#it's been softer than ever but it hurt as always?????

[daryltwdixon]

Summary: The city is quiet, but your thoughts are louder than ever, pulling you under a deep haze, blurring the world around you. Somewhere between the ruins and the wild, between what was and what’s left, you start to wonder if you’ll ever find your way back.

warnings: some dark thoughts, little bit of ptsd mentioned

Joel

Joel has been calling your name for a few minutes now, but you’re staring at that graffiti-covered wall, your gaze a thousand miles away. He can see the way your breath is shallow, like you’re not fully present, like you’re somewhere else entirely. Maybe back there. Maybe trapped in it still.

He looks over at Ellie, who only shrugs, her brows pinched together in concern. He sighs, dragging a hand down his face before stepping forward. His hand finds the small of your back, touch meant to ground you, to pull you from wherever your mind has taken you.

“Hey,” he murmurs.

You flinch and it breaks his damn heart.

Your shoulders tighten, body recoiling before you catch yourself, forcing out a breath. “Hey,” you whisper, like you’re not sure if you're still deep in thought or back in reality. Then you blink, like waking up. “Sorry—what?”

He swallows hard. “Saw a sign for the hospital. We’re gettin’ off the highway here.”

His eyes trace your face. The new cut along your cheek, small but deep, stands out against the rest of the dirt and dried blood. Maybe from the fight. Maybe from the woods after. Either way, it’s another mark on you, another wound he hadn’t been able to stop from happening.

The urge hits him like it always does, strong and unwavering—to kiss it, to kiss you. He always has that instinct, really. For the longest time. But this isn’t about him. This is about you, and you’re not okay.

He hates that. Hates that he doesn’t know how to fix it.

So he does what little he can. He keeps his voice steady, gentle, even when everything in him aches with the need to pull you close. “We’re gonna stop soon,” he says, watching for any flicker of recognition in your face. “Get our bearin’s.”

You nod, but your gaze has already drifted again, shoulders falling. He isn’t sure you’ve even heard him.

Ellie shifts behind him. “I’ll—uh, I’ll go check ahead,” she says, her voice forced casual, but he knows she’s giving him a moment.

He doesn’t waste it.

Joel shifts closer, his voice lower now as he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. “You with me, sweetheart?”

Your breath hitches, eyes flickering to his. And for just a second, he thinks he sees it—something behind all the exhaustion, all the walls. Just a second.

Then you look away again. “Yeah,” you say, but it sounds like a lie.

Joel exhales slowly, resisting the overwhelming need to pull you in, to hold you tight until whatever has its claws in you lets go. But you’re not ready for that. He knows it, even if it hurts like hell.

So he just nods. “Alright,” he murmurs, voice softer now. “Let’s go.”

And even as he turns away, leading you off the highway, he stays close. Closer than before. Because if you ever need him—when you need him—he’ll be right there.

You

Walking through the abandoned Quarantine Zone of Salt Lake City feels like nothing short of walking through a haze. Your mind is everywhere else but the road in front of you, and yet it also feels like you hardly thought of anything at all. You catch yourself staring off into the distance, staring at your feet, no real thoughts in your head except that you know you were affecting Joel and Ellie. You needed to get it together, because every time you caught one of them looking at you, their expressions said it all. This was hurting them.

You try to shake it, you really do. The thoughts of being back there, of being stuck in that cage, of the man looking at you with a predatory glint in his eyes. But it’s impossible. It clings to you, burrowed into your chest. The hardest to shake of all is the reality of killing him. Not with a gun—guns and bows and arrows didn’t feel as personal, didn’t feel as brutal. But you’d butchered him, watching his face cave in with every blow from his own knife. You felt like an animal, like a murderer. Like a bad person.

Your breath shudders as you try to keep pace with Joel. The ground feels far beneath you, the walls of crumbling buildings pressing in tighter and tighter, and you force yourself to inhale, to keep moving. You need to be okay. You need to keep it together. For them.

Joel notices. Of course he does. His eyes flick toward you more often now, his hand hovering like he wants to reach for you but knows better. You don’t know what’s worse—that he sees what you’re going through or that even though you want his touch more than anything else, you can’t help the way you flinch every time. 

Ellie walks a little closer too, glancing up at you with something fragile in her expression. You wish you could tell her not to worry. That it’s fine. That you’re fine.

But you’re not sure you ever will be.

“That breeze feels nice,” Joel murmurs, his voice a low rumble, carried by the wind. The air smells like spring—earthy, damp, alive. “Ya know, before the outbreak, on days like this, I’d sit on my porch and play my six-string.”

Your lips tug up at the thought, letting the image take shape in your mind. Joel, younger, sun warming his skin, guitar balanced on his lap. It tugs at something deep inside you, almost comforting. Maybe he sees that.

“Tell you what,” he says, casting a glance in your direction as he walks beside you. “When this is all over, I’m gonna teach you and Ellie how to play guitar. How’s that sound?”

Ellie brightens immediately, spinning on her heel to look at him. “Hell yeah!”

Joel chuckles, his gaze lingering on you. “What about you, hon?”

You squint against the sun, meeting his eyes for a second before looking away. “Yeah… yeah, that sounds nice.”

Silence settles between you all again. A few minutes pass before you work up the courage to speak, to try.

“I had a dream the other night,” you say, barely above a whisper, eyes fixed on the ground.

Joel tilts his head slightly. “Yeah?” His voice is soft, coaxing. “Go on, tell me about it.”

It felt like he was pleading for you to speak, to say more than the clipped, one-word answers you’d been giving him for days.

You hesitate, but then the words just spill out. “I was driving,” you start. “Back at home. The streets were empty, but everything looked the same. It was quiet, like any other day.”

Joel hums in acknowledgment, waiting.

“I remember feeling okay at first. I knew where I was going—I don’t remember where exactly. Probably to fix that stupid fence again,” Your fingers twitch slightly as you scoff, something that nearly sounds like a laugh, “Then, out of nowhere, the brakes stopped working. The wheel locked up. The truck just… kept going, faster and faster, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

Joel’s eyes flick to you, but he doesn’t say anything. He just listens.

“I tried everything. Slamming the brakes, yanking the wheel, even jumping out—but it was like I was stuck there, strapped in. And right before I crashed, I woke up.” You shake your head. “Felt so damn real.”

“Dreams are weird,” he says quietly, but there’s something thoughtful in his tone, like he knows there’s more to it than that.

You glance at him, waiting for him to say something else, but he just keeps walking, hands resting on his pack straps, his gaze fixed ahead. He’s giving you space, letting you sit with it, letting you decide if you want to say more.

“What do you dream about?” you ask quietly, suddenly feeling a little better, just talking. Talking to him.

Joel exhales through his nose, glancing at you briefly before looking ahead again. “Most times, I don’t remember.” His voice is low, steady, but there’s something guarded beneath it.

You watch him for a second. “And the times you do?”

His jaw shifts, like he’s thinking about whether he wants to answer. Then, finally, he says, “Just weird ones, about life before. About life now.”

You don’t push. Maybe he’s just like you—waking up with the lingering weight of something he can’t shake, but not wanting to put it into words.

Still, for the first time in days, you don’t feel entirely alone in it.

Eventually, you make it into the heart of the city, slipping past the fences. An old bus station stands before you, tanks and cars rusting outside, years of overgrowth swallowing what’s left of the world before. Or maybe even what came after—it’s hard to tell in cities like this.

Inside, Joel moves through the station, scavenging supplies while you settle onto a bench next to Ellie.

“Hey,” you sigh. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah,” she says, glancing at you. A ghost of a smile tugs at her lips. “You?”

“Yeah,” you say, but your voice is small, and she hears it.

Ellie looks down at her hands. “You know… if you ever wanna talk about it, I was there. I saw… everything. And it’s okay. What you did—you were defending yourself.”

For some reason, those are the words you feared most. Tears sting your eyes before you can stop them, and you wipe them away hastily, turning your head. Your gaze lands on Joel, his back turned as he searches for a way through.

Ellie’s hand lands on yours, hesitant but firm. You do your best not to flinch, to let her comfort you. You nod, swallowing hard.

“Thanks, El.”

She smiles softly, her brows pinching, and nods.

“Hey,” Joel’s voice cuts across the space, echoing off the high ceiling.

You lift your head. He’s crouched near the far side of the station, his hands cupped. “Come on,” he calls.

You exchange a glance with Ellie before standing. When you reach him, his eyes are on you, narrowed in his usual scowl, but there’s something softer beneath it. Something you hadn’t noticed in the months of travel.

“You go on up,” you tell Ellie, nudging her forward.

“Bring that ladder down for us, yeah?” Joel grunts as he boosts her up onto the tiled ledge above.

Ellie gets to work, grabbing the metal ladder—but before she can lower it, her head jerks sharply to the right.

Then the ladder clatters to the floor, the sound splitting through the empty station like a gunshot.

“What the—Ellie!” Joel shouts, but she’s already gone, bolting into the next room.

Your eyes meet Joel’s, panic flashing between you. Without another word, he grabs the ladder and slams it against the wall, pushing you up first.

When you reach the top, he’s right behind you.

“Ellie?!” you both call.

“You gotta see this!” she yells from somewhere ahead, her voice high with excitement.

You and Joel exchange another look before breaking into a run. The station’s corridors blur past—overturned chairs, shattered windows, vines creeping through cracks in the walls. Your heart hammers, caught between fear and confusion.

You catch glimpses of Ellie as she sprints ahead, ducking through doorways, pausing only to wave you forward before disappearing again.

Then, finally, you find her—standing in front of a massive opening in the side of the building.

Your steps slow.

There’s something there. Something big.

Patches of orange and white climb up its long, slender neck. Its face is pale, with dark, gentle eyes and small horn-like barbs on its head.

“Wait, is that—?” you murmur, stepping closer.

“A giraffe,” Ellie whispers, her voice hushed with awe.

Joel doesn’t hesitate. He walks straight up to it, slow and steady.

“Don’t scare it,” Ellie warns.

“I won’t, I won’t,” Joel assures her, voice soft. He reaches out, brushing his fingers along its cheek, and turns back to you both. “Come here. Hurry up.”

You let Ellie go first. She moves carefully, extending her hand, and the giraffe lets her pet its head.

“Hey there,” she whispers, grinning.

The giraffe eventually loses interest, turning back toward the open sky.

“Oh, where’s it going?” Ellie asks, disappointed. Then her face lights up. “C’mon! Let’s follow it!”

She dashes off, trailing after the creature. Joel glances at you, amusement flickering in his eyes, and you can’t help but smile.

This time, you follow without hesitation.

Eventually, you step onto a rooftop terrace, vines spilling over the stone railing. Below, a small herd of giraffes gathers around a watering hole, their graceful movements peaceful against the ruins of the city.

“Wow,” you whisper, leaning against the ledge.

“So,” Joel says after a moment, “is it everything you were hopin’ for?”

Ellie tilts her head. “It’s got its ups and downs,” she says, then grins. “But, man, you can’t deny the view.”

You don’t respond right away. Your gaze stays on the giraffes, something in your chest loosening just a little.

And when you finally look back, Joel has moved to the door of the staircase nearby, but his eyes are still on you. There’s something different in them now—a sadness, worn deep into the lines of his face. It’s in the way his brow furrows, in the way his shoulders sit just a little heavier than before.

You’re not sure how to tell him that everything is okay, that he doesn’t need to carry this sadness, this guilt. That you’ll be okay one day, even if you’re not there yet. That he is doing everything you need—that he is everything you need.

So for now, you walk over to him and lift your hand, resting it on the side of his face. Carefully, like you’re learning how. Like you’re figuring out how to show him what you can’t find the words for. Joel leans into it immediately, his beard rough against your palm. His hand comes up to cover yours, his fingers warm and calloused as he presses his lips softly into the center of your hand. Then he brings it down into both of his hands, grounding you both in the quiet moment.

“We don’t have to do this,” he says suddenly, voice barely above a whisper. His eyes flicker to Ellie as she walks toward you, curiosity written in her features.

He still holds your hand between both of his.

“You know that, right?” he asks. You’re not sure if he’s talking to you or Ellie now.

Ellie shakes her head with a little scoff, but there’s no real humor in it. “What’s the other option?”

“We go back to Tommy’s,” Joel says, gaze drifting out over the city, to the giraffes below. “Just… be done with this whole damn thing.”

“After everything we’ve been through?” you ask quietly. “Everything I’ve… done?”

Ellie’s face falls. “We’ve all had to do things,” she says, then sighs, looking at Joel. “She's right. It can’t be for nothing.”

And then, without another word, she pushes open the door to the stairwell and steps inside.

Joel exhales heavily, his shoulders dropping as he looks back down at your hand in his.

“We gotta see it through,” you whisper, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles.

“Yeah,” he breathes, his thumb mirroring yours in slow, steady circles. “Just… promise me somethin’.”

“Anything,” you say, brows knitting together.

“After all this… we go home. We just… be normal for a while.”

A small, tired smile tugs at your lips. “Normal sounds nice.”

“Sure does,” he murmurs, his accent thick, his voice lower now, softer. But then the smile fades, and he lifts one of his hands to cup your face. His thumb strokes your cheek gently. “You’re okay, though? Really?”

You study him—the lines of his face, the weight he carries, the years of sorrow, loss, and hardship carved into every inch of him. The gray in his beard and hair catches the sunlight, and for a moment, you just admire him. Admire all he’s done, all he’s carried, all he’s gotten you through.

The fight in Jackson feels so far away now, the weight of it nothing but a distant memory compared to this moment.

You don’t stop yourself this time. You lean into him, a feeling you weren’t sure how to embrace before, not with everything heavy on your chest, not with the fog you’d been walking through for weeks.

But right now, you need to feel him—to remind yourself he’s real, that he’s solid, that he’s here.

Joel lets you lean in, still cradling your jaw, and when you kiss him, it’s soft at first, cautious. A quiet question. But then your lips linger, your fingers tightening against his shirt, and his hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you closer.

His other hand finds your waist, rough fingers splaying across your ribs as the kiss deepens, no longer careful—just needed. It’s warmth and desperation, relief and something unspoken. Something you both wanted but were too afraid to admit.

When you finally break apart, his forehead rests against yours. His breath is steady but heavy, his hands still on you, like he’s afraid to let go.

“I’m okay,” you whisper.

His thumb traces your cheek again as he pulls back and searches your eyes again, “Yeah?”

You nod, fingers still curled into his shirt. “Yeah.”

His lips brush your forehead before he finally releases you, his fingers lingering for just a second longer. Then he steps back, clearing his throat.

“We should go,” he mutters.

You nod, stealing one last glance at the giraffes before following him inside.

Ellie waits at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed, trying very hard not to look like she’d been listening. She raises a brow.

“Took you long enough,” she says, but there’s no bite to it. Just something knowing in her smirk.

Joel just grunts, adjusting his pack as he walks past her.

Ellie falls into step beside you, nudging your arm. “Everything okay?”

You glance at Joel’s retreating form, then back at her.

“Yeah,” you say, exhaling. “I think it will be.”

And with that, you follow them both into whatever comes next.

[xfgpng]

timeless…

— [ nsfw ] :: just fluffy sex (kinda?)

— wc :: 979

2 years, 4 months and 16 days. he tries not to think about her anymore but he sees her face in everyone he talks to and his dating life has pretty much gone to shit.

he misses her more than he’d like to admit and it hurts. whoever said it gets better with time told a bold face fucking lie and he hopes they have a bad day.

he still hears her laughter when he’s alone, feels her skin against his in all of his dreams and nightmares that sleeping is a luxury these days.

yuuji knows it’s his fault. he left when he could’ve stayed for her but he didn’t. he was young, he still is but especially then. the end of high school, moving out the city.. he wasn’t even sure about volleyball anymore and everything was too overwhelming and he wouldn’t blame her if she never wanted to speak to him ever again, he deserved it for breaking both their hearts.

it’s why his breath catches in his throat when he walks into the newest volleyball gym and sees her. she’s as beautiful as always and he knows how much she wanted to get into sports management. she’d always loved the sport and it’s one of the reasons he fell in love with her in the first place.

apart of him wanted to start up again because he missed it, it was a huge part of his life for so long but another part of him, a more sadistic or masochistic part of him, he doesn’t know anymore, was doing this to feel closer to her again and here she was, 2 years, 4 months and 20 days later looking just as beautiful as she’s always been and his chest hurts.

he doesn’t believe in coincidences, never has with the way life played out for the last 2 years and something months.

she’s talking to the coach of his team, writing notes and pointing to something on a board nearby. he can’t focus on anything other than her and he can smell her perfume without trying to and it’s making his knees weak and he might just cry.

what wakes him up is a ball to his face and he finds himself laying on his back but it doesn’t hurt, he definitely feels lightheaded but he can see the ceiling and lights and then … her

she’s saying something to him, he feels her cool hand on his head, a warm cloth against his nose and she looks exasperated but he knows her well, despite their time apart, she’s not mad at him. she’s shooting a nasty glare towards the guy from the other team who was obviously trying to be funny on purpose.

he here’s here when she calls him

“asshole” y/n huffs, “you seriously need to be more careful, are you childish?”

the guy mumbles an apology but he’s smirking and he knows she’ll launch herself at him but she’s grown up because she just rolls her eyes and looks down at him.

“-you okay?” she asks and he thinks he nods, thinks he says yes but he’s not sure. he’s too focused on her hand still holding his head and she smells as good as he remembered.

