#i think it's the right kind of shake up i need to really get back into it

[goldfades]

imagining joe’s pregnant wife going feral every time she sees him like 😩 the hormones

Joe had no idea what hit him.

He’d heard stories—pregnancy hormones this, pregnancy cravings that—but nothing had truly prepared him for you.

You’d always been affectionate, always drawn to him like he was some kind of personal heater, but lately? Lately, it was something else entirely.

It wasn’t just affection. It was obsession.

And Joe, poor, unsuspecting Joe, was simply trying to go about his life while you were turning into a woman possessed.

The first time it really hit him, he was coming home from practice, sweaty and exhausted, already thinking about a shower and maybe passing out on the couch.

He barely made it through the front door before you pounced.

You were on him instantly, practically launching yourself into his arms, your hands everywhere—gripping his arms, sliding up his chest, pressing against his stomach.

“Sweetheart.” His voice came out half-laughing, half-breathless as he stumbled back against the door. “What—”

“You smell so good.”

Joe blinked. “I smell like practice.”

“Exactly.”

He barely had time to process that before you were burying your face in his chest, inhaling deep like he was some kind of five-star meal.

Joe went rigid. Because he was used to you being clingy—he loved when you were clingy—but this? This was different.

This was feral.

“Baby, I need a shower.”

You whined. Actually, whined.

Joe looked down at you, eyes wide. “What is happening right now?”

You looked up at him, cheeks flushed, eyes dark with something dangerous.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, slightly panicked. “I just—I need you.”

And oh.

Oh.

Joe felt that.

Because your voice was different—thicker, hazier, like you were drunk on him. And your hands? They weren’t stopping. You were touching him like you’d die if you weren’t.

And suddenly, the exhaustion in Joe’s bones didn’t seem so bad anymore.

From that moment on, all bets were off.

It wasn’t just once or twice. It was constant.

Joe could be doing literally anything, and there you were, staring at him like a starving woman. Brushing his teeth? You were watching in the mirror, biting your lip. Fixing something under the sink? You were ogling his back muscles like it was your full-time job.

Even when he was doing nothing, just sitting there, you’d sigh dreamily like he was some kind of Roman statue.

It didn’t help that Joe was, well… Joe.

Tall, broad, big hands, stupidly strong, and somehow, unfairly unaware of how hot he was.

Which made it so much worse.

Because every time he rolled his sleeves up or stretched or lifted literally anything, you felt like your entire existence was about to short-circuit.

It got so bad that Joe started noticing.

“Babe, why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” you asked, feigning innocence, even though you were very much not innocent.

Joe gave you a look. “Like you wanna eat me.”

You groaned dramatically, flopping onto the couch. “Because I do.”

Joe choked. “Jesus.”

But the thing was? Joe loved it.

He pretended to be exasperated, shaking his head every time you sighed dreamily at him, but you saw the way his lips twitched. The way his ears turned pink. The way his hands flexed a little harder when he caught you staring.

He thrived off of it.

And honestly? You didn’t even care.

Because you were pregnant. And hormonal. And feral.

And your husband? Your husband was just gonna have to deal with it.

Joe was dealing with it. He really was.

But it was getting to him.

At first, he thought it was cute. Funny, even. You staring at him like he was some kind of walking thirst trap, blushing every time he so much as breathed? Adorable.

But now? Now, it was a problem. Because it wasn’t just you.

It was him, too.

At first, he could play it off, act like he wasn’t affected. But the longer this went on, the harder it became to ignore the way your eyes devoured him or the way you got physically weak whenever he did literally anything remotely attractive.

Like that one time when he was just opening a jar.

A jar.

It wasn’t even a struggle for him. Just a simple twist, a quick pop of the lid, and suddenly, you were groaning.

Joe had barely handed you back the jar before you were fanning yourself.

“That was so hot.”

Joe had blinked. “Babe, I literally just—”

“You’re so strong.”

He’d stared at you, waiting for you to laugh and tell him you were messing with him, but no.

No, you were dead serious.

"Jesus Christ." Joe had muttered, shaking his head.

That wasn’t even the worst of it.

The worst was the gray sweatpants incident.

Because oh, the gray sweatpants.

Joe had just come downstairs one morning, barely awake, rubbing at his face, unaware that he had just stepped into dangerous territory.

And you?

You had stopped dead in your tracks. Like, mid-step, frozen, unable to function.

Joe had looked up, confused, brow furrowed. “What?”

Nothing. You couldn’t even answer.

Your brain? Gone.

Because his thighs. Because his everything. Because how dare he?

Joe glanced down at himself, still completely oblivious. "Babe, what?"

You just shook your head, eyes wide, taking a deep breath. "You—"

"Me?"

"You’re wearing the gray ones."

Joe squinted. "The gray what?"

"Sweatpants, Joseph."

Realization dawned on his face, followed by the slowest, most smug smirk you’d ever seen.

Oh, he was going to be insufferable.

"You mean these?" He tugged at the waistband slightly, just to mess with you.

"Joe, I swear to—"

"You got a thing for these, huh?"

You whined. Actually whined.

Joe chuckled, rubbing a hand down his face. "You're unbelievable."

"I'm pregnant, Joseph."

"Yeah, no kidding."

The thing was, Joe loved it.

He loved the way you were all over him. Loved the way you craved him. Loved that he could just exist and you’d be two seconds away from combusting.

And yet—yet, he was being good.

He was being so good.

Because no matter how much he wanted to give you what you wanted—what you so clearly needed—you were still pregnant. Still growing his baby.

Which meant he had to be careful. And that? That was pure torture.

Because every time he pulled you onto his lap, every time he kissed you slow and deep, every time he let his hands wander just a little too much, you made the sweetest, neediest little sounds that made it so, so hard to pull back.

But he did.

Because you came first.

And if that meant spending the next few months watching you suffer through your own thirst, then so be it.

Joe could handle it.

Probably.

[pomegranatelifethis]

A Shattered Dream

The cold wind cuts against your face as you clench your fists tightly. Your heart pounds so hard it feels like it might burst out of your chest. Without even realizing it, your feet have carried you to the apartment building where Jason lives. You have to tell him everything. You're pregnant. And this is his responsibility too.

Walking through the dimly lit, run-down hallway, an uneasy feeling gnaws at you. You have no idea how Jason will react. He told you he loved you once, but Jason Todd loving someone never meant he was reliable. He always acted on anger, suppressing his true emotions.

You raise your hand to knock on the door, but a sound from inside makes you freeze. Laughter. A woman’s laughter—one you don’t recognize.

Noticing the door is slightly ajar, you can’t help but peek inside. Your eyes widen. Jason is sitting on the couch, a blonde woman beside him. Her hand rests on his arm, a flirtatious smile on her lips. But what shakes you the most is Jason’s reaction—he’s not pulling away. He’s not stopping her.

Your heart tightens, a lump forming in your throat. You want to storm in and scream, but no words come out. Instead, you take a deep breath and push the door open harder.

Jason looks up, his eyes narrowing when he sees you. The woman glances at you curiously, but Jason… Jason just sighs, as if your presence is an inconvenience.

“What are you doing here?” His voice is cold, indifferent.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stay composed. “We need to talk,” you say, your voice unsteady.

Jason raises an eyebrow. “Is it important? Because I’m kind of busy right now.”

The woman giggles, but you don’t even look at her. Your hands curl into fists. “I’m pregnant.”

The room falls into a dead silence. The woman’s smile fades, and Jason doesn’t move. Then, suddenly, he lets out a dry, humorless laugh, shaking his head as he stands and walks toward you.

“What did you just say?”

You meet his gaze, your throat tightening. “You heard me. I’m pregnant, Jason.”

Jason takes a deep breath, his lips pressing into a thin line before he scoffs. Then he smirks—mocking, cruel. “And? How do I even know it’s mine?”

It feels like the world crashes down on you. Your vision blurs, your breathing turns uneven. “What… what do you mean?”

Jason’s eyes darken. “You think I’m just going to take your word for it? What, you ‘accidentally’ got pregnant and now you’re running to me? You want money? Trying to trap me?”

His words cut deeper than a knife. You take a shaky step back. “Do you really think that?”

Jason clenches his jaw, looks away. Says nothing. And that silence says everything.

A tear slips down your cheek, your chest aching. You’re only sixteen. He’s older than you. He always acted like he knew better, like he had everything under control. But now, with just a few cruel words, he’s shattered you completely.

Tears stream freely down your face, but you refuse to break in front of him. You’ve made a terrible mistake trusting Jason Todd.

“Forget it, Jason.”

You turn and walk out, not once looking back. He doesn’t call after you. He doesn’t try to stop you.

As you step into the empty streets, your tears become uncontrollable. You whisper to yourself, “I’m completely alone now.”

Under the flickering streetlights, you keep walking, not knowing where you’re going—only that you need to get away. Jason’s words echo in your mind. “Trying to trap me?” “How do I even know it’s mine?”

You feel small. Helpless. Sixteen years old, not even legally an adult, and you have no idea how to handle this. How to raise a baby. How to be strong on your own.

Lost in thought, you accidentally bump into someone. You flinch and look up. A stranger glares at you, but you don’t even apologize. You just keep walking, drowning in the weight of everything.

Reaching the edge of a park, you stop, breath hitching. You find a bench and sit down, your hands trembling. Slowly, your fingers move to your stomach. There’s a tiny life growing inside you. And now, it’s up to you to protect it.

Jason isn’t coming back. He doesn’t care. He humiliated you, doubted you, abandoned you.

Your vision blurs again, but you grit your teeth and lift your head. Crying won’t help. Sitting here feeling sorry for yourself won’t fix anything. You need to figure out what to do. You need to go somewhere. But where?

Your family? No. You can’t tell them. You don’t know if they’ll support you. If they don’t, you’ll truly have no one.

Your friends? How would they react? Who would actually stay by your side?

Jason? No. He’s gone.

For a moment, you pull out your phone. Your fingers shake as you scroll through your contacts. One name makes you pause.

Dick.

Jason’s so-called brother. But nothing like him. Dick Grayson, the one who always tries to protect everyone, who actually cares. The one person who might help you.

But can you tell him this?

You take a deep breath, staring at the message screen. Your finger hovers over the keyboard.

"Dick… I need your help."

You hesitate. If you send this, there’s no going back. If you don’t… you’re completely alone.

Closing your eyes, you hold your breath. Then, you press send.

Now, all you can do is wait.

After sending the message, you hold your phone tightly in your palms. Your heart is beating like crazy. Will Dick answer? If he does, how will he react?

A few seconds feels like minutes. Your fingers are cold, your breathing is irregular. You can't help but check to see if the message has been seen.

Finally your phone vibrates.

Dick: “Where are you?”

Your whole body relaxes, but there is still uneasiness inside you. You write him your location. “In a park. I don't know what to do.”

Your stomach tightens as you wait for Dick to write something. You trusted Jason, but he erased you so easily. What if Dick does the same?

But after a few seconds another message comes:

Dick: “Wait. I'm coming.

As you sit on the cold stone bench of the park, the silence of the night sinks in. It's cold, but you don't feel it much. The confusion inside you outweighs the cold outside.

Before ten minutes have passed, you hear a pair of heavy footsteps. When you look up, you see Dick Grayson. It's obvious from afar that he's worried. His eyes scan you quickly, his face becoming serious.

“God,” he whispers, speeding up his steps and approaching you. When he stands in front of you, he leans down a little and looks at your face. "What happened?"

At that moment, the words get stuck in your throat. You don't know what to say. What Jason said? Is it the loneliness you feel? Or is it the fear you have about the future?

Your tears begin to flow down your cheeks. And finally, you whisper in a broken voice:

“Jason… he didn't want me.”

Dick's face hardens. He clenches his jaw and his eyes narrow. “What did he mean?”

You bite your lips trembling. “I told him I was pregnant… and… he didn't believe me. He thought I was doing this for money. He said the child wasn't his.”

Dick's body tenses. He makes fists with his hands. “That bastard…” he grumbles, but then takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself down. Getting angry is not what you need right now. Seeing him get angry like this breaks you even more. You bow your head. “I don't know, Dick. I don't know what to do.”

There is silence for a few seconds. Then Dick slowly kneels down and gently places his hands over yours. “Hey… Calm down, okay?” His voice is soft but determined. “You don't have to do this alone.”

Your eyes fill with tears. “But… I—”

“Shh.” Dick shakes his head. “Jason is an idiot. But I'm here. I won't leave you alone. We will find a way together.”

Your heart tightens, but at the same time you feel a little relief for the first time. Dick... is really here. He didn't leave you.

You take a deep breath and close your eyes. You don't know what will happen. But at least right now, you're not completely alone.

is breaking. Jason's cold words, his gaze, his disdain... Dick is lost a little bit, at least for now.

“What am I going to do, Dick?” you whisper. Your voice is almost inaudible.

Dick pauses for a moment. He's obviously weighing what to say. Then he shakes your hand gently and says: “First of all, we are getting up from here and taking you to a warm place.” He stares at you. “Have you eaten?”

You shake your head. You didn't even realize you were hungry.

Dick sighs and stands up, holding out his hand to you. “Then let's feed you first. Then we think about what to do next.”

You hesitantly extend your hand to him. The kindness Dick shows in lifting you up is something you haven't felt in so long... your eyes fill with tears again. But this time you don't cry.

---

Dick takes you to a nearby cafe. A hot tea and a plate of food in front of you make you realize how exhausted you are. When you take the spoon in your hand, you realize that Dick is watching you carefully.

“Can you stop observing me?” you mutter.

Dick smiles slightly, but the concern in his eyes does not disappear. “You look tired.”

You turn your spoon in the plate. “Because I'm tired.”

Dick shakes his head and crosses his arms over his chest. "I understand.” Then his face becomes serious. “Now, tell me everything.”

You take a deep breath. You tell Jason one by one how you went, how you found out, how he rejected you. Dick's face is getting harder and harder. He starts tapping his fingers on the edge of the table—something he does when he's angry.

When he finally finishes, Dick doesn't speak for a few seconds. Then he suddenly takes a deep breath and leans back.

“I can't promise not to kill that fool.”

Your eyes are getting bigger. “Dick—”

"No.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “What right does he have to tell you these things? What right does he have to blame you, belittle you, leave you alone...?”

You bite your lips. Even though Dick defending you warms your heart, it hurts to even talk about Jason.

You bow your head. “I trusted him.”

Dick's face softens. His hand reaches across the table and hesitantly places it next to yours. “I know,” he whispers. “But you're not alone. I won't leave you."

You just sit for a while. The silence is not disturbing. Dick is here and that gives you some comfort

But the fear inside still doesn't go away.

What happens next?

