#it's kind of sweet that they were buried next to each other

[crustaceansingles]

The second bit there was added months later, after several incidents of willful misinterpretation.

[chuluoyi]

✎ to my beloved

- gojo satoru x reader

bad days don't mean the end of the world, and your husband is making sure you know that

genre: hurt/comfort, fluff, fluff, fluff—just gojo pampering you

note: my job has been so hard for me this week :') so yeah it's very self indulgent as i need a lil hurt/comfort and i think you should too~

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

This week... has been a total dumpster fire.

You were utterly exhausted, covered in grime and blood, a persisting headache made you almost black out, all while sitting in the hospital waiting room as survivor's guilt slowly consumed you.

Grueling paperwork, a new project, facing the higher-ups, being substituted to Kyoto for days, and then a sudden attack of a curse user on the loose.

In times of need, you were supposed to protect others— you are a jujutsu sorcerer.

And yet, what happened? Megumi suddenly bathed in his own blood. You barely managed to save him in time, and now you were waiting for the news that he would be okay.

Why couldn't it be you instead? You wanted to break down each time you replayed the scene that took Megumi out. It was so eerily similar to how Haibara was—

"Are you okay!?"

You whipped your head, surprised to find your husband pounding down the hall. Satoru looked unlike himself—he was disheveled, and when he saw you, he immediately dashed towards where you were.

"Satoru..." you voice came out in a croak, feeling the lump in your throat closing in. When he dropped to his knee, put both hands on the sides of your face, and then your body, feeling you over to check if you had any injuries—

You finally burst into tears.

"Sweets, hey..." Satoru immediately pulled you close, trying to soothe you. You were shaking in his arms and he tightened his arms around you. "What happened to you?"

"I-I was... w-with him..." you sobbed, burying your face in his shoulder. "S-Satoru... I-I'm sorry...! M-Megumi—"

Your husband immediately shushed you. "Shh... it's alright, yeah? He'll be okay—"

You were still inconsolable even as he held you in his embrace. He hadn't seen you like this... not ever since tragedies during your high school years ago. And he struggled to reconcile this sight of you with how you were back then.

"I-I s-should've stood in his way— t-that way, he won't be hit—" you hiccupped as you poured your heart out and clutched at his shirt. "I-It would be f-fine if it... was me—"

But all thoughts flew when he heard your words, and suddenly he felt so angry—

"What do you mean?" his voice was so low and sharp that it startled you. "How will it be fine if it was you?"

You stiffened, and Satoru gripped your shoulder, pulling away to look you right in the eyes.

"If something bad happened to you... how is it fine?" he emphasized with gritted teeth. "Where do you get that kind of bullshit from?"

Your lips were wobbling as you sniffled. "At least... i-it isn't him—"

"If you got hurt, how do you think it'll make me feel?" Satoru posed the burning question on you next, his cerulean eyes glinting with silent fury, and you almost recoiled.

"T-that's...!"

"I'll wreak havoc if anything ever happens to you." His tone was harsh and forceful. "So if you think you can just—"

"I'm tired!" you screamed then, and he was stunned, wide-eyed as he took in your outburst. "I-I'm just... I've had enough of this— this shit! I want to quit!"

You were openly weeping, and this time, Satoru felt his heart lurch. You looked so heartbroken and utterly inconsolable that his first instinct to protect you took over.

"Then quit." He rose and took a seat next to you, before cradling you closer and pressed your head against his chest. "Even if you quit, I'm still here. I can protect you well enough. I don't like you being a sorcerer anyway."

You were his beloved wife and he hated seeing you like this. You were supposed to be happy and smiling.

He let out a disgruntled grunt. "Did you know how I was when I heard from Ichiji that you were at the hospital? I thought I might go mad thinking something had happened to you."

You sobbed harder at his words.

"It's perfectly okay if you're tired," he affirmed, patting your back gently. "If you're fine with giving up everything, then I'm on board too. Whatever makes you happy, sweets. Just... don't think of anything that might hurt yourself. Don't think of anything that might make you leave me."

You didn't know you needed to hear it. Right at that moment, your heart swelled with warmth. All your feelings were validated, and even if you chose to let go of everything, Satoru would accept you as you are.

You felt safe, so incredibly and irrevocably secure.

"Whatever happened this time..." he breathed out, feeling the dampness in his chest, his fingers gently combing through your hair. "It's not your fault. No one will blame you. I don't blame you, and Megumi won't too."

Your sniffles quieted down a bit at his words, and your throat still felt tight, clogged with tears.

"H-he... looked s-so much like Haibara... w-when—"

"Shush, he does not. Megumi will be okay. You will too, hmm?"

And just like that, you let go of everything and surrendered your entire being into his arms.

Clinging to him, you finally believed, in whatever shape or form it might take, you would be okay.

A week later, Megumi was discharged after being cleared by the hospital. His wounds were thankfully shallow, and you cried in relief when he woke up.

And after escorting him back, later that night, you laid on top your husband...

Your weight on him felt like a comforting reassurance as he gently patted your back. Satoru couldn't help but smile when he saw how peaceful you looked, like a baby about to fall asleep.

He couldn't resist and planted a firm kiss on the crown of your head.

"Mmm?" you looked up at him, eyes fluttering open, and he cracked a grin.

"What?"

"What?"

"Can't I kiss my own wife? When she's adorable as heck too."

"You..." your lips curved into a bashful, yet exasperated smile, poking his chest in the process.

"Heh."

You drew circles on his broad and sturdy chest, noting how his arms extended and feeling how your toenails only reached a little past his knees. "Your arms and legs are ridiculously long. You are like an oversized plushie."

Satoru snickered. "Well, isn't that good? You don't have to buy them anymore. I can be your personal talking plushie."

"Ew." You hit his chest playfully, and he pushed your bum forward until you were face-to-face with him. He smooched you on the lips, and you giggled afterward.

His eyes shone as he stared at you, breaking to a smile himself. "Finally smiling. Pretty."

"Satoru..." your eyes found his, and you marveled at how sparkling they were. Seeing him so close, even after being married to him for more than a year, made your heart skip a beat. "I..."

"Hmm?"

"I want to keep being jujutsu sorcerer..." You had thought about it ever since, and you still arrived at the same conclusion. "It's true if I give up on it, you'll still keep me safe and all, but..."

Your husband waited for you to continue, still smiling, blinking expectantly.

"...this is something I have to do. I know there will be more hard days ahead, but believe it or not, I... found purpose in doing this," you said, shifting your gaze away from him. "It makes me feel... I can be useful. Even if I'm not special like you, I can still contribute in my own small way..."

How you pressed up against him, the way you looked hesitant and yet convinced at the same time... Satoru thought you were the most precious thing there was.

"Then keep going. I'll still be here too." He hugged you tight then, surprising you. "Just let me know when you feel like you need a long leave, and I'll definitely give you the solution."

"Eh? How?"

"Easy... I can just put a baby in you~ They won't deny you maternity leave or put you in missions~"

"...Satoru, you're—" You shot him a look so unamused, before resigning with a sigh. "Never mind... alright, sure, whatever you say."

"Ooh! So does this mean you want to try now?!"

"—? No, not now yet—!"

"When? We have to try one of these days before some meddlesome aunties ask us when we will have kids!"

Being sillies like this made you so glad that you had him in your life, and that you married him. And if he felt the same way as you... then you really thanked the stars for it.

You huffed, yet wrapping your arms around him in return. "Satoru, you're a clown."

"Your personal clown, you mean. Right~"

[ohimsummer]

LIFE LESSONS ft. BULLY! SATORU

— minors dni, hair pulling, one mention of biting, slight dumbification, bully! satoru x fem! reader, meandom! satoru, degradation (reader called a slut and a whore), gagging, possessiveness, spanking

wc 1k

Gojo claims a lot of things. That he’s the strongest, the hottest, the smartest, the most sought after, all things you believe are up for debate. He’s annoying is what he is. Loves to poke at you, literally and figuratively, and spout random shit just to get under your skin. So when Gojo’s in the middle of his daily harassment routine, and he growls “You’re mine” before walking away, you don’t take him seriously. You haven’t before, so why should you now?

“Stupid slut.,” Gojo jeers into your neck. “Did you think I was joking?”

You gag again around fingers bullying their way in your mouth, almost touching the back of your throat, the taste of yourself still lingering on them. Salty tears prick the corner of your eyes and spill over your lash line; you can feel the burning redness in your eyes, such a faint sensation compared to the sloppy drags of Gojo’s heavy cock in your cunt. He throws down another blow to your bruised ass, tinted red and decorated with dark blemishes and bite marks. Your pussy spasms around his length which continues to batter your velvety insides; Gojo’s hand jumps from your waist to your hair, grabbing a fistful to snatch your head level with his.