“i am now” he mumbles, grinning and she rolls her eyes but it’s a lot more fond than just a few moments ago and she’s smiling at him. his heart is beating wildly against his rib cage and he feels so happy even if his head is starting to hurt. she’s smiling at him.

her skin is softer than silk if that’s even possible. he’s love struck, has been since he met her and she cussed him out in the hallway at school.

she clings to him like she’s the one that’s scared he’ll disappear and it’s everything.

“yuuji” she gasps into their kiss and gods it feels so good, better than he remembered.

“i’ve got you baby” he whispers back, his grip on her hips don’t let up and he knows it hurts but she likes it, she begs for more and he’s a weak, weak man. he gives her more.


he’d do anything for her if she asked.

“feels so good” she moans, her back arching and her chest presses against his naked skin. everything is so hot and sticky and they’re going to have to clean up the bed before they’re able to sleep but he’s so happy, he wants to cry.

“i know” he groans right against her ear, “love being inside you… i missed you so much baby”

she’s nodding, cupping his face and kissing him back just as fiercely and he knows she missed him too. he can feel it in the way she kisses him, the way she scratches up his back, the way she grips him like she doesn’t want him to pull out and he has no intention of doing so anyway.

“you want more baby?” he teases. yuuji can’t resist, he can’t help it. this feels like a dream only it’s better because it’s finally real. he’s never letting her go again.

“please yuuji” she begs, “please fuck me”

“i am fucking you” he grins but he snaps his hips forward and the headboard cracks. neither of them care enough to stop, he can guy ten more headboards but he’s not stopping now, he can’t.

and he thinks he’s died and goes to heaven when she pushes him onto his back and rides him so hard his toes curl. he’s never experienced this with anyone else and he never wants to.

“so good” he moans, he can’t help himself. “please, don’t stop”

his holding onto her as she moves on top of him and he thinks that maybe 2 years, 4 months and something days are worth it if he gets to keep her forever.

[maneskings]

i wanna tattoo that performance on my forehead

[greengoblinswifey]

girl we need more fics about inho pls your writing is soooo good 😮‍💨

You Belong With Me— The Front Man/Hwang In Ho x Fem!Reader

summary— The Front Man grows protective of you and removes you from the game, keeping you safe in his private quarters. A deep emotional connection forms between you and your bond deepens in more ways than one.

warnings— age gap(reader is 20, he’s in his 40s), fingering, oral(m!receiving), praise kink, hair pulling, unprotected sex, creampie.

a/n— thank you, hope you like this <3

In the dead of night, you woke to the rough grip of two guards hauling you from your bunk. You tried to scream, but a hand clamped over your mouth, silencing you. They pulled you down the cold hallways, the walls echoing with the sounds of their pants and your cries. You had no idea what was happening until they stopped before a door you hadn’t seen before. The guards pushed it open, and standing on the other side was Hwang In-ho, the Front Man, the one they had told you they were taking you to. He looked down at you in his mask, unreadable expression, his voice cold and commanding as he spoke.

“You voted out,” he said, his voice steady, “but the majority has decided to stay. You won’t be going back. You’re staying with me now.”

Confusion flooded your senses. You’d voted out to escape the nightmare, but now you were here, in front of him. The air shifted as he noticed your fear, before he spoke again, “You’re safe now. No one will hurt you.”

The guards released their hold on you, but you didn’t move. Fear kept you rooted to the spot. “I don’t understand,” you whispered, the words trembling on your lips. “Why me?”

In-ho’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, then his tone shifted, becoming softer but more firm. “Because I won’t let anything happen to you.” He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. “You’re too precious to be out there with them.”

You stayed quiet, still unsure of what was happening, but something about his words made your heart race—not from fear, but from the strange pull he had on you. He was being protective, almost possessive, and it made no sense. But you were too tired to fight it, too drained from everything you had already been through.

For the following days, you remained with him. In-ho wouldn’t let you return to the game. You slept in his room, far removed from the others, under his watchful eye. Every time you tried to ask why, he would simply tell you, “You’re safe here. No one will harm you.”

He never let you out of his sight for too long. During the days, he would be nearby, always watching, ensuring you were comfortable. His protectiveness only deepened as you became more and more accustomed to your new life under his care. You didn’t argue, after all, there was something oddly comforting about his presence, even if it unsettled you at the same time.

One evening, as you rested on the bed, In-ho approached you. His mask was off, and his sharp features were illuminated by the dim light. He crouched beside you, his dark eyes scanning your face making your breath hitch.

“You’ did well,” he said, his voice low and almost soothing. His fingers reached up, gently brushing a few curls from your face, tucking them behind your ear. The simple gesture was so intimate. He was so close now, his warmth radiating off him as he spoke again, his voice barely a whisper. “I’ve kept you here because you belong with me, away from them.”

His fingers lingered on your hair, his touch soft but firm. You didn’t pull away. Somehow, his proximity, the way he seemed so protective of you, had a strange pull. “No one will ever touch you again,” he added, possessively. His eyes never left yours, and there was a coldness in his tone that let you know he meant every word.

A part of you wanted to resist, to ask more questions, to demand to be let go. But the way he spoke to you, the way he cared for you, made it hard to find the strength to push him away. He hadn’t hurt you, not like the others. Instead, he had kept you safe.

“I don’t want you to go back,” he said softly, brushing his thumb across your cheek, “You’re my sweet little angel. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You looked up at him, not sure how to respond. But with him, the world felt a little less dangerous. The game, the chaos, seemed far away, as if they didn’t matter here, in his presence.

“You’re not going back,” he repeated, his voice firm, yet his gaze softened. “Not while I’m here. You belong with me.”

And in that moment, you understood that there was no escaping this, no going back. You were his now, and he wasn’t going to let you go. You stayed by his side, no longer a part of the game, but under his protection, whether you wanted it or not.

He leaned down, his presence overwhelming as his lips brushed against yours. It was soft at first, a gentle, almost hesitant kiss, like he was testing your response. You felt his body against you, his hands slowly moving to your back, pulling you closer. The touch felt unfamiliar yet comforting, and after everything that had happened, you melted into it, craving the sensation of being cared for, of being wanted.

His lips trailed down to your neck, and you gasped, the contact sending a shiver down your spine. He paused for a moment, his breath hot against your skin, before finding that sensitive spot just below your ear. A small hum of satisfaction left his lips as he nipped softly at your skin. His hand, still firmly on your back, slid lower, his fingers brushing against your waist before moving gently, teasingly lower and into your panties.

“You’re so perfect,” he murmured. “So wet already, just for me.”

You felt his fingers rub gentle circles on your swollen clit, his touch light but electric, making your breath hitch. He paused, as if waiting for your response, his eyes searching yours for permission. “Just let me make you feel good,” he whispered, his voice tender yet firm. “It’s just us here. You can trust me.”

You felt a thick finger slip inside your pussy, the action making you press your lips together so you wouldn’t make a sound. He chuckled then moved back to your neck, licking and nipping as his fingers explored your pussy.

“Your pussy gets wet for strangers, doesn’t it?” he teased.

You whined and hid your face in his neck but he used his free hand to tilt your head to look up at him.

“I’m only teasing angel, and you’re my kind of woman either way,” he murmured.

His finger began thrusting and curling, finding the spongy spot inside you that had you writhing underneath him. He used a thumb to rub circles on your clit, the pleasure unlike any other you had felt. You grabbed his hand, as he increased the pace, feeling something build inside you. Were you really about to cum for him? He slipped another finger inside, curling and thrusting as the sound of your wet pussy filled your ears.

“Cum for me sweetheart, be my good girl,” he said.

You weren’t sure what you wanted anymore, but there was something in his gaze, something comforting in the way he pleasured you, that made it easy to let go and cum for him. The world outside seemed to disappear, leaving just the two of you in that moment, where you could be pleasure and safe all at once.

“F-feels so good,” you finally whispered, your orgasm taking ahold of you.

“I know baby, I know,” he retorted, “I can make you feel even better.”

In that moment you didn’t know what he meant. What you did know was that you wanted to make him feel good too. Return the favor in the only way you could.

You could feel his gaze burning into you as you gently unbuttoned the top he had given you to put on that day, your heart racing. You paused for a moment, looking up at him, feeling a slight hesitation. His voice was calm. “Are you sure?” he asked, his eyes soft but intense.

You nodded, keeping your eyes locked with his, your breath catching in your throat. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in your chest.

Slowly, you let your movements flow as you continued to undress, your fingers trembling slightly, but you felt a rush of anticipation. “You look beautiful,” he murmured, his voice almost a growl as he took in every detail of your naked body.

You moved closer to him, your eyes never leaving his as you slowly began to unbutton his shirt. The action felt intimate, yet there was something thrilling about it. His breath hitched slightly as your hands moved lower, and you felt the heat of his body against yours as you slowly began to undress him.

“You're incredible,” he said softly, his voice filled with admiration. As you knelt before him, your gaze remained locked with his, and you felt a surge of confidence. His hand gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing across your cheek. “You're so beautiful,” he repeated, his voice filled with awe.

He took off his boxers, his hard cock springing free in front of your face. He was so big and thick, the biggest you’d ever seen. With shaky hands you took ahold of him, slowly stroking as his eyes fluttered shut. You spat on the tip, using your thumb to spread your saliva along with the pre cum that had oozed out.

“That’s it, you’re a fucking natural,” he praised.

With your eyes on his, you slowly wrapped your plump lips around him, taking him into your mouth. You slid your tongue along his girth, suctioning your lips to give him the utmost pleasure. He hit the back of your throat and you let him settle there for a second before sliding your lips back up to the tip.

“Fuck, that’s it, just like that,” he moaned.

You licked the tip, savoring the taste of the salty pre cum before slowly taking him half way. “All the way down,” he growled. You went lower, taking his cock into the back of your throat as his fingers tangled in your curls. You began bobbing your head, breathing through your nose as your eyes teared up. He stared down at you, his lips apart as his breathing grew heavier. You were a sight for sore eyes, curls framing your face, tears brimming your eyes, pre cum and spit dripping down your chin and your mouth full.

“You look so beautiful like this, such a good cocksucker,” he murmured.

At his praises you began bobbing your head faster, sliding your tongue all over his shaft. Each time you went down, the tip slammed against your tonsil and he let out breathy moans that made your pussy throb.

“Fuck angel, I’m gonna cum in that pretty mouth,” he groaned.

Your hands went to his heavy balls, massaging them then moving down to take each into your mouth before moving back up to his cock and sliding your lips across the shaft.

“Here it comes, take all my cum in your mouth like a good girl sweetheart,” he said.

You suckled on the tip, stroking the base as you felt the unmistakable feeling of his hot cum shooting in your mouth. You stroked him through it then took him down your throat, swallowing his cum.

“Good girl, such a good girl,” he cooed.

He pulled you up, his hands immediately all over your naked body as he kissed you. He flipped you over so that he was on top of you, his dark eyes piercing yours. He leaned down once more, his lips pressed against yours then his tongue slipped inside your mouth. As his tongue sucked on yours, you felt his hard cock press against your pussy.

“Reach down and put my cock inside you,” he panted.

You did as you were told, your bottom lip going between your teeth at the pure intimacy of the moment. You took ahold of his shaft, dragging it up and down your folds as you moaned before pressing it inside your hole. Just the tip of his cock inside made you feel full and you gripped his bicep to ground yourself.

He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear as his cock deepened. “Tell me how good it feels,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. You could feel your orgasm building inside you, and though every inch of your body was alive with pleasure, you focused on him.

“It feels so good,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. He moaned softly, his hands gripping your waist tighter, guiding you with each thrust.

His lips trailed over your skin, kissing your neck, his teeth grazing gently as he picked up the pace. “You’re perfect,”’he murmured between kisses, his hands never leaving your body, his touch firm but gentle. “So responsive. I can't get enough of you.”

He kissed you deeply, his lips taking control, his tongue gently exploring as he moved above you. Each thrust brushed against your g spot and sent a shiver down your spine, you responded instinctively, your hands gripping his back as your body arched toward him. The rhythm of his movements was steady but increasingly intense, and every thrust felt more intimate than the last.

“Cum for me,” he urged, his voice husky. “I need you to cum on my cock.”

Your nails dug into his strong arms and he held you close, your pussy soaking his cock as your release washed over you. He kissed your forehead, guiding you through your high as you let out soft whimpers.

As he hovered above you, he whispered softly, “Get on your hands and knees.” His hands brushed your back as you obeyed, fingers lingering as he praised you for how perfect you were, how much he appreciated every moment with you.

“You’re amazing,” he murmured, his tone dripping with admiration as he watched his cock disappear inside you. “I’ve never felt a pussy like this.”

His hands moved to your hair, fingers tangling in the coils as he pulled you closer, not in a harsh way, but with a sense of possession, as if he were claiming you. Each time his cock disappeared inside your pussy, you couldn't help but moan softly at how deep he was at this angle, the sensation of his cock sending waves of pleasure through you.

“You feel so good,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. His hands roamed, squeezing your ass, the praise never stopping, and it only made you ache for more. “I can't get enough of you.”

The combination of his words and the feeling of him so close to you made your body tremble, your moan louder this time, unable to contain the pleasure that built up within you. “You feel incredible,” he murmured again, his touch firm, guiding your ass back to meet his thrusts. He watched as your ass bounced against him, you were so sexy. A masterpiece.

You could hear him breathe deeply as he continued, his admiration never wavering. “You’re everything I’ve wanted,” he whispered.

He rolled his hips to meet your ass then leaned in closer, his breath brushing against your ear. “Cum with me,” he whispered.

You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to be enveloped in the moment and you couldn’t hold back anymore. You creamed all over his cock, feeling a wave of warmth and satisfaction wash over you. Right after, you felt his cum fill your pussy.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered, his voice full of adoration as he collapsed on the bed and pulled you close. “You’re perfect,” he said, his hands brushing your curls back from your face, caressing you softly. His touch was possessive, yet kind, as if he wanted to protect you from everything.

“You belong with me,” he whispered.

[kryllia]

Through His Eyes

Yandere boyfriend x reader

art from pinterest

The first time you met Aiden, he felt like a breath of fresh air. His smile was soft, his words laced with sincerity, and his eyes—oh, those eyes—were warm pools of honey that seemed to melt away all your worries. He was perfect, almost too perfect, but you never dared question it. After all, wasn’t this what everyone wanted? Someone who understood you without words, someone who loved you so wholly and selflessly?

Aiden was the embodiment of devotion. He knew your coffee order by heart, memorized your class schedule within days, and always texted you right when it was needed most. If you were stressed after a long day, he’d already be waiting at the door with your favorite snacks and that soft, knowing smile. It was as if he could read your mind.

And in a way, he could.

But you didn’t know that yet.

It wasn’t until much later—much too late—that you realized Aiden wasn’t just attentive. He was obsessive.

Aiden sat in his dimly lit room, multiple monitors casting a faint bluish glow on his face. Each screen displayed a different angle of your apartment: the kitchen, the living room, the bedroom. His eyes lingered on the feed from the bedroom camera as you shuffled under the covers, sighing softly before drifting off to sleep.

He sighed too, mirroring you from miles away.

“You look so peaceful like this,” he whispered to no one in particular, his finger tracing the outline of your face on the screen. “So beautiful... mine.”

His phone buzzed, pulling him out of his trance. It was the tracking app. You had left your phone on the nightstand, unmoving for the past hour. He smiled, knowing you were safe, knowing you were his.

You had always wondered how Aiden seemed to know everything so well. He’d always have your favorite song playing in his car, always know when illness was about to hit before symptoms even showed. It was... uncanny. But it felt good. It felt like love.

“Do you ever get tired of being so perfect?” you teased one evening, sitting across from him in a cozy cafe.

Aiden chuckled, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Perfect? Oh no, I just... pay attention to the things that matter.”

You.

It was always you.

The first red flag appeared on a rainy Thursday night. You had been at work late, phone dead, and bus delayed. When you finally got home, drenched and exhausted, Aiden was already there—waiting by the door, umbrella in hand.

“How did you...?” you stammered.

His smile didn’t waver. “You mentioned your shift would be longer today, remember? I wanted to make sure you got home safely.”

You shrugged it off. Aiden was sweet. Too sweet to question.

But the nagging feeling in your chest wouldn’t go away.

It wasn’t until weeks later, when you stumbled upon a small black device tucked discreetly behind a picture frame in your bedroom, that reality came crashing down.

A camera.

Your hands trembled as you held it up, your breaths shallow. Your mind raced as puzzle pieces began snapping into place: the perfectly timed texts, the way he always seemed to know where you were, the way he... watched.

Your phone buzzed.

Aiden: Are you okay, sweetheart? You seem upset.

The camera was still in your hand.

He knew.

When Aiden arrived at your apartment that night, his smile was softer than usual, his eyes alight with something... dangerous.

“You found it, didn’t you?” he said quietly, stepping into your space.

Your voice trembled. “Why, Aiden? Why would you—?”

“Because I love you,” he interrupted, his voice trembling with an intensity that sent chills down your spine. “Don’t you see? I can’t lose you. I won’t lose you.”

His hand reached for yours, but you pulled away.

“You’re scaring me,” you whispered.

His expression crumbled, hurt flashing across his face. “No, no, please don’t say that. I’d never hurt you. I just... I just needed to be sure. I needed to keep you safe. They don’t love you like I do. They don’t understand you like I do.”

Tears welled in his eyes, but behind them, you saw something unhinged. Something feral.

“You don’t have to run from me,” he pleaded, stepping closer. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

Your phone was in your hand now, your finger hovering over the emergency call button.

