finish, he'll drag you with him. One time, he dragged you to one of his meetings with other kingdoms, you want to go to the bathroom. He insisted on coming with you. And he did. The emperor just smiles and shakes his head. In the emperor's eyes, the prince reminds him of his younger self when he first laid eyes on the empress (Raizel mother). Oh good ol days.

____

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

-🌹 Eh..tricky question. Depends on how you actually act. If you just accept your fate and go along with his clingy nature, you would have some freedom (but not much personal space). He won't lock you in the bedroom all day. But, if you want to take a walk or something, he has to come with you. So that he can protect you :).

If you refuse to accept him, then say bye bye to your freedom AND personal space. So my advice is just to let it all happen and you'll be happy.

____

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

-🌹 On a scale 1-100, he's in between 60-70. He is patient, but not THAT patient. It won't take long before snap. And once he does, you have 0 chances on escaping and stuff. So better accept him from the start when he is still patient.

____

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

-🌹 You? Escape? HAH, you won't. But if you did, IF you did, he'll burn the village down and would target every kingdom. His sanity is gone. And when he finds you, he's not the same.

The second he found out you are dead, he didn't waste any more seconds and would kill himself. And before he kills himself, he will hug and kiss you after that, he'll lay you in his chest and off himself while saying he'll love you and he'll see you soon. (that's quite depressing than I thought.)

____

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

-🌹He would feel a bit sad and guilty. But only a little bit. To him, you being with him and him taking you with him are better and safer. He views the world to be very vicious and you are too fragile to be in this kind of world.

He would never let you go. letting you go never were the options. He would rather die than let you go. You are his life, without you, he won't be able to last even a day.

____

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

-🌹 him being the oldest, meaning he didn't have much happy childhoods. Never really had any friends to play with or even someone to be affectionate with. The emperor loves Raizel, but he just doesn't know how to show it. And the least he could do is love how he was taught by his father (Raizel grandfather). The emperor would sign him the best teacher in the kingdom and would pack his schedules with learning, swordships, dancing class, basic etiquette and more. That's what makes Raizel don't have much friend and free time when he's younger. He doesn't know how to love or how to express his emotions.

____

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

-🌹 No, the only different about him are his personality toward his darling. He still killed, torture, and kidnapped his darling like a classic yandere. He may not hurt you physically but he will mentally, by keeping you in his bedroom and would take all of your personal space.

____

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

-🌹 the fastest way for you to escape, if to let it all happen. Let him love you, worship you, touch you, cling to you. And you'll be escaping in no time. The moment you start to give in to his affections, he believes that you finally love him as much as he did to you.

____

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

-🌹 you are the love of his life, why would he hurt you? He will and can hurt you by not giving any personal space but that's it. He'll never hurt you physically. He would rather die than hurt you. You pouting broke his heart into a million pieces, there's no way he can hurt you.

____

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

-🌹 The amount of love he has for you are unexplainable. He would kiss , lick breath on the ground you walk on. Everything your body touch is something pure. In his eyes , you’re a goddess , his goddess that did no wrong in his eyes.

- he would do anything to win you over , you like cats ? He will fed all the cats in town. You like fancy things ? Everyday when you wake up , there would be new jewellery on your vanity table. You name it , anything that you fancy , he would buy it for you. He has no problem spoiling you if it means you would be his happy.

—————-

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

-🌹as you all aware , he’s clingy. Like , very clingy. So he doesn’t have that much of a patience when it comes to waiting. If you still doubt him in any way , but still let him touch you ( affectionately ) he would still be sane. But , if still doubt him and won’t let him touch you , that would set the ticking bomb. He could hold on for about 1 month max. ( it is what it is babe )

—————

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

-🌹 If it means you would be only with him then yes. For fun , nope. One of the things he scared of the most is when you giving him silent treatment or not speaking in general. Maybe because you’re just tired and don’t feel like talking but still , he hates it. He couldn’t bare the feeling not hearing your voice.

——————

🪻 A/N 🪻I'm sorry if this look rushed. I also would like to apologise for not uploading more. I'm not in my best self this past month and I'm still recovering. But don't worry, I'm fine compared to before. Millions of thank Yous to whoever that liked my previous work, it means a lot to me. My grammar is not the best, I'm not sure if I've mentioned this before, but English is not my first language and I'm still learning. I'll try to upload more in the future, and I would love it if you guys leave some suggestions or requests for my next post. And thank you to those you follow my blog, all love for you guys (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡.

#yandere #yandere x reader #oc #obsessive behavior #yandere oc #clingy yandere #clingy af #female reader #yandere male #yandere prince #male yandere #soft yandere

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arieswritez · 1 year ago

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yandere mark nsfw alphabet😳😳 loved the idea

cw; DARK CONTENT! MDNI!!! rape, breeding/baby trapping, dacryphilia, asphyxiation, abusive 'relationships', edging, predator/prey dynamics, nipple play, kidnapping, food tampering, mentions of suicidal ideation, threats of violence, implied death, manipulation, victim blaming, branding, mentions of incapacitation.

about; nsfw alphabet ft. cray cray mark x gn! reader xx a/n; a couple of u asked for this so here it is :D not edited & straight off the dome so excuse any grammatical errors. will edit if necessary xx

A= Aftercare

'aftercare' with yandere mark is patronizing and condescending. a lot of shushing, wiping your tears, and asking why you're so upset. you asked for this with all your fucking cock teasing. it couldn't have been that bad, i mean, he did make you cum! why can't you just let good things happen to you? ;(

B= Body part (favorite body part their own or their lovers)

mark loves your eyes <3 it's the first thing he's noticed from you. how they seemed to gleam and widen while you gave him your undivided attention. he can't count the amounts of times he had to excuse himself and jack off in the bathroom: imagining how your eyes would water with his cock stuck down your throat. or the way your eyebrows would furrow while he jack hammered into you.

C= Cum

yan mark definitely likes marking you with his cum. he likes to see it dripping off your face, along your belly, your thighs, but most importantly, he loves it when he watches it drip out of you. whether you can get pregnant or not - and good luck if you can - there's just something primal about cumming inside of you. marking you in and out.

D= Dirty secret

he's a masochist just as much as he's a sadist. his little obsession with you caused him to get a tattoo of your name <3 right at his adonis belt 🥺 so everytime he's in too deep,, your hands desperately try to hold his hips back,, and your blunt nails dig into the curved lines of your name. it never fails to make his eyes roll into the back of his head 🫶🏽🤭

E= Experience (do they know what they’re doing)

canon typical mark is (was) a blushy lil virgin but yan!mark has a tad bit more experience. he's attractive, he's funny, he knows how to play into the slightly awkward charm that got you to lower your defenses. so it's safe to say it isn't hard to find random hookups every now and then.

it's not all about his experience. he just knows what you like.

you may not know it, but he's. . done his research. and by that i mean, he's logged into your computer or your phone and looked through your browser history. he knows what kind of porn you like. and some of those things are borderline freaky. here you are, acting all innocent, like you wouldn't hurt a fly. or high and mighty like no one would ever dare snuff out your flame.

who would've known you were such a desperate slut?

but that's okay! because he's willing to do anything to satisfy you. . or humiliate you by making you cum. he feels it takes you down a peg, when he pins you down and makes you cum even though you don't want to. even though your mind is racing a mile a minute, trying to hold your climax back while he plays with your clit/cock.

unbeknownst to you, he's watched you masturbate. knows the right amount of pressure & speed that gets your toes curling. he knows you so well & he can't wait to learn more about you 💕

F= Favorite position

mark loves watching you squirm beneath him. most importantly, he loves taking you down. he might even make you think you can get away. the chase, the constant cat and mouse you'd subject him to used to be torture. your teasing, the occasional sliver of skin as you stretched, the way you'd lay your head on his lap as the two of you watched television, the way you'd grin when he blushed. . and the wrestling. god, the play wrestling.

he used to let you win. but now. . now this is real. there's real consequences. so he makes you think you can kick him off while you flail. maybe even lets you get up and run. your elbows are all scuffed during the struggle and he's given you a busted lip, but he lets you think you've won.

god knows he'll catch up eventually.

the games he'd play made you cocky. you thought you were stronger than him instead of considering that it was just him playing nice. so he loves to watch the look of defeat, of deception, anger, and disappointment towards yourself when it's revealed he could've had his way with you all along.

he loves to be on top.

but sometimes,

sometimes,

he likes it when you're on top. some things never change. and lets just say he didn't always let you win play wrestling just because he was trying to be a gentleman. but because he liked the way your weight felt on top of him as you grinned triumphantly, pinning his wrists down.

now, of course, things have changed. he can't let you have all the control. pity. but he forces you to ride him: his hand wrapped around your throat. he could really hurt you if he so much as wanted to. . something he hisses into your ear whenever your pace so much as falters. he makes you work for it. and it takes longer to make him cum when you ride him. fear makes you clumsy, makes your legs shake more, and you're sore and achy and tired, which makes it all the more fun.

so i think his fave is when he forces you to be on top :)

G= Goofy (how serious are they)

yan!mark teases you a lot. comments on how many times he's made you cum, pinches your nipples just to hear you squeal. he's only ever quiet and serious when he's in a bad mood.

H= Hair

mark's trimmed but not necessarily shaved.

you, on the other hand, have to be shaved. not because he finds it unattractive (if anything, it makes him feral. makes him feel like you're something meant to be conquered, something to be domesticated. controlled.)

hence his decision to have you shaved at all times. it's about control.

he forces you into the bath tub and watches as you shave, making sure you're all pretty for him. no, you don't get a say in the matter. you're his little doll. he'll do whatever he wants to you.

I= Intimacy (in the moment romantic or rough/dirty)

mark is rough. depending on the situation, he may start off slower, softer, easing into you while his words are pure venom. he's grinding into you, making you hiccup, because this type of 'love making' should be reserved for couples. not whatever the two of you have got going on. but of course, he speeds up. roughing you up the more into it he gets.

he's rough regardless of who the object of his affection is, but he's definitely rougher if you're on the masculine side. yan!mark doesn't like to be challenged. he doesn't like talk back. he doesn't like you running around thinking you're big and bad. so he has to knock you down a peg. force you to understand he's stronger than you.

he chokes you out, squeezing your throat until your vision spots. he likes to watch your face change colors. and when your mouth opens, desperately trying to suck in air, he spits onto your tongue 💗

likes it when you - confident, and tough, walking like nothing can ever hurt you - beg him to let you go. beg him not to kill you.

because, sometimes, you fear he just might.