“Answer my fucking question.,” he grunts against your cheek, licking and nibbling at the tear-stained skin. “What, you thought I wasn’t serious?”

Of course you didn’t, who was Gojo to make a claim over you? Calling you his when he knows how much you can’t stand him? His words were mostly forgotten the second he was out of view and, just to be spiteful, you flirted with some random guy right in front of Gojo’s face the next day. You’re his? You’ll show him who you belong to.

A shaky whine dribbles out from your kiss-swollen lips as he rips another orgasm from you, walls convulsing around him as your eyes roll back and your juices sloppily squirt all over his pants. You can’t help admit you’re definitely eating your own words right now. Yeah, you’re really showing Satoru Gojo who you belong to by letting him have his way with you in your own dorm room.

“Wanna tell me who that fucking loser was, hm, princess?,” Gojo demands, low tone in your ear making your dripping walls flutter.

He pulls his fingers back to rest on your tongue; drool pools around the digits and messily leaks from the corners of your mouth.

“I-I don’t know hi–“

He drives forward a hard thrust, cockhead slamming your g-spot and you senselessly wail out a Satoru!

“Oh, so this was some kind of game?” Satoru shoves you into the mattress again. One hand between your shoulder blades and the other digging nails into the fatty flesh of your hips. He forces your back into an arch and readjusts his hips to fuck deliberate, hard strokes into your pussy, new angle allowing him to continue pummeling the sweet spot of your insides. You bury your face in one of your pillows in an effort to muffle the numerous moans tumbling from your lips, clawing at baby pink sheets now soaked with spit and cum. Drool smears against your face, and your tongue hangs over your bottom lip as each thrust propels you forward.

“What part of you’re. Mine,” You cry out as Gojo punctuates the words with two harsh slams of his hips, “did you not understand?”

He rolls his hips against your ass in short, quick thrusts, effectively grinding his cock into the spongy spot of your walls and you whimper in complaint as Gojo reaches around to rub at your clit. Fast, vicious circles on your soaked nub, shooting agonizing pleasure throughout your entire body as you mewl his name again. Shirt caught between his teeth, Gojo watches in awe at the way his dick easily disappears within you. Thin, messy strings of past orgasms coat his cock in a translucent sheen of white. Sticky and wet to form a natural lubricant so he can continue fucking your little hole.

“You think some asshole like that could ever get you to feel this way?” He grunts, pressure on your clit building as he grows even more angry with you. He curses, sinks his fangs into your neck before his lips brush over the mark. “You think I’d ever let them try?”

His voice is strained, thrusts growing uneven and you can tell he’s close. Gojo runs a hand up your sides, grazing the sheets, and laces his fingers with yours next to your head. He squeezes your hand, still thoroughly pounding into your creamy pussy, drinks in the desperate moans and whimpers of his name you can’t help but let out.

“Tell me you’re mine.,” he demands. “Shout it, so everyone can hear.”

“I’m yours.,” you pant immediately between sobs.

Gojo lands a smack on your ass. “Not loud enough.”

“ ‘M yours–!,” you can’t even fully get this one out before he’s slapping your raw behind for the second time.

“Louder.,” he hisses through clenched teeth.

And Gojo does it again, smacks your ass, makes you repeat just who you belong to until you’re screaming it out. Over the sound of his pelvis slamming against you, over the wet squelching of his dick ramming your cunt, over his final, drawn-out groan as you gush on his cock again, pussy milking him as Gojo marks your abused insides with his cum. Your legs go numb, limbs now limp on the bed and he hovers over your exhausted body. The ticklish feeling of featherlight kisses travels up your spine, up to your neck and over your warm, wet cheeks. Gojo gives your hand another firm squeeze, and then takes both hips in his hands to massage your skin under an unfamiliar, soft touch.

“Now, what did we learn?,” he hums and presses another kiss to the corner of your lips.

Your eyelids flutter open to peek at him, and you catch bright flecks of blue in the corner of your vision. Between heaved breaths, you pant out, “I’m…all…yours…”

You tense for a second as Gojo gives you another slap on the rear, though not nearly as rough as before. “That’s my girl.”

[callmemickey]

Cumming Home for Christmas

synopsis: Simon surprised you by being home 3 weeks early, which means you get to take him to your family’s Christmas get together! Unfortunately, Simon hasn’t had his fill of you… How thin do you think the walls are in the bathroom?

content: Afab, porn w a plot, smut (dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, quickie, slightly public? maybe other stuff idk) fluff fluff fluff kind of angst if you squint real hard he just loves you sm my sweet Angel babey reader muah love u 2

word count: 3.7k

notes: Don’t ask me why I chose Christmas this is purely self-indulgent. Also, he’s a brunette going off of the comics, so I’m running with that thx!

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Warm Christmas lights, sparkling ciders and the expensive alcohol, the soft hum of cozy Christmas jazz on the speakers, family buzzing and soaking in each other’s presence - there was nothing else you could ask for. In this massive sea of black and red formal attire, your family, both close and extended, came together for an amazing holiday party at your grandparents’ estate.

Simon, who surprised you by coming home over three weeks early, has accompanied you as your plus one to the family’s holiday party. It made the event even better. Your family adored Simon to bits and pieces, constantly embarrassing you in front of him, begging to know when he wanted to start a family with you, your aunts drinking too much and asking him to take off his coat and flex. He dealt with the melting pot of clashing personalities better than you had ever imagined.

Simon expertly handled the socializing carefully and precisely. He preferred to be an observer in these bigger settings rather than to speak. He gave simple answers that were concise one liners, saving his social battery. So, to make up for it, he would escape to assist anybody needing aid. When dinner was ready, he assisted in the kitchen, making sure that everybody had their meals first, and was later caught cleaning the kitchen (much to your displeasure). He also helped light your grandfather’s cigar outside. The Parkinson’s has been making it difficult for him to light them on his own, and Simon even listened to an old war story.

It was unbelievable how much you loved this man.

Now, nieces and nephews weaved between adults and furniture, the fireplace burned hot and strong, people laughed and yelled happily over the gentle music, and the scent of baking pies and pastries wafted and filled the air. Your lovely military fiancé, overworked and tired on his break, did so well to deal with this. Of course, Simon, being an incredibly selfless person willing to compromise in any situation or scenario just to make you happy, said that it was alright when you invited him. “Nothing would make me happier,” he had said in a low, roughened voice - which was right before he buried his face between your legs.

But I digress.

Simon stood next to you as your uncle told you both in absolute monotony about his recent trip to Italy, “So beautiful. Your aunt Amelia and I want to get a vacation home there.” He finished, and you nodded awkwardly. “Sounds like you and aunt Millie had a great time, uncle Mike.” Your tone was dry while Simon nodded and hummed in response. He just wasn’t… very present.

Simon had his attention and focus set on pretty high at the beginning of the night, but he was able to relax a little bit since then, to let himself just be in the moment - or so the psychiatrist says he should. He was actively paying attention to the conversation, yes that is true, but the hand holding your waist began to… wander, a little bit. Slowly at first, but much faster now. With a hand that started on your shoulder in the beginning of the night, bit by bit lowered down your back, smoothing above the top of your ass and to your hip. Fingers pressing deep into the black velvet of your dress, Simon tried to keep you caged next to him. That didn’t matter though, because you would have done little to resist him.

You two shared a quick glance. His dark brown eyes were slightly glossed, his gaze a salaciousness that he always brings home. Ooh, it made you want to rub your thighs together just to feel something. You nodded again to your uncle Mike when he brought up something else that was equally boring. Simon, having a better idea and use for his time, suddenly seemed to have remembered something, “Apologies, Mike, but Y/N and I have to make an important phone call.” You looked up at him.

That brief look in his eye was so, so hungry. The greed brewed like a dark storm. You felt a hot chill race down your spine, your core began to burn. You acted as if you remembered the same ‘something’ as well. “Oh my god, I can’t believe we almost forgot!” You gasped in a low voice. His fingers squeezed your hip, making your chest slowly fall into shallow breaths as you could imagine him purring in your ear.

Good girl.