He saw it.

Aiden lunged.

-

Hours later, you woke up to the feeling of soft fabric against your cheek. You were lying on a plush bed in a room you didn’t recognize. The windows were covered, the air filled with the faint scent of lavender and... him.

Aiden.

You tried to sit up, but your wrists were bound with silken ropes—tight enough to hold you, soft enough not to bruise.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Aiden’s voice cooed from the corner of the room. He stepped into view, his face illuminated by the faint glow of a bedside lamp.

“You’re safe now. No one can take you away from me here.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“I love you so much. You understand that, don’t you?”

His eyes glistened with something almost holy, like he truly believed every word he said.

In that moment, you realized one thing with chilling certainty:

You belonged to him now.

And he was never going to let go.

[luveline]

I’m obsessed with the sister!hotch and Reid fics. I can’t stop imagining that scene where Rossi goes to Garcia’s house and she’s fresh from the shower with Kevin. But instead is Hotch at readers house and Spencer is there.

—you and Spencer are in the midst of a long weekend together when your brother shows up unannounced. fem, 1.3k

“You’re really handsome.” 

Spencer laughs as you drag your hands back over his ears and through his sopping wet hair. The shower water is blissfully warm and soaking your front as it rains down on his head. You shield his eyes but otherwise have your fun. His hair is softer than anything you’ve ever felt. 

He holds your hands flat to his head. “You’re handsomer.” 

“Am I supposed to take that in a good way or a bad way?” you ask. 

“A good way!” he says, forgetting your hands in favour of guiding you under the water. “Handsome has nearly always been used for men more than women, but it didn’t fall out of fashion for girls until the fifties.” He tilts your head upward and to one side as his own begins to fall the other way. “You’re beautiful.” His voice is warm on your lips, “you’re so–”

His kiss is ridiculous; he kisses like he’s starving. You didn’t realise men could actually kiss like this until you met him. It’s not just in the movies, it’s right now, his hand at the back of your neck, unbothered by your laughing or your hand slipping down his wet t-shirt. 

“This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done,” you say. 

“We were covered in mud.” 

“We should’ve just got naked.” 

“We’re taking things slow,” he says, laughing, “it’s fun. But what are we gonna do about our wet clothes?”

“You got the most of the mud on you,” you say. Spencer had performed a valiant rescue in that when you fell, he was straight down into the grass after you in an attempt to save your jeans. It didn’t work, obviously, but the thought was there, and he’s such a good kisser in the shower that you don’t mind the loss. “I’m gonna get out and get changed, you can have a real shower, okay? I’ll get you a towel and your pyjamas and stuff.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah, it’s fine. I think all the mud from my top half is gone.” 

Spencer takes your face into his hand. His thumb rubs a line along your jaw. “Now it’s gone.” 

You beam. Who knew Dr. Spencer Reid was such a tender guy? You could sort of guess from looking at him that he’d touch you like that, but it’s a contrast, too, to be kissed as though you’re some irresistible siren and to have your face held like fragile glass. 

You step out of the shower still sodden, clothes heavy, and close the frosted door between you and Spencer to strip down. Separated but still shy, you hurry out of your clothes and into a towel, wrapping yourself tightly to head into your bedroom. 

You put on blissfully dry underwear and blot your face. Next is loose pyjama pants and a big t-shirt: you’ve never worried about being sexy for Spencer and you’re not about to start. Your first date was a walk in the park, your second date at the bowling alley. He’s not concerned with that stuff. It’s why his frankness about wanting to take things slow isn’t scary, because when he holds your face and tells you you’re pretty, you believe it. 

“Y/N?” 

You flinch so hard your neck cracks. “Ow,” you whine. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You walk forward before Aaron can let himself into your bedroom. Sure enough, your older brother is in your apartment (as he’s allowed, given that he furnished the entire place and paid the security deposit, and, also, awfully, is a very nice big brother). He’s smiling, carrying two pizza boxes and a carton atop it that smells like French fries. “What have you done now?” he asks fondly. 

“I hurt my neck, you scared me.” 

“If you answered your phone, you’d know I was here.” 

“I was in the shower!” 

“I can see that. You’re getting slovenly, it’s almost midday.” 

You’re so genuinely happy to see him that you forget for a moment your predicament. “It’s the weekend, I can do what I want.” You’re gonna have to let him down, which won’t be easy. “I’m not feeling the best, actually.” 

Aaron lets the pizza boxes rest against his stomach. “How come?” 

“I don’t know, I just feel tired. Maybe we can do something tomorrow.” 

“Honey,” Aaron says, with all the cadence of someone who’s used to rubbing your back when you’re sick, “what’s wrong? Let’s go sit down, I can make you something less greasy.” 

“I think you should just go home, actually. I might be contagious.” 

He looks less concerned and more gutted. “What? I don’t care if you’re contagious. When has that stuff ever bothered me?” Aaron takes another step toward you, his gaze flitting past you toward your bathroom. “What’s really going on?” 

The age gap between you and Aaron is expansive. Your being adopted is another gap, and neither have ever bothered him. The moment you showed up in his life he gave you everything he could manage, which has manifested in long phone calls, in hugs, in homemade soup and delivery when he couldn’t be there. Asking him not to look after you is like telling him you don’t want him to, and it isn’t true. 

He means a lot more to you than whatever awkwardness your confession will inspire. 

“Aaron,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. “Spencer’s in the shower.” 

He squeezes his pizza boxes. “Sorry?” 

“We went to the park and I fell by the lake. He’s in the shower.” 

“But you were just in the shower,” Aaron says. 

“Well, we weren’t in there at the same time,” you drag. 

Your lie is obvious to him, not just as a profiler but as your brother. His brow pinches and his nose wrinkles, not disgusted with you or anything so cruelly stupid, but dissatisfied, at least. “Did you have to tell me that?” he asks, pained.

“I didn’t tell you that, you profiled that, and it’s sort of not what you think anyways! We didn’t do anything–”

“Honey.” 

“I’m really sorry, but it’s not what you think.” 

“Listen to me.” The shower turns off and Aaron’s cheek twitches. “You are a grown up. You can do what you like with who you like. It’s my fault for coming here unannounced, I keep thinking of you as younger than you are.” Says the adult. Then, the more friendly part of being a sibling emerges, “Could you send him home?” he whispers. “I got your favourite.” 

You laugh at his proposition. “That’s kinda rude, isn’t it? Can’t he stay? He’s cool.” 

“I’m having trouble coalescing the two of you as more than acquaintances in my mind,” he says, as though he has much more to say about it, even if he’s smiling. 

Spencer chooses that moment to walk from the en-suite bathroom and out of your room, a t-shirt stuck to his chest with damp, his own pyjama pants baggy at the ankles.

“Hey, are you okay?” Spencer grabs your hand impulsively, twining his fingers in yours. Then he sees Aaron and does a double take. “Hotch?”

You give Aaron a sorry smile. “Does that make it easier?” 

“I’ll wait in the kitchen.” 

You and Spencer watch Aaron retreat. His hand stays in yours, but he squeezes you too tightly. “Wait for what?” Spencer whispers fervently. 

You lean up on tiptoes to kiss his eyebrow. “You’re about to get the shovel talk, I think.” 

“Oh. Great.” He drops his forehead against your shoulder, wet hair dripping a path down your shirt. “This is really bad.” 

“He brought pizza.” 

“I don’t think that’s going to help me.” 

You crane your head and kiss-kiss-kiss the top of his ear. “You’re really pretty when your hair is wet.” 

Spencer murmurs to you reluctantly. “You’re really pretty all the time.” 

[bunnis-monsters]

Experimenting

Male!Vampire Scientist x Fem!Experiment Reader

Bunni’s Monstertober Event

Oct 18th

Oct 17

Oct 19

summary: when a vampire needs a source of unlimited blood, he turns to science. You’re his experiment, and a bit spoiled…

warnings: blood drinking, cock warming, male lead is a bit manipulative

a/n: shut up if I have any spelling mistakes 🙏 I’m trying to catch up

You let out an annoyed whine as he poked his head into your room. You were in the middle of a movie, eating a snack.

“Darling~”

He walked in, throwing his lab coat aside and jumping into your bed. The man had a habit of coming to you after a long day in the lab, being clingy and over baring.

“H-hey, don’t jump in my bed before you wash up!”

You pouted, squirming as he pulled you on his lap and rubbed his cheek against your neck.

“Oh, don’t fuss my dear… you know I just adore you, it’s hard to stay away for long.”

Before you could whine anymore, he moved his hand between your thighs, pressing against your wet panties.

“Don’t you remember who saved you? Who’s spoiled you rotten?”

You did remember.

Before you had been living on the street, hungry and barely hanging on. One night you were caught in the middle of a shoot out, and nearly died from blood loss,

He found you curled up in an alleyway, buried beneath trash and filth. You had already died, not even turning you into a vampire could bring you back…

So he used the knowledge he had gained from his research so far from both science and witchcraft to give you life.

One of the side effects was that you overproduce blood, and had to be drained daily. It was a happy surprise, and he decided to keep you for himself as his blood bag.

You were kept in a sterile section of his lap, your bed a plain cot and your food some sort of nutritional mush.

It was hardly the place for a girl… but it would do. You were just an experiment, after all.

That had been his idea at first, to keep you in his laboratory and feed from you every once in a while… but he grew fond of you quickly.

A room was decorated with your interests in mind, and he made sure you were comfortable and had everything you could ever want.

You were almost like his doll, something he could play with when he was bored. He dressed you up, kept you in a pretty room… you were his perfect, pretty little doll.

That’s what he told himself. In all reality, he truly cared for you. Once you bring someone back from death and care for them for months while they recover, you become fond of that person and want to see them thrive.

As he thought this over, your memory was a bit different.

You reached out for him to help you, and he carried you back to his lab himself, not caring that you were dirty and smelled of decay.

Your spirit watched as he carefully cleaned and stitched up your broken body, his hands gentle and caring. Even though you were simply a corpse, he still dressed you and placed a pillow under your head while he researched ways to save you at his desk.

When you woke up in your body, you were in something much softer than the ground you slept on every night. Every day you ate until you were full, and always had energy to walk around.

You weren’t hungry or cold or dirty anymore… that was enough for you, but he gave you even more! A room just for you, dressed and games and books and all the attention and love you could ever ask for…

But it was so hard to accept all of this, to really give in to being spoiled. Especially when you were crushing this hard on him…

His fangs brushed against your neck as he slipped the silk panties he bought for you aside. Lately his affections had turned from platonic to sexual, and he had been toying with you a lot.

Experimenting.

“I see… this is how wet you get when I rub here, hmm?”

He licked along your neck, eyes on your fat cunt as he flicked your clit, causing you to yelp and your hips to buck.

“H-hey…”

His cock hardened when you squirmed, your plump ass moving against his hard on. “That hurts…”

You were pouting, your face warm and flustered.

“So cute…”

He lifted your hips with ease, his cock rubbing against your cunt before he slowly lowered you into it.

Though you’d never taken cock before, he had been slowly stretching you out for weeks now, pumping his fingers in and out of you, getting you ready to take him.

You could only whine and whimper, embarrassed that it felt so good. You attempted to move, but he kept you still, his fingers toying with your clit.

“Relax, love…”

His fangs sunk into your neck, causing you to wiggle and writhe in mild discomfort, which made his cock twitch inside of you. The man continued to stimulate your clit as he fed from you.

Your soft body felt warm against him, and having your blood flowing through his felt intimate. You were connected in a way no one else could be.

As he finished up his feeding, he began lightly bouncing you, letting you ride out your orgasm as his cum spurted into your womb.

Afterwards you were tired and a bit cranky from the blood loss, so he carried you to a bath and washed you up before tucking you into bed.

Why did he do so much for you? He wasn’t sure… but you knew.

He loved you, his little experiment had become his mate and he hadn’t even noticed yet.

want more of this? my commissions and kofi are open!

——————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat

[reidmania]

a moment | s. reid

summary: two times there was a ‘moment’ between you and spencer, and one time he did something about it.

warnings; best friends to lovers, fem reader, pinning, this based off a lorelai and luke edit i saw, idk if its edited or makes any sense tbh!! sorry! longing, kinda self doubt idk, happy ending yay!!

an; this is for lia. And was written in like an hour so i really dont want the hate guys. If it sucks i cannot be held responsible.

You walk into the bullpen, scanning the usual chaos of the bullpen The day’s already running long, and it’s barely even noon.

"Look who finally decided to join us," Spencer says, glancing up from his desk. His eyes are sharp behind his glasses, but there’s a smirk tugging at his lips. He’s half-hidden behind a wall of case files, as always, but somehow manages to throw his snark with precision.

you and spencer had been best friends since you started together, you got along with anyone but gravitated towards Spencer more than anyone else. Him and Penelope were the easiest for you to be around, you loved everyone but you had your favourites.

While Penelope had been bugging you to either kick up the courage to do something about your friendship with Spencer, or move on, you did neither.

"Oh, save it,," you fire back, tossing your bag on your desk. "I’m fashionably late. It’s a thing."

"Yeah, fashionably late in a profession like this. Very chic. Theres other ways to get here you know — from your house-“

“Don’t even” you cut him off.

“Im just saying if you keep missing the same turn off every time maybe it’s a sign you should be going a different way.” He muttered.

“I didn’t miss the turn off.” You argued. You lied.

“You did.”

“No”

He said your name and you huffed.

You roll your eyes, biting back a grin as you sink into your chair. "Can we pretend, just for today, that you’re not right?"

"Well," Spencer says, leaning back in his chair, "I’m only right about ninety-seven percent of the time. So, technically, you’ve got a three percent chance of being right today. Want to take a gamble?"

You throw a crumpled paper at him. "Your math is annoying."

He catches it, eyes twinkling, and throws it back at you. "Annoying?"

“Yes, annoying. It hurts my head”

It’s easy between the two of you—this banter, this back-and-forth. It always has been, ever since the first case you worked together. Over time, it’s become second nature to tease him, push his buttons, and he always gives it right back. The tension slips away with every joke, but today, there’s something different about the way his eyes linger on you a beat too long, like he’s waiting for you to catch on.

You ignore it. You have to.

"So, what do we have?" you ask, holding out your hand for the file in his lap.

He passes it to you, fingers brushing against yours. It’s brief, but the touch sends a spark up your arm. Your eyes meet for a second longer than necessary, and for the first time in a long time, you don’t know what to say.

Spencer clears his throat, looking back down at the file. "This unsub’s a real charmer. I think he's using manipulation tactics to lure his victims. He’s got a pattern, but it’s subtle. Took me a while to piece it together."

"Took you a while? So, like... five minutes?" You grin, but the edge in your voice is gone, replaced by something softer.

He laughs, a sound that always surprises you because it’s rare, but so genuine. "Try thirty. It was a real struggle."

"Wow. I almost feel bad for you."

His smile fades just a little, and when he looks at you again, there’s that shift. Something hovers between you, just under the surface, where the teasing usually stays. His eyes flicker over your face, and suddenly, you wonder if he’s about to say something else, something that would cross the line you’ve never acknowledged before.

Your heart skips, and before you can stop yourself, you lean forward a little. Your breath catches.

"So..." Spencer starts, but before the sentence can land, your phone buzzes on your desk. The sharp sound breaks the moment like a snapped thread. You jerk back, grabbing your phone.

"Hotch needs us in the conference room," you mutter, more to yourself than him, trying to get a grip on the swirling thoughts in your head. "We’ve got a lead."

Spencer blinks, clearly shaken out of whatever that was, and you stand up quickly, focusing hard on the case and not on the fact that you were about two seconds away from… what? Leaning in? Kissing him?

No. That’s not what this is. This is Spencer.

"Race you to the conference room?" he asks suddenly, the playful lilt back in his voice, but there’s still something lingering behind his eyes, a question neither of you seems ready to ask.

"Race? You’re literally taller than me, that’s cheating. I’m wearing heels!!"

"You can run in heels, can’t you?" He shoots you a smirk, the tension easing just enough for you to relax, even if your heart is still racing.

"Could. But i don't want to damage my gorgeous shoes," you huffed, yet already heading for the door.

"Gorgeous shoes?" He repeated, raising his eyebrow.

"Yeah that was actually the name of the shoes when i bought them. They had 'gorgeous shoes' written in big letters across the box." You smiled, tilting your head.

"Really?"

"No."

You make it halfway to the conference room before he catches up, the two of you slipping back into your usual rhythm. But as you walk into the room side by side, the unspoken thing still hangs between you. You don’t talk about it, and maybe you never will, but it’s there.

“Are you still coming over tonight?” He asked, looking down at you, eyes lingering on yours. You nod.

“It’s pizza night. Of course I am.”

And once again, you’re reminded that with Spencer, things have never been as simple as just best friends.

You’re standing in Spencer’s tiny kitchen, flour everywhere. And when you say everywhere, you mean it—on the counters, in your hair, smeared on his cheek where you definitely didn’t mean to slap him with dough earlier.

“This is going really well,” you deadpan, holding up the limp, misshapen pizza dough.

“Um.” He squints as he looks at the mess.

“Well.. you’re the genius who can outsmart anyone but apparently can’t figure out yeast,” you argue, pinning the blame on him. “Is it supposed to look like this?” You muttered, tilting your head.

“I think it’s fighting back. Maybe we’re the victims now.”

You both dissolve into laughter, the kind that makes your stomach hurt. This was supposed to be simple. Homemade pizza sounded like a cute idea, something easy to do on a night off, but it’s turned into chaos. The dough’s not cooperating, the sauce might be too watery, and you’re pretty sure you added way too much garlic. But that’s what makes it fun.