J= Jack off (do they masturbate and how often)

he does! but when he gets you, there's really no need for that <3

when he hadn't kidnapped you, he'd masturbate all the time. it was the only way to relieve himself. like i rambled about before, he'd steal your underwear and cum into them, use them as tissues to wipe his abdomen clean.

secretly takes pictures of you - upskirts if you wear 'em,, or just candids. cums to your most mundane selfies.

if the two of you were close before he kidnapped you, debbie would send you all types of homemade treats. sweet or savory, whatever it was; you loved debbie's cooking. what you didn't know was that mark would add a little bit of his own . . twist to them. when you'd steal bites of his food, you always wondered why his tasted differently to yours.

and the way he'd stare at you as you ate, jesus.

you thought he just liked the way you'd wolf down whatever his mom cooked. turns out he just liked watching you eat his cum.

K= Kink (kinks what they like possibly unusual)

BREEDING!!! whether you can get pregnant or not, he loves the idea of claiming you for a lifetime. of changing your life and forcing you to carry his child. watching you grow round and hormonal. he knows he'd have to keep you on a tight leash; lest you do something you'll regret in order to escape your fate. but it'll be worth it. because after nine months, you'll have another life to look after. you'll be on edge all the time, protecting a fragile, little life, because you can't trust mark to do it.

after all, if you're really bad, he can always get rid of it. start all over again. and you wouldn't want that, would you~?

dacryphilia.

there's nothing like watching you cry. when you'd confide in him about your troubles, when you'd cry on his shoulder, seek solace in his company for whatever reason, and cry. . it'd be really hard to hide his erection. the first time you let yourself cry in front of him was a day he'd never forget. he couldn't stop thinking about it since. wonders if you tear up when someone fucks you. (you do. you will)

L= Location (where they like to get it on)

mark doesn't care where he takes you as long as he's got you. it can be in public or not, just as long as he takes you to the secondary location he'll keep you prisoner in. if it's in the au where nolan & him team up, there will be a compound with all the rebels. you'd be at the top floor in a comfy little penthouse. a gilded cage overlooking the remains of your burned city.

i think he'll first want to fuck you in a place where there'll be no interruptions. if it isn't in the au where him & nolan conquer earth, he knows how to play his role. doesn't want to risk being found raping you. he'll most likely fuck you in a place you hold dear to your heart. your bedroom, could be an example.

because wherever that safe space may be, you won't be able to stand being there without thinking about him.

M= Motivation (things that makes them tick/turn ons)

he likes it when you act so sure of yourself. when someone's a bit cocky and bossy. it's nice to break you.

it is a whole lot easier when someone's shyer, though. wallflowers always blend into the background.

no one misses them when they go missing.

N= No (turnoffs or absolutely won’t do)

there's almost nothing mark won't do to you, sorry ;( even if he doesn't like it. . even if you both don't like it. . he'll always find a way to humiliate you if you've been bad. so it's advised you be on your best behavior if you really don't want him to do some fucked up shit to you. & believe him: it hurts him more than it hurts you!!

all he's ever wanted was to own you.

you were meant for him.

so why fight?

you both know you're not getting out of this alive

O= Oral (receiving or giving and how skillful they are)

mark doesn't always give head unless it's to put you in your place. just to show you that he can make you cum and theres nothing you can do about it.

but he makes you choke on him all the time. he's impatient, forcing your head down and hiking his hips up to meet your face. if you've pissed him off, he'll pinch your nose and hold you down. loves to feel your nails dig into the bulk of his thigh. sometimes, you'll make him bleed. he doesn't care.

P= Pace (how fast they are and how long they last in bed)

mark doesn’t last very long BUT he’s got a very short refractory period and can go for countless rounds. by the time you cum once, he’s already cum like three times and he’s ready for more. by then, he’s already fucked dumb. so your next orgasms will be forced out of you, roughed up and overstimulated as his cum leaks out of you, his cum acting as lube and making the slide intoxicatingly easy.

Q= Quickie

basically non-existent. he loves giving you his undivided attention. and he never stops after one round ;(

R= Risk (do they like to try new things)

he loves trying new things with you. he's spent so much time fantasizing about you that he doesn't even know where to start the first time he gets his hands on you. he'll most likely force fuck you more than once in a day the first time he gets the chance to.

S= Stamina

(see pace <3)

T= Toys

loves using toys on you. if you’ve used them before him, he’ll force you to use them in front of him. it doesn’t take long before he takes control: grabbing them and fucking you with them. edging you. if you cum, then it’s only fair he cums, too, right? and you don’t really like that much ;( so best hold it in <3

U= Unfair (how do they tease? edge?)

mark loves to tease and edge you.

you say you hate him. you can't stand him touching you.

you bite and you snarl, kick and punch, yet when he has you pinned, edging you for hours on end. . you end up breaking. begging him to make you cum. of course, he coaches you through it. tells you he'll leave you alone once you cum, he promises. yet he drags it out for so long. hearing you ask to cum instead of asking him to stop is music to his ears.

except, mark is a liar. you shouldn't trust him.

he just ends up overstimulating you after you cum😒

V= Volume

lots of whispering and hissing, talks very quietly and carefully. you'd think he'd be loud. . but he's not. and despite the fact that he may say vile, disgusting things to you, he whispers them to you so nicely. . if he were saying anything else it'd be sweet. he's so patronizing ;( whimpers in your ear when he's close.

W= Wild card

really into pain.

since he's got his powers, it's not very often that he feels pain. sure, there are some fights with villains - while he's out playing the perfect hero in the mean time - that give him a few flashes of pain. but that's once a blue moon.

nothing compares to you.

you fight him like you're afraid he might kill you. and he might. but it's never his intention ;( he knows what kills and what doesn't (trust him) &, believe it or not, he doesn't want to lose you. but you fight him with such intensity he has to manhandle you more than he'd like.

your hits are surprisingly hard. you claw at him and punch and kick, and he's thought about breaking your legs more times than he can count - he still might if you catch him on a bad day - but then that'd leave you completely immobilized and that's really no fun. because he likes it when you make him bleed. he likes it when your hands slap against his face and when your nails try to claw his eyes out. he wears the bruises and the cuts you give him like badges of honor and he loves to bite his busted lip when he's close to cumming.

he loves it when you hurt him. and he loves it when he ends up winning, anyway.

X= X-ray (size)

5-6in & THICK. really pretty w/ plump balls. he cums SO much.

Y= Yearning (sex drive level)

he's got a HIGH sex drive.

you've teased him for so long he doesn't think he'll ever get enough of you. and there's nothing you can do to stop him. if the two of you weren't close - if the two of you weren't friends, etc. - there's nothing you can do to lay low. you'll catch his attention sooner or later and he'll weasel his way into your life before you even realize it. his intentions would appear pure at first. he'd be so caring, wondering if you're doing okay, and protective; who were you talking to? i don't think they're good for you~

and you listened. because it's mark you're talking about. but if you truly knew him, you'd realize his accusations were actually projections.

Z= Zzz (do they sleep after if so how quickly after)

falls asleep fairly quickly after he's wrung himself dry. but that's only IF he's already taken you hostage. if he so happens to assault you while the two of you aren't where he'd like to keep you, he takes you there, first. coupled with his strange idea of aftercare, he is fairly affectionate. or as affectionate as you'd expect him to be, anyway. always with a hint of menace: he'd hold you tight against him, an arm around your waist and the other wrapped around your throat. making sure you don't so much as think about straying away from him 💗💗

#mark grayson #invincible #invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #yandere mark grayson x reader #mark grayson brain rot #can't stop imagining mark being an absolute creep #“when will my husband come back from war”#but it's just some psycho #do you think yan! mark listens to deftones #korea & lovers are his songs #mascara is if he's still pretending to be normal #& baby traps u or something #so now u have to get marrieeeddd eee #when he follows in his dad's footsteps #making u a stay at home parent while he saves the world #but ur being held hostage #listen to it now i am in ur walls

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bluessmutifyplaylist · 24 days ago

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Listening to Oxytocin by Billie Eilish imagining a 'FWB who are secretly in love with each other but just too kinky and not emotionally honest enough to do anything about it' situation with Rook Hunt and Cater Diamond (separately).

Or like, making a thirty trap to the song on a TWST version of TikTok just for the cast to reply it over and over again until they rub their skin raw.

(once again I am UNGODLY HORNY LOL!!! So enjoy my sin bestie)

Not going to lie, this was the first time I ever listened to Oxytocin by Billie Eilish. Not my favorite, but not bad.

Warnings: 18+, Gender-neutral! Reader, no specific ‘hole’ is mentioned (could be anal, could be vaginal), FWB relationship wth Rook and Cater (separately), bondage (Cater), not much smut in Rook’s (sorry)

Cater Diamond

It all started when you were both assigned a project in Professor Crewel’s class. The tension was definitely there, and since you were both in the privacy of Ramshackle, and Grim was sleeping in a different room, you both gave into your desires.

Neither one of you realized just how much physical chemistry you had with each other before that night, and since then, you have used approximately 47 boxes of condoms and counting. It was great stress relief for both of you, and it was a no-strings-attached agreement… unfortunately, it became quite clear that there were at least a few strings there.

The thing is… neither of you knew how to bring it up. For some reason, you both thought that it might not be the best time to talk about deep feelings when he was balls-deep in your throat, gently thrusting into your mouth and moaning as he felt you gag on his cock.

He has ranted about it to Trey, much to the baker’s dismay. He did not want to know about what you both did in your own time. However, he had no idea how to tell you that he loved you. That he wanted you for more than just your body. That he wanted to cuddle after having sex with you rather than get dressed and do the messy walk of shame back to Heartslabyul.

One day, however, you both were trying something out in bed… bondage. His hands were tied to the headboard as you rode him into oblivion. His fucked out face was one that you had many pictures of… but you never posted them. They were just for you.

Anyway, he was babbling complete nonsense, his dick being gripped tightly by your warmth as you ground your hips down. “I love you…” He muttered softly in-between whimpers, “Seven, I fucking love you… fuck… keep going, baby…”

Your eyes widen, and you immediately stop your ministrations. “What did you say, Cater?” His own eyes widen in response as he realized what he said, and he felt his heart thud harshly against his chest. “Uhh… Nothing! I said nothing! Who said anything about ‘love’? That’s crazy talk! You know me: Cray-cray Cay-Cay!”

However, you quickly shut him up by kissing his lips passionately, breaking one of the few rules the both of you set. It didn’t seem like Cater had any issue with this rule-breaking either, especially since he reciprocated and moaned against your lips as you continued riding him.