You two waved him off as you turned to leave the kitchen. Simon took the wine glass from your hand and placed it on the countertops as you two walked through the doorway. His hand pressed on your lower back, guiding you into the dark hallway. The armoire in the middle lit with warm candles that smelled of cinnamon and spiced apples, casting shadows that bounced and flickered across the walls. It helped light your way to the restroom, but it also kept you two enveloped in shadows to help hide whatever sins you were going to commit. Simon, without a word, opened the bathroom, and with nobody inside, he sweeped you in, locking the door behind you two.

The bathroom had warm string lights strung across the crown molding, and a window with fake candles sat high on the wall. The room was a little loud with the echoes, so you smacked the switch on the wall to turn the fan on, hoping to mask whatever sounds were going to flood the room.

Not even a second, in such a calculated move, Simon plucked his mask off and had your lips locked with his as he hoisted you onto the sink counter. All you could do in that flurry of movement was gasp, his hands gingerly holding your jaw as his mouth worked against yours. You wrapped your legs around his waist, sighing as you felt a hardened tent in his trousers press eagerly against your clothed cunt.

You ran your hands through his dark brown hair, a moan running from you into him as his hands gave your ass a harsh squeeze. He ground his hips into you, pulling a whimper from you as he pressed roughly against your thrumming clit. Simon broke from your mouth, kissing your neck as his fingers pushed up into your dress, grabbing your panties.

“Quiet - or they’ll hear us,” he whispered against your flesh. You panted with a nod as he slipped your panties off, tossing them onto the floor along with his jacket. Simon quickly unbuttoned his white sleeves, rolling them up to reveal his heavily veined forearms, his one arm tattooed with black. He expertly undid his belt, pulling his pants and underwear down slightly, his hardened cock springing free.

He kept kissing your neck, lightly sucking to tease but not enough to hickey or bruise. His fingers dipped into your embarrassingly wet sex, rubbing at your clit and folds before pushing two fingers into you. “Fuckin’ hell, Y/N, so wet already.” His voice was a growl against your neck, slowly pumping them, his fingers rubbing up against that spongy spot inside.

It caused you to mewl. Simon’s one hand jumped to cup your mouth shut, making you gasp. The movement threw you off balance, your upper back falling back to press against the mirror while grabbing onto his wrist for support. He continued to finger you and hold your mouth closed, your whimpers mumbled in his hand.

Just as quick as you just started grinding your hips, he pulled his fingers away. A disappointed moan left broken up between your mouth and his palm. Simon grabbed his cock and started to pump himself, lubricating it with your juices before rubbing against your clit. He moved his hand from your mouth down to your hip.

You whimpered, “Oh my god, Simon.” Your hips wriggled and bucked against the dizzying sensation. He chuckled, slowly pressing his cock into your hot, wet cunt. The familiar stretch made you hum in need. “You’re gonna tease me? On Christmas?” You whined, your legs once again wrapped around his hips, urging him to sink into you.

“Ahh, have you been a good girl, though?” He asked in a low rumble, his other hand grabbing the other hip, his prepared stance making your hole clench around his member. He had a half-lidded stare, swirling with a level of lust you couldn’t really see the end of - bottomless and ravenous. Simon towered over you.

“I’m always a good girl for you, Simon,” You cooed.

He slowly pushed in, making you inhale sharply as you stretched so wide to allow him to fit. You held your breath as he pushed his cock through. “I’m just teasing, love - I know you’ll always be my good girl,” he said with warmth in his voice.

His tip kissed your cervix as he nestled fully, deeply, completely. Your head rolled back on the mirror as a satisfied sigh escaped you, but Simon’s grip on your hips tightened intensely. You gasped as he began a fast pace, his hips slapping loudly against your thighs and echoing in the bathroom. It was almost too much. It gave you little time to prepare for his entering, but you settled nicely around him after a few more thrusts.

Simon wasn’t normally this fast. He loved to hit with hard strokes, but nothing typically of this pace. Fortunately, you weren’t one to complain. It was so goddamn good. You hate it when your fiancé is away, not knowing where he was for most of the time, but when he’s gone for so long and comes back? Fuck. It’s criminal how good the sex is. His impatience made it impeccable.

But you were desperate. You wanted to cry and moan and yell, to beg and pray for him to bring you to a higher plane of pleasure. Oh, God, you would do anything for it, anything for him. You grasped at his forearms, your nails digging into his flesh, leaving stinging crescent moon shaped imprints in their path. He groaned lightly at your sharp grip, a soft chuckle coming from him. “Oh, you like this?” He asked, and you nodded, biting your lower lip to keep anything but your gasps, pants, and squeaks from escaping.

“Touch yourself,” his voice wasn’t harsh, but it was a demand.

With one hand still on Simon’s arm, the other moved to your clit, and you began to rub in quick circles. Simon watched your face twist and change: your mouth hanging open as you panted, but occasionally closed to bite your lip so to stop yourself from moaning; eyes half-lidded, barely open, glazed, and painfully horny; back bowing and arching, your toes curling, body just at a loss at what it can handle. This was Simon’s favorite view in the world. It’s what he came home for. It’s what he fought for.

A moan tumbled from your mouth as you held on for dear life. “S-Simon!” You whined his name, the heat inside of you burning red hot, uncontrolled, and rampant.

“S’alright love,” his voice was soft, “you gonna cum?”

You nodded quickly, the fingers on your clit stuttering as you found your release fast approaching, his almost brutal pace not slowing in the slightest. “I’m gonna c- ah- cum, Simon!” You struggled not to say too loud. “Don't stop!”

“Come on, Y/N,” he ushered, “cum for me.” Simon knew how to drive you over the edge. His hand reached out, firmly but gently cupping over your mouth to keep your head in place - and to push back your lascivious sounds.

A moan found itself trapped, lodged in your throat as you fought with your whole might not to yell and cry out. Your orgasm ripped through and crashed over you like a tsunami. He had unraveled you.

Your back arched, and you couldn’t roll your head back. Your lashes flickered as you struggled to keep your eyes from crossing or rolling back to look at Simon while you came. The fingers you had on your clit stopped moving as you were paralyzed, but the grip you had on his forearm stayed strong, “Ahhh, fuckin’ look at you. That’s a good girl, cummin’ nice and pretty on my cock. You like that, yeah?” He groaned, hips putting in more power to drill into your tightened pussy, tears pricking at your eyes as the orgasm left your legs shaking around him.

Simon retracted his hand, grabbing back at your hip. You let out a quick, small cry as your free hand held back onto his forearm. “Y’alright, love?” He grunted, and you nodded furiously before he could stop, but he started slowing down. You didn’t want him too. “Need- I need you,” you gasped, “don’t stop, Simon.” You whimpered.

Oh, to be buried deep inside your pussy was all he could have ever hoped for upon coming home. Y/N, ever so kind and giving. Simon tightened his hands around your hips again and began the brutal pace as you struggled to keep silent.

That’s when you felt your body heating up again. Your sex thrummed with the building pleasure and excitement once more, causing you to moan while you held onto his wrists. A light sheen of sweat sat on your skin, your clothes sticking uncomfortably to your flesh.

Simon moaned softly with a smirk, your fucked out expression and legs lazily clinging onto his hips was such an amazing sight. The snapping of him against you had beat your pussy red, leaving it angrily aroused. “You gonna cum again? Yeah? Ahhh, thas my needy girl.” Desperate, tiny grunts popped out of you with each thrust, your pussy swallowing Simon deeply.

“Si-Simon! Gonna- c-cum!” You gasped out with each pump. 

Your orgasm hit like a rapid flash of heat and pleasure. A squeal escaped you, and you quickly covered your mouth with your hand. Your eyelids fluttered as your eyes rolled back, legs around Simon’s waist tightened, your whole body trembled from his unrelenting pace. Your face was flushed red, eyes completely glazed and lost as your hair stuck to your face.

“Ah, f-fuck, so fuckin’ tight. So good - my girl is so good, God, cummin’ on my cock, just like that.” He growled, his hips slowly beginning to fall off rhythm while his orgasm began to creep up on him.

You moaned and begged, “Ah, Simon, nngh, I-I can’t- please cum!”

“Don’t you worry, g-gonna cum inside this pretty pussy,” Simon groaned, “gonna fill you up, yeah?”

You nodded furiously as your body screamed in overstimulation. “Please, I- ah! Too much, ah, you’re too much, Simon!” You cried out, your ever tightening cunt being stretched open, begging for his release.

“Y/N- Y/N, fuck!” He hissed as his hips slammed against you, tightly holding his cock against your cervix as if he was threatened to be ripped away. He groaned, emptying himself into you completely, his cock jerking and flexing harshly, making the veins on his shaft more pronounced. You whimpered, your cunt tensing around him as you felt hot waves shooting inside of you. He stayed for a moment while panting, his thighs shaking slightly, relishing in the feeling as oxytocin and dopamine flooded his brain. Simon pulled out, a throaty groan leaving you at the sudden emptiness, your legs letting go of him.