Tag @jscrawls @Welpthisisboring @lilyalone @itsberrydreemurstuff

[rafes-slut]

He lied he never gave head to girl before so you will offer

Pairing: bsf!Rafe Cameron x reader

Warnings: Smut, Oral (f. receiving), Fingering, Dirty Talk, Cocky Rafe, Light Deception (because he thinks he's slick), Best Friends with Tension, Slight Manipulation, Language

Summary: Rafe had been desperate to get in your pants for years, and you saw through his games. So when he claimed he’d never gone down on a girl, you knew it was a lie—but you played along. The second you teased the idea, he was between your legs, proving just how good he really was.

You weren’t stupid. You knew Rafe had been desperate to get in your panties for years. He flirted shamelessly, made suggestive comments when he thought you wouldn’t call him out, and always found some excuse to touch you. A hand on your thigh, fingers brushing your neck, his lips close to your ear under the guise of whispering something.

But it never worked. Because you knew him too well. You knew he was a player, that girls fell for him left and right, and you refused to be one of them. He could act like the idea of fucking you was just a casual thought in his head, but you saw through it.

And tonight was no different.

You were lounging on his bed, legs stretched out, scrolling through your phone while he sat at the edge, tossing a baseball in the air. The room smelled like his cologne—something deep and rich, mixing with the faint scent of beer from earlier.

Then, out of nowhere, he said it.

“I’ve never gone down on a girl before.”

You paused. Blinked. Then turned your head toward him, an expression of exaggerated shock on your face.

“What?” you gasped, all fake disbelief and wide eyes. “You, Rafe Cameron, the king of hookups, have never eaten a girl out?”

Rafe shrugged, playing the role effortlessly. “Never.”

You narrowed your eyes. Liar. He was lying through his teeth, and you both knew it. But you had to give him credit—he was committing to the bit.

“No way,” you said, shaking your head. “That’s actually insane. How does a guy who brags about his body count not do that?”

Rafe leaned back on his hands, giving you that signature smirk, the one that made girls drop their panties in seconds. “Never needed to,” he said lazily. “They all finish just from me fucking them. Never had a girl complain.”

You snorted. “Wow. And you’re proud of that?”

“Damn right,” he said. “But…” He tilted his head, watching you carefully. “I mean, I’d do it… for the right girl.”

There it was. The bait. And you could pretend like you didn’t see the trap, like you weren’t aware he was trying to play you. But where was the fun in that

You sat up, tilting your head. “That’s kind of sad, honestly.”

He raised a brow. “Sad?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, shaking your head. “You’re missing out. And so are they.”

His smirk deepened. “Yeah?”

You licked your lips, letting the moment stretch, knowing damn well what he wanted. He was waiting for you to offer. Waiting for you to say it.

And when you did, you made sure to drag it out.

“If you really wanna learn…” you started, voice slow, teasing.

You didn’t even get to finish the sentence.

One second you were talking, the next he was between your legs, yanking your shorts and panties down in one swift movement.

“Jesus, Rafe—”

“Shut up,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh before spreading you open. His voice was cocky, but his actions were desperate. Like he’d been waiting for this moment forever. And maybe he had.

You barely had time to process the fact that he was actually doing this before his mouth was on you.

And fuck.

You’d suspected he was lying about never eating a girl out, but now you knew for sure. Because there was no way someone inexperienced could be this good.

His tongue flicked against your clit before he sucked it into his mouth, sending a shockwave of pleasure up your spine. Your back arched on instinct, hands flying to his hair as a broken moan left your lips.

Rafe groaned against you, the vibrations making your legs tremble. “Knew you’d sound so fucking pretty.”

You would’ve rolled your eyes if you weren’t too busy trying to keep from falling apart in under a minute.

He was relentless, switching between slow, teasing strokes and fast, hungry movements that had you gasping for air. And when he slipped two fingers inside you, curling them just right—

“Fuck, Rafe—”

He chuckled, pulling away just enough to look at you, lips shining with your slick. “Thought I never did this before?”

Cocky bastard.

You wanted to call him out, wanted to say something smart, but then he did something with his fingers, rubbing against that perfect spot, and suddenly, you couldn’t think at all.

Your hands gripped his hair tighter as your thighs threatened to squeeze around his head. “Oh my God—”

He smirked against you. “Yeah? That good?”

You whimpered, eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure built higher and higher, coiling tight in your stomach.

“Rafe, I—”

“Go ahead,” he murmured, sucking your clit back into his mouth. “Cum for me, baby.”

Your whole body arched off the bed as you came undone, moaning his name loud enough for the neighbors to hear. Stars exploded behind your eyelids, white-hot pleasure consuming every inch of you.

Rafe didn’t stop. He kept going, dragging out your orgasm until you were twitching from overstimulation, hands weakly pushing at his head.

Finally, he pulled away, grinning as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Damn.”

You were still catching your breath, legs shaking as you tried to process what just happened.

And then, the bastard had the audacity to smirk and say, “So, you really think I was lying?”

You scoffed, throwing a pillow at him. “Oh, fuck off.”

[urlocalmultigroupfan]

ᴅʀɪɴᴋꜱ ᴏʀ ᴄᴏꜰꜰᴇᴇ‧⋆˙⟡♡☕️🥂(방찬)

pairing: channie x fem!reader

summary: based off of drinks or coffee by rose

tags/warnings:

a/n: hi guys!!! guess whos back <3 i will be continuing my jeongin mafia series in a bit! im so sorry that i forgot about it 😓 i will also be doing my requests hehe <3 love yall! (also this sucks so bad bro omg)

masterlist! drinks or coffee!

The party is loud—too loud. The music, the chatter, the occasional bursts of laughter that pierce through the crowd like sharp needles against your skin. It’s one of those parties where you showed up only out of obligation, where you don't really belong, but you try anyway. Your drink sits half-forgotten in your hand, the condensation pooling at your fingertips as you scan the room, looking for something—anything—that might make the night feel less dull.

And then you hear his name.

Chan.

Your grip on your glass tightens instinctively. The air shifts, the atmosphere suddenly a little less unbearable. You weren’t expecting him to be here. But now that he is, now that you know, it’s impossible to ignore the way your heartbeat stutters just a bit, the way your body suddenly feels a little too warm under the dim lights.

You don’t need to search for him—he finds you first.

Chan moves through the crowd like he belongs, like he’s the kind of person who was meant for nights like these. And maybe he is. But when his eyes lock onto yours from across the room, there’s a flicker of something else—something deeper. Something that tells you he’s not entirely in his element either.

“We meet again,” he says when he finally reaches you, his voice barely audible over the music but clear enough that it sends a shiver down your spine.

“We do,” you reply, and your fingers toy with the rim of your glass as you look up at him. “Didn’t take you for a party guy.”

He chuckles, leaning in slightly so you can hear him better. “Didn’t take you for one either.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “I’m not. I was thinking of leaving.”

“Then why haven’t you?”

Because he's here now.

The words stay locked in your throat, but Chan’s knowing smirk tells you that maybe, just maybe, he already knows. He’s always been good at reading you, even when you’ve never admitted there was anything to read.

The two of you stand there, saying nothing. And yet, somehow, it feels like the loudest conversation you’ve had all night. The air between you hums with something unspoken, something that’s always been there but never acknowledged.

You know you shouldn’t. You know this is dangerous territory—crossing into something you can’t take back. But right now, with the neon lights casting soft shadows across his face and his warm gaze fixed on yours, it’s hard to care about the consequences.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” he asks, voice casual but eyes burning with something else.

You bite your lip. “And go where?”

He shrugs. “We could get drinks. Or we could get coffee.”

It’s a simple offer. Harmless, even. But the weight of it settles deep in your bones, making your heart race in a way that has nothing to do with the party’s atmosphere. Because you know what this means.

Coffee means morning. Coffee means more than just a night.

But drinks… drinks mean staying in the moment. Keeping things easy. Safe.

Your mind is at war with itself, but Chan just waits, patient as ever. No pressure. No expectations. Just an open-ended question, waiting for your answer.

And maybe, just maybe, you already know what you want.

You exhale, meeting his gaze head-on. “Coffee,” you say, and his lips twitch into a smile.

“Coffee it is.”

As you leave the party behind, you can’t help but feel that this is only the beginning.

-

The café he takes you to is nothing fancy—just a quiet, late-night spot tucked away from the chaos of the city. It’s dimly lit, cozy, the kind of place where you can hear the soft hum of an old jazz record playing in the background. The moment you step inside, the tension that clung to your shoulders at the party seems to fade, replaced by something softer. Something easier.

Chan picks a booth in the corner, away from the few other late-night customers, and gestures for you to sit across from him. The warm scent of coffee lingers in the air as he leans back against the worn leather seat, watching you with a quiet intensity that makes your stomach flip.

“You really wanted coffee?” he asks, a teasing lilt in his voice.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t fight the small smile tugging at your lips. “You gave me the option, didn’t you?”

He hums in response, drumming his fingers against the table. “I did. Just didn’t expect you to choose it.”

“You thought I’d pick drinks?”

He shrugs. “Most people do.”

You tilt your head, studying him. “I’m not most people.”

Chan grins, something warm flickering in his eyes. “No. You’re not.”

The conversation flows easily after that. Maybe it’s the quiet of the café, or maybe it’s just him—but the walls you usually keep up don’t feel necessary here. He asks you about your day, your dreams, the little things that no one else ever thinks to ask. And you find yourself answering without hesitation, letting him see pieces of you that you don’t usually share.

At some point, your coffee grows cold, but neither of you notice. The minutes blur into hours, and when the barista announces last call, you blink in surprise, realizing just how long you’ve been sitting here with him.

Chan stretches, then looks at you with that same unreadable expression. “Wanna walk for a bit?”

You nod, and just like that, the night isn’t over yet.

The city is quieter now, the streets illuminated by the soft glow of streetlights. The air is crisp, but not uncomfortably so, and as you walk side by side, your hands brush just slightly. Neither of you move away.

“It’s weird,” you murmur after a while. “How different things feel outside of that party.”

Chan glances at you, a small smile playing on his lips. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Like… I feel like I can actually breathe out here.”

His gaze softens. “Maybe that’s a sign you were never meant to be there in the first place.”

You don’t say anything, but the thought lingers in your mind. Maybe he’s right. Maybe you weren’t meant for nights filled with flashing lights and empty conversations. Maybe this—quiet walks and late-night coffee with him—is what you were meant for instead.

The two of you keep walking, weaving through the silent streets as the night stretches on. Conversation drifts between teasing remarks, quiet confessions, and stretches of silence that feel more comforting than awkward. The night is cold, but every time his shoulder brushes against yours, warmth spreads through you.

At some point, you reach a small park, the kind with worn benches and a view of the distant city skyline. Chan tugs your hand lightly, leading you to sit with him. The air smells like rain, though the sky remains clear, stars blinking down at you both.

“You ever think about how nights like these don’t happen enough?” he murmurs, gazing at the skyline.

You hum in agreement, leaning back against the bench. “Yeah. But maybe that’s what makes them special.”

He turns to you then, his expression unreadable yet soft. And in that moment, you realize—this, whatever it is between you, isn’t fleeting.

Maybe this is only the beginning.

hope yall enjoyed <3

nothing played today because my dad banned youtube and my new computer's browser apparently doesn't support spotify 😓

taglist: @rockstarkkami @sirloncelot-of-bananas @jisunggy

taglist is open! please comment if you would like to be added <3

this sucked dick bro 😭😭😭

[salty-autistic-writer]

Chapter Four of "Isn't It Lovely, All Alone?" - Or: The Tommy Coma Dream Fic It can’t be.

“I’m your first. I’m not your last.”

Evan’s eyes fill with confused, stunned pain. He sits there, frozen, staring at Tommy like he can’t comprehend what’s happening.

And it’s awful. Tommy knows he is a horrible person for hurting someone so good, someone so kind. But it’s the right thing to do.

Evan can’t want this. He will understand. Eventually

Tommy is too much in love to bear the thought of the inevitable crash. He is too much of a damaged mess to stay and give hope another chance. He is too convinced that Evan is high on the rush of a first relationship, too happy with what he has right now, too unsuspecting of the issues that might path the way.

So he leaves.

So he breaks his own heart now before it can shatter completely later.

Tommy slowly walks down the stairs, and something inside him, something pathetic, hopes Evan will come after him. But he doesn’t.

He steps outside and walks away. Alone. Like he’s always been. Like he will always be.

Someone steps in his way, huge and solid, a rough voice shaking Tommy out of his stupor. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Tommy freezes. He knows that voice. But … It can’t be. “Sal?! What … What are you doing here?”

Sal scoffs, staring at him, his arms crossed. “I’m here to make sure you don’t waste your last chance, Tommy.”

“My last chance?” Tommy echoes, frowning. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Sal cocks his head. “You have no idea what happens if you don’t get your ass back in there, huh? Well. I will tell you: You will die, idiot. Tick tock, Kinard.”

Tommy swallows. Dread curls around his racing heart like a cold fist. “I don’t understand.” “Oh, I think you do. Come on. Focus. What do you hear?” Sal urges, raising a brow. “Listen closely.”

“All I can hear is your annoying voice, which doesn’t even belong into this -,” Tommy starts to snark, only to freeze when he realises what he was about to say. Dream. This dream.

Oh.

Now he hears it. The constant beeping. The hissing.

It all comes back to him.

Howie. Hen. Gerrard. Eddie telling him to get up. A helicopter in the desert. Upside down. Blood. A tree. A boy, smiling at him and taking his hand.

Darkness. Chasing him. Drowning him.

“A nightmare,” he breathes, a shiver running down his back. “This. It’s a nightmare.”

“Took you long enough,” Sal says dryly, looking up at the sky. “You’re almost out of time. It’s getting dark. Quick. Now, figure out why you’re stuck.”

Why are you stuck? Howie. It was Howie who asked me that.

Tommy’s head hurts. But underneath the pulsing pain, he can feel the answer. Sad and bitter. He swallows. “Nothing waits for me on the other side. Nothing. No one. I’m alone.”

I destroyed my chance at love, didn’t I? 

Sal shakes his head. “You don’t really believe that. Come on. Use that brain, Kinard. All those dreams you went through. Were you alone in them? No. Why do you think that is, huh? Can’t you hear them?”

Tommy’s breath falters. Sal is right. He can hear them.

Wake up.

Tommy. Come back.

Please.

“How?” He asks, feeling a glimmer of hope. “How do I go back?”

“You already know that,” Sal says gently.

Tommy does. He turns around and runs.

Runs up the stairs as fast as he can, darkness following him, swallowing the steps behind him. One by one. When Tommy reaches the loft, Evan is still sitting at the table. He’s crying, the tears running down his face and dripping from his chin. He looks up when Tommy comes crashing through the door, wide-eyed, his mouth opening in a surprised “Oh”.

Tommy crouches in front of Evan, reaching out to cup his face, staring into Evan’s red, teary eyes. “Evan. I … I need to tell you something. Before my time here is running out. Before the darkness catches me again. I know this is not real. You’re not real. But … But this still happened. And it’s why I’m stuck.”