“I love you, too,” You whispered against his lips, “Shit!... I love you, Cater…”

Soon, he spilled his load into the condom, and you pulled yourself off of him and collapsed beside him, when he got up to dispose of the rubber. Then, he giggled excitedly as he climbed into bed next to you.

For now, this would remain private between the two of you, as well as Trey because Cater needs to tell someone, but neither of you could be happier with how your relationship shifted.

Rook Hunt

Your… relationship… with the French hunter started in Potionology. Your friends fucked up a potion and it spilled on you. With your luck, it turned out to be an aphrodisiac, and so Professor Crewel sent you back to Ramshackle to sleep it off.

Rook noticed that you weren’t running your usual errands, so he asked Ace, Deuce, and Grim for your whereabouts. When they explained to him what happened, his eyes widened in surprise and he immediately rushed to Ramshackle to help you out. Obviously, neither of you knew about the other’s feelings, but you were more than happy to have his help.

That day was when you realized that 1) he was wonderful in bed and 2) he had a stupidly large dick that hit everything it needed to. Let’s not even mention how good his hands are.

Anyway, even when the aphrodisiac wore off, you both still found reasons to find privacy together. You wanted to get dicked down, and Rook was more than happy to oblige as he loved you and your body. The other people on campus were more than happy about this arrangement too, since it meant that Rook didn’t have time to stalk them.

However, this friends-with-benefits relationship wasn’t like anything else. Rook, in every sense of the term, ‘made love’ to you. He was gentle and attentive, putting your pleasure above all else. He wanted to be your toy that would bring you pleasure. It made him feel good knowing that he made you feel good.

One day, after a rather intimate session together, you were both laying in your bed as you discussed things you would like to try with him. When you brought up a possible threesome in the future, he tensed up.

“Non, ma chérie. I do not much like the idea of sharing you with anyone else,” He admitted, looking into your eyes.

His words made your heart flutter, and the butterflies got worse as he leaned in to kiss you. However, you made no move to back away, and reciprocated it instead.

When you both pulled away, you both smiled happily at each other before settling back under the covers to get some rest.

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astridthevalkyrie · 2 years ago

Text

honeymoon period | jumin han x reader

After Jumin marries you, slowly, his threads start to untangle.

a/n: my first and probably last long jumin fic. this has been in the works for months, literally what i've been stalling on superior for (pre keigo 😭) i hope you all enjoy! i love this man <3

warnings: afab reader with she/her pronouns, some depressing thoughts, smut, oral (m and f receiving), penetrative sex, references to kinks that they both have, references/nightmares about abuse including sexual harassment, insecurity, jumin's comedy lol

word count: 13.2k (only a little less than the last superior chapter that is cray cray)

There is a knock on your door.

It makes you jump. Not that you’re nervous—it’s a hotel and several of your friends and family are here to see you get married, so naturally many of them know where your room is. The room itself is, of course, lavish, a paradise compared to most of your previous lodgings. Honestly, you miss the penthouse.

No, that’s not quite right. You just miss being curled up on the couch, tucked into Jumin’s chest with Elizabeth on your lap, wine on his lips and love in his eyes. You miss him, even though you saw him last this morning. You know he’s in the hotel lobby being forced to get wasted by Luciel, because the hacker in question has sent you dozens of videos of your fiancé. In one of them, when Zen reminds him he’s getting married tomorrow, a goofy smile breaks out on his face as he ducks his head.

Maybe the wedding wasn’t necessary. Maybe you two could have just signed the necessary papers without having to go a full day without seeing each other. How are you supposed to sleep tonight? You could call him, but it wouldn’t be the same.

Sighing, you make your way to the door. If it’s one of your friends trying to convince you to let loose or a family member coming to check up on you, you’re not in the mood.

When you open the door, your fiancé is standing there.

“Jumin!”

All questions on the tip of your tongue disappear when he brings you into his arms, burying his face in your neck with a content sigh. There’s no urgency in it, just a quiet, sudden happiness, like he’s fully aware that in just a few hours he won’t have to worry about you being anywhere but in his arms again.

“Thank you.” His voice breaks the silence, muffled on your skin. “For letting me love you, and for loving me.”

Your eyes well up with tears. What an emotional bride you’re turning out to be. And what a wonderful groom you have, to somehow know exactly what you need even when he’s not completely sober.

Slowly, you wrap your arms around him as well, breathing in the scent of his shampoo as you press a kiss to the top of his head.

“You’re welcome, Jumin.”

///

There has never been a lovelier sight than your smile, and Jumin hopes you know that.

If you don’t, he’ll just have to convince you.

“Hi, sweetheart.” You’re sporting a grin for him—just for him—wearing nothing but one of his shirts with Elizabeth the Third scurrying out from between your feet when she sees him. There’s a pink bottle on the counter. Frosting, he thinks. “I hope you don’t mind, but having a chef cook for us for a month straight has ruined my palate for anything else. I had to cook for myself again before I got spoiled. I can call him to make you dinner if you don’t want to eat what I made, though!”

“Of course not.” The urge to embrace you is unbearable. A month after the wedding, and his first day back at work after the honeymoon, he still can’t seem to keep his hands off. “What did you make? I’ll eat anything.”

He leans down to take Elizabeth the Third in his arms, scratching the back of her head softly. “Alright! I made stew and baked some cupcakes, I hope you like it. But you should probably change first. Slip into something more comfortable.”

“Ironic, considering you and I are wearing the same thing.”

“Well…” You lean over the counter, making a show of ogling him. “If you really want to match, you can leave the shirt on and take off your pants.”

It’s impossible to even try and stop the smile growing on his face. “Would you like that?”

“Come over here and find out, hubby.”

The nickname makes him flush pleasantly, but instead of taking you up on that extremely tempting offer, he simply walks up and presses a kiss to your forehead. You pout, and with the tact of knowing Elizabeth is still in his arms, you tug on his tie and kiss him properly. Jumin’s brain turns off, if only for a few seconds. As long as you kiss him and he kisses you back, the only thing he knows is you, you, you and nothing else.

Now, instead of changing, he’s holding his cat and kissing you in the kitchen. With just a minor breakaway and murmured apology, he’s no longer holding his cat. His hands slide around your back and pull you in, and your hands meet at the base of his neck. You. Only you.

“Ju-min,” you admonish breathlessly, the second he pulls away to trail hurried kisses down your neck. “Dinner first.”

“Mm. I’m not hungry.” Or he is, but not for dinner.

Your hands come to rest on his chest, but you don’t pull away, and Jumin is beyond grateful. He doesn’t want to eat, doesn’t want to sleep or shower or do anything else when he could be showing you just how much he’d missed you at work today.

Slightly pressed into the counter, you place your hands back and jump onto it, and he eagerly steps in between your legs to kiss you again. Your legs wrap around his waist and your hands tangle in his hair—a habit of yours, he’s noticed, to mess his hair up. He doesn’t mind. Not if it makes you happy.

Finally, you pull away and before he can dive back in for yet another kiss, you dip your finger into the bowl next to you and offer it up to him. Without even considering it, he takes your finger in between his lips and licks the gravy off.

It’s only after he registers the taste does Jumin realize how intimate the action is. And of course, he knows that you’re married, that you and he have seen each other absolutely bare and open to one another, that he is literally making out with you in his—in your—in your shared kitchen. He knows that despite everyone thinking that the marriage was rushed and impulsive, this will be a long road, and he plans to stick by you for each and every single step. He knows that tasting something off your finger is hardly the most domestic thing you two will do.

But it doesn’t stop the flurry of butterflies he feels in his stomach. It doesn’t stop him from thinking my wife is letting me taste what she made, because she’s perfect. That’s not to mention how wonderful the taste actually is.

“Good?” you question, with gleaming eyes.

“Incredible.” He takes your hand and dips your finger in the bowl, stealing another taste right after. “More than incredible. The best stew I’ve ever had.”

“I know you’re flattering me.” Leaning forward, you take his face in your hands, brushing your thumbs over his cheeks. Softly, gently, like he’s something fragile that will break if you use any force. “But I’m not complaining. Keep going.”

“Food is always better when a beautiful woman is the one serving it.”

You beam. The butterflies in his stomach do a victory soar.

Jumin Han is in love.

///

Zen has a dream about you. That’s when the problem starts.

He tells it to the group in great detail—it’s not anything romantic or sexual, but Jumin doesn’t see a reason for you to be in his subconscious at all, even if you were just the supposed director for Zen’s dream movie. You’re not any sort of movie director, so the dream is ridiculous at any rate.

It doesn’t stop him from pouncing on you the second you two get back home. You don’t even get to take a seat before he’s pressing you against the door, ensuring it’s locked (the last thing he needs is for one of the security guards to see this and have dreams about you too) and kissing you possessively.

“Jumin—?” There’s a question on the tip of your tongue, but it cuts off into a delicious moan when he starts sucking and biting all the same spots he knows he left hickeys on during your honeymoon.

“Spend the day with me,” he whispers. “Just me, no one else.”

An amused giggle bubbles from your throat. “I was already gonna do that, honeybunny.”

Good. That’s plenty of time for him to mark up your neck (and other places) so that everyone knows you’re his, and other people can stop dreaming of you. Already his mind is filled with wicked thoughts, of how he can make you cry and beg and scream today. From the time you two spent on your honeymoon, he knows you can get quite loud if he puts his mind to it.

The only limit is his imagination.

“Jumin.” Your head tilts back against the door, eyes closed as his tongue soothes a bite mark he just made. “Ah, J-Jumin, are you jealous?”

“No.” He is.

“I know what possessiveness looks like.” You take his hand in yours and press a kiss to each fingertip. “You know that me being in Zen’s dream isn’t something in our or even his control?”

“Of course I know that.” He huffs, impatiently fiddling with the buttons on your shirt. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

He kisses you again, and you hum in understanding, sliding your arms around his neck and pulling him in closer. It’s amazing, no matter how many times he thinks everyone would dismiss him for being ridiculous over something like this, you are always there to prove that at least one person wouldn’t. And you taste. So. Damn. Good.

So why not taste you all over? Jumin hungrily slides his tongue over your teeth, seeking entrance. When your mouth parts for him, he tastes you intimately, swallowing your soft sighs.

“For the record,” you mumble, out of breath, “I only ever dream about you.”

“As do I, darling.” He pulls you closer still, thinking about how good you’ll taste when he has his mouth on your pussy. “As do I.”