“Well… let’s hope nobody heard that.” Simon said in a low voice, pulling up his underwear and pants, buckling his belt and grabbing your panties for you. You slid off of the sink and inhaled sharply as your knees buckled. He immediately latched onto your arms, making sure you wouldn’t fall. “Fuckin’ hell, Y/N, y’alright?” He asked, slowly loosening his grip to make sure you were okay on your own.

“My legs, Simon. Jesus Christian Christ - I can’t stand.” You huffed, leaning against the sink, glowering at him as you took your panties from his hand, embarrassed.

He unrolled his sleeves, buttoning them. “You’re really gonna talk like that? On Jesus’ birthday?” He looked at you as he grabbed his jacket, shaking his head. “What would your nan say, hmm?” He feigned sincerity, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he swung the jacket on.

“Well, the jokes on you because Christmas isn’t even Jesus’ birthday.” You snapped back at him, slowly sliding your underwear on as your knees shook like a newborn giraffe. He tutted in disapproval as he moved up to you.

Simon’s body was close, his body radiating warmth. He wasn’t one for a lot of physical affection, which was alright, so when he took the time to be attentive to you… you always melted against him immediately. His finger lightly hooked under your chin and tilted your head up to look at him. Your body subconsciously gravitated towards him, like a moth seeing the moon for the very first time.

He leaned down, lips brushing so close to yours, your eyes still connected . “Fuck what day it really is - I just know I’m home.” Simon pushed in for a deep kiss, brimming with emotions, the kinds he couldn’t really say. As he pulled away, he couldn’t help but admire you.

The golden candlelight fluttered across his face. His tired but warm eyes studied you, as if seeing you for the first time, memorizing and mapping every freckle, wrinkle, and spot, because he’s scared that the moment he looks away, he’ll forget. He took in your flushed, messy appearance as if God himself sent down a heavenly body to give him a reason not just to fight, but to live; an angel on its mission as a guide, and he would willingly martyr himself on the ground at your feet if it meant he could just hear you say his name. Once.

Simon wanted to say these things, but he wouldn’t. He might never. But that’s alright, too. Not everyone is meant to love so boldly.

You cocked an eyebrow as he stared at you so intensely. “You okay there, Lieutenant?” You asked, a small smile on your lips.

He realized that, yes, it was alright that he didn’t say those things. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t have to - you just knew. Everyday he thought about how he didn’t deserve you. You, ever so loyal and strong. You’ve given him a purpose, motive, after all of these years - alone.

He often wondered what he had done to deserve having someone like you in his life. Someone who loved and cultivated, with hands of soft mercy, so tender and kind. A voice of validation, honesty, reason, all stemming from your unconditional love. If he had met you years ago, before the therapy and psychiatry helped, he would’ve let your fingers prick and bleed as you grasped at his thorns while he plucked you of your petals, leaving you broken and bare.

He didn’t deserve you.

Simon returned the smile, his voice soft, “Never better.” His hands moved to hold your waist as you two shared a few more kisses. “You know I like it when you call me that,” he hummed in between the lip locking.

You moaned gently and teasingly bit his bottom lip, your hands pressing against and gliding up his shirt. You kissed his jawline and sighed, “Is that so, Lieutenant Riley?”

He squeezed your waist in a warning. “Careful, love, we don’t have time for round two. Save it for tonight.” Your pussy purred just as Simon pulled away, picking up the mask from the sink and putting it back on in an attempt to obscure his identity.

You hummed, legs still a little shaken. “Well, I might need a minute to get my feet under me. You… okay with managing my family alone?” You asked hesitantly, eyes slightly squinting as if to flinch. He studied you for a moment, eyes glancing you up and down. It made you a little self-conscious, causing you to shift.

“Of course, Y/N,” his tone was reassuring, and subtly professional, “you sure you want me to leave you? Just say the word, love.”

Your body relaxed a little, and you nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I just need a minute.”

Simon faltered, if for a moment, before he gave you a soft squeeze on the arm, and left. You sighed, turning to lean onto the counter and fix your hair in the mirror. Your legs really were shaking, much to your surprise. Yes, yes, Simon makes you shake plenty, but he doesn’t always fuck that hard, if rarely. You couldn’t be more embarrassed. Sending your fiancé, who is not the biggest people-person, back to the wolves, but it’d be more embarrassing if you walked out there in your current state.

You fixed your dress and made sure you were able to stand properly again after a few minutes. Making sure your hair, makeup, and dress were all still together, you left the bathroom with caution. You quietly snuck down the hallway, back against the wall. You got to the doorway and peeked around the corner to peer into the party.

You don’t know how long you were in the bathroom for as the crowd surprisingly died down. Family members left for home, hotels, or whatever bedrooms your grandparents had available, so the end-of-the-night afterparty was intimate and calm. You inched into the room, eyes falling on Simon, who was outside with your grandfather, lighter in his hand.

You smiled gingerly as your mother called you over. “Sweetie, everybody loves Simon. I know he isn’t much of a talker, or a hugger, but he made a great impression.” Her voice was filled with warmth and happiness, and she spoke in a hushed tone. “He also listens to your grandfather’s stories, bless his heart.” She cooed. Your mother continued to speak, but her voice drowned out as you watched your future husband.

Simon stood at ease, with his hands held together and relaxed behind him as your grandfather engaged him in a story, puffing his cigar shakily as his hands trembled while he was animated. It was so calm and serene, watching him nod, the ghost of his jawline moving beneath the mask as he spoke. Your heart fluttered as Simon’s eyes flicked over and locked onto you, giving a little wink before turning his attention back to the present conversation.

Okay, you’re definitely sitting on his face tonight.

[inkspiredwriting]

Wedding Woes

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

Warnings: none

Planning a wedding should be a joyous occasion, but for Five Hargreeves and his fiancée Y/N, it quickly turned into a battlefield of hilarious disagreements. From the moment they decided to tie the knot, every decision seemed to spark a new debate.

“Chocolate!” Five declared, arms crossed, as they sat in the office of Sweet Sensations, the premier bakery in town.

“Red velvet!” Y/N countered, her eyes sparkling with determination.

The baker, caught between the two, held up a tentative hand. “We could do a combination cake?”

Five and Y/N turned to her, then back to each other, shaking their heads simultaneously. “Nope.”

“What’s wrong with red velvet?” Y/N argued, her brow furrowing. “It’s elegant and delicious.”

Five scoffed. “Chocolate is a classic. And I don’t trust a cake that’s named after a fabric.”

“Fine,” Y/N said, rolling her eyes. “What about the design?”

“Simple and clean,” Five said, envisioning a minimalistic cake.

Y/N, however, had other ideas. “I was thinking something with a little more... flair. Maybe some flowers, intricate designs—”

Before Five could retort, Klaus burst into the bakery, trailed by Diego and Luther. “Hey, lovebirds! How’s the cake tasting going?”

Five sighed. “We’re just... debating the finer points.”

Klaus waggled his eyebrows. “Why not go with a giant rainbow cake? It’s festive!”

Diego chuckled. “I vote for something with bacon on it.”

Luther just looked confused. “Do people put bacon on cakes?”

The baker looked like she might faint.

In the end, they settled on a layered cake with alternating tiers of chocolate and red velvet, topped with simple but elegant decorations. It wasn’t exactly what either had envisioned, but it was a compromise—a word that Five was rapidly learning to accept.

Next on the list was the music. Five preferred a live jazz band, while Y/N was leaning toward a playlist of their favorite songs.

“Jazz sets the mood,” Five insisted, adjusting his tie as they met with a potential band leader in their living room.

“Yeah, the mood for a 1920s speakeasy,” Y/N shot back. “We need something more modern, something we can really dance to.”

The band leader, an older gentleman with a pencil-thin mustache, interjected. “We can do a mix, if you’d like?”

Before either could respond, Viktor wandered in, carrying his violin. “Need a musician? I can play Anything you want.”

Five perked up. “Can you do jazz?”

Viktor nodded. “Of course. But I also know some contemporary pieces.”

Y/N’s eyes lit up. “What about ‘You Are the Best Thing’ by Ray LaMontagne?”

Viktor smiled. “I can do that.”

Five threw up his hands. “Fine, let’s have Viktor play. Just... not too much Ray LaMontagne.”