He takes a deep breath, feeling tears filling his own eyes. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I left you like this. You didn’t deserve that. I was scared. I still am. But I also know that what I feel is real. And I would do anything to get another chance. Because …  I love you, Evan. I love you. I love you so much, it hurts. I love you so much; the thought of losing that, of losing you, burns my heart, and I know I would never be able to repair that damage. But loving you is worth all the pain in the world. I love you, Evan. I love you.”

Tommy kisses Evan. And as their lips collide, the darkness swallows him.

* “He’s always had a flair for the dramatic,” Sal says dryly, looking down at Tommy with his arms crossed. “Sleeping Beauty does suit him.”

That does manage to make Buck laugh.

Sal smiles at him. “He texted me about you, you know? After he broke up with you."

Buck sobers up fast. “He did?”

“Yeah. I think he was drunk. It was a whole string of what have I done, help, and self-hating curses.” Sal sighs. “I told him to not be a damn self-fulfilling-prophecy. Tommy is … complicated. He didn’t have an easy life. It made him a runner. You can only take so many disappointments before you try to protect yourself from more of them. I truly think he regretted breaking up with you. You made him happy. That much is clear. So … When he wakes up, maybe you two get another shot, huh?”

“Yeah,” Buck says quietly. “Maybe.”

Sal focuses back on Tommy. “You heard that? Wake up and get your man back. Tick tock, Kinard.” * He’s floating. Eyes closed. But he can sense light. Right above him. If he managed to raise a hand, he might almost be able to reach it ….

He’s floating, and he’s not alone. Voices echo around him. Mingling into each other.

“Tommy? Oh my God, Tommy! Hen, I … I think he’s waking up! I saw his eyes."

“Call his doctor.”

He’s floating. And it’s cold. He recoils from it, sinking deeper. But there’s a voice, clearer now, closer, that’s reaching out and keeping him afloat.

“It’s okay. You’ll be okay. Everything will be okay.”

Evan? 

A hand rests on his forehead. Solid. Cool. “Just rest, okay? You can rest some more. There’s no need to rush.”

Evan.

He’s floating. A little while longer. * It’s not like in the movies. There’s not the sudden sharp intake of air or eyes opening abruptly to stare up at the ceiling. There’s no gasped “Where am I? What happened?!”

Instead, the waking up happens in fractions. Gradually. Slowly. And painful to watch.

Tommy’s eyes flutter open sometimes, to reveal hazy blue, but they don’t seem to see anything before closing again. His head turns from one side to the other. His fingers twitch, cramping, curling around nothing. Sometimes, he raises a hand, only for it to fall back again.

A few days after his doctor said he might start to come around, Tommy suddenly whimpers and Buck startles, immediately gripping Tommy’s hand, telling him everything is okay, but he doesn’t get a reaction. It’s confusing. Frustrating.

“Was it like this? When I …” Buck swallows, his mouth dry.

Bobby looks up from his phone. “Not the same. But similar.”

“It’s so scary,” Buck says quietly, looking at Tommy’s limp hand in his. “I wonder what he’s going through right now. I hope he’s not in pain.”

“I think he’s trying to find his way back to life,” Bobby says calmly. “But it can’t be easy after such an injury. It’s a fight. And he’s a fighter. He will be okay, Buck. We can only wait and support his battle. Like we did back when you were in a coma.”

Buck nods, squeezing Tommy’s hand gently. “Yeah. You hear that, Tommy? You’re not alone. Whatever happens, you will never be alone.”

* Breaking through the surface is painful. The light burns his eyes and makes pain explode in his head. Every breath scratches in his throat, which feels like it’s filled with gravel. Tommy almost wishes himself back into the darkness, but then, a blurry face appears in his field of vision. He blinks against the tears filling his eyes, trying to focus.

Evan?

“Hey,” Evan says softly, a smile slowly spreading on his face. “I’m so glad you’re awake.”

Evan …

Tommy opens his mouth. Closes it again. He fishes for words. But they slip through his mental fingers like sand.

“Uh, better not try to talk just yet. You’ve been on a ventilator for a while. I bet your throat feels rough,” Evan says sympathetically, pouring a cup of water. He puts one hand under Tommy’s head and carefully raises it until he can place the cup against Tommy’s lips and help him take a few sips.

The water feels heavenly in Tommy’s sore throat. Like balm. But he still can’t talk. He can only think. And so he does. As loud as he can.

I love you.

“I’m going to get your doctor, okay?” Evan says, his voice trembling. “I’m sure they will want to do some tests. Uh. You hit your head pretty hard.”

Tommy blinks. He wishes Evan wouldn’t leave. He wants to keep looking at him. Wants to make sure he is real. But Evan gives him another soft smile, then turns away, approaching the door.

I love you, Tommy thinks, staring at Evan’s back. It feels like he’s sending the words after him. A mantra that has led him out of the darkness, back to here, back to a glimpse of hope.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

[lyonnerileyauthor]

So I Married an Alien

this is coming out in July, but I'm an asshole so here is a teaser from the first chapter.

They didn’t mention that the husband they were sending me would have four arms. I feel like the number of arms is an important thing to bring up when pairing you with a potential life partner. Would the extra arms have made a difference if I had known? I’m not sure.

But I should have known before we were supposed to get married.

Said extra arms are folded across his chest as we stand there on opposite sides of the meeting room, the lower pair hanging at his sides. The arms aren’t the most arresting thing about him, though. His skin is a bright blue-purple, like the night sky right after sunset. A pair of short stalks on his head twitch and bob as he regards me. Does he really have freaking antennae?

In the next room, we’ll get married, or so the matchmaker told me. But it’s really just a ceremony, and we won’t sign the papers until the thirty-day trial period is up—er, actually, I think it’s one of those fancy tablets all the aliens have. 

Then we’ll officially be husband and wife. If we make it that long.

My groom is dressed in a smudged-up uniform that covers his shoulders and thighs, strapped around the middle with a belt. It’s the same sort of thing the matchmaker is wearing where he stands between us, and the same thing that most aliens who visit Earth seem to wear.

The galaxy has very mid fashion sense.

Gazargo, who is also a weird alien but not quite as weird as my new husband, hops off the stool that keeps him at eye level with us. Now I have to peer down to look into his squat face.

“Roth’kar, this is Amara,” Gazargo says, gesturing at each of us as he names us. “Amara, this is Roth’kar.”

I hold out a hand to shake, which seems like the polite thing to do. Roth’kar stares down at my hand with his strange, ethereal-blue eyes, then back up at me.

Gazargo clears his throat. “They do not have handshakes in Karthinian culture,” he tells me. “She is trying to greet you, Roth’kar. How do you do it where you come from?”

The four-armed alien—hmm, I should probably try to call him by his name—brings both pairs of hands to his chest and lifts his chin, closing his eyes briefly.

“That is how we greet one another formally,” Roth’kar says in a deep, booming voice.

Wow, is that voice even stranger than his eyes. It’s almost hollow, reverberating through my bones. I’ve never heard anything like it, as if he’s playing an instrument.

I imitate his gesture, placing my hands on my chest and lifting my chin, and say, “It’s good to meet you, Roth’kar.”

The corner of his mouth tweaks upward. That’s good. I think that’s a smile, though I can’t take anything for granted with an alien. Wish I’d gotten some kind of primer on his species before this so I didn’t look like an idiot, but here we are.

“Now that you’ve met, let’s get on to the ceremony,” Gazargo says. He waddles away to the adjoining room, and Roth’kar nods at me to walk through the door first when we reach it at the same time. Up close, I realize how tall he is, almost whole head higher than I am, and I’m a fairly tall girl.

On the other side of the door is yet another dimly-lit room, this time with a small window that looks out onto the docking bay. This is where spaceships come and go, a port that was built not long after first contact was made. 

The first aliens we met were all like Gazargo—small, gray, and kind of wrinkled with a face like a turtle. They’d gotten a permit from the Intergalactic Association of Civilizations to make contact with us so they could try to sell us… well, stuff.

That was how it started, anyway. Those aliens, the Frahma, opened the door for other alien species to take note of us. We had a unique plight here on Earth after the RVS plague, one that called for out-of-towners to be imported to fill the need. And so eventually, Gazargo established his matchmaking service.

That’s what the Frahma are good at. I think they could figure out a way to sell you your own clothes.

Gazargo leads us to a pedestal, gesturing for each of us to stand to one side of it, about two feet apart. Then he climbs up steps on the back until he’s about eye level with us, and pulls out a tablet to read.

“On this day, the twenty-seventh of May, on this year of twenty twenty-nine, I hereby match Amara Knox, with Roth’kar the Fifth of His Name. These two will join in matrimony, to build a home together, and—”

As the words go on, outside thoughts start to pour in. Roth’kar isn’t looking at me. He’s glaring intently at Gazargo, as if willing him to get to the end of his schpiel faster. At least we have that in common. I want this to be over just as much.

I was so excited about this, so ready to finally have a companion in life and a chance to fall in love. But now that I’m seeing Roth’kar with my own eyes—all four arms of him—I’m second-guessing myself. He looks unhappy to be here, and I hope he wasn’t compelled or coerced into coming. I know nothing about Karthinians, so I’m going to have to start from scratch on that front.

I got a futon for my office, since we don’t know each other yet and inviting a strange alien into my bed seemed like we’d be moving a little too fast. But imagining it in my head, I’m sure the futon won’t nearly be big enough for Roth’kar. I’ll have to trade with him and sleep on it myself while he has my bed.

“Amara?” Gazargo asks, startling me out of my thoughts. “It’s time?”

Time for what? I search my mind for what’s entailed in a wedding ceremony.

“Oh! Right.” I had rings made for us. The one thing the matchmaker did give me was Roth’kar’s ring size. I pull out the box and remove both rings, which earns a curious look from Roth’kar’s freaky blue eyes.

“What are these?” he asks, peering closer at them.

“It’s an Earth tradition, one of them,” Gazargo says, plucking the rings from my fingers. He exchanges them, so now I’m holding Roth’kar’s ring, and my new alien husband is holding mine. “Now put the ring on her hand, Roth’kar.”

The alien grunts, never looking up at me as he reaches for my hand. At least he only has five fingers—I don’t know how I’d handle six or seven on top of the double arms.

Carefully he slides the ring onto one of my fingers, the index one.

“Wrong finger,” I say gently, then wiggle my ring finger. “It goes on that one.”

With a huff of impatience, Roth’kar does as I tell him, removing the ring and then plunking it onto my ring finger, instead. He pulls away, and the simple, silver band shines in the low light.

“Your turn.” Gazargo offers me the other ring. Roth’kar holds out his hand for me as I slip the ring onto his ring finger, pushing it down until it’s seated at the base.

When I stand up straight again, Roth’kar is pointedly looking away from me, his cheeks stained a dark bluish color. He retracts his hand, flexing his fingers before it returns to his side along with, well, his other hand.

Gosh, so many hands.

Then an unbidden thought hops into my brain. If he has two sets of arms… does he also have two…?

I can’t think like that. We’re strangers. It will take some time for us to get to know each other, which we’ll have to do before any funny business can happen.

“And now, you say your commitments,” Gazargo instructs.

“Commitments?” Roth’kar’s brow pinches. “I am committed now.”

“Yes, yes, they are just nice things to say before you agree to the marriage.” Gazargo waves a hand dismissively. “Come up with something.”

“I’ll go first,” I interject, because I actually wrote something down and rehearsed it at home. “Roth’kar.” I address him directly. “I promise I will be honest with you, sometimes even when you don’t want to hear it. I promise to be loyal to you, unless it’s at a game of Bullshit. I promise to cherish you, and have no others, until death do us part.”

Roth’kar’s mouth drops open.

“Until death do us part?” he repeats, horrified.

“It’s a common phrase in human matrimony,” Gazargo says. “Now, yours, Roth’kar.”

The alien flexes his throat like he wants to speak, but all the words he had are gone.

“Uh,” he says, then curses something in his own tongue that the translator can’t pick up. “I will also, erm, cherish you, and be loyal to you.” He doesn’t mention anything about honesty. “I will do all my due diligences as your husband, as they are called for.”

What? As they are called for? What is he talking about?

“Oh, all right.” I try to smile. “That’s nice.”

“Do you take Roth’kar to be your lawful husband?” Gazargo asks me.

I nod. This is what I signed up for, after all. “I do.”

“And do you, Roth’kar, take Amara to be your lawful wife?”

Those glowing eyes settle on my face, and I wonder who he is under that indifferent expression, and if he’ll show me.

Eventually, he nods and says, “I do.”

[cillyscribbles]

May I request a platonic hurt-comfort for Munkustrap and Mungojerrie? The requested drawing was really cute and I need more

yes of course!! thanks so much for the request :33 i took the liberty of offering you a little drabble under the cut as well. i've been enjoying them so much lately <3

“Oh, he just gets all sorts of things into his big dumb head,” Rumpleteazer piped up – but her voice did not cut quite so high as it could, and so her dismissiveness was hesitant, and did not convince much of anyone. She tried again, now far too loudly – “It’s ‘cause I do all the thinking for him!”

“Not true,” Mungojerrie said, or mumbled, or perhaps he stood there with a sour look to him and did not say a word at all. Nothing he could’ve said now would’ve launched them into any brand of their familiar and explosive banter – he lost all sense for it on such occasion, when he felt so small, so pitiable, and so lost.

“True!” Rumpleteazer fired back to him, and he only rolled his head to the side and let her have it.

His silence was bound to raise some sympathy for him in Demeter, who was listening to them with twitching ears. When Mungojerrie’s legs carried him all the way to the corner they’d dragged Munkustrap to, however peeved he looked by it, she’d been lingering there by him, and lingered still now.

Munkustrap’s narrowed eyes had clearly failed to discourage her – and Mungojerrie had gotten it into his head that he must’ve been no more a coward than her. And so he’d drawn gingerly closer, dragging Rumpleteazer behind himself – Rumpleteazer, who complained all the while, but never let him go so far as a step ahead of her.

“Don’t be so hard on him, Rumpleteazer,” Demeter said, with the sort of softness which most afforded kittens, and which she afforded everyone. She kept running her claws down Munkustrap’s arm, over and over, and her fingers were shaking, just a little. “I was afraid, too.”

Rumpleteazer scowled the exact way she did before saying something incorrigibly stupid, and Mungojerrie averted his eyes in favour of the ground.

“Yeah, but – all due respect, being afraid is kind of, you know, your thing?” There it was. But when Mungojerrie glanced up, as uncertainly as before, Demeter had only raised an eyebrow in mild disbelief.

But Munkustrap had turned to them, and his bright eyes were fixed on Mungojerrie.

Mungojerrie dropped his gaze back down as though struck.

Rumpleteazer didn’t let the pause sit, and for once Mungojerrie was grateful for her brashness. “And, look, when you jumped him, it did the job. When he jumped him, he just got smacked all silly. It was stupid.”