///

This need to prove himself to you extends beyond the sexual—you laugh so much when you’re around Luciel and Yoosung. Actual laughter that is so different from the polite smiles and chuckles that are in response to his own words.

He hates it. He hates it so very much. He wants to make you laugh, full blown and unabashed. As much as he likes making you giggle, he wants to make you laugh so hard that there are tears pouring down your cheeks. And his experience has quite readily set him up for the expectation that if he wants something, he will have it.

And now, what he really, really wants is to see his wife lose her in laughter because of him.

That means it’s time to bring out the big guns.

Right now you’re under the covers, reading glasses on as you flip through a book. The book in question is something from his personal library (when he showed it to you, mentioning a scene from Beauty and the Beast, you had promptly told him that he was not a beast, but that you finally understood how the princess felt in that scene).

To an extent, Jumin feels bad when he distracts you from work or requests your attention. But he tries to remind himself that if you didn’t want it, you were more than capable of telling him as much. And your reaction to him crawling on top of you with his arms on either side would certainly not be to put the book aside and pull him down to lay on your chest with a kiss to the crown of his head.

For once in his life, Jumin is certain that he is loved.

“I have a joke,” he tells you matter-of-factly, and your brow raises.

“What is it?”

Taking a deep breath, he raises himself up so he can take a good look at your face.

“Hit Seoul, hit Daejon, hit Daegu, hit Busan, hit it!”

There’s a long pause, and your surprised expression slowly morphs into a giggle, then at his grin, a chortle. Jumin laughs first, and then you do too, throwing your head back. It’s single-handedly the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard in his life.

“W-what—“ You’re wheezing now, shoulders shaking. “What does that even mean?”

“I cast a spell on you. Those who laugh are no ordinary souls, for your information.”

“You are so perfect.” The praise catches him off guard, but your body is still shaking from laughter, and in your eyes he sees something like adoration. “How are you so perfect?”

That is definitely not a word he associates with his humor. His status, money, company, business acumen? Yes, perfect, as they were always meant to be. But the little flips in his stomach tell him that none of those things are what you’re referring to. The look in your eyes—he never sees you look at material objects or money that way. He has only ever seen it aimed towards him, and Jumin realizes with a start that there is no need to compete with Zen or Yoosung or Luciel—because really, there is no competition to begin with.

///

Being a workaholic comes with benefits. Everything always gets done. And he enjoys doing business, so there is no negative side effect…other than the lost time that could be spent with his wife. Typing away on the computer he has set up in his study, Jumin sighs, cracking his neck every half hour or so. He’s been at it for hours, but there’s still more left to do.

A soft knock makes him look up. You peek your head in, blinking sleepily and all wrapped up in a blanket. “Sorry to disturb,” in a whisper that barely reaches his ears, “can I sleep here, honey?”

Jumin beckons you in, looking around dubiously. “I’m sorry, I don’t think there’s any surface here you’d be comfortable on. I don’t want you to have an ache by tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, that’s okay.” Your eyes keep blinking closed, as though you’re barely staying awake. All your words are hushed, but you still manage to clamber over to his side of the desk, blanket in tow, and fall onto his lap, burying your face in his chest.

With a start, he catches you, holding you close. “What is it, sweetheart? You can’t sleep?”

You shake your head, getting even more comfortable. “The bed’s too cold.”

Something indescribable squeezes his chest. Above everything, the pleasure that you would rather seek warmth from him rather than get another blanket is all-consuming. Without another word, he stands with you in his arms and walks to the bed. The second he steps into the bedroom, your grip on him becomes a little tighter.

He huffs back a small laugh. “I’m not going anywhere. I’d just rather you sleep here.”

Pulling out a second blanket from the closet for good measure, he lays down on the bed with you, throwing both blankets over your bodies before wrapping you up in his arms. You sigh happily, legs mixing with his and face pressing in his chest once more.

“Sorry for distracting you.” Now your voice is barely audible. “Mm…you’re just…so much warmer…”

“Can I ask you a favor?” You hum softly in response. “Please never apologize for demanding my attention. I am yours, that includes my body, my soul, and my time. Should you ever need me to sleep and I am in the office, please call me and I’ll come home immediately. I’ll take the jet home if I have to. That doesn’t just stop at my time either. If there is anything, anything, you would like, then all you have to do is ask me. I’ll buy you anything. The world is at your disposal.”

There’s a pause and Jumin thinks you’ve fallen asleep, but then you break the silence, quietly asking, “Is it okay if I ask you for something, then?”

“Anything.”

Cute but glossy eyes peer up at him, and you blink rapidly. “A kiss?”

Jumin places his hands on your cheeks, catching the stray tear that falls. Then he leans in, and everything is right with the world.

///

Ice Prince.

Jumin has no idea where the title actually came from. He doesn’t see what’s wrong with someone having control of their emotions. Is he expected to cry or rage at every little thing? That’s a genuine question. Maybe he doesn’t show much emotion at all, and he should. He’s open to advice.

It shouldn’t even be on his mind. He’s watching a soap opera, and the most beautiful woman in the world is in his arms. He enjoys watching your reactions more than watching the show itself, whether you’re holding back an aww or wincing. Every so often, you look up and meet his eyes, giving him a sweet smile each and every time before placing your head back on his chest.

Still, he can’t get the article he read earlier out of his head. Has the Ice Prince really settled down? What kind of life does the new Mrs. Han lead? One can only imagine that she does not get many warm moments with Jumin Han. A speedy divorce would not be surprising.

Just the thought makes him tug you in closer, the idea of you leaving never failing to terrify him. He’s gotten better, he doesn’t freak out over you exiting the penthouse or hanging out with friends or working. He’d told himself harshly that he would not drive you away with his overt possessiveness.

But maybe he’s going to drive you away if he can’t learn to show you his emotions and instead continues to be…well, an ice prince, as much as he hates the term.

“Jumin.” You’re pressing a kiss to his throat, breaking him out of his thoughts. “Are you tired, honey? We can go to bed.”

When he looks down, you’re gazing concernedly up at him. He doesn’t feel like a villain when you look upon him like this. And holding you close is not the only privilege he has here. Taking your face in his hands, he kisses you, and you melt in almost immediately. Jumin knows that you’re starting to get sleepy because you don’t make any move to straddle him further.

The man who knows you best—that is what the articles should be about. Doting husband. Family man. Your partner. How could anyone think he was cold or heartless to you?

“Juju,” you mumble softly, not bothering to break the kiss, “we should get to bed.”

Yes, you’re right. However…

“May I ask you a question?” His curiosity and slight anxiousness requires him to make sure. If he’s ever done anything to make you think he’s some kind of robot, he needs to get rid of such behavior immediately.

Your lips quirk like he’s said something funny. “You may.”

“Have I ever seemed…cold to you?” Almost as if to remind you before you answer, he holds your hand, squeezing gently, while the other hand remains on your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin softly. “Since we’ve been together, I mean. Have I ever acted anything like an…” Jumin cringes just saying it out loud. “Ice prince?”

The question seems to take you aback, and you blink a few times. Your eyes—warm, beautiful eyes—first stare at him with a certain confusion, then quickly become infused with a sudden anger.

“Did someone say that about you? Who was it?”

“No one,” he responds, then hastily amends, “there have always been articles calling me that. I just happened to see one today, so it was on my mind.”

Now, you really do straddle him, threading your fingers through his hair. The anger has dulled into a stubborn crossness. With a deep scowl, you kiss his forehead and say, “That is ridiculous. You have been nothing but warm to me, Jumin Han.”

The same warmth you’re talking about spreads across his cheeks, painting them pink, but you’re not done.

“Since when do you care about those articles anyway? They’ve always been inane. Remember when everyone was convinced that you would marry Sarah?” Here you huff, and he hates to admit that he loves seeing you jealous, even if over someone he never even considered getting to know. “And you had to set them straight for them to print anything accurate. Maybe I should give a press statement of my own. Ice Prince my ass.”

“Such language,” Jumin says lowly, already hiding his face in your neck. You’re still peeved, muttering things under your breath as you stroke his hair, angry kisses pressed to his skin in the middle of your rant.

Eventually, you tire yourself out, falling asleep right there on his chest, a common occurrence. He doesn’t mind it one bit, it’s actually really easy to carry you to bed. For some reason, Jumin feels much, much lighter.

///

His wife is a party planner. An event planner, technically, since you’ll take some requests for meetings as well, but it’s mostly parties. He knows that due to your marriage, there’s been an increase in the amount of clients wanting you to plan their events. Even before, you’d said your schedule had always been sporadic, revolving around whatever the current most pressing event was.

Frankly, he shouldn’t be surprised, with how masterfully you pulled off the RFA party.

He’s more than proud of you, of course. He’s now attended quite a few of the events you put together, and it always leaves him impressed. You’ve confided in him about how you’d like to either switch to a company that exclusively does weddings or start your own, and despite your protests, he’s fully prepared to finance such an endeavor when the time comes.

The only issue about your job, and his job as well, is that your schedules can be sporadic. There are days where you can work without even leaving the penthouse, and then there are days where you are running around and don’t return until 2 AM. Jumin can hardly get upset when he’s taunted the clock with his record times at coming home as well.

Can’t get upset at you, that is. Being upset at the situation is perfectly reasonable. He wants to spend time with his wife, dammit. You’re his favorite person in the world, all the things he wants to do involve being with you.

So when he’s the one who’s arriving at 2 in the morning, he deflates to see that you’re fast asleep, a couple documents and your phone in the bed next to you. How many times has he told you he would set up a separate room for you to work in? Each time, you shake your head and say all you need is your phone and laptop, and you can work anywhere. That doesn’t take into account your health, though. The place you relax should not be associated with work, or it leads to a less relaxing sleep cycle. He once read a study about that.

It might be hypocritical, but Jumin misses you. He wants to talk to you so badly it pains him, and not just longing phone calls that always leave him wanting more.

Loosening his tie, he waits for a second before falling hard onto the bed.

Your eyes flutter open immediately, and in your daze you take in your still-dressed husband. With a sleepy smile, you push away all the papers next to you to snuggle into his arms. “Welcome home.”

“Thank you.” One arm secured around your back, he pulls you as close to him as you can. He sees you breathe in his lingering cologne, and it makes him downright giddy that his scent seems to bring you comfort. “Shouldn’t a loving wife be waiting up for her husband?”

You yawn, throwing one leg around him. “Not when the husband returns at an ungodly time and the wife has an early morning site inspection. Did you have dinner?”

“I did. Did you?”

“Mmh. Yeah. I refrigerated some in a container if you wanna take it to work tomorrow.”