Klaus sauntered in, a mischievous grin on his face. “I could DJ! Imagine the fun we’d have with a mix of 80s pop and punk rock!”

Five stared at him. “Absolutely not.”

When it came to decorations, Five wanted sleek and modern, while Y/N envisioned a romantic, rustic theme.

“We need string lights and mason jars,” Y/N said, flipping through a wedding magazine.

Five groaned. “We’re not having a Pinterest wedding. How about something more sophisticated? Like geometric centerpieces.”

“Geometric?” Y/N laughed. “What are we, hosting a math conference?”

Lila, who had shown up uninvited but was enjoying the chaos, added her two cents. “I think you should go with a theme park idea. Imagine—carnival games, cotton candy, maybe even a Ferris wheel!”

Y/N laughed. “Actually, that sounds kind of fun.”

Five buried his face in his hands. “We’re not turning our wedding into a circus.”

In the end, they settled on a rustic-chic blend with some modern touches—fairy lights and mason jars for Y/N, and sleek tableware and geometric designs for Five. It was a mix that surprisingly worked, combining the best of both their visions.

Even the wedding invitations were a source of contention. Five wanted them to be minimalist and elegant, while Y/N wanted something more whimsical and colorful.

“This font is too boring,” Y/N complained, staring at the sample invite. “It doesn’t scream ‘fun.’”

Five rubbed his temples. “We’re not throwing a rave, Y/N. We’re getting married. It should be timeless.”

Klaus, had another idea. “Why not go with a pop-up invitation? Like those 3D books! People would love that.”

Five shot him a look. “We’re not making pop-up books, Klaus.”

Despite the disagreements, the wedding day arrived, and everything was miraculously coming together. Five and Y/N stood at the altar, their family and friends gathered around them. The setting was a perfect blend of their styles—rustic yet sophisticated, whimsical yet elegant.

As they exchanged vows, Five couldn’t help but smile at Y/N. Despite their differences, their love for each other had only grown stronger through the process. It was clear that, no matter the debates, they were perfect for each other.

When they shared their first kiss as husband and wife, the crowd erupted into applause, and Klaus, predictably, started a slow clap that turned into an impromptu chant of “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

Five’s siblings had their mishaps—Klaus accidentally spilled champagne on Viktor’s suit, Lila got into a friendly wrestling match with Allison over the bouquet, and Luther accidentally triggered a sound system malfunction that blasted “Never Gonna Give You Up” at full volume during the toasts.

At the end of the night, as they danced under the twinkling lights, Five pulled Y/N close and whispered, “You know, despite all the chaos, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Y/N smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling. “Not even the part where we almost had a bacon cake?”

Five chuckled. “Not even that. Well... maybe a little.”

Y/N laughed, leaning in to kiss him. “I love you, Five Hargreeves. Even if you have terrible taste in cakes.”

Five grinned, wrapping his arms around her. “And I love you, Y/N Hargreeves. Even if you have questionable taste in everything else.”

As they swayed to the music, surrounded by their chaotic but loving family, Five realized that the debates, the compromises, and the occasional disaster were all part of what made their love story uniquely theirs.

And for Five and Y/N, that was all they ever wanted.

[bunicate]

rambling abt diluc’s relationship with his sister from the maid, adelinde’s pov ♡ im pretti sure dis was an ask I received on my old blog too ! !

adelinde didn’t have much expected of her besides her daily cleanings and the occasional rotation of taking out the trash, but recently she’s been burdened with the task of looking after you.

you’re a troublesome girl to tend to.

she would never say it out loud or let her feelings show, but master diluc had you spoiled rotten. you were the only one allowed to disturb him in his study and demand the most menial things for the sake of his attention. 

you're often half-naked and oversleeping when you weren't bothering him.

she frequently dresses you, and brushes your hair so you could look presentable in front of your brother, and you would insist on only the shortest dresses and skirts. or flat out refuse to have your blouse buttoned all the way. she wouldn’t dare to speak out of turn, but your bosom was nearly visible at all times. 

she doesn’t acknowledge her master's subtle glances towards the swell of your chest, or his hand that rests too closely to your bottom.

you both were closer than most siblings. that she knows, the other maids all witnessed it but wouldn’t speak of it lest their master would catch them.

it was an enjoyable job, and it would be a shame to lose it because diluc caught their loose lips flapping away.

adelinde was quick to regard the interactions as siblings who simply cherished each other.

although you’re a handful, you’re also sweet and thoughtful, and she could see why diluc treated you as such. she often helps you clean up your messes from making strawberry tarts, and other little gifts that you give diluc. by the end of the day, you’d be exhausted, and each time she’d lay a blanket over your slumbering body when you waited up late for diluc.

she’d watch you until she’s interrupted by her master's arrival. 

“thank you, adelinde. you may go for the night. i’ll take care of her from here,” he’d say.

like routine, she’d bow.

“well then. goodnight master diluc.”

she would watch him slowly collect your body within his grasp, gentle enough not to disturb you from slumber. 

he’d pull back the hair that obstructs your face and adelinde could never forget the look of utter tenderness that seeped into his visage.

a certain kind of love unbinds the furrow of his brow and eases the tension in his broad shoulders. his figure would then disappear into your room, and that would be the last she saw of you both for the night. 

the next day when adelinde knocks on your door to come in, and you’re already awake.

your pajamas are revealing as always. a skimpy underwear and a strapless cotton top. your hair covers it, but she makes out the bruise on your neck, and she ignores it.

she tries not to appear uncomfortable when you walk downstairs in the same attire and diluc don't even seem phased. he just puts you on the kitchen counter, feeding you blueberries for breakfast.

touches and the palatable air isn’t enough to jump to conclusions, but she supposes she no longer had a choice anymore when she mistakenly walks into the living room and witnesses such a sweltering kiss.

her master trails his hands on the cheeks of your butt, groping the flesh while he buried his tongue in your mouth. 

adelinde is stunned at the sight. her master was kissing his little sister. 

a sensation she’s unfamiliar with runs down her body. his tongue is so much larger than yours, wrapping around your smaller one, swallowing your breathy cries. his hands cup your face, and it’s then she realizes how large those gloved fingers really are.

carefully, she watches them trail downwards, slipping into his pants to pull out his thickening and leaky member. 

adelinde , felt fear and a tinge of arousal.

he was going to insert his cock between your folds. your pretty silken folds, that sweltered with lust. his dick was hard and angry, and your body looked too perfect — too delicate to be touched.

adelinde licked her lips as diluc entered inside of you. your back arches and your tits jiggle from the comedown of his hips. he fucks into you at a rapid pace, and the sound of wetness on his cock destabilizes the maid's ability to react appropriately.

the moistness is audible between the slaps of skin and the loud cries.

the sheets darken with sweat and cum. your skin is bitten and then kissed, and your moans reverberate in the same room.

the air is hot and sticky and adelinde feels a knot in her belly. she quickly darts out into the corridor and begins to dread the following day. anxiety pricks at her skin at the fear of facing you both once more.

she knows that she’ll have to clean you up in the morning and face the dark truth about her master and his younger sister.

[studiopeached]

THREE, TWO, RUN. ft. Peter Dunbar

♡ SUMMARY: After fleeing from your boyfriend, it isn’t long before the two of you reunite, against your will or with it.

♡ CONTENT WARNINGS: pwp, afab, fem!reader, ex-boyfriend!peter x reader, peter being a serial killer, moderate description of gore, NONCON/DUBCON, fingering, oral (fem receiving), big dick peter—not great prep, p in v sex, rough sex, biting/marking kink, fear play, predator/prey dynamics, size kink, bondage

♡ WORD COUNT: 2.4k plot, 1.9k smut. 4.3k total

♡ STREAM NOTE: SMUT BELOW THE SECOND NSFW BANNER. this is a spin off from my @peachedtvs blog called 'Til Death Dont We Part'

♡ MASTERLIST. cumming soon! Main blog @peachedtv

Peter felt you were quite silly, even from when his eyes first laid upon you through the windows of your diner.

So silly, in so many ways.

You were silly in the way you spoke. Expressive, lively, words filled with kindness and rhythm. Words Peter wanted to lock away for only him to hear. Your voice always melted into his mind like honey. Soothing, calming, just like the music he’d hum to silently as he got rid of your recent obstacles. A heavy saw in his hand slashing back and forth, splitting bone into two before stuffing remains of human flesh into a black tarpe—or when he'd bring the nuisances back alive. Screams of pain, terror, and torment vastly contrasting a smooth melody muffled through his earbuds.