He was still grateful, he told himself.

Though it was difficult to tell himself anything now, with the shadow burnt into his sight. The single moment of Macavity’s eyes meeting his was an aching chasm. It was eating up every bit of resolve he was trying to safeguard. Every bit of repetition: that it was fine, that he did the right thing by jumping in, by trying to stand in Macavity’s way, even if it’d been for hardly anything at all.

Macavity’s eyes had been blood–shot and wild, and Mungojerrie had been afraid – was still afraid – so afraid he felt like his heart was going to jump out his throat.

He wanted to think he sought Munkustrap out to make sure he was okay. He wanted to think it was him being dutiful, or caring, or any other thing that wasn’t selfish, or lost, or afraid.

He and Rumpleteazer had spent so long proving to themselves and each other that they feared nothing; that they were faithful to their own; that they were true to themselves and each other. He did not want one look and wound from all London’s rot to undo it all in a single moment.

But he was afraid. And he ached, where the scratch was. And he wanted, desperately, kittenishly, it to be okay.

Her remark met with more silence, Rumpleteazer huffed and turned her back to the conversation entirely, meeting Mungojerrie’s shoulder with her own. She was disinterested in passivity, in being chided, in being minded. But Mungojerrie –

At the same time, Demeter shifted, and Mungojerrie glanced up to see her and Munkustrap still, looking at each other. For a moment, it seemed to him as though they were talking without words. Then Demeter bowed her head, bent herself very low – to brush her forehead against Munkustrap’s shoulder with distant loving, with idyllic reverence; and withdrew from him. Munkustrap caught her in the gesture, unslowed by any wound, and let her go just as quickly.

Then he turned his head from her and looked to Mungojerrie – so suddenly that Mungojerrie himself couldn’t so much as pretend he’d been looking only at Demeter.

But there was little to pretend for. Mungojerrie wasn’t sure what his face was doing, but it was probably something kittenish and embarrassing enough to soften Munkustrap’s expression. He felt poorly balanced atop a fence too tall, and his stomach felt as though he was already falling.

Munkustrap raised an arm for him, one and then the other, beckoning like he knew, somehow – and Mungojerrie couldn’t have played aloof if he’d wanted to. And he didn’t, particularly.

He didn’t need to reach back far; he didn’t need to so much as withdraw from Rumpleteazer’s weight against his back. Munkustrap pulled him in and she went with, as she ever did, perhaps drawn just the same by the knowledge of kindness freely offered.

There were few things so difficult to accept as kindness was, to them – and then again, they’d always pulled each other up to the challenge.

Munkustrap was warm, all the scratches and wounds pulling blood up to the surface. Even so, he didn’t seem to mind Mungojerrie burrowing himself as far as he could in his lightening fur. His smell was safety, and if he was looking down, Mungojerrie couldn’t feel his eyes.

His voice was a rumble and a purr from his chest, when it rose, along with the hand he laid atop Mungojerrie’s head – and for once, Mungojerrie did not feel treated like a kitten. Hardly anything was as reassuring as Munkustrap’s own calm, but there was recognition, too, and there was pride, and Mungojerrie squeezed his eyes shut and listened to him speak –

“Well done.”

[backpacks-tua]

#he’s calling them all idiot sandwiches - lol five walks into the deli and it's just a bunch of different hims + a really angry british dude shouting from the back. anyway, i got inspired so...

Five dislikes the place from the start. 

Max’s Delicatessen, as the front boldly declares, smells like burnt coffee and depression. It felt like the kind of place where timelines came to die. And, apparently, where every version of him gathered for a shitty sandwich. He barely had time to process what he was seeing—Fives milling about like a mockery to Paradox Psychosis—before one of them was calling him over.

“Hey, you! Over here!”

What else was there to do but wander over?

“The hell’s this place?”

“A gas station,” the other Five says dryly. “The hell does it look like? It's a deli.”

Wow. Entirely unhelpful. 

Still, Five takes a seat across from him, shooting the other Five an expectant look, prompting him to explain what the hell all this was about. Another Five—god, he needed some kind of notation to keep track of these guys—set down a mug and sandwich on the table.

“Coffee. And…two pastrami.”

In the background, beyond the counter and into what Five assumes is the kitchen, someone—who decidedly did not sound like him—was shouting. Loudly. “Where’s the bloody sauce?! This is rubbish!” A clang of metal. “You call this a sandwich?! What’s the point of making sauerkraut if it’s going unused? You absolute donkey!”

The Five across from him—Introduction Five, Five decides to call him, even though he’s doing a pretty shit job of introducing or explaining anything around him—barely spares a glance at the outburst. He holds up the sandwich before taking a bite with an uncaring shrug. “I keep saying these are light on the sauerkraut. They never listen.”

Five blinks at him, then opts to reach for the proffered coffee than deign that comment with a response. This entire situation feels like a joke the universe is playing on him. Then again, if there was ever a description for his life, that would be it.

“Oh,” says Introduction Five. “You’re not going to like that.”

Five takes a sip anyway. It’s terrible. 

Well, it’s not apocalypse terrible, but close. The only thing keeping him from spitting it back into the mug is his pride. He swallows it with a scowl and sets the mug down, tuning out the latest shout from the kitchen. Something about ‘idiot sandwiches.’ He idly wonders if those would taste better than the pastrami ones he was just given.

“So I take it you figured out the subway system by now.”

“Alternate versions of the same moment in time?”

“That is correct! But…most of us have given up trying to fix the problem.”

“What problem?” asks Five.

Introduction Five looks at him like he’s particularly stupid. The deli falls quiet, save for the increasingly unhinged ranting of the mystery chef in the back—“Who cooked this?! This is so raw it’s eating our supply of lettuce! I wouldn’t feed this to a dying rat! If this is the standard you keep, it’s no wonder the only return customers are yourselves!”—and the music playing from above.

“The broken timeline, man.” Introduction Five gestures vaguely. “There’s only supposed to be one.”

Five frowns. “I…I don’t get it.”

“Does this seem right to you?”

That makes Five pause.

He glances around at the other versions of himself, the overwhelming sense of wrongness pressing down on him. There’s one Five is snoring into his own sleeve. The Five dressed as a waiter is meticulously restocking packets of mustard. Another is reading a newspaper, but what events he could possibly be catching up on are a mystery.

Five shakes his head. “No, but…”

“You think Einstein factored this into relativity? Not a chance. This shit would’ve made his head explode.”

“So, what shattered the original timeline?”

“Not what. Who.”

There was a pause, just long enough for Five to hate where this was going.

Introduction Five leans in, smirking. “I’ll give you three guesses.”

“We did!” calls a Five from the counter.

“Absolute shambles!” bellows the voice from the kitchen. “You should be ashamed!”

Five sighs. Too right, mystery chef. Too right.

ao3.

They should have had Gordon Ramsay in the Five deli except he isn't really acknowledged and you can just hear him yelling in the background

[emphasisonthehomo]

Inquiring minds would like to know, does Tommy have longer hair in the popstar au? Wanna know if I’ve been accurate in imagining him with hair down to his waist hehe

The popstar!au.

I'll be honest, I didn't really consider giving Tommy long headbanging hair. The main reason is that Tommy's trans in this, and in my head re: his whole gender story, he had long hair as a kid, chopped it all off at like 17/18, got into a huge fight with his parents about it, and then never really grew it out again. (Not that trans guys can't have long hair obviously, that's just my vision for him.)

But! To make up for that, here's the actual first time Buck meets Tommy.

•

“Is this Tommy guy here?” Buck asks, because that was his main concern, and Eddie knows it.

“Yup,” Eddie says, “He’s nice. You’ll like him.”

“Is he a good fit?” Buck asks, because liking this man has nothing to do with whether or not he’ll deliver what they need from him.

Eddie sucks on his teeth.

“It might be weird,” Eddie admits after a second, “At least at first. I don’t think he really plays this kind of music.”

“Oh my god, it is the death metal guy isn’t it?” Buck groans.

“It is,” Eddie admits, sounding defeated, “But seriously, I think it’ll work out.”

“What the hell was Bobby thinking?” Buck hates that the paps are out, he can’t risk looking too stressed in the lead up to the tour.

“Well, if he’s in a metal band, you know he’s not a shitty drummer,” Christopher chimes in reasonably.

“Language,” Eddie says halfheartedly, before adding, “He does have a point though.”

“Does he look like a cliché?” Buck feels bad asking, but no so bad that he regrets asking. It’s complicated.

“No,” Eddie snorts, “He looks like a cop.”

Huh.

Buck mulls that over, and opens the door. The rehearsal warehouse is bustling with activity, though it’s not as busy as usual. Last minute rehearsal probably means that a lot of people are still trickling in. His attention zeroes in on the makeshift stage. There’s a drum kit set up and Buck knows already this might be an issue. It’s huge, way bigger than the one Lucy plays. Several more cymbals than Buck is used to, and two bass drums with giant humpbacked flies on both heads. Those are unacceptable. Buck hopes Bobby has someone on tap to get decals to cover them.

Chimney and Maddie are standing by the stage, next to a guy who doesn’t look like a fucking cop, no matter what Eddie says. He’s got a short-cropped haircut sure, but even from across the warehouse Buck can see tattoos peeking out from the sleeves of his henley. He’s also built like a brick house.

“A cop huh?” Buck mutters dubiously.

“You know what I mean,” Eddie rolls his eyes, “The hair. Looks like he could bench press you.”

“What cops have you been hanging out with? He looks like he gonna try and talk me into joining his MMA gym,” Buck rolls his eyes right back.

“Buck!” Chimney notices them and beckons enthusiastically, “Come say hi to Tommy!”

“Be nice,” Eddie says under his voice, before saying louder, “C’mon Chris, lets go see if Ravi has room for you to hangout front of house.”

Buck squares his shoulders and goes to meet the man who’s got the potential to make or break the entire live set. As he gets closer, he can see that Tommy’s got his in-ear monitors on already, loose and hanging around his neck. He’s handsome, with a strong jaw, a cleft chin, and bright blue eyes. His earlobes are stretched, bigger than Hen’s, but not to the elephant levels that Buck sees around LA sometimes. There’s a ring through the middle of his bottom lip.

“Hi,” Tommy says once Buck gets close enough, reaching out a hand to shake, “Tommy Kinard, nice to meet you.”

“Evan Buckley,” Buck says, making a spur of the moment decision not to tack ‘call me Buck’ on at the end. He doesn’t know this guy, “Likewise.”

It is not likewise.

[jayblackpanther]

Do you write smut? If not, I totally understand and don’t wanna cross that boundary. But if u do, can I get fem!reader getting in between Matt and Frank plz? 😋🙏🏽

I hope you like it!

No Mercy

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader x Frank castle

Summary: You've been playing a dangerous game, caught between Matt Murdock and Frank Castle. They've finally decided it's time to teach you a lesson.

You knew it was only matter of time before they figured it out.

It started off innocent--if you could call anything involving two dangerous men like Matt Murdock and Frank Castle innocent. You wanted them both. Maybe it was the thrill, the rush of knowing you were treading a razor’s edge between two men who didn’t play nice, who didn’t share. But the moment you stepped into Frank’s apartment that night, you realized just how badly you’d miscalculated.

The room was thick with tension, the kind that made your stomach twist and your skin burn. Matt stood near the window, his jaw clenched, his hands relaxed at his sides—but you knew better. He was listening, heart attuned to every stutter of your breath, every tremble in your body. Frank, on the other hand, leaned against the couch, arms crossed, his dark eyes locked onto you like a predator sizing up its prey.

“You got some nerve, sweetheart,” Frank drawled, his voice rough as gravel. “Playing both sides. You really think we wouldn’t notice?”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Matt’s head tilted slightly, as if considering you, as if already knowing what you were thinking before you could even form the words. “Tell me,” he murmured, stepping forward. “Was it fun? Sneaking around? Letting him touch you while you still smelled like me?”

Your stomach tightened. Your thighs pressed together on instinct, but Matt heard it. Of course he did. His lips curled in a knowing smirk.

Frank let out a dark chuckle. “She liked it, Red.” He took a step closer, eyes flicking down your body, his presence suffocating. “Bet she liked knowing she was pissing us both off.”

The air in the room changed, became something charged, something dangerous. You should’ve run. You should’ve left the moment you walked in.

But you didn’t.

And that was all the permission they needed.

Frank moved first. His hands were rough as he grabbed your waist, pulling you flush against his solid chest. “You wanna be a brat, sweetheart?” His voice was low, dangerous. His breath was hot against your lips, making your stomach flip. “You wanna push us?” His fingers dug into your hips, making you gasp. “Then you better be ready to deal with the consequences.”

Matt was behind you before you could process it, his body pressing against your back, his warmth coiling around you like a second skin. “And you know, sweetheart…” His fingers traced up your throat, tilting your chin just slightly. His lips ghosted over your ear, making you shiver. “We don’t like to share. But if you’re so desperate for both of us…”

Frank’s grip tightened.

Matt’s lips brushed the shell of your ear.

“…then we’ll just have to teach you a lesson together.”

Your knees nearly gave out.

Frank caught it, grinning. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” His hands moved to the hem of your shirt, tugging it up and over your head before you could blink. His touch was rough, possessive, and when he stepped back, his dark eyes devoured every inch of your newly exposed skin.

“Fuck,” he muttered, shaking his head like he was almost mad about how much he wanted you.

Matt’s hands skimmed down your arms, slow, teasing. “She likes this,” he murmured, almost amused, as if he could hear every telltale beat of your racing heart. “She likes knowing we’re mad.”

Frank’s lips twitched. “She won’t be smilin’ when we’re done with her.”

Your breath hitched. Heat pooled low in your stomach, a pulse of something desperate and needy thrumming through your veins.

Matt hummed. “Is that right, sweetheart?” He leaned in, lips brushing against your pulse point, teasing, taunting. “You like being put in your place?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Frank chuckled, dark and knowing. “She’s already wet.” His hands moved to the waistband of your jeans, popping the button open with ease. “Ain’t that right, sweetheart?”

Your breath came in short, shallow pants.

Matt’s lips curved against your neck. “Answer him.”

Your mouth parted, but Frank was already pushing your jeans down your legs, his fingers skimming over your thighs, teasing where you needed him most. “Fuck, look at you,” he muttered, dragging a single finger up the center of your soaked panties.

You whined, hips jerking forward.

Frank smirked. “Needy little thing.”

Matt clicked his tongue. “Of course she is.” His fingers trailed up your stomach, slow, deliberate. “She’s been playing this game for weeks. She wanted this.” He turned you slightly, his hand gripping your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. “Didn’t you?”

Your lips parted, but the words caught in your throat.

Frank’s fingers dipped beneath your panties, swiping through your folds.

You gasped, back arching against Matt’s chest.

Frank groaned. “Fuck, you’re soaked.” He pulled his hand back just enough to pop his fingers into his mouth, humming at the taste. “Knew you’d be sweet.”