This is one of his favorite domestic things you do—and he doesn’t even think you realize how much he appreciates it. If it’s between having something from a five star restaurant or having your cooking, the latter will win each and every time. Sometimes he wants to brag to the whole world, although the most he’ll do is slip how tasty his lunch was today to Assistant Kang (who will almost always respond with a dry, “Glad to hear that, Mr. Han.”).

“I will.” Jumin kisses your lips, smiling when he feels you respond with little effort. “I’ve missed you.”

Your arms snake around his waist as you tuck your head under his chin. Jumin sighs when he feels you kiss his collarbone. “I’ve missed you too.” All he needs is your breath on his skin, or your hands on his face, or your voice filling his ears. It relaxes him instantly. “What’s your schedule like tomorrow?”

“I’ll be in the office all day.” Already he groans, burying his face in your hair in the hopes that it will preemptively soothe the headache sure to form tomorrow. At first he didn’t understand why you insisted on using the same hair conditioner you always did instead of a much more expensive one he could buy for you, but the smell of your hair is so exquisite that now he wholly prefers it (although there is a special kind of tingling in his chest reserved for the moments you smell like him).

“Same. After my inspection, I’m going to be meeting four new clients, and I’m going to guess they all want priority.” You roll your eyes, carding your fingers through his hair. “Tomorrow is also Mr. Wang’s wedding, so I’ll be back late.”

At his wordless whine, you giggle, kissing his cheek. Then after a few seconds of thoughtful silence, a soft hum sounds from your throat.

“I have an idea.”

///

The click of Jaehee’s heels alerts him to her entrance, and Jumin straightens in his chair, accepting the papers that she hands him.

“Thank you. Have you eaten, Assistant Kang?”

Jaehee blinks at him once, then twice, like he’s grown an extra head. Then she slowly nods, the surprised expression melting back into her perfectly professional one once more. “Yes, sir. And you?”

“Not yet. I brought a container my wife packed for me.”

“Honey, I don’t think she really cares to know that.”

“I see. She is a pretty good cook if I recall correctly.”

“Everyone cares,” Jumin insists.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re so sweet, it’s annoying. I want to kiss you all the time.”

“Mr. Han, are you alright? You look a bit out of it—should I call for a doctor?”

“Do it.” He smiles at the papers in his hands. “I won’t stop you.”

“Call…call the doctor?”

“Will you kiss me back, in front of all your employees?”

“Yes. Of course. Whatever you desire.”

“Right away, sir,” Jaehee responds in a sort of strangled voice, and it’s not until he hears the click of her heels again that he remembers she was there. In almost a flash, she leaves his office.

“What did she say?”

Jumin touches the tiny earpiece that’s been on all day, adjusting it only slightly. “I honestly have no idea.”

///

Jumin hates leaving. But he does, well, what is the phrase? Hate to see you go, but love to watch you leave? Something along those lines, is what you’ve said to him. He’s not sure it applies here, since he is actually leaving to go abroad for a few days, and already he’s looking forward to his reunion with you, but he didn’t expect that both of you would be so needy for each other the night before the flight.

It starts with a few kisses, a pout on your lips that he thinks he can kiss away if he just tries hard enough. Telling you in hushed whispers that he’ll miss you an unfathomable amount. Your understanding on a pragmatic level, and your clinginess the second you both laid down. Both are appreciated more than he can say.

“What if I want to watch a movie with you?”

Kiss. “Just wait a week for me, my love.”

“What if the bed is too cold and I need you to warm me up?”

Kiss. “One week, I promise. No more than a week.”

“What if aliens invade the penthouse and I have no one to protect me?”

Kiss. “Tell them that your husband is going to kill them…in a week.”

For a few minutes, it goes on like this, with you proposing other scenarios and Jumin doing his best to both reassure you and make you laugh. He lays kiss upon kiss to your lips, and perhaps subconsciously, they become more ravenous, demanding. Seeking more. Seeking your conviction on just how much you will miss him.

“Jumin,” you breathe into his mouth. Jumin, Jumin. He loves how you say his name.

You’re seeking something as well, the warmth that you are so certain will disappear along with him. On one hand, he hates that his princess has to sleep without him at all, especially when she clearly doesn’t want to. And on the other hand, knowing that you’ll be here, missing him so desperately, makes his heart flutter. You’ll miss him. You’ll miss him.

Within moments, you’re on top of him, seated on his lap and unbuttoning the buttons on his shirt. He’s responding in kind, leaving love bites on your neck as he slides your night robe off your shoulders.

“What if I get lonely?” you ask, more demure than you actually are. “What if I need you, and my fingers aren’t enough?”

His hands press into your hips, hard enough to bruise. You mewl at the slight pain, and he manages to hiss, “I never want your fingers to be enough. If you wait for me, princess, I’ll make you cum more times than you can handle when I get back.” Even if just the idea of you sending him a video or even calling him as you touch yourself was incredibly appealing. Maybe next time. This week, he would have you think of nothing but his own fingers, his tongue, his cock.

And what better way to do that than to remind you how they feel?

“I’ll be gone seven days exactly.” Spoken more to your breasts than you, but he does gaze up at you reverently as he kneads them in his hands. “Maybe tonight I can make you cum once for every day I won’t be here. Would you like that?”

He jerks his thigh up against your core before you can answer, so you nod frantically, mouth falling open. “Uh huh!”

And who is Jumin to ever deny you?

///

The trip right before Valentine’s is the worst. It’s all Jumin can do to finish work before running like a madman through several different stores, picking up this and that. He insists on a different bag for each purchase, despite the clerks gently pointing out that he can put a lipstick tube in the same bag as a pair of heels and nothing will happen, but he doesn’t want to. He would like to see you open every item with a new spark of delight in your eyes.

Usually, he would return late at night, always opting to finish the day’s work and catch a flight right after instead of waiting for morning, because this way he would arrive home, gather you up in his arms as you slept soundly, and then bask in your surprise and delight when you woke the next morning.

And this time would have been no different if one of the departments had not messed up, forcing him to wake up on Valentine’s Day still out of the country. After five days’ worth of work forced into two hours, a shopping spree and a quick call with you, he nearly takes the wheel from the pilot himself before Jaehee begs him to just sit and try to enjoy the ride home. The rest of the trip, they are engaged in a glaring contest every time she looks up from the video she is watching on her laptop.

As soon as the door opens, he hears a surprised cry of his name, and then you’re barreling into him—all the bags in Jumin’s hands fall to the floor in favor of catching you and hefting you up in the air for a spin.

“I thought—“ Kiss. “That you—“ Kiss. “Weren’t coming back today!“ Deeper kiss.

“I couldn’t miss my first Valentine’s with you, my love.” The deepest kiss of all.

The two of you only stop because his bodyguards are coming into the room after him, with more bags. Your eyes widen as you take in all of them, and your sharp mind has already pieced together what’s going on. “Is this all for me?”

“Of course.” Jumin knows that the way you’re latching onto him with such a tight grip is a more priceless gift than anything in these bags. “Why don’t you open everything? I wish to see your reaction.”

And so you do. The makeup, the shoes, the clothes, the jewelry, the books, the decor, all of fine quality and all things well thought out with your interests in mind. With every single item, no matter how big or small, you gasp, or squeal, or simply smile ever so widely. And without fail, you kiss him right on the lips each time.

Jumin is dizzy only halfway into the opening process—he must start buying you gifts far more often if this is the reward he gets.

However, you see beyond just his outward appearance, and you place the next bag he hands you aside without so much as a glimpse at it before clambering onto his lap. Hands on his cheeks, your thumbs smooth over where he’s sure eyebags are forming. “My poor Juju,” you whisper, “you look really tired, honey.”

Honey, honey, honey. How joyful he feels when you call him honey. “As always, you see right through me. I can’t hide from you, can I?”

“I never want you to hide from me.” A sweet kiss pressed to his cheek makes his stomach jump, like he’s a teenage boy with a crush. “Let’s lay down, shall we? We can finish opening everything afterwards.”

Jumin concedes, rising hand in hand with you until you’re both on the bed, curled up in each other. “What a terrible Valentine’s this turned out to be. I’m sorry, my love.”

Your arms wrap around his neck, kissing him slow, soft and smooth. “What are you talking about? You’re here where I can hold you, we’re both off work, and you’ve gifted me more than anyone else ever has or will in my life.”

“Good,” he says, satisfied that he’s set a standard that no one else can ever match for you. “But is that…enough?”

“Enough?” Your tone is incredulous. “Jumin, just you being here is more than enough. I love you so, so much, and I—“ You cut yourself off, slightly backing up as though you’re trying not to overwhelm him (a ridiculous notion, he would love nothing more than for you to overwhelm his every sense). “I cannot believe how lucky I am to have married you.”

This time he kisses you, the idea of sleep slipping further and further away because really, why should he close his eyes when he can only see you when they’re open? Why should he rob himself of the privilege to gaze upon your lovely face and listen to your quiet, soothing voice? Why should he do anything else, eat or drink or work or play, when he could simply kiss you for the rest of his life?

“I love you,” he breathes, pulling you closer because you simply can never be close enough. “Happy Valentine’s, my precious wife.”

///

Of course, the first time your schedule allows you to accompany him on a business trip he’s ecstatic. Finally a week without the headache of returning to an empty hotel room, and instead what will feel like more of a vacation, especially once he completes the necessary work and the two of you can spend the rest of the days lazing by the beach.

Because of the honeymoon, Jumin had become well acquainted with your fear of flying, and had arranged your seats in his private jet to be close together. As the jet takes off, he holds your hand in his as you squeeze, eyes shut tightly for the takeoff. Reassuringly, he kisses your hand, rubbing the back of it while his other hand strokes Elizabeth the Third’s head through the carrier she’s in.

“Poor Elizabeth,” you manage to whimper, still looking quite pale even after the takeoff is done, “I hope she doesn’t get airsick.”

“She doesn’t,” Jumin reassures. Elizabeth is used to such flights, unlike you. He’d much rather you focus on your own health right now.

The stewardess for the flight comes through with the cart of food and drinks. “Anything for you, Mr. Han?”

“A glass of wine.”

“Of course, sir. And you, Mrs. Han?”

“Oh, um…” You smile sheepishly up at her. “Would you happen to have apple juice?”

The woman blinks once, then, as though she’s fighting back a laugh, says, “Apple juice, ma’am?”

“Is that a problem?” Jumin cuts in sharply before you can answer, glaring daggers.