Your smile was silly too. Loud, boisterous laughs pairing with it each time as you’d close your eyes tightly, breaths jagged as you’d brace your stomach from the joy. Your smile so mesmerizing Peter wanted nothing more to lock it away behind a key. To melt away in the melody of your laughter, to spread it across his lips and adorn the smile as sweetly as you do.

What was even sillier was how silly you made him feel. On the surface, the twist in his stomach was sweet. An admiration, an appreciation of something so pure. Although,

Peter always fell apart.

Even in the room of his own heart.

Every silly thing had something inside of him twist. A strange twist, a bubbling feeling that had his gut wrench around itself—curling around and laying discomfort deep into his heart, where it stood mockingly. Unable to be buried beneath other thoughts, placed behind distractions, or replaced with another. And this bothered him.

Peter was always in control.

Control of his job, control of his victims, the police, his therapy, the growing police patrols in your city. So why couldn’t he control this?

What were you doing to him?

He thought it was uncomfortable at first. But that strange feeling was quite addicting, stacking tenfolds in intensity ever since the first time he felt it with you.

“Are you okay?”

By now, this memory had occurred over 3 years ago.

The first day you two had met, Peter was not in a good mental space. His family was in ruins, the relationship between he and his mother deteriorating until he had finally decided to storm out of the house and leave for good. Leave his home for good.

With nowhere to go, and a rumbling stomach, Peter decided the best course of action was to first fuel his appetite. Damn Diner was loud, painstakingly so. There was a mess of voices, the clash of plates, cutlery, dragging of chairs against tilted floors, chaos that hummed against a muffled out melody of tunes through the ceiling speakers. Everything was so loud. There was a child in the booth next to his. A mess of ketchup and mustard spraying everywhere, a glob falling onto his cheek as his eyebrows knit together in annoyance. There was a couple in the booth across, arguing over the cries of their child whining for a crumb of their attention. There was yelling from the kitchen, scolding as a worker had done something wrong and sent an order to the incorrect table.

And then, there was you.

Timidly, you rushed over to his table. Clumsy and expressive as you stared down to him with empathy, apologizing profusely as you explained the mess around the diner. And there, all the loudness stopped. Your voice muffled, muffled until it became strikingly clear and the diner around him seem to slow. Peter's eyes traced your face, how you were out of breath, how kindly you looked to him, how you asked if he was okay. And in this world of distain, you were pure.

And there was the first twist.

Peter spent nights going crazy.

Absolutely insane.

When he had first broken into your apartment, his heavy steps drowned out by the moans of your roommate through the paper thin walls, he thought he would melt into the floor when he first inhaled the scent of you room.

It was a soft aroma, something that had his eyes rolling into the back of his skull when he saw you laying peacefully on the bed. Your head was smushed between a folded pillow, covering your ears as your face was scrunched in discomfort.

"Lucy's being so loud tonight, isn't she, Darling?" Peter spoke softly, the back of his hand gracing your cheek as he sat on the edge of your bed. Careful to dip your mattress slowly so as to not wake you. Carefully, his other hand trailed up the curve of your torso, hip to waist, before entangling with your fingers.

Your hand felt right in his.

Soft, smooth, and warm against his cold skin. And there, he knew even fate was in his hands the moment he had yours in his.

When Peter had mustered up the courage to approach you in the park, he felt his heart beating out his chest, his mind going hazy from everything he wanted to do to you—from hearing your voice up close again. It had been nearly a year since you two had first met at the diner, and it seemed as though you had forgotten him completely. Luckily, Peter knew enough about you through his year of...supervision, and was soon able to swipe you off your feet. There, he became yours.

Your boyfriend.

And you, his girlfriend.

Often the two of you shared late nights after your dates. The hum of cicadas drumming into the background as you'd lay into the grass of the park the two of you 'first' met in. Your hands would intertwine together as the other would hold the grass below. In this park, the two of you would often talk about your dreams, aspirations, or talk shit about whatever seemed to bother you in your life at the moment. And Peter always listened.

In other moments, the two of you enjoyed each other's company. A silence paired with the ambience of howling wind, crickets, and a glint in your eye from the reflection of the moonlight and stars twinkling above. And through this silence, your heart spilled.

“I want to be with you forever, Peter." You spoke softly, you eyes still stuck on the starlight above.

A twist, something twisted once more.

For the first time, Peter eyes looked away from you—a blush traveling to his cheeks, a pale red hue over his soft features.

“Forever, then, Darling."

And forever meant forever.

Years together flew by, and you both had your own jobs—despite Peter's insistence for you to stay at home and allow him to care for you. Although, you wanted to work. You wanted to experience the world. But what you didn’t want were the unreasonable hours of overtime your boss had subjected to you. Much to Peter's dismay, many late afternoons he would return to an empty home. Full of furniture, light, decoration, but never with the person he truly wished the presence of. Every evening, you would trail home hours after him. Enervated, dragging your feet along the floorboards as you slumped into his open arms.

“I missed you, Peter.”

Your voice was like honey.

“I missed you more, Darling.” Peter greeted you softly. There it was again. Something twisted. Peter looked down to your visage. Dark eyebags staining your soft skin, a pout dragging your lips, your eyebrows furrowed slightly as you sighed from exhaustion. His gut was twisting stranger than usual. A mix of annoyance for those who have exploited you, an annoyance that made his stomach curl inside.

Peter did not want you to continue working.

Your boss had gone missing for a couple days now.

The company was in disarray, having strangely lost employee after employee ever since you were recruited. The once bustling, lively atmosphere became quiet, dull, and empty. And with the new loss of your employer, there wasn’t an office cubicle you could return to. For the first time in months, you returned home before Peter.

Although, something felt off.

With Peter home, it was always lively. The ambiance of bustling trees against the wind outside, a hum of the dishwasher from the kitchen, a low vibrato of your home's ventilation system, and the comfort of your boyfriend's presence. He was such a soothing soul. Without him, the home felt strange. You felt the presence of another, many, an overbearing amount. As though invisible strings clumped together to weigh you heavier into the floor boards, creaking the dark oak louder than usual.

Without Peter, it felt as though something was calling for you—and curiously, you began to explore. Exploring the home you resided in, as this home empty of your lover didn’t feel like a home anymore. And that lead you to the door that stood at the far end of the first floor. Tucked beside the laundry room, you stood still and seemed confused.

Was there always a lock?

A sturdy lock it was. Heavy metal weighing it flush against the wood, holding the door firmly shut to keep everything in out. There was a strange smell, too. A scent that leaked from beneath the dark oak doorway, filling the air with a musk of cooper and spoiled eggs. Your hand reached for the lock, flinching when built up static pricked your skin. A warning. But you held firm. Giving a cautious, downward tug as the lock went slack. It was open. You pushed the door back slowly, a low creak humming your presence, a flood of a strange meat stinging the view in your eyes.

Firmly, a familiar hand held your shoulder.

The hand of your boyfriend.

You were terrified.

“Darling, what are you doing?”

You couldn’t think.

Not with the view of mangled flesh, the smell of copper and iron so strong your head began to haze strangely. No, you couldn’t think. Even more so with scattered limbs decorating the floor—being the remainder of the morbidly intact heads of your former colleges and employer, of your missing boss. Pieces of them did not fit like a puzzle. Limbs, skin, so much of their bodies were missing.

What was that dinner Peter served these passing evenings?

And it seemed as though fate enjoyed sparking your memory.

This time around, nearly three years later, it was not scatttered corpses, blood, or flies that greeted you. You stood before the door of the fourth apartment complex you were going to apply to. Advertised as a gated community of safety, an exorbitant lot you were willing to hack up the money for to get away from him.

Although, just as three years ago, just as you were able to arrive to the complex, nails dug into your shoulder, holding you in place. A voice low, strange, and terrifyingly familiar. The grip dug into your flesh this time, keeping you from running—just as you did in the home you shared with him. With a door you shouldn’t have opened, and a hand on your shoulder that felt larger than usual.

Your boyfriend's hand.

“I missed you, my Darling.”

You didn't know what was happening.

You scrambled fruitlessly, trying to shove Peter's hand off your shoulder when a burning wet rag was drowned upon your lower face. You kicked, muffled screams and sobs as you dug into the palm that pinched the bridge of your nose, your body growing increasingly more limp. You didn't know what was happening, but by the next moment, it seemed as though you were melting into the floor—the world around you sputtering and glitching as your vision faded out and back in as you fell back onto a large bed.

You couldn't recognize the monster that was before you.