Matt exhaled sharply. His grip tightened. “Bed. Now.”

Frank didn’t need to be told twice.

You barely had time to catch your breath before they were on you again, hands stripping you bare, lips marking you, claiming you.

Frank was all fire—his touch rough, unyielding, pushing you to the edge with no mercy.

Matt was control—his fingers teasing, his mouth sinful, whispering filthy things against your skin that made your entire body burn.

They worked in sync, tearing you apart, building you back up, until you were nothing but a trembling mess between them.

And when they finally took you—one at your front, the other at your back—you realized there was no escaping them.

You didn’t want to escape them.

Because you were theirs.

And they were going to make damn sure you never forgot it.

[melosgirl]

hello!! i love your writing it’s so good, could u do a fic where reader is a famous actor and she decides to go to a basket ball game for the first time and is sat court side, u can go wherever u want from there idkk

courtside - lamelo ball

you walk into the arena, the buzzing energy of the crowd hitting you like a wave. the lights are bright, and the air smells like popcorn and excitement. you, y/n l/n, famous actress, used to this kind of attention, but there’s something about tonight that feels different. you're here to unwind, to enjoy the game and forget about the cameras and red carpets for a while.

finding your seat, you slide into it with a comfortable ease. the game starts, and you lose yourself in the rhythm of the court—the bounce of the ball, the swish of the net, the roar of the fans. you’ve always loved basketball, the way the players move like they’re dancing, like they're all in sync with the game.

midway through the first quarter, something catches your eye. one of the players, lamelo ball, dribbles down the court, his tall frame moving smoothly, effortlessly. there’s an undeniable confidence in his step, a swagger, and as he shoots a flawless three-pointer, the crowd erupts. but, strangely, your gaze doesn’t leave him. for a moment, it feels like he’s looking right back at you.

you try to shake it off, figuring it’s just the lighting, or maybe it’s all in your head. but then, after a few more plays, you notice him glance over again. this time, he doesn’t look away. a small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, and you can’t help but feel a flutter in your chest.

after a few minutes, the game pauses for a timeout. the arena’s energy dips slightly as the players gather. lamelo’s eyes linger in your direction for just a second longer, and before you know it, he’s jogging towards the sidelines, pulling off his jersey with a casual air. your heart skips. is this really happening?

he approaches the section where you’re sitting, his confident swagger now unmistakable as he flashes you a quick grin. "hey," he says, his voice deep but warm, almost like he’s known you forever.

"hi," you reply, a little caught off guard by how direct he’s being. your heart beats faster now, your mind racing with thoughts you can barely keep up with.

"i saw you earlier. you’re y/n l/n, right?" lamelo asks, looking at you with curiosity in his eyes.

you nod, surprised he recognized you. "yeah, that’s me."

"thought you looked familiar." he shrugs, his smile widening. "what brings you to the game?"

"just needed to get away for a bit," you say, your voice more casual than you feel. "how about you? just another day on the court?"

he laughs, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "yeah, but i gotta admit, i was hoping to make a good impression tonight."

you can’t help but laugh, feeling the spark between you both grow. you’ve always admired confidence, and lamelo has that in spades.

"well, you’re doing pretty well so far," you tease, feeling your nerves start to melt away.

he grins again, stepping a little closer. "good to know. maybe after the game, i could show you around? i know a few places around here that are perfect for unwinding."

you hesitate for just a second, but the thought of spending time with him sounds pretty nice. you nod, your smile matching his.

"yeah," you say, voice soft but steady. "i think that’d be nice."

he winks at you before turning back to the court, ready to jump back into the game. but the connection is there, undeniable, hanging between you both like an invisible thread.

as the game continues, you can’t help but keep an eye on lamelo, watching how he plays with a fire and focus that matches his personality. and in the back of your mind, you already know that tonight might turn into something unforgettable.

[xehanortsreport]

a commission for @king-of-heartless ! being given free rein to just drawn ansem was used as an excuse to draw something i've really wanted to for a while - a little get together with some color music heartless!

this was delightful to work on, and i'm thankful for the patronage~

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

My roommate and I had a conversation last night and I keep rotating it in my brain and I Don’t Like It

[nereidprinc3ss]

bambi

in which spencer reid and fem!reader fuck like they missed each other (because they always do) and he teases her for her shaky legs

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: softdom spencer, piv sex (riding, a first for nereidprinc3ss) /oral f receiving (in that order) mentions of him accidentally grabbing her hips too hard, slight somno SORT OF like he starts going down on her while she’s sleepy and then she kind of goes in and out but its all consensual, sorry haters i fucking love sleepy sex and I always will, teasing, lots of praise, fluffy, established relationship, he loves her badddd, aftercare, literally nothing bad happens no angst for once they just are having sex cause they are in love which is arguably the most superior kind of sex! a/n: I don’t think I’ve ever written smut that is so wham bam thank you ma’am like really we just get RIGHT into it!! also no gif no pics we r going old nereidprinc3ss on this one I hope you loveeee!!!

You roll over onto Spencer and kiss once, long and deep and sweet. He hums into it, too whipped to pretend like he’s got self control or respect, hands finding the soft skin of your bare waist and settling there. 

How it got to this point so quickly, no more than fifteen minutes after he walked through the door, you can’t say. Usually the two of you are a bit more domestic when he gets home from a case, but eight days is a long time to be apart, and the trail of clothing leading from the welcome mat to the foot of the bed attests to that. 

So does the lack of teasing, of begging—at least, a lack up until this point. Right now, there’s only him, patient and content to let you play at being in charge. You pull back and reach down to grab him gently, aligning him at your entrance with a trembling hand. This part, you’re not usually responsible for. 

He assures you with a hand to the small of your back, rubbing soothing circles. “You got it. Slowly.”

You do as he says, brow furrowing in focus as you sink down an inch or two onto him. Spencer’s breathing grows erratic as you take more and more of him, and in a heroic display of overachieving, you take the rest of him at once with nothing but a squeak. He laughs breathily as his fingers dig into your hips. 

“Fuck—I said slow.”

You can’t think. The overwhelm of it all is too much as you crumple forward onto his chest. The subtle rocking you’re doing to try and alleviate some of the pressure in your core is apparently too much as he stops you by the hips, fingers pressing into those same tender spots.

Spencer’s breath is ragged. “Don’t… do not move.”

“Fuck,” you breathe into his shoulder, long and drawn out as despite his wishes you wriggle around, trying to get comfortable. “Oh my god.”

“My lovely girl, please… please don’t move,” Spencer gasps, a plead, and you try to stop for him, nuzzling even deeper against his neck. “I need a minute.”

“It’s too much,” you slur, dizzy as you try to adjust to the feeling. “Please.” You don’t know what you’re asking for. Maybe relief from the sensation that he can’t offer you. Maybe more. 

Spencer is undone by you—the way you writhe on top of him, the way your voice shakes, the way you’re so totally and completely overwhelmed and he can feel it and he loves it. 

“Baby,” he breathes, and he meant to say a lot more than that, but it’s the best he can manage when he is this overstimulated. “Baby,” he whispers again, wrapping his arms around you in an effort to ground you, to give you something else to focus on as you both get used to the feeling. 

It’s going well—for a moment, before your back is arching. 

“Spence, I need to move, I can’t—”

“Okay, okay.” He takes a deep breath, returning his hands to your waist and mentally preparing himself not to cum early. He’s desperate to give you want you want, to feel you like this. “Go ahead. Move, honey. Please.”

By the time you slowly lift your hips up and drop back down with a low cry, Spencer’s lost. His head falls back against the pillow and his eyes squeeze shut. 

“Fuck,” he groans. “Oh, angel, I missed you.”

You do it again, motivated by his praise, and he can hear your little gasps and desperate gulps of air. 

“I missed you so much,” you whine and clench around him, pleasure so intense it’s a resounding ache in the far reaches of your body. “Oh, fuck, Spencer.”

Spencer shivers. He loves when you make it personal, when you say his name like that and it becomes clear this isn’t just about the physical.

“My girl. Just like that. Doing so well, baby, just like that.”

Each pass of your hips has you whining. Your lips skim over his neck, not cognizant enough to actually kiss—only to know that you want the contact. 

“Please can I go faster?”

Spencer almost doesn’t realize you’re speaking to him he’s so lost in pleasure. The idea of faster is as compelling as it is troublesome. Spencer doesn’t know if he can’t take faster, not when he has you like this, but he certainly wants to find out. 

“Yeah, lovely. Do whatever feels good.”

You readjust and begin to pick up the pace, stumbling over a few false starts as it’s clearly more sensation than you’d been prepared for. 

Spencer, on the other hand, has his eyes screwed shut tight, and is attempting to draw a two-dimensional Császár polyhedron on your back, but he loses his place with every twitch of your hips, so eventually he decides to trace imperfect Mandelbrots down your spine—anything to avoid thinking about how the pH of your body interacts with sweet vanilla perfume to create a scent so deeply intoxicating he’d leave his entire life behind just to trail after it, or how you fucking feel against him, on top of him, around him, how miraculous it is that you keep letting him touch you—

“Oh—” you whine quietly, a strangled sort of noise that has his heart skipping. Your hand tangles desperately in his hair as you rock your hips faster and faster and he lets out a tortured groan. “Spencer, oh my fucking god.”

“I know, baby,” he manages, endeared by the fact that you feel so good you have to share it with him. Even now you’re trying to explain it because you want him to be part of it—as if he doesn’t know exactly what you’re feeling already. “That feels good, huh?”

“Mm—f—eels—” you cut yourself off with a cry into the crook of his neck, and he holds the back of your head, vision greying as he stares unseeing at the ceiling because if he looks down this’ll be over too soon. 

“You’re so good,” he breathes, “you’re perfect.”He hears you gasp at the same time as your rhythm falters, and presses a kiss somewhere indiscriminately on your head. “Gonna cum?” He murmurs in your ear, and you nod desperately, rutting against him hopelessly as your thighs tremble from exertion. 

Even the smallest drop-off in friction has his head spinning like he stood up too quickly, so he gives himself enough leverage to start fucking you. You cry out and shift your weight like you’re going to try and evade the feeling—self-sabotage, you always do this—and he again has to hold your hips in an iron vice, just to force you to feel it. 

“You’re okay, I’m gonna get you there.”

“Fuck!” You very nearly yell, still trying to wriggle away up until the very last second like the tide going out before the tsunami comes. When you do cum, your demeanor instantly changes—you get heavy and clingy and whiny as you rock back and forth through your orgasm. 

“Good girl,” Spencer murmurs, being careful in the way he continues to fuck you until he reaches his peak as well, not long after. You shudder, and Spencer feels the way your entire body tenses the way it sometimes does after a particularly strong orgasm, and he fights his way out of the brain fog to rub your back with the skimming tips of his fingers. “Shh. You’re okay. Relax, baby.”

And you do, unwound by the dance of his hand and with a few shallow breaths that gradually deepen, until you’re once more slack on top of him. 

“You’re incredible,” he exhales, with his lips pressed to your hairline. 

So clearly overwhelmed, the only response you can muster is a soft squeak. Spencer laughs fondly, still mapping the soft curve of your back. He feels the way you’re still attempting to train your breathing and kisses your hair again. “What do you need, angel?”

“I’m s’posed to be taking care of you,” you slur. Spencer chuckles again and his brow knits. 

“According to who?”

“According to… I was on top…”

“Yeah. You did all the hard stuff. Your legs are shaking.”

You whine softly. “No they’re not.”

His hand slides down to your thigh, and he rubs the trembling muscles. 

“No? No Bambi legs for me this time?”

You squeeze them around his waist like you could shrink away from his touch. “Spence…”

“I’m teasing you, honey,” he murmurs, pressing kisses wherever he can reach. “You’re cute.”

“Hm.”

“Look at me,” he murmurs, angling his head expectantly as you slowly raise yours. The look on your face is so sweet—eyes half lidded, lips swollen and much higher in color than usual. Your cheek is warm to the touch. His heart flutters like it did on your first date, and the first time he kissed you, and the first time you fell asleep on his shoulder. This view will never get old. “Wow. Look at you, beautiful girl. Can I have a kiss?”

And you grant him his wish, with a long, soft kiss that’s worth every second of that burning feeling in his lungs, every time. 

Eventually you huff out the remainder of your air against his well-kissed lips and your head flops to his chest. 

“I’m sleepy.”

“So go to sleep,” he murmurs, so warm from your kiss he feels nothing could be wrong in the world at this moment. 

“I can’t.”

“Why’s that?”

“’Cause you just got home ’nd I missed you and I wanna spend time with you.”

“We have three days to spend together. If you go to sleep now, we’ll actually get more time together tomorrow.”

“But it’s more about, like, how it feels—how much time it feels like we spend together right when you get home, and if I go to sleep now, it’s gonna feel like less time, and—basically you’re just not understanding my math.”

“What math?” He laughs, continuing to rub your legs all the way up to your hips, at which point you hiss and buck—a very visceral feeling when he’s still inside of you. “What? What hurts?”

“You tried to fucking tear my hip flexors from my body, is what hurts,” you grumble. 

“Tender?”

“Mhm.”

“I’m really sorry, angel. Tylenol?”

“Mm-mm. Can you kiss me better?” Sleep stains your voice. Spencer smiles to himself. 

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Lie down.”

Again you whine as you slip off of him, landing heavily on your back. He sits up, watches with so much affection the way you squeeze your thighs together and arch ever so slightly against the empty feeling. 

“Spencer?” You whisper as he cups the top of your knees. 

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

He pushes your legs apart gently so he can settle in between them and kisses you again. “I love you. So much.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

He presses a kiss to your head, down your neck, taking the scenic route to your hip bones, but you don’t seem to mind. 

The feeling of his lips gentle on the tender flesh has you humming softly, eyes fluttering shut as he showers you with gentle kisses. His traces every place his fingers had pressed earlier—feels the way you relax further underneath him. Nobody’s ever let him in this deeply before, but you trust him with everything you have; your body, your soul, in life or death, awake and in sleep. He’ll never take that for granted. He will never pass on an opportunity like this, to be the one who takes care of you, who puts you back together, as long as you’ll let him. 

Still dancing the line of consciousness, you part your legs, the slow drag of your bare thigh like a jumper cable to his heart. Fingertips trace desirous paths up your inner thigh and back down again. He recognizes this invitation for what it is, and he knows exactly how to give you what you want, but he asks first anyway. 

“Was that on purpose?”

“I d’know what you mean. I’m so sleepy,” you slur, and he believes the second half of your statement to be fact. 

Spencer pushes your thigh a little higher, and you’re completely pliable for him, completely gorgeous. As soon as he skims your thigh with a barely-there kiss, exactly the way you like, you’re lacing a hand in his hair. 

“Please, Spence…” you murmur, and he can’t argue with that. He especially can’t argue when you widen your legs just that slightest bit more, and your arousal is opalescent between your legs. 