"Okay," Spencer says, hands raised in surrender. "I officially give up. This dough has outsmarted me."

"You’re giving up? Dr Spencer Reid, defeated by pizza dough?" You snatch the rolling pin from him, trying to take over, but the second you press down, the dough tears. "Okay, maybe it’s smarter than both of us."

Spencer steps closer, leaning over your shoulder to inspect the mess you've made. You can feel the warmth of him behind you, and for just a second, everything feels different. The banter pauses. His breath is soft on your neck, his arm brushing against yours as he reaches to touch the dough. Your heart stutters, and you freeze, unsure of what to do next.

But then, with no warning, Spencer flicks flour at you.

"Hey!" you squeal, spinning around to face him, eyes wide. He looks so pleased with himself, a mischievous grin on his face.

"What? You had flour in your hair. I was just trying to help.”

"Sure, you were." You reach for the bag of flour, holding it up threateningly. "I will not hesitate to make this a war, Spencer."

He grins widely, almost daringly.

You grab a handful of flour and toss it at him in retaliation. "You are such a child."

“I’m just helping!” he protests, dodging your attack and grabbing the rolling pin like a shield. His laughter is contagious, and soon you’re both caught up in it, the tension slipping away into something lighter, easier.

You try to swipe more flour at him, but he grabs your wrist, stopping you mid-throw. His fingers wrap around your wrist gently, but the touch sends an unexpected shiver up your arm. You both freeze, the room suddenly too quiet again, his hand lingering on yours for just a second longer than necessary.

His gaze flickers down to where his fingers rest against your skin, and then back up to meet your eyes. There’s a pause, just long enough for the air between you to thicken, something unspoken hanging between you. His thumb brushes your wrist lightly, and you wonder if he feels it too—the tension that’s been simmering all night, just beneath the surface.

You swallow hard, pulling your hand away, but not before you catch the briefest flicker of something in his expression. It’s gone as quickly as it appeared, and just like that, the moment slips away.

His eyes narrow playfully, and for a second, you think he might call your bluff. But instead, he just chuckles and steps back, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Let’s not escalate this. We’re adults, after all."

"Adults who can’t make pizza," you mutter, dumping the ruined dough into the trash. "Guess we’ll have to order in. Again."

Spencer wipes his hands on a towel, still smiling. "I’ll let you pick the place this time. As long as it’s not that one with the weird crust you made us try last month."

"Oh come on, that was a bold choice! You just have no sense of adventure."

"I have a very good sense of adventure," he says, leaning casually against the counter, his eyes sparkling in that way that makes you feel like he knows exactly how to get under your skin. "I just like my pizza to taste like pizza."

You roll your eyes, but you’re grinning, too. "Fine. We’ll get the boring pizza this time."

As you both settle into the living room, waiting for the pizza to arrive, you can't help but feel that lingering tension again. The kind that sneaks up on you when things get quiet, when the laughter dies down, and it’s just the two of you sitting side by side, closer than necessary.

You smile, nudging him with your elbow. "Who knew you were such a terrible cook, though?"

"I think we share equal blame here."

"Maybe," you admit, glancing at him. His eyes catch yours, and for just a moment, the playful air between you shifts. It’s small, like the brush of his hand earlier, like the way he’s looking at you now. Your heart skips again, and you wonder—just for a second—if maybe, possibly, you weren’t imagining it. You ignore it, there was too much that could go wrong if you didn’t.

It’s late in the afternoon when you hear the knock at your door. The sun's still out, casting a soft golden light through your living room windows, but it’s the last thing on your mind.

You’re dressed in something more put together than usual because, of course, Penelope had insisted on setting you up on this date tonight. It wasn’t exactly what you wanted, but she’d been so enthusiastic that you’d caved. You’d said yes to humor her, to get her off your back.

She had insisted that you needed something to get your mind off Spencer. You wondered if that was actually possible.

So when the knock comes, your stomach churns, thinking it might be the guy arriving too early. But when you open the door, it's not your date.

It’s Spencer.

He’s standing there, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, hair slightly disheveled, and there’s a look on his face you can’t quite place. It’s tight, maybe a little frustrated, though he's trying hard to keep his expression neutral.

“Spence?” You lean against the doorframe, arching an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”

He doesn’t answer right away, eyes scanning you briefly before he looks down, then back up again. There’s tension in his posture, the kind you recognize when he’s overthinking something. “Yeah. Yeah, everything’s fine.”

You don’t buy it for a second. “Uh-huh.”

His face tightens even more, though he tries to hide it with a half-hearted shrug. “Did Penelope set you up with some guy?”

“Yeah?” You squinted trying to figure out how he knew that. You hadn’t mentioned it, you didn’t want to talk about what had caused your sudden date or have to lie to him about why Penelope suddenly set you up when you have shown no intention of being interested in dating.

“Penelope told me. Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked, running his hand through his hair as if he was stressed. You didn’t understand, not really. You told Spencer everything so you could understand why he would be annoyed that you didn’t tell him this, but it seemed as if he took it personally.

You squint at him, crossing your arms. “What is your issue? You look like you want to strangle someone.”

He lets out a huff, avoiding your eyes again. “It’s nothing.”

You tilt your head, studying him. There’s something under the surface, and you’re not about to let it go. “Well you’re here so, obviously its not nothing … What’s going on?”

He finally looks up at you, his eyes sharp and filled with something you haven’t seen before. It catches you off guard for a moment. “It’s just—there was a moment.”

You blink, thrown by the sudden shift. “A moment?”

His voice drops, a little rougher now, a little more real. “Last week. When we were making pizza, and the week before that— and during- there was a moment.”

Your heart skips. You know exactly what he’s talking about, but you stay silent, letting him continue.

“I thought there was a moment,” he says, his frustration starting to leak through his words now. “I thought maybe something was… happening.”

Your chest tightens, the air in the room shifting as you meet his eyes. “There was.”

The confession comes out of your mouth before you even realize it, and the tension between you two spikes instantly, filling the space with an electric charge. You can feel it, the way everything has changed with those two words.

Spencer just stares at you, his brow furrowing slightly, like he hadn’t expected you to admit it. He takes a step forward, you step back almost unconsciously, and your heart beats faster in your chest.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice low, unsure.

He doesn’t stop moving, closing the gap between you even more, and his voice is soft but firm when he speaks. “Will you just stand still for a minute?”

Before you can say anything, before you can even process what’s happening, his hand comes up to cup the side of your face, and his lips are on yours.

The kiss is soft at first, almost tentative, but it’s full of all the unspoken things that have been building between you for so long. You feel the world tilt, your hands instinctively moving to grip the front of his jacket, pulling him closer. For a second, everything else fades away—your date, the case, everything.

When you finally pull back, breathless, you just stare at each other. His thumb brushes lightly across your cheek, and his eyes search yours, full of something that feels too big to name.

Neither of you says anything for a long moment, the silence thick and heavy with everything that’s just shifted between you.

Then, as if in slow motion, you take a small step forward. It’s your turn now, the tables flipped, and you can see the surprise flicker in his eyes as he instinctively steps back.

“What are you doing?” he asks, echoing your earlier words, his voice low and a little breathless

You give him a small smile, feeling the tension twist tighter in your chest. “Will you just stand still for a minute?” You mirrored his words

His eyes widen slightly, but he doesn’t move, and before he can say another word, you close the space between you and kiss him again.

This time, it’s different. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. The kiss is deeper, more insistent, and you feel his hands tighten around your waist, pulling you closer. It’s like everything you’ve both been holding back is finally breaking free, all the tension and the unspoken feelings rushing to the surface.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing heavily, faces inches from each other. Your hands are still gripping the front of his jacket, his fingers still digging into your sides like he’s afraid to let go.

You don’t move, neither of you do. You just stay there, staring at each other, and for the first time in a long time, you’re not thinking about the job, or the cases, or anything else. It’s just him.

He’s the first to break the silence, his voice quiet and almost disbelieving, He exhales, a long, relieved breath, his hand still resting on your waist. “I thought maybe I was imagining it.”

You shake your head, feeling a strange warmth bloom in your chest. “No. You weren’t imagining it.”

Another beat of silence passes, and then his lips quirk up into that small, crooked smile you’ve always liked so much. “Well, I guess we have Penelope to thank for this.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling back. “Yeah, and she doesn’t even know it.”

His thumb brushes your side, a subtle touch, but enough to send a shiver up your spine. “Are you… still going on that date?”

The question hangs in the air between you, and for a moment, you almost laugh. The idea of leaving now, of going out with some guy Penelope set you up with, feels absurd.

“No,” you say, your voice steady and certain. “I’m not.”

His smile widens, just a little. “Good.”

You grin up at him, feeling lighter than you have in weeks. “Yeah? Why’s that good?”

Spencer’s gaze softens, and for the first time, you see the real reason for his frustration, for all of this. He steps even closer, so close that you can feel his breath on your lips, his voice low and sincere.

“Because, there was a moment.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, and you meet his eyes, that familiar warmth spreading through you again. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, his lips ghosting yours, and the last bit of tension that’s been sitting between you melts away completely. He smiles, and before either of you can say anything else, he closes the gap and kisses you again.

[a-little-ray-of-fantasy]

An analysis on how Sir Pentious' character design represents his personality and development perfectly (beware of Hazbin Hotel spoilers)

Let's get this out of the way: Sir Pentious is a snake, an animal mostly known for generally believed negative traits such as poison, deceit and betrayal. We don't know WHY he's in Hell, maybe he was a "snake oil salesman" considering he comes from the Victorian times and he's into hyping up what he does, or maybe he was into war. Thing is, he's a Sinner whose design just scream "Evil".

(BTW, a snake could also represent "fertility": looking at you, Egg Boiz!)

He always had eyes all around him not just because of a stylistic choice.

Sir Pentious always felt like he was watched, and had to watch out for any danger.

"Everyone here is too nice: obviously it must be a lie! I can sense they are planning to kill me, but when?! HOW?! I must be PREPARED!"

Sadly, he's been constantly berated by other demons, far more effective in destruction, status, cruelty and charisma. Alastor won't ever bother to remember him, Cherri always ones up him, and the Vs, the ones he admires to most, won't care less about him.

To the point that Vox sent him as a spy without the intention to save him if things were going to fail. Heck, he even openly tells him to die while calling him a failure.

So of course he's got reasons to have trust issues, or taking everything so seriously, being constantly reminded of what he can't accomplish. So he puts an air of grandure that may be very flamboyant, but is VERY frail.

But, if we have to be frank here, his biggest source of insecurities... is himself.

He has eyes on his tail (his softer, more vulnerable side, which is ironically made even MORE lieable to getting hurt because of how sensitive those organs are), and inside his hood, so he could look out better for danger when on alert mode.

Heck, even the mark on his hood kinda resembles one eye.

Problem is, when you see his hood folded, when he's at ease, neutral or sad, those are not looking at outside sources.

They're looking at him, at his back. A constant stare that happens everytime he lets his guard down and shows how vulnerable he is. A gaze that can sense all of his weakness, his struggles, his insecurities.

And it's all him.

Pentious constantly believes that his inferiority complex will fade away once he'll accomplish something grand that will make others accept him. But he is his biggest critic, his worst enemy: HE is the one who believes he's a failure, that he'll never gain approval from others.

This show takes place in Hell, but this is Sir Pentious' personal Hell: insecurity born out of self hatred. Doomed to feel everyone's gaze upon him, including his own. Believing the danger to his self esteem is from others, when it's really from him.

But then he's accepted at the Hazbin Hotel: Charlie forgives him, he bonds with Angel, Husk and Niffty who don't care a bit about what he's accomplished or not, or what he's done in the past.

He feels more comfortable in showing his vulnerable side, and no one judges him for how easy it is for him to get emotional.

Of course he's still very insecure, considering how he struggles to confess to Cherri, but notice how he stops building machines or planning to attack others as soon as he starts bonding with the others: he doesn't have a reason to destroy or attack, now that he knows he's loved.

And his final design, when he goes to Heaven, shows how much he's changed, yet stayed the same. He may have died a hero, but he's still the same awkward snake we've come to love.

Speaking of love, let's talk about that!

No more eyes on his tail, now it's just on his chest (showing he's opened his heart), his glasses are now heart shaped, and even the markings inside his hood resemble kiss marks more than anything else.

And look: the mark on his hood is now heart shaped!

Why all these hearts? Why did all the eyes disappeared from his body? Even his eyes that were looking at his back?

Simple: love. Love defeated his insecurities and self hatred. He died for love.

He died protecting his friends, his new family, his new home.

He confessed and kissed Cherri knowing full well he wouldn't have made it, and yet he went anyway.

The usually cowardly and timid Pentious actually faced a great danger with courage and determination: he acted selflessly by putting himself in harm's way, he didn't steal (naturally) and by going against Adam he did indeed "stick it to the man"!

He used his weaponry knowhow and battle experience not to conquer, but to save his loved ones.

His only thought up until his demise was: "I'll go down protecting them".

And he's been rewarded not only by becoming an angel, but also being spawned directly in front of Emily and Sera, two Seraphim, the highest rank for an angel to have, who have also been depicted as snakes of fire throughout history! Sir Pentious, the lowly demon considered a failure by everyone, actually has been noticed by the Seraphim! He's come so far!

He's now come to represent the REAL symbolism of a snake: the duality of death and rebirth, transformation and immortality (ironically a reference to the fact he's been around since 1888 without ever dying from any Extermination or blessed weapons).

And isn't so poetic that a snake, the "source of the original evil", was the first sinner to ascend to Heaven? Or that this episode was released on February 1st, or National Serpent Day?

And of course, as the Bible itself says:

"Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends."

(John 15:13)

And knowing him, I'm confident in saying he'll keep helping his friends even in his new position, like the soft hearted noodle he's always been, but was to afraid to show it up until now.

[hoshifighting]

Could we get a reaction where the members make the reader cry?

seungcheol would freeze the moment he sees the tears in your eyes. he’s not used to seeing you like this, and it hits him harder than any argument ever could. “fuck, i’m sorry, i didn’t mean—” he’d start, reaching out but stopping himself, his voice would drop, softer, “please, just... i’m an idiot, okay? i’ll fix it, i swear.” unsure if he should touch you yet. “hey, i’m sorry… i didn’t mean to… please, don’t cry.” he’s not good with his words when he’s panicking, but he’ll do anything to fix this, to make you smile again.

jeonghan prides himself on being the calm in the storm but when you start to cry... “are you seriously crying right now?” he’d say, but his voice would crack just a bit, backstabbing his own emotions. when he realizes that he’s the reason for your tears, the smirk would drop from his face, and he’d feel a pang of guilt deep in his chest. “shit, i didn’t want to make you cry,” he’d mutter, suddenly feeling helpless.

joshua’s heart would break at the sight of your tears. he’s always been the one to comfort you, not the one to cause your pain. “hey, hey, don’t cry,” he’d say softly, his hand reaching out to gently wipe your tears away. the guilt would eat at him as he realizes just how much he’s hurt you.

junhui would panic a little when he sees you crying. seeing you like this would make him feel lost. “wait, don’t cry, please,” he’d say, his voice almost pleading. he’d step closer, unsure of how to comfort you but desperate to try.

soonyoung would be devastated, immediately regretting whatever he said or did to make you cry. “shit, no, don’t cry,” he’d blurt out, his own eyes starting to water just at the sight of you. he’d pull you into his arms without a second thought, holding you close. “no, no, no… please don’t cry, i’m so sorry.” he’ the type of dude who doesn’t knows how to react when people are crying. especially if he’s the cause.

wonwoo would be stunned, when he sees your tears. he’s not good with words, but he’d try his best. “i’m so sorry… i didn’t mean to hurt you, you know that...” he’d say quietly. he’d reach out, hesitating for a moment before gently touching your shoulder. “i’m sorry. let’s talk, okay? i want to make this right.” he’ll do his best to express how much he cares, how much he didn’t want this to happen. he’ll sit with you, offering his hand, hoping you’ll take it. if you do, he’ll hold on tight, silently vowing to never let this happen again.

woozi would be hit with a wave of guilt that he couldn’t quite hide, even with his regular stoic expression. “you’re crying? jagi please let me—” “you’re so mean jihoon!” he’d feel a tightness in his chest, hating himself for being the cause of your pain. “i’m sorry… i shouldn’t have said that. i don’t want to see you like this.” he might not know what to say at first, standing there, feeling like the worst person in the world. he’ll gently take your hand, rubbing small circles on the back of it, his way of comforting you. he’ll sit with you in silence if that’s what you need.

minghao hates the idea of making you cry. he really likes balance and harmony, so seeing your tears feels like a personal failure. minghao will gently guide you to sit down, offering you a tissue and giving you the space to express how you’re feeling. he’s good at listening, at understanding what’s beneath the surface, and he’ll do everything he can to reassure you, to make sure you know that he cares deeply. his touch is gentle, comforting, as he promises to do better.

mingyu + seeing you cry because of him would completely wreck him. he’d instantly feel like the worst boyfriend in the world, his heart breaking at the sight of your tears. “oh no… don’t cry because of me, I don’t deserve it...” mingyu would pull you into a tight hug, burying his face in your shoulder, whispering apologies and trying to comfort you as best as he can. he’d probably end up crying a little himself, unable to stand the thought of hurting you. he’ll do anything to make things right, to bring back your smile.

seokmin is always careful with his words, so when he sees you crying because of something he said, it feels like a knife to the chest, hands reaching out to cup your face, gently wiping away the tears. he’s the type to immediately feel guilty, replaying every word he said in his head, wondering where he went wrong. he’s desperate to make it right, holding you close and whispering apologies until you both calm down.

seungkwan will do anything—make silly faces, tell stupid jokes, even sing your favorite song—just to see you smile again, when that doesn’t work, he’ll just sit beside you, his heart breaking a little more every time he hears you sniffle. deep down, he’s scared, scared that he’s hurt you too much this time.

vernon feels like the ground’s been pulled out from under him. “shit, i—i’m sorry.” he’ll try his best, awkwardly pulling you into a hug, he’ll stay quiet, holding you until your breathing evens out.

chan seeing you cry because of him would completely break his heart. “shit, babe, i didn’t mean it like that.” his eyes loaded with worry as he reaches out to you. chan would pull you into a tight hug, holding you close as if he could shield you from any more pain, his heart breaking a little more every time he sees another tear fall.