You didn't want to recognize the monster that was before you. Although, a rough, large hand gripped the lower half of your face, covering your mouth and pinning you down into the plush duvet to muffle horrified screams, forcing you to look deep into a being empty of a soul.

Even back then, you always felt Peter’s deep eyes had an errie glint. They seemed dull, strange, and detached from any wonder or interest. All until his gaze would flit upon you. A spark of light dashing his iris, a soft smile spreading his lips. He only looked human when he looked at you.

Peter still kept that smile. A smile that had morphed after his descent into maddness. Sharp teeth and bloodshot eyes that contrasted against sharp blues. He looked terrifying. His forearms were scattered with scars and wounds, peeled back scabs across his skin—likely from the amount of struggling you had done while in his arms. Your name was etched into his skin. Over and over and over, hearts and sharp lines littered as keloids formed in the place of his artwork. His size dwarfed you, a wolf to rabbit. Predator to prey.

“Pe—“

"You remember the time when you'd say it back, don't you, Darling?" He leaned down by your neck, breathing in shakily as though he couldn't believe you were finally here. With him. All to himself. "When you would say you missed me too." His voice was disfigured. A mix of insanity and dark undertone to his speech making your head spin and eyes well with tears. Your entire body was trembling, the skin on your back burning as every nerve in your brain set off sirens that resonated throughout your head. You felt too fearful to even choke out a pathetic sob, wanting to blend into the sheets below you.

Meanwhile, Peter felt himself going crazy. He couldn't help the way his mind ran a mile a minute as he stared down at your dicheviled form. You were always so pretty, absurdly so. Even as the strands of your hair fell misplaced over your face, even as you looked up to him with so much fear, hatred, and terror, his stomach twisted just as it did three years ago. That strange feeling laying addiction down into the lining of his stomach, soothing his body that felt run dry of how you made him feel.

He needed you. Now.

Peter brought a hand to his lips, hastily removing his right glove as he bit the fabric covering the tip of his middle finger, tugging his glove off by his teeth. His free hand pinned you pliantly down into the mattress by the lower half of your face, the other sliding beneath your shirt to tear the fabric off your body. You thrashed, muffled sobs and tears running down your cheeks, wetting the palm of his hand.

Your terror only fueled him further.

His hands groped and fondled every inch of your skin that one could imagine, a long tongue pairing with his touch as Peter licked a long stripe up your neck—sucking deep blotches and bruises of dark blue and purple hues across your neck and chest. Peter marked you as his, bit your flesh like a meal, and ruined your soft skin for his pleasure.

The mattress beneath you was in shambles. Inch deep tears lay by your head as Peter held back the urge to squeeze you blue, from ripping into your flesh, the torn mattress a goreish display of holding back the brutal cuteness aggression Peter got from the sight of you.

His hand slid from your mouth, gripping your neck tightly to restrict precious air from flooding your throat. He wanted you ditzy anyway. Nothing but a lifeless shell of who you were once he was done.

Pilant.

Obidient.

And what better way than halfway choking you out?

Your hands held his wrist desparately, nails scratching into his skin as he only smiled wider in response, stitches appearing on the corners of his mouth to prevent his face from ripping in two from his pure display of euphoria.

You hadn't stopped crying this entire time. Desparate pleas falling on deaf ears as you begged Peter that this was enough, that you'd listen, that you'd stay. And as convincing as it seemed, Peter was not giving you another chance to escape him. Not again.

His hand trailed down until it cupped your clothed cunt. Nothing on your body remaining besides your panties. A gift, perhaps—the best for last. Peter pushed your panties to the side, experimentally swirling the pad of his thumb onto your clit, causing you to wretch out a struggled moan.

"P-Peter—!" He only smiled in response.

"You've always been so sensitive, huh? It seems you haven't changed at all." His thumb pressed harder onto your cunt, rubbing your clit side to side as the palm of his hand pressed firmly down upon your womb. He watched you fall apart with glee, sliding his other hands between your thighs and gently nudging a finger inside of you. You threw your headback into the sheets, grabbing the duvet desperately, your hips trembling as you felt your sanity waste away to the pleasure wracked into your body.

You always fell apart so prettily.

Your hand shakily reached out to Peter, your lips quivering as a second finger curled into your cunt—the heel of his hand hitting the underside of your puffy clit as he kept toying with the bud. It burned, terribly so. Considering how much larger his stature was to yours, how much larger his finger would be to your own, it was a miracle you weren’t ripped in half yet. Although, it sure felt as though you were.

Peter stretched you out relentlessly, scissoring inside of you before curling the pads of his fingers plush against your g-spot. You arched your back desperately, crying out as your hips stuttered in response. And Peter kept prying there. His fingers pounding into your cunt, hitting your g-spot over and over and over until you felt as though you'd die from the overstimulation. As you reached out to Peter, he pulled a length of manila rope from his back pocket—grabbing your wrists before tying your hands together and in front of your chest as through you were praying—and perhaps you were. Praying to Peter to slow down, to be more gentle.

A third finger was nudged deep inside of you, pairing with the speed of his thumb on your clit increasing. His fingers pounded into you feverishly, sounds of your arousal soaking your inner thighs and his forearm—dirtying the sleeve of his pinstriped coat. You couldn't concentrate, no longer resisting against the firm hold his shadows had upon your wrists. No longer holding back your sweet moans.

A burning desire began to pool in your gut.

"Peter, p-please—"

A hand gripped your throat.

"P-Peter, please— I'm gonna cu—m!" He smiled to you. You were always so easy to please.

"Cum then, dear." His fingers sped up their speed inside your cunt, recklessly pounding and curling into you, bruising your g-spot painfully as you sobbed out, clenching your pussy around his cock as you squirt onto him. Peter smiled, leaning down to suck your clit and swirl his tongue around the bud as your mouth opened silently. Your hips struggled away, and yet his shoulders spread your knees firmly, the underside of your thighs thrown over them. Peter continued to bully your pussy past your orgasm, sucking and licking your clit as his fingers continued to curl and pound into you to ride out your high. You were crying endlessly. Begging him to stop, that it was enough. And yet, he didn't pull out his hand until you were merely twitching and whimpering in his bed. Broken.

"Have you lost yourself in the pleasure, Darling?" Peter was manic. Your pleasure felt like a high he couldn't describe. The way your fingers clenched around him, he felt as though it was a sign. A sign that all your struggling was only to encourage him to fight against you, a sign that you were only pretending to be scared.

"You wanted this, didn't you?" Your eyes widened open when you felt the tip of his cock slide between your folds, Peter having removed his clothing now too. You struggled, trying to sit up when his hand once again held your throat warningly, choking you lightly against the mattress—gently enough that you could take slow, shallow breaths.

"Peter, it's not gonna fi—!" Your mouth fell open silently as Peter suddenly shoved the head of his cock inside of you. Your pool of arousal allowing him to slide in with just a minor amount of resistance—minor to his strength at least.

Meanwhile, your eyes blew wide as you whimpered out desperately, struggling against the binds on your wrists as your cunt stretched around him. He was big, painfully so. And you were thankful he decided to slide the remaining of his length in slowly, inch by inch. And yet, even when he was just halfway, you felt as though he was already plush against your cervix.

"Is she resisting, hmm? I guess I can be a little rough, you were always into that, anyways." Before you could understand what Peter meant, he slammed the remaining half of his length deep inside of you as you screamed out, your hands curling tight fists as your nails dug deep crescents into your palms.

Before you knew it, Peter pulled out to the tip, and slammed right back into you. His pace was unwavering. A hand gripped on your neck, the other pressing you into the mattress by a palm against your womb as he split you on his cock. Peter pounded into you, skin against skin as you soaked his cock, splashing your arousal onto his pelvis and lower stomach. He was big, too big. Tears streamed down your face, and Peter only wiped them with his thumb before licking it into his mouth. He wanted to taste your fear.

He wanted to rip you apart.

Your chest heaved as his thumb came down to your clit once more, roughly pressing onto you before swirling it harshly. You arched your back, clawing at the wrist on your throat as you moaned, crying around his cock when the underside of it would press into your g-spot, when the head of it would slam so deep against your cervix you felt he might fuck himself into your womb. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, a hand gripping the torn sheets below you as you cried out when your pussy clentched around him.

"Please, please, can I c-cum—" You sobbed, looking down to where you and Peter where connected, seeing your cunt stretched impossibly wide for your ex-boyfriend's cock.

"Don't you dare."

"Please, Baby."

Fuck.

You drove him fucking crazy.

Peter swore he could’ve cum on the spot from hearing you finally call him baby once more, the name you neglected from him. The only name you should be calling him. Peter laughed.