“No, no! O-of course I can give you apple juice, ma’am, I didn’t mean to offend—“

“No offense taken.” Even nauseous and teased, you smile kindly, eyes lighting up when you have your drink. If he remembers correctly, he used to drink apple juice when he would get airsick as a child as well.

When the stewardess leaves, you lean over and press an apple-tasting kiss to his lips, and he catches a few drops of the juice in his mouth. It tastes yummy, or maybe it’s just the taste of you that he likes.

Probably the latter. Either way, he’s eager to get this vacation started.

///

“I feel so good that you’re here. Thank you so much for coming. I…never want to let you go.”

…

“I’ve trapped you here, haven’t I?” he asks one night, after he thinks you’ve fallen asleep.

You’re wide awake, though, and he feels your lips on his throat as you whisper, “I’ve never once felt trapped with you, Jumin.”

///

You’re a lightweight, and it’s the most adorable thing Jumin has ever seen. Including cat photos. Including Elizabeth the Third. And you don’t realize just how cute you are, which only makes you cuter.

“Juju,” you whine, when he starts to guide you to bed.

“You have to sleep, my dear.” Almost smugly, he places a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Sleep and allow me to take care of you in the morning.”

The protest you seemed to be ready to fire back morphs into a happy giggle as you throw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his midsection. “I do like when you take care of me.”

“Likewise.”

For some reason, that sends you into more giggles as you press against him. “You talk so smart like. I love when you use big words.”

Biting back a smile, Jumin raises a brow. “Is likewise a big word?”

“Anything is a big word when you say it.” You kiss him softly, sliding your hands in his hair. You love messing up his hair, almost as much as he loves letting you do it. “You’re so smart. So clever. Your brain is like…” To exaggerate your point, you lean your head away, with his hands on your back to keep steady. “Soooo huge.”

“Not the only thing,” he hums slyly.

“Jumin!” Laughing, you hit his shoulder, only for him to tug you in close, making you squeak. The only downside to how well you two know each other now is that he doesn’t get to see your beautifully embarrassed face, but he still gets some wins when he catches you off guard.

“I’m only kidding, my love.” Watching your lips part for him as he leans in, Jumin kisses you this time, gently sucking your lower lip between his teeth. Let no one say he wasn’t out and open with his oral fixation when it came to you. “I’m honored to know you find me intelligent.”

You beam, nearly blinding him with how brilliant your smile is. “Intelligent, and funny. So, so funny. I love your jokes.” Now you turn your cheek, placing sloppy kisses along his jaw. “And handsome. I have the most handsome husband in the world.”

Jumin, only now realizing the difference between being happy and being giddy and knowing he’s both, can only close his eyes, tilting his head back. “Ironic for you to say, considering no one with your beauty has ever existed before nor will exist again.”

The way your cheeks flush make him realize that he, too, must be quite tipsy. Surely his stomach does not flip so violently just to see how your eyes glow at his praise.

“I love you.” You swallow, and he watches the movement of your throat closely. “Do you know how much?”

He exhales, not having realized he inhaled before. “M-more than is reasonable, I presume.”

“A lot more than is reasonable,” you whisper before kissing him again. This one is different, he can tell. Something more desperate. More wanting. More likely to make him lose his mind.

How does he know? It’s because you’re not just kissing him, you’re also borderline riding the knee he’s slotting between your legs. With a whine, you tug on his collar, as though you want him closer. Need him closer.

Losing his mind is just the beginning.

“Sit on the couch.” The tone with which you beg makes his already hardening cock twitch. “Please, Jumin.”

He obeys—how could he not obey?—and just the sight of you dropping to your knees to unbuckle his pants has him throwing his head back with a lustful groan. How did he get here? How did he get so lucky?

You kiss the head of his cock, and Jumin is gone.

When you start bobbing your head, eagerly sucking with your eyes closed in concentration, it takes every inch of willpower he has ever had to not cum immediately, so that this can last. With every slow caress of your tongue, he can feel himself getting lost in his own base senses, every coherent thought fading away and leaving only an animalistic need.

“Princess,” he moans, fingers in your hair. His words escape him in a slurred, barely coherent manner. “I, ahh, won’t last—shit—”

Coming inside your warm, wet mouth is not in the top five moments he remembers when he thinks of his favorite times with you, because he likes to think he’s classier than that, but regardless, he’s never going to forget this.

///

Growing up, the one trait that he was always told to avoid and to find disdainful in others was laziness. There is nothing worse than a person who is not efficient. People who waste time just doing simple tasks are not worth his time, he was told.

But surely, surely, that does not apply to you. (Or maybe it’s a silly lesson in the first place, another one to add the list he has started to garner since he married you.)

It does not apply when you have to get up early for work and you sadly try cuddling with him in the five minutes you have left to remain in bed. Most days Jumin leaves before you, pressing a kiss to the lips of the princess in bed before heading out. Your parted lips in sleep do such a number on him that he has to make sure not to linger too long.

Days where your job demands you wake with him are no less enjoyable, and perhaps even more so as he gets to witness your clinginess. Jumin tugs you to the bathroom, where you close your eyes and rest your head on his chest as both of you brush your teeth. When you finally make it to the kitchen, he seats you on the chair by the counter and amuses himself by watching your sleepy eyes follow him while he makes a quick breakfast.

“Maybe I could eat ‘n your lap?” you ask cutely, poking at your scrambled eggs with a fork.

“My dear,” Jumin answers, intertwining your fingers to kiss the back of your hand, “I would love nothing more, but you will fall asleep again.”

Not even an argument as you nod with a lazy smile, head falling forward on the counter. “I want to fall asleep again. How do you do this every day?”

“It’s what I’ve always done.” He’s finished with his eggs, so he stands, sweeping your hair aside to lean down and press a kiss to your nape. You squeal, squirming away as he catches you and tugs you to him, watching you immediately give up this play fight and snuggle into his chest to catch a bout of standing shut-eye. “Now come, Driver Kim is waiting to drop us both off.”

You shake your head, clutching onto him stubbornly.

“You can sleep on my lap in the car.”

And he feels inordinately pleased with how fast you move after that.

///

The days that he knows you will be at the penthouse when he returns, there’s always an extra breath in his steps, as if the air itself knows he must return home immediately.

Tonight, for example. He has a whole night planned. The two of you would cook the next thing to try on that list of recipes you printed and excitedly taped up in the kitchen, then after dinner he plans to play some soft music and waltz you around the rather spacious living room, and then both of you could go for a swim in the pool, and the night would end with you dozing off in his arms.

A perfect night. The kind he dreams about, the kind that he never can quite believe are real.

When he opens the door, he doesn’t hear any call of his name nor is he tackled in a hug, which only makes his shoulders deflate slightly. Elizabeth the Third softly mrrows at him from where she’s sitting on the couch. Placing a kiss atop her head, he pokes in to check a few rooms, searching for his wife.

You’re nowhere to be found. The only place left to check is the bedroom. His sweetheart usually doesn’t fall asleep so early, though.

He opens the door, then freezes in his tracks.

With a couple of candles lit up around the room, you sit on the bed, nothing on except the set of lingerie he ordered a few weeks ago at your request, black as the night sky (“because it reminds me of you”). A few pillows support you as you lean back, eyes trained on him. There’s a glass of wine in your hands, and another on the table next to you clearly reserved for him.

You take a small sip, and some drops purposefully miss your lips and slowly drip down your neck, down over the swell of your breasts.

“Care to join me, husband?”

Jumin swallows.

None of his plans end up coming to fruition that night, and he doesn’t mind one bit.

///

(You’ve pointed out how the most random things turn him on—when you wear his clothes, but specifically his striped shirts, when you let him buy something ludicrously expensive for you, when you do simple things to take care of him, when you wait for him at home after work, cat ears—cat ears, cat ears, cat ears!—and the rare moments where he gets to see you pissed off.

But he’d only responded how the things you were into were equally as random—seeing him disheveled after a hard day’s work or a visit to the gym, the way he answered business calls simply by saying Jumin Han speaking, what do you need, and every time you’re naked on his lap while he’s fully clothed.

Shall I remind you how desperate you get, my dear? he growls into your ear. Your cheeks flush, and Jumin reaches for the ribbon in the drawer, even more impatient than you are.)

///

There are other times where Jumin will arrive home and if you aren’t leaping into his arms, kissing him full on the lips as he spins you around or pins you to the wall depending on the mood, you’re sitting on the couch, typing away on your laptop either for your job or for the RFA.

In those moments, he finds himself easily sliding his arms around you and burying his face in your neck, absolutely reveling in the subconscious way you rub his nape and kiss his hair.

Sometimes you both will exchange stories of your day, expanding on something a phone call simply couldn’t cover or something that perhaps you had wanted to say in person to fully soak in the reaction (you seem to particularly enjoy how he insults the difficult clients you tell him about). Other times, there is a serene silence, only broken by Elizabeth the Third’s purring and the clack of your keyboard keys.

You smell so good, all the time. He wonders if he should be capitalizing on the perfume you use so that no one else can buy it. That way this scent would solely be yours, just like he is. Something about that idea blooms a warmth in his chest.

The best part of the night comes when you finish, closing the laptop and setting it aside before wrapping your arms around him. “I love you,” you say, only for his ears, just like how your lips are only for his skin, just like how your scent is only for his nose, just like how Jumin is only here to be yours entirely.

///

In the past, when he’s fallen ill, he’s either ignored it or simply just taken the necessary amount of time to recover. The last time he was pampered like this was as a child by his nannies. And even their doting paled in comparison to yours (but then, didn’t everything, when it came to you).

Because this. This, is heavenly.

Every single ounce of your affection is solely for him. Your soup that you feed him, your fingers stroking his hair, your voice sweetly singing him to sleep. Your lips on his forehead, whispering, “How are you feeling, Juju?”

Granted, because he’s sick, he can’t fully appreciate it without the feeling that his body is turning against him. But it’s worth it, it’s easily worth it.

So, the day that he wakes up with a low temperature, feeling absolutely fine, he still manages to cough pitifully and throw out the word to Jaehee that he simply has to take another day off.

You have a knowing smile on your face, but when he slips his arms around your waist, with his face buried in your neck, you still hold him just as warmly, and Jumin is so, so, so in love with you. Nothing could possibly stand to be better than this. One hand absentmindedly strokes his hair while you type on your phone with the other hand, communicating with someone from work.

Your phone starts to ring; he only shifts minimally to get closer as you answer it. “Hey, what’s up?”

He can hear the person who called—it’s one of your friends. “Hey! Check your messages, I won that ukulele I told you I would win last time.”