He hums, trailing more kisses up until he’s setting the softest one yet against your clit. “Beautiful girl…”

The following gasp is so tiny he could’ve missed it if he wasn’t so attuned to your noises—and then he gets lost in you, making sure to keep his ministrations light as you already came twice recently and are sure to be sensitive. He doesn’t want to wake you from whatever twilight half-slumber trance you’re in, either, sensing that if he does you’ll fight all over again to stay up.

And admittedly, he adores being trusted to take care of you like this.

Your back arches as much as you’re capable of in this state, and he can’t help the way he just barely suctions onto you at that moment, coaxing a sighing moan so sweet and vulnerable and open it gives him chills. Fuck. He really wants to make you cum. But instead he practices patience, tracing you with the tip of his tongue, pressing gentle kisses everywhere you need them—he draws it out. For he doesn’t know how long. 

The first time you get close, your hips begin to roll, and you spout little ah’s, but he talks you back down again, laughing lightly at your angelic cooing, your little sounds of sleepy pleasure. Even now you’re so responsive, moving against his mouth as he slips a finger into your soaked entrance, fucks you for a moment, and then retreats. Maybe he’s being unfair, but you don’t seem to mind. 

In fact, you’re slipping in and out of sleep as he devours you for what feels like hours, one hand pressed lovingly to your stomach, stroking the soft skin there. Spencer’s never had this long to explore you with his mouth and he takes full advantage of every moment, but he keeps all his kisses and licks and touches gentle and reverent and so loving. 

You don’t know how long it’s been, or how many times he’s made you cum when he finally retreats—you half-wake just as he’s finishing cleaning you up. Soon he tosses the towel aside and presses feather-light kisses to each of your cheeks, tear-stained and warm with pleasure. You feel completely drained and completely loved. 

“Hi, sleeping beauty,” he murmurs, climbing into bed with you, at some point having gotten dressed. 

You manage an embarrassed little laugh. More tears crawl down your cheeks as you roll to your side. Spencer brushes them away and pulls you into him, slinging your thigh over his waist. He chuckles. 

“Shaky?”

“Stop,” you whine, embarrassed by his teasing, and hide your face against his chest. “That’s not my fault.”

“It’s nobody’s fault. It’s sweet,” he insists as he rubs your back. And then, a moment later, “So—do you think we’ve spent enough time together for tonight?”

“No.”

He sighs good-naturedly. 

“You’re gonna wear me out, you know that?”

“’F you… can’t handle the heat… get outta the kitchen.”

When he next speaks you can hear the smile in his voice. 

“Go to sleep, Bambi. Let’s see if you can walk in the morning.”

[saymio]

Silent Obsession

Pairing: Hwang In-ho (the front man) x Fem!reader

Summary: your husband was missing, and all you did for days was stay at home crying your eyes out...waiting for your dearest husband to come home. this was until inho had decided to come give you a little visit while you were all alone and vulnerable.

Warning: dead dove: do not eat, noncon, degradation, light bdsm, manipulation, In-ho is obsessed with you, rough sex, mentioned age gap (20 years), cheating (not rlly), there might be more but I'm too lazy to write it.

A/N: not proof read. this takes place during s1. (most/all of the beginning contains junho x reader content)

7.2k Words

...

it was 2015, just a few days ago your boyfriend junho had invited you to meet his family on the day of his brothers birthday. his brother was turning 40 and they were hosting a small party, just a few people... and your boyfriend thought this would be a great time to invite you to meet his mom and brother. he was ecstatic at the thought, he really wanted his family to get to know you since last year he had met yours. and he was really serious about you... but it would be an understatement to say you were nervous. hell, you were scared. you wanted to leave a good impression on his family, this was the man you wanted to marry. if his mom didnt approve of you what could you say? she was wrong? that her opinion didn't matter? these thoughts swarmed your head for hours every day....

junho was driving the two of you from your small shared apartment to his moms place. you were sitting in the passenger seat as you stared out the window of the car, you were shaking... not from the cold but from the anxiousness you were brimming with. your fingers tapped against the interior of the car, your nails making a clicking sound every time they touched the material. "are you cold y/n? I told you itd be cold today..you should've worn a bigger jacket" junho glanced at you for a second before staring back at the road and sighing. he hated when this happened, when youd be so insistent in not 'ruining' your outfit that you wouldn't pay attention to whether you'd be cold or not. this always happens! ..but he always wears a jacket for you. because he knows you'll end up shivering from the cold gusts of wind and he cant stand the thought of you suffering from the freezing temperatures. you let out a small chuckle, it was barely over a whisper but junho heard you loud and clear. "why're you laughing.." he frowned a little, not because he's upset or mad at you but just because you werent taking the situation that seriously. "what if you catch a cold? at least think about me when you dress this way..you know I hate when you're in pain.." the last part of his sentence was soft and quiet, as if he was murmuring to himself..making sure you wouldn't hear him. "stop worrying so much babe...I'm not cold or anything.. just a little jittery, its my first time meeting your family after all." you giggled at his genuine worry for you, he was such a drama queen. making these small actions seem so much more serious then they were..but its something that made you love junho. how kind and protecting he was of the people he cared about. "nervous? you don't have to be nervous y/n...I'm sure they'll love you." junho's right hand made its way to your left hand. holding it tight before giving you a soft gentle smile. his ability to sooth you with just his smile had to be studied, he truly was an angel on earth to you, like he had a halo on his head 24/7. you leaned forward a little and left a quick peck on his cheek, quickly leaning back down to your seat and looking away from him. but at the corner of junhos eyes he could see how red you've gotten...he thought it was adorable. how the two of youve been dating for 2 years but you still got flustered over small kisses. you were so innocent and kind, the exact woman he needed in his life...

but little did junho know, he was right. his family did love you..especially his brother.

you had arrived at his mothers house, .. your nerves were spiking, how should you introduce yourself? what if the cake you made was still raw? what if inho doesn't like his present? these thoughts ran through your head as you two waited for someone to open the door. your finger nails tapping against the box the cake you had made was in. the sound deafening you as you just wanted the damn door to open already. you really just hoped youd make a good impression... after what felt like an eternity the door opened, behind to door revealed the birthday boy himself, Hwang In-ho. junho just shook his hand before you bowed at him slightly before shaking his hand and introducing himself briefly. "happy birthday In-ho, my names y/n" In-ho just nodded coldly at you, if the harsh winds outside didn't freeze you his stares did. he stepped aside, allowing the two of you in. he lead the both of you up the apartment complex stairs, your heels making a loud click sound echo though the staircase with every step you took. after only a bit of walking up stairs you had reached the door to where the party was being hosted.. . . when junho had told you itd be a 'party' you expected a family gathering with like 15 people, but upon arrival you quickly realized..it was truly just him, his brother and mom celebrating inho's birthday today. you were pleasantly surprised, you hated large groups of people..it made you skittish and always super nervous. so just 3 other people being there calmed your nerves down, alot. the apartment was small and cozy, very homey and nice. his mother had made a mini feast with delicious foods and decorated the place with a few balloons and banners. it was a seemingly wholesome sight of a mother doing something nice for her sons special day, it made your heart warm up inside your chest as you took a seat at the table. "hi honey, what's your name?" junho's mother grabbed one of your hands, cupping it with the both of hers. you felt yourself blush and smile, you had barely even been inside yet his mother was being so kind already. her soft gentle voice, and kind soft eyes. it was everything that's junho was. "y/n, what about you miss?" you were trying your best to be as polite as possible, you didn't want to tip her off and cause her to hate you.. but you felt kind of uncomfortable.. inho..he was staring at you alot. and it was like he wasnt trying to hide it, his dark eyes piecing into your soul. as if he were looking for the innocence inside of you... to take it away from you. the entire day just led to you getting more and more uncomfortable. you weren't able to stare into his eyes because you felt if you did he would just jump onto you not giving a shit about his mother and brother being there too. "y/n, what would you say if your favorite thing about junho?" inho spoke, his deep voice sent uncomfortable shivers down your spine.. this entire atmosphere..it was odd. but it was like only you caught onto it. you stared at inho before turning to junho...he was blushing. he tried keeping a stoic face but you could tell he was getting flustered before you even spoke. his ears tinted in a light pink an so was his neck. "ah.. well his kindness..I think its the main reason I fell in love...he's very kind and soft spoken to people. at least until they do something wrong..but either way he's an angel." a gentle smile took over your face, you stared at junho and then at inho to continue your sentence..it was obvious you were head over heels for this man.. "he's just a very likable man." inho smiled at you, not speaking a word but it was like his face said them all for you. but they weren't the words you'd expect a caring older brother to say, it was more like a .. 'wow how nice.' but in a sarcastic tone.. his mother on the other hand.. "aww how sweet! young love, its so beautiful." she clasped her hands together before grabbing your forearm and staring up at you with twinkling eyes, it was like she was already envisioning your wedding and family with junho. "promise me you'll take care of my son, okay?"

it was a little past 10pm by now, everyone had eaten a slice of cake and junho's mother adored it. junho was right, his mom did love you. she was already talking about marriage and how she wouldnt be surprised if you made the wedding cake because the one you had brought today was "just too delicious!" you laughed and giggled at her antics, your face flushed in embarrassment. you turned to look at inho, who was staring at you intensely. your happiness almost instantly vanished as you shuffled in your chair. maybe he was upset you hadn't given him his gift yet...that should do it!! maybe he'd stop once you did. "a- inho, I brought you a gift." his eyes widened and it had seemed like he just heard life changing news, maybe he really was just sulking over a present..it was kind of cute. you grabbed your bag from your feet next to you and shuffled around until you found a yellow box, you pushed it towards inho and smiled. your tried your best to give a genuine, heartfelt smile even though you felt uncomfortable with all his glances and stares. he smiled at you, this time it seemed a little less fake...but still not genuine. he opened the box, it was a watch. a very beautiful one. it was shimmering under the dinning room light, a light white silver with simple but detailed engravings on the band of the watch. it was beautiful and it definitely wasn't the cheapest, you don't remember how much it was exactly since you had bought it the same day junho had told you about his brothers birthday..but you knew it was enough to make you wince at the receipt. "I left the receipt folded under the cloth Incase it isn't to your li-" you were cut off by inhos voice, it was calm, not as cold as it was before..it was rather soothing even.. "no. its perfect." he put the watch on, adjusting it so it fit his wrist perfectly. you felt your lips creep into a wide smile, you were so glad this day was going perfectly. "wow, that's such a pretty watch! it must've costed you a lot." their mother interrupted the two of you, staring at the watch that sat on inhos wrist and then at you. "inho, say thank you! be polite." she hit the back of his head harshly, as if she were scolding a little kid... you laughed at the scene, mothers truly see their children as their babies forever. "no- its okay miss don't wo-" it seemed like today was full of interruptions and cut offs as inho did just it again. "thank you y/n, I appreciate it a lot." his face was blank again, no readable expression was there.. but based off his passed reactions..you felt he was being sincere. . . . "thank you miss, thank you inho." you bowed at the both of them while you stood at the front door with junho, showing your gratitude for their kindness and patience with you and your boyfriend. "of course honey, please come back any time you want." junho's mother grabbed your hand one more time, inho nodded along with her. he wasn't a man of many words but it seemed his scary demeanor had vanished. maybe it was never even there and you were just nervous..either way you were glad you didn't leave the house with a weird feeling about your boyfriends brother. juho's mother then shoo'd the two of you away, telling you it was late and you shouldn't stay up so late at such a young age... you felt happy. a warm feeling sat in your heart and stomach, it was like you had just found your second family.

time skip (5 years)

there you sat in the police station, its been days since youve last seen your husband. you were sobbing into the palm of your hands, the salty liquid dripped onto your long dress as you drained ever drop of water from your body. you were terrified. what happened to him?? where was he?? what had he gotten into? you were devastated to say the least, you explained with a shaky and quaky voice that your husband had just told you he was off to investigate his brothers vanishment and would be back by the night..like always! so when you woke up and he wasn't there you just felt dread. you texted him and texted him all day to no response. when he didn't come back for the second day you reported him missing. you reported this story to the police about 9 times already, everyday since you reported him missing you came to the police station for any clues or help..an obviously everyday they told you the same thing...that they had nothing. the only reason they didn't push you off to the side when you came in was well..because your husband worked for them. he was a police officer under them, it'd feel disrespectful to you and junho if they just told you to give up hope on finding your husband. maybe you'd stop after another week or two..you'd realize whatever fate inho had found was the same junho ended to aswell... and not only that but you were pretty, kind and in obvious distress over your husband. they'd feel like they just kicked a sick puppy in the stomach if they told you to go away. so every day, at 8am you come in. usually in a pretty sundress but your state of mind isn't as pretty. your eye bags were prominent and you seemed to constantly be in a state of dissociation.... "you promise there's nothing? please double check! please..I need my husband back. you don't understand" your words were exasperated and rushed, you wanted answers, your husband, closure, anything! your breaths were getting heavy as you reached your delicate hand to the tissue box on the desk infront of you. you felt yourself breaking down, more and more, every. day. the police officer let out a breathy sigh, he was trying his very best to not tell you off. to tell you to go back to your home and cry there or something. to stop wasting his time every single fucking day.. but he couldn't. and he wouldn't. not when your state was some of the worst he's seen in his years of being an officer. "listen ma'am, there seems to be a dead end a-" you slammed your hand onto the table, one still holding the now damp tissue as you started to cry harder. you shook your head violently, indicating a very obvious no...or in this case obvious denial. "no. there..there isn't a dead end. he's alive and he needs your help!! please..please keep searching i-i'll.." you started to dig into your purse, the same one junho had gifted you for your 5th anniversary not long before this whole ordeal. when you felt what you were looking for you snatched it out your bag, like it was grabbing it, stealing it from your grasp. "h-here..d-dont stop searching please. I'll give you this..p-please.." in between words you started to cry more, tears streaming down your cheeks and dripping off your skin. your head was lowered and you were looking at your lap. you didn't want to stop looking for him. you wouldn't stop until you knew he was safe. "ma'am...you don't have to give me money for doing my job." he slid the stack of money that you had taken from your purse back to you and shook his head in disapproval. "listen.. sigh we're trying our best okay? we arent just laying around doing nothing, he was our coworker and we want to find him as much as you do.." he looked away from your depressing state, you were catching your breath and shaking, your fists were curled into balls. it was clear, even though he was an officer that he didn't want to find junho nearly as much as you did..he didn't think it would even be possible to. "just..take a break. you're overwhelming yourself and it isn't good for you. junho is strong and you know this, so just believe in him and his ability to live..."