[dyingswanpavlova]

"Your girl" - Part 7 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: If he's so bad, then why do you crave him so much? You crave him enough to let him be your first.

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, threatening, mentions of blood, mentions of murder and rape, body issues, trauma talk, scars, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, depression, manipulation, mentions of sexual activities and desires, smut, oral sex, (rough) sex, penetration, unprotected sex, degradation kink, not beta-read, if I've missed any please tell me! mdni 18+!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

You didn't know what real desire feels like, until you felt it.

Until you felt him.

And you wanted him, as much as you hated him.

The moment his lips crashed against yours, it felt like nothing you had ever felt before.

Sure, you had been kissed before. Once.

The loser has to seduce the shy girl.

But that didn't count. Or even if it did, it didn't matter to you. Because nothing that happened before that kiss seemed to matter.

A part of you expected his kiss to be gentle - he had made a promise to you after all - but there was hardly any gentleness in his touch.

The first second after your lips met had been a soft, tentative caress. Gentle and careful, as if to test the waters. You lay stiffly underneath him, unsure what to really do. You almost felt awkward, but that didn't mean you wanted it to stop. Quite the opposite.

The gentleness felt...almost forced on his part. You already knew he wasn't the soft type, but for you, he tried.

Until he didn't. And eventually his mouth took control of yours.

You didn't mind.

His lips moved against yours more urgently, the tip of his tongue caressing your lower lip and trying to part your lips, demanding entry.

When you finally gave in to his silent demand, slowly and carefully, he took full advantage of that and slid his tongue in your mouth, participating in a sinful dance with your own.

You were still stiff, still shy, still...unsure. And he felt it.

He pulled back, just enough to murmur against your lips. "Open your mouth wider for me, princess."

Princess. That was new. At least you weren't Hana anymore. Or at least not in that moment.

You reluctantly obeyed and with a low groan you felt his tongue push deeper against yours, harder, more demanding.

You almost gasped in surprise, but again, you didn't mind.

It felt so...

So...

And you were still stiff. A part of you almost felt like burying yourself under a pile of non-existence for being so complicated.

But again, he didn't seem to get angry or even frustrated. Instead he slowly pulled his hand back and tipped your chin up with his fingertips.

"Stop thinking so much. Just do whatever feels right. I promise you, I'm not going to laugh or hurt you. I promised you something and I meant it." His voice was softer than you had ever heard it before and it made something inside of you break.

You wanted him. You wanted him so terribly and the thought scared you like nothing else.

God, when he was being gentle like this, you wanted him even more. It made you go near insane with desire and heartbreak, because you could never have him. Could never have this version of him.

He was the man who kidnapped you, not your lover.

The man who slapped you, not the man who kissed you.

But, shit, he kissed you. And you wanted nothing more than exactly that. Maybe even for the rest of your life.

You were always a romantic at heart.

Hopeful and yet hopeless.

"Okay." You whispered softly and nervously nibbled on your lower lip. "I...I just..."

"I know." He whispered and gently ran his thumb over your cheek. "But that's what I'm here for. I'll guide you."

The next thing you realized was how he pressed you against his wardrobe. You had no idea how you even made it across the hallway and to his bedroom, but somehow you did.

He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head, leaving you helpless and at his mercy. But you didn't care.

In fact it made you want him all the more.

The sounds he made while his tongue delved deeper into your mouth made the dampness between your legs increase tenfold.

His hands slowly slid down your arms and over your shoulders, until he reached your waist and then he stopped. His touch was so gentle, almost careful, like he was touching a delicate bird and was afraid it might fly away.

"Turn around." He whispered against your lips. You hesitated for a second, but eventually obeyed, with a slowness that almost made him growl in frustration.

His fingers found the zipper of your dress, impatiently tugging at it, when-

He exhaled in even more frustration when he felt your hand reach for his wrist, stopping him in his attempt to skillfully and swiftly undress you.

"What?" He bit out.

You opened your mouth and closed it several times. How would you tell him? Should you? Or should you just show him?

You were almost sure he was going to be so repulsed that he'd go and find himself a second girl in no time.

The thought made something inside of you die.

"Can I just...lie on my back?" You whispered.

He frowned, but he was a clever man and he immediately caught on the fact that something wasn't like it was supposed to be. But since he was something akin a gentleman who'd only beat you, not force your clothes off you or rape you, he had never seen you naked before. And suddenly you felt incredibly insecure.

"What is this about?" He asked in a softer tone. "Are you nervous?"

"Yes." You said quietly. "But that's not the reason."

Instead of answering, he tilted his chin down and his lips met the back of your neck. The shiver that punched through your body and the sound that left your lips were both feral.

"I know." He whispered. "But I'll make you forget about it soon."

"You...You don't understand." You finally gasped out. "It's...You won't want me any longer."

That made him pause and he slowly pulled his head back. His frown got deeper and there was something else in his expression now, something like confusion and a hint of anger.

"What are you talking about?"

You fought with yourself, trying to come up with something to say, something to do, something to explain, but no.

Instead you simply released his wrist.

His frown stayed in place, but eventually he began to move again and you felt his fingertips tickle the skin of your back when he moved to pull the zipper down. Another hard shiver ran through your body and you closed your eyes. Your forehead tightly pressed against the wardrobe, you waited. Waited for him to recoil in disgust. To push you away and call out God, it was all for nothing.

But the call never came.

Instead he was silent for a long moment and you felt his gaze burn holes through your body.

"Who did this?"

He sounded calm - no, like he was desperately trying to stay calm, maybe for your sake. You couldn't yet tell if he was repulsed or if maybe he was trying to act like he wasn't.

The faint trace of the scar was subtle, but still evident, even after all these years. A cruel reminder that you would never be free of your past. Of the pain. Sometimes you felt like you were made of pain far more than of flesh and blood.

"My mother." You said very quietly, unable to open your eyes yet.

His fingertips followed the contour of the scar in a touch so soft that you barely even felt it. But you did feel it. It immediately made you shiver and gasp.

That was nothing.

The moment you felt his lips brush over the skin of your back, slowly following the same line, you inhaled sharply. Breathlessly.

There was not enough air to breathe.

Your hands were pressed against the wardrobe tightly and you felt your legs shake.

This was enough to make your mind go hazy and your head dizzy. If this already drove you insane like that, you couldn't tell if you'd even be able to have sex with him. Or if you'd slowly float off into non-existence.

This was better than life.

A soft whimper came over your lips the second his tongue flicked out to taste your skin.

"Oh God." You moaned breathlessly.

Good, you thought with the little mind you had left to think. Good. He isn't repulsed.

"Your mother." He whispered, without ever stopping his ministrations. It made you tense, but you listened in silence. "Your mother. Is she still alive?"

You kept your eyes closed and nodded.

A low hum came over his lips.

"Good."

A slow frown formed on your face, but you didn't dare to speak now. You wouldn't have done anything if it risked to stop him from what he was doing.

"And that man? Your neighbor? Is he still alive?"

You slowly shook your head.

"Too bad." He whispered against your skin. "I would have loved to take care of him.”

That made your head perk up and you looked over your shoulder, looking at him with something that was equally horrified as it was…admiring.

“What are you talking about?” You whispered softly.

He nodded. “What do you think? You’re my girl. I take care of my girl. And no one gets to hurt you. No one besides me.”

His words sent a warm shiver down your spine. You knew it wasn’t exactly healthy or…good. But it felt good. And you couldn’t help but feel that certain warmth in your body increase.

The way he spoke of you, with such possessiveness, it awakened something in you of which you never before knew you had that in you.

“But they hurt me in the past.” You whispered, as though this was a normal conversation.

“Doesn’t matter”, he whispered back, “they still hurt you. And anyone who did, will pay.”

You wanted to respond, wanted to express anything, but you didn’t have the time. He spun you around so swiftly and effortlessly that you immediately forgot what you had even been talking about. You stumbled backwards until your legs hit the bed and then he slowly pushed you back. Gently, like everything he did that night.

Gently.

Your heart skipped several beats as you stared up at him like that. Your hair was messy and your face flushed, your lips still swollen from the greedy, demanding kiss and your dress hung loosely around your shoulders. But your eyes, your eyes, they held a special kind of expression that night.

Hunger.

It was hunger.

A hunger you hadn’t ever felt before. So powerful, it was all-consuming. Your mind was occupied with him, unable to focus on anything else than his delicious smirk. The one you had grown to…

Oh God, don’t even think that.

“You look so beautiful.” He whispered in a husky voice. His hands wandered up to slowly undo his tie. The sight was enough to stir even more desire in you, forcing you to shift on the bed, your impatience growing. Your heart was aching with how handsome he was.

If only you could have him like that every night.

He slowly pulled the tie off and it fell to the ground, before he slowly moved to undo the buttons of his shirt. That was when you realized that you would either sleep with him that night or die.

Because that was how it felt.

Like you would die without him. Crumble and suffocate.

Your eyes followed the movement of his hands as he slowly shrugged his shirt off, revealing his chiseled, marble chest. The sight made your brows furrow and you did something oh-so cheeky. You bit your lip. You had to, otherwise you would have probably moaned.

“What is it, sweet girl?” He purred as he slowly moved onto the bed, hovering right above you. “Do you like what you see?”

You closed your eyes when his hot breath kissed your ear. Then you nodded and bit your lip again.

“Good.” He breathed. “Then show me something I’ll like as well.”

He hooked his fingertips under the material of your dress and attempted to pull it down, when…

He hesitated. For a moment you were almost sure you had done something terribly wrong again and you were about to get punished. You held your breath and expected him to swing his fist at you.

“Can I?”

Your eyes widened almost comically in surprise. Your mouth fell open and you nodded.

The sight of you so surprised and speechless made him laugh.

God, what a beautiful sound.

If only you could hear it every day.

If only, if only, if only.

Your heart ached again. But you quickly pushed these thoughts aside. Now wasn’t the time. You could mourn your non-existent, fantasy relationship by the time the next morning came.

That moment was for you and him.

And right then, he was there. And he was real.

And he was gentle.

He pulled the dress down torturously slow, his gaze eagerly following every inch of skin that was revealed.

You felt so naked, so exposed, so…so warm under his gaze.

You swallowed thickly and kept your focus on his eyes the whole time. It was like he suddenly was a different person.

A husband type of guy.

You closed your eyes, forcefully trying to suppress these kind of dangerous thoughts. But it was impossible. You were immediately certain.

You were in love with him.

And it didn’t matter how many water bowls he’d make you lick on the floor, how many degrading names he called you and how many marks he gave you.

You were in love with him.

Your eyes shot open and you looked at him with something akin to pain, but your confusion grew when, for probably the first time, he didn’t immediately met your gaze. His gaze was fixed on your body, firm and yet soft, like glue. He didn’t move it away, just kept it roaming up and down your body. It was enough to make you shiver.

“God.” He whispered huskily. “God, you’re perfect.”

He slowly looked up to meet your eyes again and when he did, the tiniest frown grew on his face.

“What is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Am I going too fast?”

You just stared at him, unable to say anything. The way his eyes were soft, the way his voice was, the way he seemed so concerned.

And there we go again.

You felt tears well up in your eyes and you tried desperately to swallow the lump in your throat.

His expression immediately darkened, mixed with surprise and something else. He immediately sat up, moving his hips away from yours.

“You’re not ready.” He said stiffly. “You don’t want to. Fuck, I should have known.”

He attempted to get up and, judging by his reaction, probably flee, but he stopped when he felt your hand on his wrist, holding him back.

“No”, you gasped out quickly. “No, don’t leave. Please.”

He stared at you, his expression troubled. “But you…”

“I want it.” You whispered. “I really do.”

He shook his head. “No.” He said firmly. “Listen, I won’t punish you when you say no now. I don’t want it to be like this. The thought of doing this, when you don’t really want me, it…”

“I do!” You propped yourself up onto your elbows and nodded quickly. “I do.” You whispered. “That’s not why I’m crying. I was just…”

You briefly closed your eyes, before you continued.

“I’m just complicated.”

He didn’t seem all too convinced, but the frown on his face signaled that he wouldn’t try to run off again.

“Yes.” You whispered softly. “I was just overwhelmed. But I want it. Please, don’t…Don’t go now.”

His frown deepened, but he slowly leaned back down.

“You don’t have to do this.” He said quietly. “You don’t have to endure this, to please me. Not this.”

You slowly shook your head. You couldn’t tell him the real reason.

That you were grieving the relationship you could have had with him, in another time, another universe. That you felt like you were falling in love with him…or that you already were.

You opened your mouth to come up with another excuse, but when words failed you yet again, you did something else. You tilted your head up and your lips met his. Soft and tentative, careful and gentle, but it was you who kissed him.

Bold girl.

He hesitated for a moment as if to make sure you really meant it.

It truly surprised you how much he seemed to care about your consent. So far, a small part of you had always believed he’d snap once he got impatient enough and he’d just take what he wanted, not caring if you cried or begged or pleaded.

But that couldn’t have been further from the truth.

And still you couldn’t help but ask yourself if this was solely about the promise that he made you. Because somehow, under all his insanity, there was something like an honorable man. A man who kept his promises.

But you tried your hardest to lock these thoughts out.

To lock any thoughts out.

Tonight was about you and him.

The moment you felt his tongue part your lips again, that was exactly what you thought about.

You and him.

Him.

And suddenly the whole world seemed to fade into nothingness, because all that mattered was the way his tongue felt against yours and the sound that left his lips when you wrapped your arms around him. Your hands slowly wandered up the skin of his back, up to his shoulders. You tried to touch every inch of him and memorize it in your mind, just in case you never got to feel him like that again.

You were pretty sure you were doing something wrong, because you had no idea what you were doing, but you tried to listen to his words and just do what felt right.

He finally pulled your dress off of you, leaving you almost bare, in nothing but a pair of panties. The cold air hit your skin and you felt another shiver run down your spine.

And another one when his hand ran up your stomach.

And another, even harder, one when he gently cupped your breast in his hand.

You were a shivering, stuttering mess underneath him and all you could focus on was the way his hands felt against your skin – warm and gentle, soft and yet demanding.

He moaned against your lips as he gently squeezed your breast in his hand, before he slowly moved it further up to your shoulder, then down your arm. And eventually, oh God, eventually he took your hand in his. He intertwined your fingers and pressed your hand down against the mattress with a gentleness that equaled a breath of air.

He ground his hips down against yours, a movement that made a flash of electricity shoot through your veins. He was so hard. Hard and ready to ruin you.

And God, you wanted him to.

“Are you nervous?” He breathed without even stopping to kiss you. You tried to pull your head back to speak, but he didn’t let you and that was enough to make you moan as well.

“Yes.” You whispered.

“Just relax.” He murmured softly. “Let me take care of you, my sweet, darling girl.”

He slowly withdrew from the kiss, which immediately left you craving more, but you had no time to think about it, because the next moment you felt him press gentle kisses all over your neck. Your head lolled to the side and you exhaled a soft sigh. You didn’t even stop shivering any more.

You wanted to pull him closer, you wanted to beg Please don’t stop, but your lips didn’t obey. Your nervousness was far more powerful than you initially thought.

As if on cue, he pulled his head back, looked down at you and whispered: “If I do something you don’t want, tell me, alright?”

You managed a weak nod, silently begging him to continue.

He put on a cocky smirk and went back to kissing your neck, ever so slowly making his way further down. Just when you thought he couldn’t do anything to make you feel better than that, you felt his lips brush along your bare breast and his tongue darted out and left a slow, lazy path over your hard nipple.

You had no idea you could make such sinful sounds.

“P-please.” You whimpered.

He grinned victoriously. “Please what, sweet girl? Please stop?”

“No!”

He laughed and shook his head. “Don’t worry, sweetness. Just lean back and let me do the rest. I’ll make you feel good, I promise.”

He resumed his actions and you fell back against the pillow, your eyes shut. Only then you realized how tightly you had your arms wrapped around him. One of your hands slowly wandered up and down his back again, while the other one tangled in his soft hair. You let out a soft sigh when he moved over to your other breast, doing the most wicked things with his mouth.

You were so breathless and constantly gasping for air, it left your mouth dry.

And then it got even harder to breathe.

He slowly kissed his path down your stomach, making you shiver and writhe in anticipation and agony.

“Oh God, what are you doing?” You whispered breathlessly. You wanted to call out his godforsaken name, but he didn’t have one. So instead you ran your hand through his hair again.

He hummed against your skin as he teasingly licked a slow path down your stomach.

“You’ll see, princess.” He whispered softly.