The sound of your laugh is so melodious, he’d do anything to get drunk on it. “Win another one for me, I’ll hang it up in my closet.”

“Yeah, right.” Your friend snorts. “I wish you were able to come. It’s been so long since we’ve been here.”

“I know, but Jumin really doesn’t feel well. I couldn’t just leave him at home alone.” As though your friend can see, you plant a kiss on his forehead. “We’ll go another time, definitely.”

“I’ll hold you to it. Alright, I have to go. Give the husband all my love, I hope he feels better.”

“Will do. Bye, have fun!”

With that, you hang up, resuming the scrolling through your phone and the stroking of his hair. Jumin is still, for good reason.

You had meant to go out with your friends today. And due to his not-actually-sick state, you had canceled on them.

Hadn’t he told you to put him second to your own self? But he can’t pin this on you, not when he was the one faking. A terrible feeling begins to rise in his chest, causing him to move away from you and stare at you with a guilty expression.

“Is your neck finally tired of…” You trail off when you look at him, furrowing your brows. “What happened?”

“You were meant to go out today.”

A small frown forms on your face. “Um…we made plans, yeah. But you were sick—“

“I wasn’t,” he confesses, ironically sick to his stomach. “I just wanted to take another day off and spend some time with you.”

“I know that.”

“I—you know?”

The frown on your face is replaced by a tiny smile, as you tug gently to bring him back into your arms. “You’re not exactly subtle.”

“Yes I am.” He pouts, still upset but more calm now that you don’t seem disappointed.

“Honey, the one time I kissed your finger after you got a papercut, you somehow got a papercut on every finger the following week.”

Jumin blushes, but you’re not wrong—he just craves your attention. You simply make everything better.

“More importantly,” and now you pull him into your chest, settling back into the same comfortable position with a kiss on his forehead, “I’m faking just as much as you, because I love it when you do things like this. Why would I complain? I get to spend time with you.”

This is what it feels like, Jumin is certain, to be loved. To be cared for and adored so deeply that it leaves an ache in one’s chest. “The next time,” he murmurs, as your hand finds purchase in his hair once more, “The next time you would like to go out to an amusement park with your friends, please let me know. I can buy it out for the day.” A thoughtful pause. “Or forever.”

Another soft kiss, he’s tempted to keep going, to make more and more outrageous promises just to earn each and every press of your lips to his skin. “My friends will appreciate that. I think the park is already owned by C&R, actually.” You chuckle. “Some fast passes though? I wouldn’t say no.”

Fast passes? He’ll ask you what in the world those are just as soon as he finishes kissing you (something a fake sick person can, thankfully, afford to do).

///

A soft knock on the door.

“Mother?” He makes sure to keep his voice to a polite volume. “I’ve played with all my toys. May I please come out now?”

Silence.

Jumin clears his throat, trying his best not to look behind him, just three steps down. It’s dark down there, and he knows it is not logical to be afraid of the dark, but even the logic does little to quell the growing fear inside him.

“Mother? It…it has been a few hours now.” Fourteen hours, he counted on the tiny clock that ticks a little too loudly in the basement. “May I please be let out? I’m starting to get hungry.”

That’s a lie, but he doesn’t think she’ll know. The truth is he began to get hungry hours ago, and is now close to starving. As if on cue, his stomach growls.

Jumin knocks again, the dread he feels growing with every second. “Please, Mother, I’ll be good. I’ll play with my toys. I’ll be normal. Please let me out.”

None of it makes any sense to him. In all the books he reads, none of the mothers lock their sons up in the basement. But then maybe none of the sons are as strange and abnormal as he is. They didn’t need to be locked up like he did.

Still, even if he deserves this, the loneliness is starting to scare him.

“Please.” Childish tears start to prick at his eyes. “Mother? I don’t want to be here anymore. I’m sorry. I’ll do better, I promise.”

The only response he gets is the silence, beckoning him to come back to the darkness where he belongs. With a trembling lip, he turns to face it once more.

The doorknob jiggles.

He whips his head back, not daring to believe it. Is this punishment finally over?

The first thing he’s going to do after he eats is call Jihyun, ask him if he’d like to go to the park nearby. Anything to go outside, in the light, with other people.

Except, to his horror, when the door finally opens, it’s not his mother standing at the top, but his stepmother.

“No,” Jumin whispers, stumbling back. He misses one step and trips, hands on the cement floor as he stares, terrified, at the woman. “Please, no. Where’s Mother?”

The woman at the top laughs, a sound that seems to make others happy but only serves to suffocate him further. He’ll choose to stay in the darkness for a hundred more hours before going upstairs to see her. “What’s this? Another woman in your life, Jumin? What a lady killer!”

He shakes his head desperately, as though to tell her that there’s no one, there’s no need for her to get possessive.

It doesn’t work.

“I’m your mother, Jumi.” He hates that nickname. “Shouldn’t you spend more time with me? You know I love our time together. I know you love it too.”

No, no, no, no, no. He’s on his feet in an instant, scrambling back away from her as fast as possible. His back hits the shelf, no longer a child but an adult, and yet still equally as pathetic.

“Your father doesn’t even pay attention to me anymore. You’re all I have, Jumi.” Her eyes turn cold. “But it looks like you’ve found someone else, haven’t you? You’ve replaced me so easily.”

Now her gaze is focused somewhere else. Jumin follows it, peers through the darkness, only to see…

You.

Relief floods his chest all at once. You are his solace, to hold close and worship. You are the only person to ever understand him, to love him without hurting him. You have accepted him no matter how much he’s shown you that he doesn’t deserve any of your care. As long as you are by his side, he can face anything.

“Jumin.” Even his name sounds so much nicer coming from you. Everything and everyone else seems to melt away.

He takes one step towards you.

You speak again, but it doesn’t sound the same this time.

“Jumin.” Now that he can see your face properly, you look…angry. “Don’t come any closer.”

Immediately, he stops, and that sharp fear grips his throat, squeezing.

“You’re fucked up, Jumin.”

The words spit out of you like a spear, hitting him right in the center.

It can’t be you talking. You don’t say things like that. You always tell him you love him, that you understand him, that you adore him.

But maybe you’ve just…had enough.

Tears begin to spill from his eyes. You stand before him, his heart in your hands, and you look at him with such disgust that he hopes the darkness in here opens up and swallows him.

“I’m leaving,” you say firmly, “don’t follow me.”

“Please,” he gasps, shakily reaching a hand out. “Please don’t leave me here, my love.”

But you don’t listen. You step up the stairs, grip the door, and with one last look of vitriol, you slam it shut, damning him to the darkness forever.

Jumin wakes with a gasp that’s really a sob, head jerking up and slamming against yours.

“Ah!” You grip your forehead, wincing in pain from your position above him. “Ow ow ow, that hurt!”

Like he’s in auto mode, Jumin sits up, touching your cheek with a terrified expression. “I’m so sorry, my love, let me call the doctor. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, I’m fine.” You wince again, rubbing your forehead. “It’ll probably bruise later, but I can deal with it.”

He hurt you. He hurt you.

But you don’t have any of the hate that your dream counterpart did in her eyes. Instead, yours are filled with concern, and you cup his cheeks with such gentleness that he closes his eyes, immediately melting in your hands.

“Were you having a nightmare?” You kiss his forehead. “You were tossing and turning and mumbling in your sleep.”

As much as he wants to bask in your worry for centuries, it doesn’t stop the guilt that threatens to spill. “I apologize for waking you, my love. And for hitting you. I—I was having a nightmare, yes, but I’m alright now.”

“Jumin.”

“If you’d like, I can make some tea for you to help you go back to sleep—“

“Jumin.” Your lips are on his forehead again. “You’re crying, sweetheart.”

So he is. It’s strange he didn’t realize, but there are indeed tears wetting his cheeks. He opens his eyes to meet your gaze, looking at him so sincerely and with such care that this time he actually feels the tears pour down.

“Oh,” you breathe, brows meeting in concern. Your thumbs wipe his tears away diligently, and your lips begin to kiss every spot you wipe. Jumin trembles under your touch, hating himself for being so pathetic in front of you and simultaneously considering crying forever so that you stay here forever too. “What is it, honey? Please tell me how I can help.”

He wants to. But all he can manage to do is grip the back of your shirt in his hands, bury his face in your shoulder, and sob.

Not even for a second do you let him go. He doesn’t know how long he stays in your arms, seconds, minutes or hours. He cries, and cries, and cries, until his eyes feel swollen. and all the while your hand strokes his hair, your lips kiss his cheek, and your voice comes out in soothing whispers.

It’s okay.

I’m right here, I’m here for you.

You have me forever.

We’re going to get through this.

I promise I’ll stay with you as long as you want.

Even though he hasn’t told you what his nightmare was about, you still somehow know exactly what to say.

Even when he finally tires himself out, Jumin can’t stand the thought of not being held by you. He’s never felt this safe, this protected, in his entire life. He continues to grip your shirt tightly, breathing in and out, chest heaving. Any second now, he thinks. Any second now, you’re going to pull away and see how awful he is when he clings to you again, like a child.

You do no such thing. Instead, you lean back against the headboard, gently guiding his head to rest on your chest. It’s not the most comfortable position, but he shifts so that he’s sitting curled into you and pulls you forward gently to place a pillow behind your back. This way, he can hear your heartbeat.

And it’s that steady rhythm that makes his eyes start to droop.

But if he falls asleep again, he risks having another nightmare.

“Sleep,” you murmur, kissing his temple. Jumin’s eyes close on instinct. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The promise knocks him right out.

///

When he wakes, you’ve kept your promise, and you’re in the same unfortunate position, head lulled to the side as you snooze.

An indescribable feeling settles upon him. It’s not just one feeling, in fact, but multiple. Guilt, because he forced you to sleep like this throughout the night. Gratitude, because he’s pretty sure he’s in the arms of an angel sent from above. And most importantly, he feels white hot love, because he has clearly married the only person in this world worth a damn.

And as much as he wants to stay like this, he knows that will surely not bode well for the chiropractor appointment he plans to schedule for you. So Jumin slips out of your embrace gently, taking good care to lay your head down on the pillow. With you picturesque in front of him, he places a kiss on your forehead, whispering, “Thank you.”

“Ju,” you mumble in your sleep. Your hand seems to reach for something, stopping when he intertwines his fingers with yours.

An angel, indeed.

Jumin gets up fully, taking the time to brush his teeth and freshen up before going into the kitchen to whip something up for breakfast. He wasn’t expected at the office until after lunch, so he had time to really make something nice. Chocolate chip pancakes, instead of his usual strawberry.