the officer opened a drawer that was next to his seat, it was a little pile of candies.. he grabbed a handful and handed you a few. with a shaky hand you took the candies, your eyes were red and puffy. it was painfully obvious that you had just broken down in tears. you didnt want to speak but it was obvious by the way you acted, that all you wanted right now was for your husband to come back into your embrace. "if you want I can step out and let you calm down." the officer stares at you, awaiting the answer that would leave your lips. "no..its okay.. i-...whatever. thank you, I will take a break to calm down and compose myself. please have a good day." you mumbled the first few words, like a scared child who had just gotten caught with their hand in the cookie jar and is now making up an excuse. you let out a loud sigh before you stood up from your chair, rubbing your tired, sore eyes before fixing your hair and grabbing your bag. you turned around right as you were in front of the office door, you bowed at the officer to show your gratitude as you proceeded to touch the cold metal handle of the door and creaked it open. with a click of the door closing you were walking away from the room you had just broken down in.

there you were, sitting on the edge of the bed you and your husband shared. it felt cold every time you sunk your body into the soft mattress..cold and empty. you weren't used to this, you were used to your husband coming home from work and giving you a kiss. slipping into the soft blankets together as you worked as heaters for each other's bodies. you didn't like this. you didn't want this. you flopped your upper torso onto the bed, causing it to make a squeaking sound to the sudden pressure. your legs were dangling off the side of the bed as you stared up into the ceiling. the world around you felt hazy, like everything that surrounded your body was just an empty void of nothingness. the world was meaningless without junho. you felt your eyes getting heavier and heavier...until they had finally closed shut.

knock... knock... knock you jolted up from your bed, who was here at this time? it's like 2am... you stared at the closed bedroom door, thinking about if it was a good idea to open the doorm. you're a young woman alone at her house at 2am...what if it was a sex trafficker trying to kidnap and rape you!!?? knock... knock... knock the loud but slow knocks echoed throughout the house, the knocks took a 3 second pause inbetween..it was so creepy.. it made your skin crawl.. bu...what if...what if the police have clues about junho and came to talk to you about it they heard of it!! or..what if junho had finally come home..... these thoughts rand through your head, you were scared of what might be behind of that door. but not scared enough to not open it. you slowly got up from your bed, making it squeak under the pressure of your body. your soft slippers made a swooshing sound against the wooden floors as you shuffled your way to the front door... knock... knock.... knock there it was...the knocking. you couldn't help but feel this dry lump from in your throat, but you had to do it...you needed to make sure... if it was some stranger you'd just slam the door on them and go and hide in a closet or something.. your swallowed the lump in your throat and placed your palm on the cold metal of the handle, unlocking it with a small click and turning it clockwise so that it opened the door.. you didn't open it alot, just enough to see who was on the other side. your eyes stared at the dark soulless eyes In front of you, it was a random man. you had no idea why he was here or what he wanted..but he looked very familiar..maybe he was an off duty cop that just wanted to check up on you..? "h-hello..? how can I help you..." your voice was small and quiet, barely above a whisper as you used the door as some kind of shield from the strange man. "yes. you can." you stared up at the man with confused puppy dog eyes, what did that even mean?? you furrowed your eyebrows and squinted your eyes as you stared at him..you were about to close the door on the strange man until something clicked inside of you. you recognized where he was from.. "inho?! w-what? what are you.." your judgmental facial expression quickly changed into one of shook and worry, was he here to see junho? how would you break the news that his brother was now missing too?? you raised your small hand to your mouth, covering it in shock..you didn't even know what to do....what should you say..? your eyes started to water and tear up, you were reminded of the harsh reality junho was in..he was seriously missing and now the person he went missing looking for was In front of you...it seemed like everyone was just against you. mocking the disappearance of your husband. "what...are you doing here? a-are you here for junho..he's.." you let out choked sighs after every other word, taking your hands from your mouth to your entire face. you were a crying mess In front of a man you barely knew, it was so embarrassing. you were so pathetic and sad. everyone's been telling you to just get over it but here you are, sobbing for what felt like the 6th time today. a loud sigh snapped you out of your saddened state,, but...it wasn't a sigh of disapproval or frustration...it was like a sigh of...desire. like he was getting off to the sight your sobbing, scared and fragile body. "you're doing this on purpose, you have to be." you stared up at inho with confusion. you eyebrow was raised, as if asking him what the fuck he meant by that. before you could even mutter a word he pushed you, really harshly. you went flying back into your home, head hitting the hard wood. you felt yourself getting dizzier and dizzier for a few seconds...you felt like you couldn't move, speak or even see anymore...your head was spinning and alarms were ringing from the inside of your head..until you were passed out.

you woke up... you were sitting in the middle of the dining room, it seemed like someone had moved the table and other chairs out the way as it was literally only you. you and the chair you were sitting on. the room was barely lit up, you could only see some of your surroundings due to the singular light that was on. the ligh that bulb was right on top of you..it felt like you were about to get interrogated for murder,,you were terrified. for you wanted to scream, cry and just run away from what was happening. but you couldn't. your ankles were tied onto the legs of the chair. your arms and torso were bounded to the chair itself with a thick rope., it was digging into your skin hard..it hurt. alot.. you wanted to squirm around and get yourself free but you knew you'd just end up knocking the chair down and you'd be stuck in an awkward position..you tried to start screaming but you couldnt, you were confused..it was like your mouth was glued shut.....your eyes darted around the room, looking for anyone, anything to help you. it took you a second for you to put the pieces together but.. once you did you realized.. your mouth was duck taped shut. you didn't know what to do, you were overwhelmed and you just wanted your husband back to you. you closed your eyes shut as warm salty tears fell from your eyes. your eyes just couldn't catch a break, could they? they were tired and sore. even when you werent sleepy it hurt to open and close the..a result of crying for days.. you just wanted to feel happiness again. but clearly that wasn't going to happen soon. was your fate going to be the same as your husbands? were his kidnappers after you to sew your mouth shut?? you didn't want to die..at least not because you got closure.. "you shouldn't cry Infront of me. its a bad idea. I have a thing for little girls that look pretty when they cry." your head jumped forward, looking at the figure that had stepped out the shadows surrounding you.. your eyes widened, remembering that inho had been the one that knocked you over and caused you to black out. the same man that had gone missing 5 years ago, the same man that your brother went missing looking for.. what was he doing here? was he here to kill you? to keep you silent? to assault you? thoughts rand through your head as he took large, slow steps towards you. as if he was mocking your frightened state. he reached his right hand out towards you, your eyes landed on the silver watch he was wearing. it seemed so similar to the one you had gifted all those years ago..but no way he would still be wearing it, right? before you could even process another thought his hand gripped at your hair, pulling your head back and forcing you to literally stare up at him. the roughness of his grip made you wince in pain..he didn't come here with intentions of being nice and if you didn't realize that person you definitely realized that now. you tried to scream and kick your feet, you knew the tape and rope would stop your attempts and make them useless but you still tried. your screams just came out as diluted, muffled noises. the tape had stopped you from making any loud noises... the chair under your only shook a little but it wasn't enough to lighten the grip inho had on your hair. his dark, soulless eyes stared you down. they were like black orbs, nothing behind them. he grinned at you, like he was watching a cartoon and a character had did something funny. he was laughing at you. he thought this was funny. "you look so stupid, you do know that the tape will just silence all your screams, right? or are you too young and dumb to understand that yet." he tilted his head at you and gave you a mockingly confused expression. he was having the time of his fucking life while you were here, scared for your damn life. you glared at him, trying to intimidate him..doing anything to scare him...trying to find the little humanity in him that feels sympathy was clearly never going to happen. so you had to try another approach..even if it wasn't going to work either... and your suspicions were right ..

he just smiled at you, another mockingly fake smile... he released his hand from the grip he had on your hair and pinched your cheeks, just as roughly as he did with your hair. leaving a red mark when he let go... it was like he was treating you like you were a pouting child, stomping your feet because your mom didn't let you buy the comically huge lollipop you really wanted. "youre not scary sweetie." the pet name made you want to throw up in your mouth. he knew well you were his sister in law but here he was, calling you pet names with his disgusting voice. " you know..ive had my eyes on you since i met you...you're just so gorgeous..and delicate." he took a short but slow walk around u and stopped to stand behind you. his cold hands reached to your face and covered your eyes. you couldn't see anything but you knew he was leaned up in your ear...you could feel his hot breath making you unnervingly uncomfortable. "I just wanna ruin you." your breathe hitched in your throat, he was going to rape you. you know it, you had to fight back, you had to. you couldn't let a man that wasn't your husband put his dick inside you. inho took his cold hands away from your face and walked back in front of you. you glanced down at his crotch and...there was a bulge...he was getting off to your scared shape. he truly was an emotionless sadist.. he held up his index finger to your covered lips. "shh. make any noise and I wont think twice about killing you and your husband." your eyes widened as you heard the last part...that meant your husband was alive..and he knew where he was. you nodded slowly, complying with his words. he ripped the piece of tape off your mouth, causing you to let out a yelp in pain. you stared at him with a frightened face, you realized you had just made a loud sound...you didn't want to die you didn't..you didn't want your husband to die! "I said. be quiet." the truth with inho was, he had already killed your husband..at least he thought he did. only a day ago did he shot junho, causing him to fall off the side of the island...he probably drowned and is floating lifeless in the sea right now.. but you didnt need to know that...and it was clear you weren't even aware. your mouth was shut and you tried to silence your heavy rapid breathing....you really did love your husband..he wanted to steal that love from junhos grasp. he leaned down, his face was now perfectly aligned with yours... you wanted to say something, you wanted to scream and cry but if you did he'd kill you...you knew he would... his left hand started to rub your cheek, it was gentle and warm but it just made you hate it even more...his fake kindness. you hated it. his lips connected with yours, at first it seemed like he was trying to be gentle but it was obvious he had quickly gotten bored of it before he got rough. your teeth were clashing with each other as he shoved his tongue into your mouth. exploring every inch of it before he started to nip at your lips...he was aggressive and messy. everything junho wasn't.. this wasn't the kind of kiss you wanted or craved. you felt like your eyes were sewn shut the way you refused to open them, you didn't want to stare at inho. you just wanted this to end..maybe once it did you'd finally have your husband back. after what felt like hours of making out he has finally took his chapped lips off of your soft ones. a string of saliva connected the two of you as he caught his breath. you opened your eyes to stare at him, they were watery..your tears were pricking at the corners of your eyes as you caught your breath. to inho you eyes were like glass marbles...and he wanted to shatter them into pieces. you took deep breaths in an attempt to calm down. if you were calm it wouldn't be as bad. you read this inside your mind over and over and over again. you just prayed he would use you quickly and then leave... "you know, that day..the day where junho has brought you to our mothers house for my birthday.." his eyes wandered away from you, as if he were recalling the day in exact detail, scene by scene...

his eyes snapped back to yours, holding intense eye contact until he continued his sentence... "when I asked you what you loved most about junho you told me you loved his kindness. you said he was a soft person..an angel in your eyes." he crouched down, staring at you with intense eyes. his sharp features were like daggers, stabbing one by one into your heart. "you told me you loved something about him that I lacked. I'm not a kind person. and right now..you probably think I'm the devil instead of an angel like my brother.." he smiled at you, it was a cold, fake smile. if you touched his face right now it'd probably be ice cold.. "thats how I knew someone like you would never willingly be with a man like me.. but it's okay, I'll just force myself onto you." you started to cry, the salty liquid streamed down from your cheeks to your chin. your eyes were red and puffy, you didn't know what to do. you didn't want to be with this man, you didn't want this. inhos left head reached to your face, this time he squeezed the both of your cheeks so that your lips were puckered at him. "got it, princess?" he leaned in to kiss you again, this time he went aggressive right away. forcing his tongue into your mouth, some of your tears dripped onto his mouth. letting him taste the saltiness of your sadness. and it was delicious.

there you sat, he had freed your ankles from the restraints on the chair. nipping and licking at your clit. you hated this, you couldn't stop crying. you felt disgusting, a man that wasn't your husband was licking and eating your pussy out. why would you let this happen? at this point death felt better than breaking your husbands heart. you lets out cries and soft no's as he slurped your juices. you hated that it felt good, you hated that he knew what he was doing. your moans and mewls filled the room, followed with wet sloppy sounds of spit and cum mixed together. he's been eating you out for what felt like hours, you've probably came like 3 times already. you were getting tired..your legs were shaky, trying to close in on themselves but inhos arms kept them wide open for you. "p-please stop. I don't like thi-this...ah...please..let me go already..please.." you were begging with him, your eyes were shaky, your face was flushed and your lips were wet from his aggressive kisses. god. the scene of you begging for him to stop as he abused your clit was one he wanted engraved in his mind forever. he let go of your pussy with a loud pop, your juices and his spit was all over his mouth and chin. he looked like a wild animal that had just eaten his prey alive. with his sleeve he wiped off the liquid on his face. 'ruining' his all black jacket. "you want me to stop but your cum is all over my face and lips. you want me to stop but you keep moaning. just admit you're a slut for me." you close your eyes shut, shaking your head viciously, you don't want him. you don't want this. you just want your husband to be safe. that's all you want... inho scoffs at you, as if you were lying to his face. maybe he truly did believe you wanted this..that you wanted him.. but you knew it wasn't true, you knew that you loved junho and that you werent fighting back back because you just wanted him back.. you'd break down in tears in his arms once he comes home, you'll explain it when he's home. he'd understand..right..? you were lost in your thoughts, but reality snapped you out of them.. 2 long fingers were inside of your core, curling and pumping in and out... it hurt so much. it was nothing like you were used to, slow paced and gentle..no..it was fast and rough. you let out a cry, you were in so much pain it made you want to go insane. the rope that was still tied around your arms and waist dug into your skin, burning you as you struggled under the restraints..trying to find a way out. it felt like inhos was trying to split you in half, the rough skin on his finger pads only made it worse. but ofcoourse it had to feel good, because he knew what he was doing. even if it was messy, even if it was rough, even if you didn't like it..he knew how to make a woman feel good past all the pain. he tilted his head up towards you, his dark almond eyes burned holes into yours. "you gonna cum?" instead of a question, it felt like a demand. demanding you to answer yes, scaring you into saying yes.. but you didn't say yes, you said no. you shook your head and mouthed no to inho, not daring to say it out loud..and it obviously made him upset. he sneered at you before grabbing is free hand and pinching your clit before speeding the pace of his fingers. this was something you've never felt before, the pleasure finally overshadowed the pain and it felt like he had just forced your orgasm out of your body. your cum coated his digits, leaving a slightly milky white color on them.. you were catching your breath, it was hard to breath..the pain, anxiety and fear were catching up to you...you felt your throat slowly closing on you..you felt like you couldn't even breath enough air to supply your lungs are this point.. you were so caught up in your own world that you didn't even realize how he was pressing against the bulge that was begging to be freed from his trousers..he stared at you with bleak eyes, there was nothing behind them...nothing but desire and want..you were scared witless of what he would do to your poor body next. and whatever it was, you didn't want it