By the time he reached the edge of your panties, you were no more than a puddle. A helpless mess, desperate over everything he did.

Over him.

He took the material of your panties between his teeth and slowly tugged them down.

“Oh, God!”

You had a feeling like something inside of you was throbbing.

You had been wet before. Felt that nervous twitch, whenever the bad, wicked thoughts entered your mind.

But nothing ever came close to this.

When he slowly freed you of your underwear, you were sure you were about to faint, until-

Fucking hell.

He used his teeth the entire way and when he finally managed to pull them off, he bit down on them and you were sure you saw his tongue dart out. You lay there like a statue, your eyes wide and your cheeks flushed as you witnessed how he tasted the piece of lace that had just covered your soaking wet, most private part.

All you could do was stare, your mouth wide open, as you felt the dampness slowly turn into a pool of arousal.

He slowly pulled them out of his mouth and tossed them aside, his eyes fixed on your own eyes.

He hummed out a soft: “I knew you were delicious.”

You opened and closed your mouth several times, but all that came out was nothing.

He smirked again, but it wasn’t even close to mocking. It was more something like…

Satisfaction.

“Are you ready for me, princess?”

Another weak nod later, you felt him lean closer. The second his hot breath hit your core, you let out a needy, breathless whimper.

You had no idea what that felt like, but judging from the way simply his breath on you felt…

“Keep looking at me.” He whispered. “I want to see your eyes, when I taste you.”

And then you finally felt it. His mouth enveloped you in a way you had only ever seen in videos and you reaction came the same instant.

You tried to keep your eyes open, but they fell shut as if on cue.

And the moment you felt his tongue against you, you were done for.

He began to slowly move it, circle your clit and gently suck on the sensitive skin.

Any semblance of composure left your body and you moaned. And moaned. And moaned.

“Oh…Oh God.” You breathed out, instinctively tightening your hand in his hair.

He let out a soft moan when you did and the sound made you moan in response. The soft vibrations of his humming against your skin nearly made your eyes roll back. You wanted to look at him. But God, it was hard to even breathe.

You didn’t know how he did it. But he did things to you, things that made you feel a tightness in you, like it was all too much and also not even close to enough.

He kept running his tongue over your wet folds, again and again, going from gentle and slow to hard and quick. But the way he sucked on your skin was what made you tremble and ache from the inside.

You were close, you could tell. And you didn’t even need to imagine the most heinous things for it.

“Oh God, please, please, oh God, please!”

He didn’t make any attempts to tease you or stop. He grasped your thighs tightly and propped your legs over his shoulders, pulling you even closer. He hummed again and moved and moved and moved and-

“Oh God!”

You inhaled sharply, tensing up so painfully hard. And then you became still. The pleasure rolled over you in hot waves, as a warm, white light overshadowed everything else in your mind.

You never before came so hard in your entire life.

When you finally, slowly came back down from your high, you carefully lifted your head from the pillow, only to find him already staring up at you. He ever so slowly pulled his head back and looked up at you in awe.

And you stared down at him in fascination.

The devil took over your body, because you suddenly felt unable to wait any longer. You needed to feel him. You impatiently reached for him and pulled him back up, until you felt him pressed against you again.

His hardness achingly straining against his pants, pressed against your warm wetness.

“That was so…God, that was so…”

His lips curved up into a slow smile, but he seemed just as breathless.

Did he get even harder?

You let out a shuddery breath and crashed your lips against his again. He felt so warm on top of you, so safe, that you momentarily forgot that you were so scared of him at times.

You forgot that he kidnapped you and you forgot that he slowly broke your soul.

He also made you Hotteok and he made you cum, didn’t he?

Effortlessly.

You needed him. And you were going to die if you didn’t feel him soon.

“Are you still sure?” He breathed and leaned down to nip at your earlobe.

You nodded breathlessly and bit back another moan.

“I am.” You whispered softly.

And the next moment, you felt his hand slowly reach down. Heard his belt unbuckle and fall to the ground. The sound made something inside of you ache with even more impatience.

You used the small moment to look up at his face. His hair was a mess and his eyes were focused on your body, while he reached down and slowly pushed his pants down. When he felt you staring at him, he met your gaze and raised his brows.

“What?” He murmured.

You suddenly realized you had never seen him so…vulnerable before.

He was still confident, still in control. But something about the way he looked and spoke had softened to an extreme degree. It was like sex was something important to him.

Maybe he wouldn’t just fuck you once and then instantly get rid of your body.

Maybe he would actually keep you around.

And you couldn’t tell if that was good or bad.

You stared at him for a long moment, then you shook your head.

“Nothing.” You whispered. “I’m just…”

“Nervous?”

You nodded.

He hummed softly. Before you could look down to catch a glimpse of him in his bare form, he gently tipped up your chin and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.

“We can still stop.”

“I don’t want to stop.” Your voice sounded more confident now. More like someone you didn’t know, but slowly grew to like.

He looked at you for a long moment, before he eventually released your chin. You slowly tilted your face down, your gaze following the sharp contour of his hard body.

He didn’t seem bothered at all by your staring. If anything, he seemed curious. Like he hadn’t been admired like that in long.

Your gaze stopped on his hardened length, thick and long enough to ravage you and throbbing. He was obviously more than eager, but he held himself back without flinching. You were almost disbelieving of such calmness.

You licked your lips as your gaze slowly glided back up to meet his eyes. The look in them hadn’t changed. Determined and ready. But still soft.

You knew at some point he would snap back into that other persona, into the cruel and scary man that he so often was.

But all you saw now was this softness.

And that was all you cared about.

It looked like he was about to ask again, to make sure again, but the look in your eyes stopped him.

You were nervous. And trembling. And even a tad bit scared.

But you were no less determined than he was.

He slowly pressed himself closer, slowly rubbing himself against you. A soft whimper came over your lips and he seemed to have to hold himself back from making any sounds.

He reached up his free hand and gently cupped your cheek. And then he slowly pressed forward.

Carefully. Gently. Inch by inch.

His eyes stayed focused on yours the entire time, checking your reaction.

The moment you felt him press against you, press inside you, you exhaled a small breath.

It was…

Painful. Mostly painful.

You bit your lip to suppress the hiss of pain which still found its way past your mouth. He hesitated to move forward, but eventually continued.

“Does it hurt a lot?” He whispered.

It was more of a pressure, feeling as tight as a coiled spring, ready to snap.

“Yes.” You whispered. “But I don’t want you to stop.”

He clenched his jaw and slowly pushed forward. It was like he was two people at once. One wanted to be careful and gentle and not hurt you, while the other one seemed all too eager to thrust forward and ravage you like a beast in heat.

But he held himself back.

You were sure it was just for tonight.

But he did it. For you.

And you needed him even more, because of that.

A sharp pain shot through your body and you released a soft sound, a mixture of a moan and a sob. But a few seconds later the pain finally dissolved. And then you felt something else.

“God, you’re so tight.”

He slowly began to move again, going slow and careful at first. You felt more and more of him, until you finally felt all of him.

Your nails dug into the skin of his back and you inhaled sharply when he thrust into you harder than before.

Something was off, you could tell. He clenched his jaw tightly and stared down at you with furrowed brows.

And suddenly it hit you.

He was holding himself back for your sake, you knew that.

But you had no idea how hard it was for him to hold himself back.

He had promised you a sweet, gentle, loving first time and that was what he wanted to give you. But what you saw behind his eyes was something akin to pain. He wanted to go harder. He was desperate to.

He was obviously desperate to do many things.

“You can go harder.” You whispered, almost reassuringly.

He shook his head.

“It’s alright.” You whispered again. “The pain passed.”

“That’s not the problem.” He whispered as he rolled his hips against you deliciously, forcing a moan over your lips.

“Then what is?” You breathed out.

“If I go harder now, then I can’t stop. I won’t.” He whispered and gently cupped your cheek in his hand again.

Almost involuntarily, you closed your eyes and leaned into his touch, before you met his gaze again. Now you were filled with even more determination.

“Yes, you can.” You whispered, sounding almost firm. “Go harder. Just a little.”

He seemed unsure, but eventually he did. He moved harder against you, more urgently, but not quite rough yet. Still, his eyes fell shut and a moan fell from his lips.

A particular hard thrust as well as his reaction caused you to moan in return and close your eyes as well.

His head fell forward and he buried his face in his your neck. His harsh breaths made you shiver and sigh.

“I made a promise to you. And I’ll keep it.”

That made you gently tangle your hand in his hair again and pull back, just enough to look at him.

There was something in your eyes that made him pause.

“What?” He murmured breathlessly.

You looked up at him with wide eyes and whispered: “I want you to fuck me.”

His brows furrowed. “I am-“

“No.” You breathed out. “I want you to fuck me the way you want.”

He stared down at you for a long moment.

“But I might hurt you.”

You bit your lip and shook your head, gently cupping his face in your palms.

“I said, fuck me.”

And immediately something in his expression changed. A part of the lunatic who had murdered a man came back. It was scary, really.

But you weren’t scared.

You were fascinated.

And oh, you were aroused.

He started moving harder against you, thrusting deeper into you and then he released a low growl.

“Are you giving me orders”, he breathed, “or are you begging me?”

You gasped for air when he thrust into you even harder. The ache between your legs got worse, the need deeper. And his pace more and more punishing.

“Begging.” You gasped out. “I’m begging you.”

“Then beg me.” He hissed. As if to emphasize his point, he began to move even faster against you.

“Please.” You moaned out.

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me.” You whispered breathlessly. You felt your face flush so hard, it was almost painful, but for the first time in your life you didn’t care. You said the word, because you wanted to say it. And you let him fuck you, because you damn well wanted to.

And suddenly the spell was broken.

“Fuck. Oh God. Please. Fuck me.”

The harder he moved, the more intense that feeling inside of you became.

You never came before from the feeling inside of you, only ever by stimulating your clit.

This was new, it was intense, it was insane, it was-

“Who are you?” He hissed out in a voice that was near furious.

“Your girl.” You gasped out without hesitation. “I’m your girl.”

“Good girl.” He leaned his head down and gave you a long kiss, his tongue pressing into your mouth aggressively while he began to pound even harder into you.

Before you could protest (as if you would have) he pinned your wrists down against the mattress. You were completely at his mercy, you belonged to him and you were in love with him.

You were fucked.

“Who are you?” He bit down on your lip hard enough to draw blood.

You let out a pained moan and pressed your hips up against his.

He moaned into your mouth. “Good girl.”

Then he grabbed your thigh and yanked your leg over his waist, pressing himself even deeper into you. His movements were bordering on aggressive and your moans became louder and more and more breathless. Just like his own.

That was what had been missing back when he pressed into you so gently and carefully.

And you realized you never wanted to miss it again.

“Who are you?” He breathed out again.

“Your girl.” You gasped out.

He hummed and leaned down to bite down on your neck, only to soothe the bite with his tongue a moment later. “That’s right. My cumslut. My good girl. My whore. My princess.”

Each and every word that left his lips made you feel more and more wicked, more desperate to feel him deeper and harder, which you did.

He moved against you with a fervor that bordered on painful and you loved every second of it.

It was painful. But you suddenly realized what you never knew before.

There was a good kind of pain. It existed.

“Are you close, princess?” He breathed before he bit down on your earlobe, causing you to release a soft whine.

You tried to speak, but all that came out was moan, after moan, after moan. So you simply nodded.

He growled in response and pressed your wrists down even harder.

“I’m going to make a mess of you, princess.” He hissed. With a few quick, rough thrusts more, you felt your eyes roll back and your back arch off of the bed and against him.

If what you felt earlier had been an orgasm, you needed a new word for this.

The feeling was so hard and intense, it was almost unpleasant by how fucking good it was.

You wanted to cry and scream out his name, but all you could do instead was dig your nails into his skin, hard enough to scratch down to his blood.

He growled again and started moving so furiously that you felt like you were being torn apart, until you finally felt him twitch and throb inside you. The sounds he made were good enough to almost make you cum again and you watched with half-lidded eyes as he rode out his release, giving a few deep thrusts into you and releasing deep inside you.

Your body was still twitching and writhing underneath him. He kept his eyes closed and rested his forehead against yours. When he tried to pull back, you wrapped your legs around his waist.

“Wait.” You whispered breathlessly. “Not yet. Just…Can we just stay like that? Just for a moment?”

He slowly opened his eyes and met your gaze and to your great surprise…They were still soft. Even more so than before.

“Of course.” He whispered and buried his face in your neck. He slowly lowered himself back down on you, just enough so he wouldn’t crush you.

You were both breathing heavily and your hands were warm and damp with sweat.

“Was that alright for a first time?” He suddenly whispered.

And you did something that you hadn’t done in a while and you had been sure you wouldn’t ever again.

You smiled.

“Yes.” You whispered. “It was perfect.”

He pulled his head back and raised a brow. “Not too rough?”

You shook your head.

He hummed as he observed your smile for a moment.

“I held myself back.” He murmured. “I can’t be gentle next time.”

You looked at him with a soft expression and nodded.

“I know. I remember your words.”

He reached out a hand and gently touched your cheek.

“You should know one thing, darling.” He suddenly whispered.

Your eyes widened and you listened intently. Still, a part of you expected a low, painful blow.

But you couldn’t tell if it ever came.

His words left you torn.

“I’ll never let you go."

___________________________________________

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If I forgot anyone, please let me know and I'll fix it!

[beloveds-embrace]

I am absolutely Eating your angsty dukedom 141, I'm just scarfing it down ayejjrnf

But! Suggestion for the drabble of reader slowly fading into the bg without König there;

Hereditary illness exacerbated by stress.

It's mostly fallen into the cracks of reader's family history after her ancestor married into nobility- not a lot to be dangerously stressed about when you're waited on hand and foot by servants, after all.

But then once reader stops making any attempt to leave her room, servants have to start bringing her her meals, and they start noticing that she seems to be getting increasingly thinner despite the meals being at least half eaten. She seems more exhausted, her hands shaky and trembling, embroidery or painting projects left tossed in the corner of her bedroom after she couldn't hold onto the needle or brush, let alone do any precision work.

Gossip spreads through the servants of the Duchess being ill (though none seem particularly caring of this fact) until it starts to reach the boys' ears

Thank you!! I hope you enjoy this!!

The first sign that something was wrong- truly wrong- came when one of the younger maids hesitated outside John’s office. Her apron was wrinkled, and she kept wringing the cloth in her hands until the edges frayed. Kyle, always perceptive, was the one to notice her first.

“What is it?” His sharp eyes pinned her in place.

The maid flinched but didn’t run. Instead, she stepped forward, voice trembling. “I-It’s the Duchess, sir.”

That was all it took for the entire room to still.

John had been in the middle of correspondence, quill poised mid-sentence, but he set it down without finishing the word. Simon’s ever-present stoicism cracked, his fingers tightening around the edge of the table.

“What about her?” John’s voice, though even, had an undercurrent of tension.

The maid looked at him with wide, uncertain eyes. “She’s… ill, sir. She’s not been leaving her room-”

“We know that.” John interrupted, his voice a low growl.

“No- no, sir, I mean really ill. She’s not eating much anymore, but- she’s thinner, sir. Much thinner than before. And her hands shake something awful when she tries to hold a spoon or cup. I saw it myself when I brought her tea this morning… it’s- it’s been going on for a while now, we’ve all noticed but I just couldn’t- couldn’t stand back anymore, I’m so sorry.”

The words dropped into the room like a stone into a pond. And the silence that followed was thick, pressing, suffocating.

John was the first to move, striding out of the room with the others close behind him. The maid was left in their wake, her words repeating themselves in her head as though she’d spoken some terrible thing into existence.

They found you where you always were now- alone in the dim bedroom, wrapped in blankets but still somehow shivering. The curtains had been drawn tight, the hearth left to burn low, and the air was stale with disuse.

You didn’t even stir when the door opened.

John froze at the sight of you, the sharp tang of guilt clawing up his throat. He could see it immediately- the way your cheeks had hollowed, the slight tremor in your fingers as you clutched the edges of the blanket. The soft silk of your gown hung loose at your shoulders, as though it no longer fit the same way it used to. An old one- one you’d worn at the beginning if your marriage, still hopeful for companionship from a husband who didn’t care for you.

Kyle was the first to break from his stupor, stepping forward and kneeling at your bedside. “… Duchess?” His voice was softer than John had ever heard it, but it still seemed too loud in the suffocating quiet.

You stirred then, eyes fluttering open just enough to see him.

“Kyle?”

The hoarseness in your voice struck something in him- hurt him in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

“I’m here, darling,” he murmured. He reached out, gently brushing his knuckles against your cheek, and frowned at how warm your skin felt. “What’s happened to you?”

You tried to sit up, but your body betrayed you, trembling with the effort until Kyle and Johnny had to steady you with firm hands.

“I’m fine.” You said. The words were paper-thin, weak and unsteady.

“You’re not fine.” John cut in, his voice harder than he meant it to be. You flinched, and it made his heart squeeze painfully.

Simon said nothing, but he hovered near the foot of the bed, his sharp gaze flicking over you as if committing every detail to memory. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, but what was there to do or say? He felt like he might break you should he even brush his fingers across your skin.

“It’s nothing.” you murmured, turning your head away.

“Nothing?” John repeated, dangerously low. He stepped closer, dropping to his knees at your bedside, one hand finding yours. “You think this is nothing?”

Your fingers twitched in his grasp, but you didn’t pull away. You couldn’t even meet his eyes.