As he makes the batter, he thinks. Last night was…an anomaly. There should be no reason for him to dream of people that no longer matter anymore. His present is the most important, and his present is, thanks to you, leagues and leagues ahead of his past anyway. He wants to forget it all, forget his mother and stepmother and even Sarah Choi, who, while she hadn’t made an appearance last night, had been in his nightmares more than once, in a bleak alternate reality where he actually married her.

But he knows who he really married. It’s the person whose arms are sneaking around his waist right now. You.

“Morning.” Your voice is exceedingly pleasant, especially when it’s cooed in his ear. “You’re going in late, right?”

“Yes.” He places a kiss on the back of your hand, pressing his lips to each knuckle. “And you, my princess?”

“All from home today, my prince.”

Inwardly, he feels a quick twinge of irritation. “I wish I could spend the whole day with you. I should call out.”

“I’m never going to dissuade you of that.” You kiss him right on the nape of his neck; Jumin shudders. “But it’s up to you.”

“I’ll end up burning these pancakes if you keep distracting me.”

“Maybe that’s what I want.” Your laugh is so pretty, he thinks, and he didn’t think he could describe laughter as pretty before you. “Um, before I get too off topic…don’t you think we should talk, Jumin?”

He knew you weren’t going to simply forget the fact that he had cried himself back to sleep last night. Luckily, before you’d woken, he’d already prepared for such a scenario.

“I apologize for disrupting your sleep. I had a disturbing dream, but it will not happen again.”

For a second, he thinks it’s enough to stop you from asking any further questions, up until he feels your arms slide out from under him. The next thing he knows, you’re turning off the stove before he can start on the next batch of pancakes.

Then, you’re gently turning him so he’s facing you, looking at you right in the eye. Jumin has seen that look before. It’s way too determined for even his stubborn nature, and it always comes out when you’re about to do whatever you want (a rare delight, given your selfless nature, but one he enjoys every time).

Your hands loop around his neck, and you kiss his cheek. Jumin closes his eyes as you speak softly. “Won’t you tell me what’s bothering you, love?”

It’s amazing that you think anything could bother him when you’re this close, calling him that.

“Just a nightmare,” he says softly, but you clearly don’t buy it.

“I have nightmares too, it’s very rare that one of them affects me that much after I wake up.”

“A bad nightmare.”

The other version of you flashes in his head again. You’re fucked up, Jumin. But she’s not you, and even though he thinks for a terrible second that you’re going to shove him away, you pull him in for a hug instead, warm and welcoming and cozy. The scent of your nameless-brand shampoo fills his senses—it makes him desperately want to go back to bed.

“Please,” you breathe on his neck. “That’s what you were saying last night. Please, Mother. Please, no. Please, don’t leave me.”

His hands grip the back of your shirt.

“Please talk to me, Jumin,” you plead. “Please.”

Somehow, he has to keep from crying this time. How pathetic can one man be? But he also has to acquiesce to your request, because you’re you, and he cannot deny you no matter how hard he tries. If you want him bare, you shall have him bare. If you want him destroyed, he will destroy himself in an instant.

“Alright,” he concedes, trembling.

Not wanting the kitchen, where you and him cook together and laugh together (and a couple other things too), to become associated with these tainted memories, he guides you to the couch, hands holding yours. You promptly get into your favorite position, on his lap with your knees on each side. With a sigh, he rests his head on your shoulder, the fabric of your shirt seemingly smoothing out the creases in his forehead.

Your lips on his skin and your whispered words of encouragement give him a courage he wasn’t aware he possessed. Jumin talks.

“You have not met my mother yet. There is…good reason for that. A week before our wedding, she sent me the profile of a woman she wanted me to marry. I refused, of course. But that is the first time she has reached out to me in years.” He clears his throat. “She and I did not have a pleasant relationship. I think some part of me was very disappointing to her, because instead of giving her the true challenge of parenthood I molded to exactly what she wanted me to be. She recognized that I was…abnormal.”

In the span of a few seconds, your eyes have hardened more than he’s ever seen them harden before. This isn’t determined. This isn’t even pissed. This is raw anger.

“Abnormal?” There’s a bite to your words. “Is that her way of saying she was blessed with an intelligent, kind child?”

“You are kind,” Jumin whispers, cupping your chin to press a short kiss to your lips. “As a child, I was perhaps more robotic than I am now. I took to the world of business rather quickly.”

“You were brilliant, Jumin. Were and still are.”

If he kisses you after your every reassurance, the two of you will never leave this couch (not that he necessarily minds that idea). The more disturbing risk is that he will break down in front of you, if he starts elaborating, not to mention when he begins to talk about his stepmother as well.

But that’s a risk that Jumin can now accept. He understands now, that he hasn’t known love before you, and that there will be a great many times he will feel afraid, but he also knows that there is no one in the world he trusts more.

Taking a deep breath, he continues.

///

Jumin is addicted—addicted—to making you cum.

The face you make when you orgasm—eyes shut, mouth open in a silent scream, head thrown back—is the most beautiful thing he’s seen in his life. He considers spending eternity with his head between your legs, recklessly licking you to completion again and again.

The sounds you make—God. They have him rolling his hips against the sheets, so close to finishing just from your taste. It’s an obsession now, one that’s been growing ever since you two were married. A stressful day or a bad meeting or even projects being set back for whatever reason, Jumin can get all that frustration out as long as you allow him to spread your legs and devour you. As long as you squeal on his tongue, make a mess of his face, cum on his lips once or twice or more. He only stops when you beg him to.

He could taste you forever.

But he reconsiders this commitment after he experiences the feeling of you coming on his cock once more.

A choked cry escapes him when he feels your walls clench around him. For a second, he can’t move, too lost in the way your eyes roll back and your nails dig into his skin. It’s the most pleasurable pain he’s ever had the fortune of experiencing.

“Ju-min,” you whine, legs clasping around his waist as he continues to thrust lazily, seeking his own release, “more, please.”

It really is always nice to know that he’s not the only one affected, enthralled and addicted to this madness.

///

Returning home to silence is still better than returning home to the sound of soft crying.

Jumin is on high alert in an instant, not bothering to take his suit or even his shoes off. You’re curled up on the couch, wiping your cheeks aggressively when you catch sight of him.

“J-Jumin, I didn’t hear you come in. Um…” You swallow, dried tears still obvious on your face. “I haven’t made anything, let me call the chef.”

He crosses the rug over to you almost blindly. There’s nothing else in his head, only you—your tears—you’re crying—you’re crying and he wasn’t here. His hands cup your face, wiping another fresh tear that rolls down your cheek as you look up at him, shaking.

“Who did it?” There’s a white-hot anger pulsing inside of him. He never sees you cry. “Tell me who I need to kill.”

A soft gasp escapes you, and you shake your head frantically as he sinks to his knees, taking your hands in his own and pressing reverent kisses to your knuckles. “N-no one did anything—I promise I’m fine, h-honey, please get up—“

Your laptop is set to the side, but the only thing on it is an email draft, giving him no clues at all. The last thing he desires is for you to have to recount that which distresses you, but he wants, needs, to ensure that you never get upset again.

“My love,” he swears, pressing his palms to yours, “please, tell me what happened. Was it something I did? One of the employees in the building?”

You whisper frantically, “No,” but even as you do another fresh wave of tears drip down your face.

Jumin wants to scream, wants to hurt someone, whoever is responsible, but he’s helpless, and so he lets intuition guide him, rising up until he’s next to you on the couch, and he’s pulling you in.

With a firm grip on his suit, you bury your face in his chest, shoulders shaking. In this moment, he recalls the predicament from that night, when the roles were reversed. How you’d simply let him cry, and held him all the while. Is he capable of…can he possibly bring you the same peace you bring him? Could you allow him to comfort you in the same way?

No matter what, he’s going to try. Anything for you.

Placing a kiss to your hair, he tightens his arms around you and murmurs sweet nothings, making sure you hear all of them. Everything from you’re the strongest person i know to i’m here for you, my love, i’ll be with you till the end of time.

“It’s just so much,” you finally hiccup, sniffing, “I’m busy all the time, they dump every project on me, I never get a chance to just take some time for myself and breathe! I’m always on some call, writing some email, visiting some area, I just want it all to stop. And you’re busier than me, and you do it so effortlessly, I can’t imagine how pathetic I must look compared to you.”

“You’re worth a hundred of me.” His voice is fierce, and he meets your eyes with his entire honest conviction. “Nothing about you is pathetic. You…you’re hardworking, you’re talented, you’re brave, and you’re the kindest person I know. I do not deserve you. I’ve never deserved you.”

“Please don’t say that,” you whimper, face still wet. He squeezes you tighter.

“I apologize. This isn’t about me. You need a break, sweetheart. Please, just request a week or at least a day off.”

“Jumin, I can’t—”

“I’ll request off too. Whenever you get a break, I’ll schedule one at the same time, and then I’ll take you wherever you desire, or we can simply spend it in the penthouse, and lay in bed all day. Or I could buy your company,” he half threatens, half jokes.

You let out a weak laugh, sinking into him, but he feels the tension in your shoulders release just slightly. Placing a kiss at the top of your head, he quickly texts for the chef to come by within the next hour, then tosses his phone aside to hold you better, which is when he catches sight of your own phone. On the screen is an image of the chatroom—a screenshot, he realizes, since his own messages are in it and he hasn’t been on the messenger today.

Your gaze follows his, and a slight smile finally forms on your face. “Messages from when we first met. Ah, the day I came to your apartment, I think.”

Oh, no. To put it lightly, those days were not a good time for him (although he’d never say such a thing, because he finds it cruel to say that some of the hardest days of his life included the one where he met the most wonderful woman in the world). Heaven knows what foolish things he’d said, he’s tried to block out most of the times that didn’t include the sight of you in front of him.

“They calm me down,” you admit softly, “the screenshots I have. I’m glad I took them, I have almost a hundred pictures that remind me of all the butterflies I would get when I talked to you. Knowing you’re my husband is the biggest calm of the storm.” Your cheeks are still stained with tears, but in your eyes is a newfound admiration as you and him look at each other, as though you have all the time in the world.

Jumin’s heart seizes.

“I’ll request a week off.” You reach up, a thumb on his cheek. “Thank you, Jumin.”

Surely, he thinks, being needed by you is the best experience of all.

///

“Thank you.” Your voice breaks the silence, muffled on his skin. “For letting me love you, and for loving me.”

Your husband kisses you, impatient as always, and you adore it.

“You’re welcome,” he breathes.

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