the bed was creaking under you, the same bed you and juho slept in everyday... you legs were pressing onto your stomach, the skin rubbing against each other. inho was slamming his cock in and out of you.. touching spots you didn't even know could be reached before this. you felt horrible for feeling so good. but you didn't want this. you were a crying moaning mess. your nails were digging onto his hands, the ones that were pressing you down. you were begging for him to stop, you didn't want this..you felt like you were being forced into this. with the life of your husband on the line.. inho let go of your left thigh and reached to your neck. his freezing hand sending shivers through your body as he started to choke you whilst pounding in and out of you..destroying your gummy insides. he lowered his face to you and scoffed, you looked so pathetic. crying and sobbing acting like you weren't enjoying his fat cock. why wouldn't you just admit you liked it for once? "acting like youre the victim while my cocks deep inside of you. is this all women do? complain about everything..just admit you like it. I wont tell." you felt so degrading. you were getting fucked by a man you barely knew on the bed your missing husband and you slept on every day at somepoint. using his life against you and now he's blaming you? was it really your fault? could you have just turned him away and still gotten junho back? was that an option that you weren't told about? you started crying, your weak arms pushing against his chest with no avail. you just wanted it to stop, you were in pain and now you're being told its your fault you're in this situation. you can never win. you began to sob louder, begging him to let you go, louder and louder until you were wailing like a stupid baby. your hand grasped at the tight grip he had on your neck, then to his chest to push him away again. "shut up." he snarled before taking off his hand from your neck, he had left a bruise from how hard he was gripping...with the same hand he harshly slapped you. shutting your cries up quickly. a red spot started to quickly form, your skin was now irritated in what felt like every place on your body.. "you're such a slut. taking the dick of a man 20 years older than you on the very bed your husband would sleep on. do you not feel ashamed? hmm?" he hummed at you, waiting for your reply. but you didn't even mutter a word, nothing. you decided you'll just take it with no noise, if you stay quiet up maybe it'll end faster?.. it should...shouldn't it..you were trying to comfort yourself in your head.. "you can keep trying to tell yourself otherwise but youre nothing but a dirty cheater. taking dick like a good girl. this probably isn't the first time youve done this huh?" he laughed at your now soulless face, he was right when he said he wanted to ruin you. he was doing that, and it got worse with every second that passed. "ffuck I'm close. you better cum or else I'll js' keep on using you until you do." you started to tear up, your clit twitching and your hole began to clench around his cock. you felt good, but terrible at the same time..you doubted he was cumming because he thought you felt good though, it was a factor but it was probably your shape that made him so horny. you were sad, in pain...tired... he got off to it so bad. you let out quiet pants and moans, indicating to inho that you were close too. he started to get sloppy, his pace getting even faster as the wet slapping sound of skin filled your ears to the brim. you felt your clit pulsating, begging for release...once you came you'd be free..you'd be...you'd be....be.. "a-aa.. fuck fuck fuckfck fuck! ouOUGH~" you let out loud, filthy moans. probably for the first time that night, instead of your cries it was your moans and whimpers that the room was now brimming with. inho loved the sound of your noises, your cries, moans, everything. God it made him so horny...once he felt you cum all over his cock he let his go through as well. fucking his orgasm into you deeper, and deeper with a loud groan..

he kept moving slowly, fucking you through your orgasm as your breathes calmed down.. "I want to ruin every inch of kindness and hope for humanity you have left in you. you're so perfect. perfect to corrupt.." his hand raised to your cheek and started to rub it 'lovingly'. you had a feeling he wasn't going to let you go like he had told you he would.

...

Another not: I FINALLY FINISHED YAY took me like all day again but ....yay!! I hope u guys liked it. I'm pretty proud of it but idk if its ooc or not... but SMASH THE LIKE BUTTON N HIT SUBSCRIBE 4 MORE..!!!!!!!

TAGLIST: @pollys-doublelife @gongyoosgf

[mostly-imagines]

Motion Sickness

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason makes you cry after a fight

warnings: angst with comfort

“Jason—”

He waves you off immediately, “No, I’m not your problem, okay?”

Your arms drop, “You’re not a problem at all, that’s not what I’m saying—”

“Then what are you saying?” he challenges. 

You almost bite your tongue but then decide against it, “I’m saying you’re being an asshole right now just because I tried to help.”

He’s angry and you’re someplace in between desperate and tired, but you push on, hoping you’ll be able to solve this without an extended argument. To little avail though, apparently. 

A tense exhale from him, “I don’t need your help, I don’t know how I can make it any clearer.”

“It’s not about needing it—”

“No, it’s about wanting it. I don’t want your fucking help,” he snaps. “I’m grown, I can handle my problems myself.”

You drop your hands to your sides, “Then what am I doing here, Jason?”

“I don’t know!” You can literally see the regret sweep over his face but he lets the moment consume him and the words linger anyways. 

You know he doesn’t always think before he talks, especially when he’s mad. You’ve seen it plenty when he’s fighting with his family. This is the first time it’s shown up with you though, and while you know it’s not coming from a place of genuinity—it still really fucking stung. 

Far from being in your control, tears slip out, more at his tone than his words, and you remove your gaze in favor of the linoleum tiles. He says nothing as you start to cry, which only makes the heat of the moment worsen. 

“Okay,” You take a deep breath, pursing your lips. “You need to go away.”

There’s a long, hard moment of silence, but ultimately he doesn’t fight you on it, only exhales harshly and slams the door on his way out.

The resulting reverberation of the apartment has your shoulders shaking, tears falling onto your shirt.  

You and Jason don’t fight often but when you do it’s usually about insecurities and fears coming forward. He’d been having a bad night to start with and all you wanted to do was make him feel better but he wasn’t willing to talk to you or let you do anything for him. He gets selfishly selfless like that, but you know why.

You know him, in and out. You could’ve anticipated this—you should’ve. You should’ve approached the topic more sensitively. And it’s not his fault, his life has taught him that it’s safer to believe that other people don’t have his best interest. You know that. 

Yeah, you know him in and out, but he knows you in and out, too. He knows you’ve shown him nothing but kindness and generosity since the day you met and you’ve reinforced a thousand times how safe you are for him. But if he still can’t trust you to care about him, then what are you doing here?

You let yourself fall back onto the arm of the couch, huffing in defeat. 

It’s nearing two in the morning when Dick awakens, the bandages across his abdomen digging into his skin uncomfortably. He sits up, bedsheet pooling around his waist. The ache of the bruising pushes him towards his old bedroom door before he’s even fully coherent, narrowly missing shouldering the door frame as he passes through.

He’s still half asleep as he thumps down the staircase, cold hands stuffed in the pocket of his sweatshirt. He’s so out of it in his blind search for painkillers, that he nearly misses the large shadowed figure huddled up on the couch.

Dick stills, blinking warily.

“What’re you doing here?”

His younger brother says nothing, only continues to stew in the shadows, staring at the rug.

As his eyes adjust, Dick takes in his appearance: messy hair, tired eyes, only clad in a t-shirt and sweatpants.

He rubs his eyes, approaching with measured steps, “What happened?”

Jason remains silent for a long minute before grunting out, “Got in a fight.”

Dick nods slowly, shuffling forward a little more to sit on the far end of the couch. 

“What’d you do?”

Jason doesn’t have it in him to comment on how his brother immediately knew he was the issue. It just makes the entire thing hurt even worse. Instead, he tells the truth. 

“Be myself.”

Dick says nothing.

When the silence persists, Jason elaborates, even though it’s the last thing he wants to admit to.

“I made her cry,” he says, voice below even a whisper. He hates it and he hates himself for leaving you when he knew he’d hurt you.

Dick nods, not saying anything. He’s definitely been there before, though he’s not nearly as volatile as Jason can be, so he can imagine how this likely played out. In any case, Jason has never responded well to being pushed to talk about his feelings so Dick lets him get there in his own time.

He’s half expecting to end up with no results at all, but Jason pipes up after a minute, voice broken.

“I don’t know what she wants me to do,” he rasps.

Dick takes a deep breath, adjusting his posture. “When girls are mad you give them space but when they’re sad you definitely don’t. Is she sad or mad?”

Jason exhales desperately.

“Both, I think.”

Dick nods, understanding.

“Then go home.”

Jason shakes his head, defeated. “She told me to leave. She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“What did you say?”

He huffs, not wanting to bring the memory back up. “I basically told her to fuck off.”

“Yeah,” Dick drawls. “I wouldn’t let that simmer.”

Jason’s head snaps over to him. “She’ll break up with me?”

“No, I don’t—” Dick pauses, thinking over his words. “It’ll be fine. Just go home.”

Despite taking the long route on the way to the manor, Jason sped back home on his bike, now unwilling to leave you alone for another second longer than he had to. 

He creeps through the front door of your apartment, proud and only a little hurt that you’d remembered to lock it. 

The apartment’s mostly quiet, nothing but a lamp lighting up the front half. He can hear the shower running from where he stands, the waterfall noise awfully muffled from behind the closed bathroom door.

He bolts the door behind him, pushing forward towards the hallway. He approaches the bathroom door, noticing how there’s no light flooding out from underneath.

“Baby?” Jason calls it out quietly, like he’s scared to commit to alerting you of his presence.

He hears no response, but he knows you heard him. He knows you heard him in the same way that he knows you’re sitting on the shower floor, curled in on yourself under the sensory relief that the pouring water brings. He doesn’t know how, he just does.

So he leans against the door, listening closely, and calls out again, “Can I come in?”

There’s a solid ten seconds of silence before you respond, just barely audible over the cascade of water.

“Not right now.”

Your volume has him wincing, saddened and embarrassed that he’s the one that made you feel like this.

He reluctantly walks back to the bedroom with heavy shoulders, thudding his weight down on the mattress. He sits half folded over himself for the next ten minutes, thinking only of you, sitting alone in the shower with your thoughts.

He perks up considerably when he hears the water shut off, and after several long minutes, you emerge from the bathroom, towel wrapped around your middle.

He stands up when you enter the bedroom, hands stiff and awkward at his sides. You barely look at him, having trouble willing yourself to do more than glance. 

Your eyes fall downward, your lips pursing. You instinctually move to clutching the towel tighter around you, more than anything because you don’t know what to do with your hands. 

It makes his heart break to see you so out of comfort around him—because of him—so he gives you the benefit of privacy, turning around so you can get dressed. It kills him to do it, makes him feel like he’s just some stranger in your life rather than him. But he supposes that he deserves to feel like that right now. 

Whether or not you wanted him to turn around goes unsaid, he can only hear the quiet shuffling of you putting clothes on.

He waits until the movement stops, after he hears the squeak of the bed springs and the faint sound of the sheets being pulled up.

He turns around again with a silent sigh, taking in the sight of you laying in bed, back turned to him.  

He approaches slowly, stopping just before his knees hit the mattress. He notices quickly that the t-shirt you’d chosen was one of your own. He frowns.  

“Sweetheart. Can I touch you?” His voice is soft and low, like he’s trying to coax you back out to him.

It takes a long few moments, but you nod.

He sits down on the bed, still hesitant to go through with it.

“Will you turn over?”

An even longer pause and you’re flipping over to face him. You don’t make eye contact, only look blankly past him. Your blinks are heavy, and even in the dark, he can see that your eyes are still bloodshot. 

He brushes your hair back, his fingers feather-light against you, like he’s scared to touch you too harshly. Like he’s touching porcelain.

He lets you hold the silence for a while, reasoning with himself that you’ll talk when you’re ready.

You let it go on longer than he’d hoped, past the point of him knowing what to do with it. He’d hoped you’d yell at him. He can take that, he knows he can. He can see plainly that you’re thinking deeply and wants more than anything for you to say it, scream it if you have to. 

He knows he deserves it and he frankly would take anything over the silence. But then again, he doesn’t deserve the reprieve, does he? No, but he’s not strong enough to deny himself the chance to hear your voice.

“Say it,” he urges. “Please.”

Your fingers tap against the bed sheets for a moment before you sit up, almost defeated. 

You face him, taking a breath and relenting. “I don’t like that you said that to me.”

He nods, brow deep. “Me neither.”

Your shoulders sag at that, and you feel stuck in the moment. You feel guilty too but you don’t know if you should. He didn’t mean it, you know that, and they weren’t his words, really. But the snap of his voice when he’d said it and the look on his face—it made you feel terrible. It still does.

You look awkwardly to the left, feeling heavily spectated by him and so hyper-conscious of all of your movements. The downturn of your lips gives way to burning in your eyes and before you can do anything about it, tears are spilling out. 

Jason sees it immediately, his head lulling helplessly. 

“Oh, baby. Please don’t cry, please.”

But that only makes it worse, the tears falling faster and heavier at his soft tone.

He forgoes asking permission and pulls you directly into his chest, a firm hand on the back of your head. It’s what you needed though, to be close to him right now.

“I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry, baby—” he murmurs against your hair, pressing a rough kiss as he holds you tighter.

You shake your head, sniffling. “It’s okay, Jay.”

“No, it’s not.”

That sentiment lingers for several minutes, as he holds you cheek to chest and rubs soothing patterns into your hair.

It’s not long before you’re able to fully relax against him, his touch feeling nothing short of therapeutic. Your breathing eventually levels out back to baseline and your thoughts start to find peace amongst themselves.

When you’re ready, you sit back from him, letting him see your face again.                    

He visibly winces as he scans over the tears on your cheeks, how they’re starting to stain.

You’re still upset, a little, but not nearly as much as you’re sure your face is conveying. 

“It’s okay,” you tell him, wiping your eyes with your sleeve.

He shakes his head, “If I ever say something like that to you again, hit me. I’m serious.”

You drop your hand onto your lap, tilting your head at him with a serious look. “I’m not going to hit you—”

“Then break up with me. Don’t ever let somebody talk to you like that, especially not me.”

His voice is hard and you can tell the impact of his words have every bit of weight intended.

Your mouth closes and you waver unsure of where to go with that. Your gaze falls down to where your hands lie discarded on your lap and there’s a palpable shift to the air in the room.

“Hey.” He pushes your chin up to make you look at him, “Listen to me. You’re the love of my life. You hear me? I’m supposed to take care of you, make you happy. I don’t…I can’t talk to you like that. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Your eyes flicker back and forth across each others and you can see the genuine sincerity etched plainly across his face.

He processes the comprehension across your own before his jaw tenses for a moment and he adds, “Nobody’s gonna talk to you like that, much less me. Yes?” 

You start to nod slowly and he mirrors you until he’s convinced of your belief in the statement. 

He rubs calm circles into your thighs as you both sit with the conversation, the light sounds of each others breaths the only sound heard. This silence isn’t the same as it was before though, it’s safer, more comfortable. It’s familiar, if not weighted.  

“I love you,” you tell him quietly.

His eyebrows furrow like his heart was just shattered. 

“I love you too, baby. So much.”

🦟 if you don't reblog things i'm actively sending bad vibes your way 🦟 and maybe also a plague