“I know…” Your voice cracked, and you squeezed your eyes shut. “I know you don’t care. Why- why are you here now?”

It felt like the air had been knocked out of him.

“Don’t care?” John echoed, tinged with disbelief.

“None of you came,” you whispered. “Not once. I thought… I thought maybe it was easier for you that way. You- is this not what you wanted?”

Simon made a sound then- low and guttural- and moved to kneel on your other side, opposite Kyle. He reached for your other hand, lifting it carefully to his lips. His breath was warm against your skin, but you didn’t react.

“I’ll get the doctor.” Johnny said abruptly, spinning on his heel and leaving before anyone could stop him.

Kyle stayed close, his hand never leaving your shoulder, while Simon stroked your knuckles in slow, deliberate motions. But it was John who finally spoke.

“We should have come sooner,” he admitted, voice heavy with regret. “I should have come sooner. Duchess- I’m so sorry.”

You blinked, your lashes damp with unshed tears. “Why didn’t you?”

The words cut deeper than any blade.

He looked at you then, taking in every fragile, exhausted detail- the way your breath came too shallowly, the slight tremor in your fingers, the sheen of sweat on your skin despite the chill in the room.

“Because I was a fool,” he said softly. “Because I let myself think you were fine without us.”

You didn’t answer, but the way your fingers curled just slightly around his told him enough.

When Johnny returned with the doctor, the room erupted into motion. You were carefully propped up, fed broth spoonful by spoonful, your pulse checked, and your temperature taken. The doctor’s diagnosis was both alarming and infuriating- stress-induced illness, made worse by malnutrition and exhaustion. It wasn’t until he began asking about your family history that the pieces truly started to click.

“You’ve been predisposed to this,” he explained, while they watched in silent, setting horror. “It’s genetic, though dormant in most cases. But stress- particularly prolonged stress- can trigger it. I’d wager it’s been simmering for weeks, if not months.”

Months.

Kyle and Johnny exchanged glances, and Simon looked like he was ready to tear someone apart. Mabe himself.

John didn’t move from your side.

“What does she need?” he demanded.

“Rest. Food. Care. But most importantly…” The doctor’s gaze swept across all of them. Rumors flew with the wind, and he was still not old enough to lose his hearing. “No more stress.”

John nodded firmly, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You’ll have everything you need.” He promised.

But his words held no particular weight to you.

[soobnny]

we'll never have sex — changbin x reader ; established relationship & hurt/comfort (1.2k words)

there is nothing more beautiful than the promise of love even if you cannot guarantee or give that certain level of intimacy just yet

for my girls with a complicated relationship w sex & yes this is based off of leith ross’ song

Facetimes with Changbin always last longer than they should. 

Had it been anyone else, the call would’ve dropped more than an hour ago. You’d have been found guilty for finding any excuse to warrant you some silence–the slightest tinge of awkwardness, the moment conversation runs out, faking plans.

Never with Changbin.

The static of phone calls stretch on, neither of you having moved much. You can’t remember how long it’d been since either of you said something, but you’ve never minded. The quiet that came with your boyfriend had always felt comfortable. Almost safe.

In your periphery, just at the top most right of your screen, you can see him sprawled across his bed, signature hoodie to match the boyfriend look, and fingers lazily scrolling through his phone. 

“Still awake, baby?” His voice breaks the silence, teasing almost, but still gentle. 

“Mhm.” You hum, shifting in your position a little. “But ‘m a little sleepy.”

“You should go to bed.”

“No.” Changbin chuckles at your refusal, deep and raspy through the phone. His eyes are crinkled at the corners, distinguishably fond even with the poor quality of the video.

For a second, you allow yourself to just watch the boy–his glazed eyes, the softness in his features accentuated by the low light of his room, the warmth of his smile. 

Almost safe. Almost reassuring. 

You wonder if it’s all a facade, wonder when he’d finally break, wonder when he’d leave you because you refuse to let him do anything beyond a kiss. Maybe no amount of love, even from the right person like Changbin, will ever be enough to change that.

You try to scold yourself. Self-destructing thoughts are too familiar, they reverberate in your head like you’d been thinking about it for a while, like they’d been practiced and practiced until permanently tattooed. 

The tears come without warning, mid-scolding. Big and heavy and warm. They pool at the edges of your version, and it makes you feel pathetic that you hurry to press the sleeve of your hoodie against your face. 

Changbin notices immediately.

“Hey.” his voice sharpens, the playful edge he’d been sporting earlier gone in a split second. “(Name)? Baby, hey, look at me. What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, and oh god, he’s going to leave you. He’s going to leave you because you’re such a crybaby, and anyone with a normal fucking mind wouldn’t do this to him. Anyone under normal—kinder—circumstances wouldn’t think like this. 

“Baby.” He tries again, softer this time. “Talk to me.” 

Your throat tightens around something akin to a lump. You try to swallow it down. 

“Why’re you crying? What’s wrong?” 

There’s a long pause before you finally speak.

“What if I… what if…” You start, voice barely above a whisper. You don’t know how to continue, words disjointed and dismembered. “If I said you could never touch me, would you still want to be with me?”

Changbin pauses for a fraction of a second, eyebrows drawn together in genuine confusion. But you go on, inundating him with the fears that have spent your entire life trying to catch up with you.

“I can’t give you what you want. It’s what you want, isn’t it? Would you still stay with me even if I told you that I never want to have sex?”

The boy’s expression softens immediately. He can hear his own heart break at how fragile you sound, at how shattering it is to look at your tear-streaked face through a screen, at the things that could’ve transpired for you to think that he’d ever leave you because of that, just because of something so menial to him in a relationship.

“Of course I’ll stay.” He says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “That doesn’t change anything.”

His words are meant to be comforting, the small but sure smile on his lips should’ve been enough to return your peace, but instead, the tears well up again. Heavier this time. 

“Wait. Wait, wait—hold on.” His face suddenly disappears off the screen as he fumbles with his phone. He sounds rushed. “I’m… I can’t just look at you cry and not do anything about it.”

Then the call ends.

It isn’t until fifteen minutes later when a sudden knock on your door shakes you from your self-pity do you see him again. And he’s standing there, slightly out of breath, the same hoodie you’d seen earlier half-zipped with his hair tousled from the cold wind outside. 

“Binnie.” Your voice cracks. “What are you doing here?”

Changbin doesn’t say anything at first, just allows himself to look at you—eyes tracing over the tear stains on your cheeks, and the way you’re hugging yourself with the sleeves of one of his jackets. 

Then, without a word, he slips a hand beneath your jaw, tilting your face to look you in the eyes. His palms on your skin feel warm, calloused but gentle as he cradles you in his hands. “I think…” He pauses. 

A heartbeat passes.

“I think you look lovely.” He murmurs, tone low and gentle, abating the tempestuous anxieties swelling in the pit of your stomach. “And I love you. Not because of what you think I’m expecting from you, but because I love you. The entirety of you.”

You press your face into the crook of his neck as an ugly sob escapes your throat. The tears spill over again, faster, and you feel so ridiculous for crying even more in front of him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I— I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” He pulls back, leaning in to press a kiss to your wet cheeks. His voice is firm, but not unkind. Never unkind. And his eyes held no hesitation, no flicker of doubt in the way he’s looking at you right now. “Did I say anything to make you feel this way?”

Changbin tries to hide how he feels about his question, like he could never imagine being the reason why you’re sobbing like this.

“No, oh my god. Binnie, no. It’s not you.” 

“Okay, it’s not me.” His voice is still kind, relieved. “I’m never expecting anything from you, okay?”

And just as gentle as he’s holding you, he kisses you. Nothing desperate, nothing hurried even. Just slow and lingering, like he’s savoring the moment for exactly what it is. He isn’t kissing you to take you to bed, not to ask for anything more, not even to change your mind.

Changbin kisses you just to kiss you. 

Just to hopefully show you that he means everything he said to you. 

“I’ll take care of you.” His fingers thread through your hair. “I love you.”

Quietly, tiredly, you start to show a small smile. “Thank you.”

Loving you is so easy for Changbin. Like second nature. Like falling in love with your laughter, and the little parts of you that make up your sum. And you’re aware that it’s going to take time to heal yourself—that it won’t be so easy all the time, that there will be days like these again, but you also know enough that he is genuine and that he loves you with no expectations even if it’s hard to believe sometimes.

Seo Changbin loves you with every bit of conscience he was born with. He loves you simply. 

You stay like this for a while. Safe. Reassuring. Until you feel the sickness less and less.

[keferon]

Do you think there’s any other bots that Prowl or Jazz would trust to hold Jazz?

What if Jazz was way more trusting of them because he just assumes they know to be careful? What if someone thought it’d be funny to toss Jazz to another bot, not out of maliciousness but just stupidity? What if Jazz very suddenly learns that Prowl has been excruciatingly careful with him compared to all the others? What if Jazz got hurt?

Would he ever trust anyone other than Prowl to hold him after that? Would Prowl?

NoW THIS Is an interesting thought >:0

Because I think yes, Jazz would be pretty trusting at first. Because of how careful Prowl has always been, but also because on Earth all robots are piloted by other humans, so they always know exactly how fragile humans are.

I can easily imagine that someone dumb and reckless would drop him or throw him or kick him because he was in the way. And it would hurt like hell because Cybertronians are metal and huge and heavy as fuck. They can bend metal with their hands and Jazz is MUCH softer than metal. Of course Jazz wouldn't make the same mistake twice, so he doesn't let anyone grab him anymore, except for Prowl and maybe a few other bots.

Also Prowl would be. SO MAD. At whoever got Jazz hurt. SO UNBELIEVABLY MAD. He would yell and throw tables and everything.

And I can imagine at some point Jazz and Prowl would do something together. Like. Having fun and telling stories and stuff. And Jazz would mess around on Prowl's table so Prowl would grab his hand with two fingers (digits?) and be like "nono no don't touch that".

And Jazz would just. Suddenly realize that he's being held by an absolutely massive metal alien who can break all his bones with just two fingers without even trying. And yet. He doesn't feel any pain.

I imagine he'd be like, huh...he's using precisely 0,001% of his strength so he wouldn't hurt me. And he does it consistently, purposefully and carefully and absolutely intentionally every time.

Because yeah. Jazz would understand that "managing a human" isn't intuitive for Cybertronians. At all.

[kaiser1ns]

#. GIVE ME WHAT I WANT

featuring 𝗺𝗶𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗲𝗹 𝗸𝗮𝗶𝘀𝗲𝗿 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

fluff. he allowed himself to feel something he rarely did, peace and love because with you he got everything he wants.

happy birthday to my lover boy kaiser !! and happy christmas everyone !!

More awake inside of his dreams, the loneliness suits him better as he remains the only star in this cruel world. He doesn’t know what he wants but it’s not this, these sugar-coated words don't mean anything when he says them with his lips, tongue rolling with venom when he sees the faces of despair, experiencing the depth of a person’s soul when they have been put in their place. The moment people give up and are left hopeless, desperate for salvation, sacrificing their talent for more tedious lives — they are weak, more or less dead.

Impossible. He hates and loathes upon hearing that word coming out of someone's mouth, which makes him want to prove himself even more. Nothing is impossible. He was the weak person who gave up at any given chance, curling up into a ball to disappear and become invisible, embracing what is dearest to him in all the vast space, a planet that shines brighter than any star, emitting its own light basking in the gravity of football.

I don't know what I want but I know it's not this… A blue rose on his neck traced down with chain-like intertwined thorns that made their way to the crown on his left hand. To remind himself, to never again fall into that weak mindset, a dark and deep rabbit hole that won’t lead you to Wonderland but straight to execution, and it's ‘Off with your head!’. A symbol that shows the impossible, he is the symbol itself, not the tattoo.

Was that really you next to me? It’s cold even under the blanket, it's cold because it's winter … But it’s warm when you kiss him, it’s warm when you love him. Sometimes it makes him sad when he receives a gift because he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to react. It’s his birthday and he doesn’t like it. Christmas lights, a decorated apartment, food on the table, and a woman full of love. Giving him what he wants, then again who is he supposed to please?

“Don't you like it, my love? I-I can always return it if you don't…” Kaiser tried to play it off, masking his emotions behind his usual arrogance. But with you, he was different—less rude, less cold. His eyes lingered on the gift he had just unwrapped: golden rings. Promise rings, you had said with a soft smile, assuring him that nothing could ever tear you apart. Yet, your expression betrayed you—your face was full of sadness and regret. It hurt him more than he cared to admit, more than anything else ever could.

He watched as you looked down, fidgeting with your hands, retreating into yourself. You had given him so much more than he deserved. You gave him what he needed the most: a dream to hold on to.

Then, you felt it—his colder, larger hands settling gently atop yours. For someone usually so brash, the touch was rather gentle and tender. He turned your hand palm up, brushing his thumb over your knuckles before sliding the ring onto your ring finger. An arrogant young man with a superiority complex, Kaiser had always been a fortress of pride and self-importance. But beneath it all, he was just a boy yearning to be loved. “I never said anything like that, Engel,” he murmured, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. "I’m just… not good at this stuff, okay? Birthdays and gifts, they’re not my thing. Never have been."

He tilted his head, studying your face. His usual smirk returned, but it was softer now, almost boyish. Kaiser knows you are doing this with pure intentions, he knows he has ben truly blessed not on this day, but the day he met you. And even if he hides it, you can see the little boy's eyes waiting to hear those three words.

“I love you,” you whispered, leaning in to kiss him. Wrapping your arms around his neck, your lips met his, the warmth of your touch seemed to catch him off guard, and he instinctively stepped back. You both paused, glancing up—mistletoe. A sweet kiss for the birthday boy. A loving kiss for the gift you’d received from the universe. His lips were softer than you expected, and he tasted faintly of your lipstick, a reminder of just how sweet your kisses were. He loves you too. You are everything he could ask for: pretty, smart, loving, and caring. You are his.

As he kissed you back, his hands found your waist, pulling you closer. The motion brought him off balance as he hit the edge of the bed, pulling you down with him. You landed on top of him, both breathless, laughter spilling into the space between your lips.

“Time to unwrap your other present~” you teased as you caressed his face, and he felt the golden ring pressing to his cheek.

On days like this, angels are said to come alive. But you were born one—his angel, his most precious treasure. For someone who believed the world to be cruel, who found pleasure in proving everyone else wrong, you were the exception to all his rules. You made him want to be better, not for the world, but for you. Who am I supposed to please? He asked, more to himself than to you, repeating the question that haunted him. His answer was clear now. It wasn’t about the world, the people who doubted him, or even his old self. It was you. It had always been you.

©2024 kaiser1ns do not copy, repost or modify my work.

[s4kura-tr3]

Hiya!!! I’m here again to feed more ideas >:)

My thought was JJK men if their s/o got hurt (interpret however you will, I’m interested to see what you cook up!!!)

If you do this, thank you for your time!!! If you don’t wanna/aren’t comfortable, that’s okay too!!! Have a good day/night!!!

It’s okay

An: ahhh it’s always nice to see your request! I don’t know why but I just decided that all the jjk men’s reader was hurt on the job (except for Sukuna and Toji)

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji, Sukuna, Megumi, Yuji

Tw: mention of injury, hurt reader, blood, angst?

(Another long one..)

Gojo Satoru

The call came in while Gojo Satoru was lounging in the hallway of Jujutsu High, long legs stretched across a bench and blindfold resting low over his eyes. He wasn’t worried—he never was—but the tone of Ijichi’s voice made him sit up straighter than usual.

“They’re hurt, Satoru. It was supposed to be a simple mission.”

Gojo froze. Just for a second. It was imperceptible to anyone else, but he felt it—the world tilting, the weight of the words sinking in. A familiar tightness pulled in his chest.

And then he was gone.

When Gojo arrived on the scene, the air practically crackled with his energy. Cursed spirits that had lingered moments ago were already fleeing—instinctively knowing that something far greater had arrived. He found you there, propped against a wall, one hand pressed to your side where blood was soaking through your uniform.

Your head lifted weakly when you felt his presence. “Gojo—”

He was in front of you in an instant, crouched down so his face was level with yours. You could see his eyes now—brilliant, endless blue, the usual teasing gone, replaced by something sharp and focused.

“You’re hurt,” he said, his voice softer than you expected. His hands hovered, unsure where to touch you without causing more pain.

“Looks worse than it is,” you murmured with a small smile, trying to lighten the mood. “I handled it.”

Gojo’s jaw tightened. He didn’t smile back.

“You shouldn’t have to handle it.”

With a flick of his fingers, the cursed energy lingering in the area vanished entirely. The remnants of your fight—the spirits, the blood, the destruction—no longer mattered. His world was you, and you were bleeding. That was unacceptable.

He moved you carefully, his Infinity dropping just for you as he slid an arm around your back. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, his tone almost reverent. “Let me fix this.”

You blinked up at him, trying to keep your breathing steady. “I’m fine, Gojo—”

“No, you’re not,” he interrupted, that usual playfulness inching back into his voice, though his grip on you was impossibly gentle. “And you know what? I don’t care how strong you are. You’re banned from missions without me now. Official rule.”

You groaned. “You can’t do that.”

“I’m Gojo Satoru,” he said, a smirk pulling at his lips. “I can do anything.”

He carried you back to safety as if you weighed nothing. He never looked away from you, not even once, as if making sure you were still there—still breathing.

Later, when your wounds were cleaned and wrapped, you woke to find Gojo sitting beside you, his long frame crammed awkwardly into a chair. His blindfold was pushed up into his hair, his expression relaxed now, but his eyes betrayed him. There was no mistaking it—he’d been worried.

“You’re hovering,” you muttered, your voice still tired.

“Of course I’m hovering. You scared the hell out of me,” he said, though the teasing lilt was back. “You’re not allowed to do that again. Ever.”

You rolled your eyes. “Overprotective much?”

Gojo leaned forward, resting his chin on the back of his hand as he gazed at you. “Call it what you want, but you’re not just anyone to me.”

For a moment, the world felt still—so unlike Gojo Satoru, whose very existence bent reality. Here, though, in the quiet of your shared space, he was just a man who cared too much.

“You’re mine to keep safe,” he said softly. “So let me.”

And this time, you didn’t argue. Instead, you let yourself drift back to sleep, safe in the knowledge that Gojo Satoru—the strongest sorcerer alive—would always be there to catch you.

Geto Suguru

Suguru had always prided himself on his composure. No matter how dire the situation, no matter how chaotic the battlefield, he was calm, collected—a force of nature with unshakable purpose. But that resolve faltered the moment he saw you, crumpled on the ground, blood painting the dirt beneath you.

For a brief second, time seemed to stop. The world blurred, all sound fading away except the ragged pull of your breaths. You weren’t dead—he could tell that much from the cursed energy still flickering weakly around you—but you were hurt. Badly.

Geto’s usually languid movements were sharp as he crossed the distance between you in seconds. He crouched low, his hands trembling slightly as he reached for you.

“Why?” he murmured, his voice low and strained. His fingers hovered just above your skin, unsure if touching you would cause more pain. “Why weren’t you more careful?”

You forced a weak smile, blood staining your lips. “It’s… not as bad as it looks, Suguru.”

He didn’t believe you for a second. His eyes—a deep, endless black—burned with emotion, though his face remained calm. It was the kind of calm that preceded a storm.

“Stop lying,” he said softly, though his tone carried an edge. “You’re bleeding out, and you’re trying to joke about it?”

You flinched—not from pain, but from the raw intensity in his voice.

“I handled it,” you said, your voice hoarse. “I didn’t want to drag you into—”

“Stop talking,” he cut in, his tone sharper than you’d ever heard. His hands finally moved, one slipping behind your back to support you, the other pressing firmly against your wound. His cursed energy flowed into you, the warmth of it steadying your fading strength.

“I don’t need you to handle anything alone,” he said, his voice quieter now but no less firm. “Do you even realize what it would do to me if I lost you?”

You blinked at him, the words catching you off guard. He rarely let his emotions spill like this. Suguru had always been the calm one, the one who carried the weight of the world with an almost unnerving grace.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

His jaw clenched, but he didn’t respond. Instead, hisfocused on stabilizing you, his cursed energy precise and efficient. When he finally spoke again, his voice was softer.

“Don’t apologize. Just… don’t do this again. Promise me.”

You nodded weakly, your hand reaching up to rest against his. “I promise.”

When he was certain you were no longer in immediate danger, Geto carefully lifted you into his arms. His movements were deliberate, his touch impossibly gentle despite the power coursing through him.

The battlefield was eerily quiet now. The curses he’d summoned earlier loomed in the distance, awaiting his command. He glanced toward them, his expression darkening.

“Stay alive,” he said softly, his gaze flicking back to you. “Because if you don’t, I don’t know what I’ll become.”

And as he carried you away, the weight of his words settled heavily in your chest. Geto Suguru—the man who carried hatred for the world in his heart—held a love for you that was both fierce and fragile, and you knew he would destroy everything to protect it.

Nanami Kento

Nanami Kento prided himself on being a man of structure. Predictability, schedules, efficiency—those were his constants. They were the threads that held him together in a world that thrived on chaos.

But when he found you injured during a mission, those threads began to unravel.

The first sign that something was wrong was the blood—your blood—spattered across the cursed ground. Nanami’s grip on his sword tightened, his breath caught in his chest, but his footsteps never faltered. He moved with purpose, carving through curses without hesitation, eyes scanning the ruins for you.

And then he saw you.

Slumped against a cracked pillar, your uniform torn and blood-soaked, you were trying to push yourself upright, hands trembling from the effort. The second your gaze met his, you managed a weak smile.

“Kento…” Your voice was hoarse, strained. “You’re late.”

Nanami’s heart dropped, though his face remained stoic.

“I told you not to overdo it,” he said flatly, kneeling beside you. His voice was calm, his movements deliberate as he assessed your injuries, but his hands shook—just barely—as they hovered near your wounds. “And yet here we are.”

“I’m fine,” you muttered, though you hissed when he pressed his hand against your side to slow the bleeding.

Nanami exhaled slowly through his nose. “You are not fine,” he replied, his tone edged with a frustration he rarely allowed to show. “Don’t lie to me.”

He worked in silence after that, his cursed energy flowing steadily as he stabilized you. He moved with surgical precision, the tension in his shoulders the only indication of his true feelings.

When your breathing finally steadied and the worst of the bleeding stopped, Nanami let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He sat back on his heels, running a hand through his disheveled blond hair.

“You shouldn’t have been alone.”

You looked at him, guilt flickering in your expression. “I didn’t want to slow you down. I thought I could handle it.”

Nanami’s eyes snapped to yours, sharp and unyielding. “That’s the last time you think that.” His voice was low, but there was an unshakable finality to it. “You’re not a burden, and I won’t lose you because you insist on acting like one.”

Your lips parted slightly in surprise. For all his composure, Nanami rarely allowed himself to be so blunt with his feelings.

He adjusted his tie—one of his many habits when emotions threatened to break through. “You’re important to me,” he said quietly, his gaze dropping to your hands, still trembling slightly. “Do you understand that? You’re not just a colleague or an ally. You’re… more than that.”

Your heart stuttered, and for a moment, the pain in your body felt distant.

“I understand,” you whispered.

Nanami rose to his feet, steadying you as he helped you up. His arm slid firmly around your waist, supporting you without hesitation.

“We’re going home,” he said simply. “No arguments.”

You leaned into him, exhaustion finally catching up to you. “You’re bossy, you know that?”

Nanami glanced down at you, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “And you’re reckless. Someone has to keep you alive.”

There, in the quiet aftermath of the chaos, you felt it—the way Nanami Kento held the world on his shoulders and still made space to carry you.

Toji Fushiguro

Toji Fushiguro wasn’t a man known for his calm temper. He was known for being ruthless, unrelenting, and dangerous—a man whose name alone sent shivers down the spines of sorcerers. Yet, there was one person who could tether the beast inside him—you.

But when Toji heard that you had been hurt, not by a mission gone wrong or an unavoidable accident, but by your own clan head, something inside him snapped.

The messenger hadn’t even finished explaining before Toji was on his feet, his movements sharp, predatory. “Who?” he demanded, his voice low, venomous.

The answer was spoken carefully, but it didn’t matter. Toji already knew where to go.

By the time he found you, you were sitting on the edge of your bed, your posture slumped as you clutched at your side. The bruises on your skin were faint now, evidence of half-healed wounds that still throbbed. You looked up when he entered the room, his towering frame filling the doorway.

“Toji…” you said softly.

His dark green eyes were wild—sharp and calculating as they scanned you. He stalked forward without a word, crouching down so he was at your level. You tried to wave him off.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, forcing a small smile. “It looks worse than—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.” His voice was rough, his calloused hand reaching out to cup your chin gently, tilting your face so he could see you better. “Who did it?”

You froze. You knew that look in his eyes—the quiet, simmering rage that was far more dangerous than any outburst.

“It’s over, Toji,” you tried to reason, placing your hand on his arm. “Don’t—”

“Who?” he repeated, more forceful this time, his grip gentle but unyielding.

You sighed, looking away. “It was the clan head. They were trying to prove a point. It doesn’t matter now.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Toji released your chin, his hand dropping to his knee as he leaned back, the weight of his fury filling the room like a storm cloud.

“It matters to me,” he said darkly, his voice low and lethal. “They thought they could lay a hand on you and get away with it?”

“Toji, you can’t—“

“Watch me.”

He stood abruptly, his broad frame tense with barely-contained rage. You knew what he was planning even before he reached the door. You tried to push yourself up, wincing at the sharp pain that radiated through your side.

“Toji, please! I don’t need you making things worse!”

He paused, his back still to you. When he spoke, his voice was quieter but no less dangerous. “Worse? You think letting them hurt you and walk free isn’t worse?”

“Toji…”

Finally, he turned to look at you, his expression softer now, but his eyes still burned with resolve. “I don’t care what kind of clan they are. No one touches you. No one.”

“You don’t have to fight all my battles.”

“I know,” he said simply. “But I’ll fight them anyway.”

Before you could argue again, he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him with finality. You sighed, running a hand through your hair, knowing that whatever the clan head had done, they were about to regret it deeply.

Toji didn’t waste time. He wasn’t a man for words—he was a man of action, and his message was always clear. When he arrived at the clan’s estate, curses and whispers followed him, the clan members eyeing him warily.

By the time Toji found the clan head, the tension was palpable. The clan head—an older sorcerer brimming with arrogance—looked at Toji with disdain.

“You dare step onto my grounds uninvited?”

Toji smiled, slow and predatory, the kind of smile that never reached his eyes. “Didn’t think I needed an invitation after you laid your hands on mine.”

The clan head barely had a moment to react before Toji was on him. It wasn’t a fight—it was a message. A brutal, merciless display of power from a man who made a career out of destroying sorcerers who thought they were untouchable.

When it was done, Toji stood over the defeated clan head, his voice cold and final.

“Touch them again, and I’ll tear this whole clan apart.”

Hours later, when Toji returned to you, his knuckles were bruised, his shirt stained with evidence of his work, but his expression was calm. He found you sitting up, waiting for him, worry etched across your face.

“What did you do?” you asked softly.

Toji shrugged, dropping down beside you on the bed. “Taught them a lesson. That’s all.”

“Toji…”

He turned to look at you, his gaze softer now. “They won’t hurt you again. I made sure of it.”

You sighed, leaning into him despite yourself. His arm slid around your shoulders, pulling you closer. For all his rough edges, Toji was your fiercest protector, and in moments like this, you realized just how deeply he cared.

“You’re impossible..”

“Yeah, but you love me for it.”

And though you rolled your eyes, you didn’t argue. Because when Toji Fushiguro promised to keep you safe, he meant it—no matter what it cost.

Sukuna Ryomen

When word reached Sukuna that you—the Queen of Curses—had been kidnapped and hurt by sorcerers, the very ground trembled beneath him. His cursed energy surged, shattering walls as his four eyes narrowed in pure, murderous fury.

“They touched what’s mine?” he growled, his voice low and lethal, filling the air with the promise of death. Without waiting for an answer, Sukuna moved.

You sat bloodied in the center of a cursed circle, seals etched into the ground suppressing your power. Despite the sharp ache in your body, you glared up at the lead sorcerer with defiance, golden eyes gleaming.

“You’ll regret this,” you hissed, your voice steady even as blood dripped from your lip.

The sorcerer smirked. “The King of Curses isn’t untouchable. He’ll come, and we’ll destroy him next.”

A deafening boom echoed through the chamber as the barriers shattered. The air grew thick with malevolence, heavy enough to choke. The sorcerers froze, their faces paling.

“Destroy me?” Sukuna’s voice rang out, cruel and mocking. The double doors burst open, splintering into nothing as Sukuna entered, his aura suffocating. His four eyes gleamed with bloodlust, his grin sharp and feral. “You’ve got guts saying that while you’re still breathing.”

Chaos followed.

Sorcerers screamed as Sukuna descended upon them like a storm, cutting through their bodies with a savage, unstoppable force. Limbs were torn, blood splattered across the walls, and their cries echoed until silence swallowed the room. Sukuna’s fury was absolute, leaving only carnage in his wake.

When the last body fell, he turned to you. His steps were slow, deliberate as he approached, his massive form looming over you. His eyes softened just slightly as they took in your injuries, though his expression remained sharp.

“Sukuna,” you muttered, trying to sit upright, though pain flared through you.

He clicked his tongue, crouching to your level. “You let them do this to you?” His clawed hand brushed against your face, careful despite his strength, his touch surprisingly tender.

“They had their tricks,” you smirked faintly. “It wasn’t exactly fair.”

Sukuna’s lips curled into a dangerous grin. “Fair? I’ll show them fairness.” He reached down, breaking the seals binding your power with little effort, cursed energy flooding back into you like a tidal wave.

His hands slid under you, lifting you into his arms effortlessly. “They dared to harm you, my queen,” he muttered, his tone dark. “And they paid for it. I’ll make sure no one forgets.”

“You’re dramatic,” you teased softly, resting your head against his shoulder.

“And you love me for it,” he shot back, his voice lighter but still edged with menace.

As Sukuna carried you out of the ruined chamber, the devastation he left behind spoke louder than words. The King and Queen of Curses were untouchable, and anyone foolish enough to challenge that truth would be reduced to nothing but ash.

Megumi Fushiguro

Megumi wasn’t someone who showed his emotions easily. He carried himself with a quiet resolve, choosing pragmatism over sentimentality. But when he found you—hurt and bleeding during a mission—something in him snapped.

He found you slumped against the rubble of a half-destroyed building, your breathing labored and your uniform torn, blood staining the ground beneath you.

“Y/N!”

The urgency in his voice startled you, and you forced a weak smile as you looked up at him. “Megumi… hey, you’re here.”

Megumi dropped to his knees beside you, his dark blue eyes scanning your injuries, sharp with both worry and focus. “What the hell happened?”

“Just… underestimated the last curse,” you muttered, wincing as you shifted. “It got in a lucky hit.”

He didn’t reply right away, his jaw clenching as his hands hovered uncertainly over you. He wanted to fix this—to take away the pain you were feeling—but he wasn’t a healer. The frustration simmered beneath his calm exterior.

“You shouldn’t have been alone,” he said finally, his voice low, though you could hear the strain in it.

You sighed, leaning back against the rubble. “It wasn’t supposed to be this bad. I thought I could handle it.”

Megumi’s hands curled into fists, his shoulders tense. “And what if you hadn’t made it?”

The words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken until now. He wasn’t yelling, but the anger was there—anger at the situation, at the curse, and maybe even at himself.

Seeing the concern in his expression, you softened. “But I did make it, Megumi. You’re here now.”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark hair. “That’s not the point.” Slowly, he steadied himself, reaching out to help you sit up. “I can’t—” He hesitated, his voice quieter now. “I can’t lose you.”

The admission made your heart ache, not just from the injuries but from the weight of his words. Megumi rarely showed this side of himself—the one that cared so deeply it hurt him.

“You won’t,” you reassured him softly, placing your hand over his. “I promise.”

His eyes met yours, searching for reassurance. Finally, he nodded, slipping an arm under your shoulders to help you stand. “Come on,” he murmured, his voice gentler now. “Let’s get you out of here.”

As you leaned into him, Megumi held you firmly, steady and protective. Even in his silence, you could feel it—the way he cared, the way he’d been terrified to find you like this.

And as you walked away from the battlefield together, he made himself a silent promise: next time, he’d be there before you ever got hurt. Because to Megumi Fushiguro, keeping you safe wasn’t just a duty—it was what mattered most.

Yuji Itadori

Yuji Itadori was always the bright light in a dark world—a person who smiled even when the odds were stacked against him. But when he saw you lying hurt on the battlefield, all that light dimmed in an instant.

“Y/N!”

His voice cracked as he sprinted toward you, his feet pounding against the ground. You were slumped against a wall, your breathing shallow, blood staining your uniform. At the sound of his voice, your eyelids fluttered open, and you managed a faint smile.

“Yuji…”

He dropped to his knees beside you, his hands hovering, unsure where to touch. His expression was stricken—wide eyes taking in every bruise, every gash. “What happened? Who—what did this to you?”

You winced, shifting slightly. “The curse got a hit in. It was stronger than I thought.”

Yuji clenched his jaw, his fingers trembling as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it gently to the bleeding wound on your side. “You’re losing too much blood. I need to get you out of here.”

Despite the pain, you reached out and grabbed his wrist. “It’s… okay. I’ll be fine. You don’t have to—”

“Stop,” Yuji said firmly, his voice shaking. “Don’t say that. It’s not okay.”

His usual warmth had vanished, replaced by something sharper—something desperate. “You’re hurt because I wasn’t there fast enough,” he said, his eyes fixed on yours. “I should’ve been there to protect you.”

“You can’t always be everywhere at once, Yuji,” you murmured, trying to soothe him. “You’re not a superhero.”

“That doesn’t matter!” he burst out, his fists clenching. “I promised I’d protect the people I care about—and that means you too. I’m not losing anyone else, Y/N.”

The pain in his voice made your chest ache, more than any injury could. Yuji was carrying so much already—too much for one person—but here he was, breaking under the thought of losing you.

“Yuji,” you said softly, reaching up to cup his face despite your weak state. “I’m still here. You didn’t lose me.”

His expression softened, his eyes glassy as he leaned into your touch. “But you could’ve…” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I can’t let that happen. Not to you.”

You gave him a small, reassuring smile. “Then just stay with me. That’s all I need.”

He nodded quickly, blinking away the tears threatening to fall. “I’ll get you to Shoko. You’ll be okay—I’ll make sure of it.” Carefully, he lifted you into his arms, holding you close as if afraid you’d disappear.

As he carried you away, Yuji glanced down at you, his expression filled with quiet determination. “Next time, I’ll be there before anything touches you. I swear it.”

And you believed him—because Yuji Itadori didn’t break his promises.