"You truly know me so well, Darling." Peter's pace increased. His cock pounding into you hard enough to have your tits bouncing and the frame of the bed on the verge of giving out—your cunt clentching onto his fat cock even more.

"You can cum in three seconds." You nodded stupidly, too desparate to think.

Peter pulled back to the tip, slamming back inside.

"Three," His palm pressed into your womb, feeling the buldge of his dick against his hand, his cock dragging against your velvety walls. You swore you were going to die if you couldn't cum soon, Peter's counting teasingly slow as he fucked into you like a fleshlight. Like a pet.

"Two." Your pussy fluttered against him, Peter's fingers swirling your clit viciously.

"One," You whined, sliding your hands to his upper back as you raked down his skin.

"Please, please, please, let me cum." You were going crazy.

"Cum." You threw your head back, near screaming his name like a mantra as you clencthed around him, squirting for the second time that night as his cock continued to pound deep inside of you. Peter let go of your throat, his hands sliding beneath the underside of your thighs to push your knees into your chest—fucking you meanly in a harsh mating press as he refused to slow down. You felt like your soul was going to fall out your body, your pussy spasming as Peter continued to pound into you without any concern to your fresh orgasm and painful overstimulation that burned your walls.

"B-baby, Peter—please, I can'—"

And for the first time since three years ago, and for the first time together—Peter kissed you.

His kiss was soft, gentle, loving. His hips never stilled, continuing to rip orgasm after orgasm out of your poor little pussy. Although, his mouth was soft against yours, eyes closed and hand holding your neck lightly as the tips of his fingers graced your bruised skin. Bruised with the marks of his love, his obsession.

He held your face as kindly, as though you may be gone if he didn't keep you in his arms forever. Peter's tongue slid into your mouth slowly, and you moaned around him—letting him in. Your body missed him so much.

Maybe you still love him, even after it all.

Peter's pace became staggered, his hips slowing until he kept his cock deep inside and came directly into your womb. His load gushed out from the sides of your hole that stretched around him, stuffing you full. Peter allowed your thighs to rest by his hips, laying you back against the mattress as he continued to kiss you. His hands massaged your body, comforting the bites, hickeys, and bruises.

"I love you, Darling."

Peter spoke softly, pulling away from you. Admiring your fucked out state.

"So don't you leave me ever again."

You're watching...

© Studio Peached 2024

[momoswifee]

Park Jihyo - Supermarket Antics

Pairing: Jihyo x fem!reader

Synopsis: Jihyo rarely feels jealousy, so she was definitely not expecting to feel it on the line of the supermarket.

Warnings: I don't think there are any, it's fluff

w/c: 800

a/n: This is my first work! I’m really excited for people to read it! I really appreciate criticism so that I can do better next time, so if you have any please let me know :) English is not my first language, so pls be kind

Also, a million thank yous to my pookie @neoplatinum and to the lovely @cry4mina for the encouragement and for reading it first <33

Jihyo usually prides herself on not having an ounce of envy and on being confident in her relationship. She was never the jealous type, she knew you loved her as much as she loved you, and there was nothing to be insecure about.

Right now, she can't help but roll her eyes and huff in irritation. She’s watching this little kid stare at her girlfriend with big puppy eyes and a dopey smile. 

At first, you both don't notice the younger's antics, too preoccupied with each other. That is until you look to your left and end up locking eyes with the boy. 

After noticing that he had your attention, he couldn't help but shy away from your gaze, pressing himself to his dad before shyly looking back at you, making you break into a beautiful smile (something that usually had Jihyo weak in the knees). 

A giddy grin spreads across your face before raising your hand and waving your fingers at him, making him blush even more before waving back while hiding himself in his father's legs. 

As you keep interacting with the little boy, she watches you silently coo and melt at the boy's cuteness, making her, melt at your behaviour. 

Unfortunately for the kid, he also locks eyes with Jihyo but instead of sweet greetings and cute interactions, she can't help but pull a face and wiggle her fingers in a scary-like manner. 

Fortunately for her, instead of blushingly hiding into his dad, his eyes widen, and he turns around, no longer having the desire to interact with the older girls. 

In no time, the boy was on his way with his dad, and the two of you were in your car on the way home after unloading all the groceries. 

"You know I saw that, right?"

Jihyo quickly glances at you, not wanting to take her eyes away from the road for too long, seeing your disapproving glare.

 "I don't know what you're talking about," she says innocently. 

"You're mean, you know that?" you ask poking her gently. 

"C'mon, it's not like I'm gonna give him nightmares! It was harmless, and I'm not even scary," she says, trying to defend herself. 

"Maybe it'll help him build character? Know when not to flirt with women?" 

You can't help but snort at her childish excuse before bursting into laughter. 

"Are you jealous of a little boy smiling at me?" 

She scoffs at that.

 "And why would I be jealous of a small child?" she asks, repeating that to herself to understand why she tried to scare away the kid. 

You only shrugg at that with a small smile still lingering on your face. 

After arriving home and unloading everything, she finds herself on the couch with your back pressed against her and her arms surrounding you. 

“You know, I only have eyes for you”, you say, turning to face her, making her groan. 

“I was not jealous of a child,” she says looking up, avoiding your gaze, making you softly laugh at her antics before kissing her jaw. 

After a while of just you both basking in each other’s warmth, you can’t help but quietly laugh again after remembering how she behaved earlier.

“You’re not gonna let this go, are you?” she asks, whining, burying her face into your hair. 

“Hm… eventually,” you say, slightly detaching yourself from her and cupping her face gently, leaning in before letting your lips meet hers softly. 

She gently holds your neck, pulling you closer, trying to eliminate any space left between you two. You pull away from her lips for air, not far away enough so that your lips stop touching hers, not being able to completely pull away from her touch. 

“It’s cute that you’re like this. It’s not every day that I get to see you glaring at someone because you’re not the only one holding my attention, even if that someone is a little boy”

She only pouts at that before stealing another kiss from you, nuzzling into your cheek right after. 

“You know… You’re pretty good with kids” she says looking at you with puppy eyes, making you laugh. 

“Now you like that I’m good with kids?” you ask her, teasingly pushing her back. 

“Well, you know…” she says, now sporting a kind of dopey smile, “just in case in the future you might want to take that route… I think you’d be pretty good at it” she finishes looking sweetly at you, making you melt with the direction of the conversation. 

Unable to think about a normal response, you only return her dopey grin and return to your previous position, leaning into her and letting yourself be engulfed by her warmth, with the lingering thought of building a future with the girl who currently holds your entire heart.

[tasteracha]

kinktober — day four

kink: body worship with changbin

warnings: smut - MINORS DNI. implied thick!reader (but can be read with any body type). mentions of body insecurity. afab!reader.

when changbin get home from work, he finds you wrapped in a big sweatshirt and a blanket, hood pulled all the way up and your entire body a shapeless lump on the couch. it’s one of those days - not especially bad, but the kind of day that left you not wanting to be perceived. if you could have become one with the couch, you would have. 

living together is new - being together in general is new. you’ve been friends for years and years, but only took the plunge into a relationship recently, falling into each other in fast forward until you were moving in with him after just a few months. him coming home to you every day just felt so natural though, and with the frequency of how often one of you stayed the night at the others it just made sense. 

“hi, beautiful,” he greets you as he flops next to you, bone-deep tiredness clear in the way he melts against your side. he makes your heart squeeze as he nuzzles his head into your chest, and it threatens to beat right out of your skin.

“‘m not,” you mumble out, unable to keep it in. you’re usually so careful about separating your insecurities from him, scared to show them to him even though you know he would be nothing but sweet to you about it.

“excuse me?” he says, sitting up so quick you’re surprised he didn’t get whiplash from it. he left you no time to regret your words as he frames your face with both of his hands and turns your head to face him. “say that again.”

“i just,” you try and look away but he nudges your head back towards his face again. “i don’t think i am. beautiful. i guess i’m not ugly but i’ve never felt like i was something special, you know?”

“no, i don’t.” he says with intense ferocity, finality on his tongue like he was begging you to try and argue with what he knew was truth. “i’ve always thought you were gorgeous, even before we were together.”

“i guess i just don’t see myself that way,” you sigh, wishing you simply hadn’t opened your mouth. 

“every single part of you is beautiful, do you understand?” he rubs his thumbs against your cheekbones before sliding his hands down past your shoulders. 

“these arms?” he squeezes your upper arms with both of his hands, using his thumb to caress the skin there. “i dream about them, the way you wrap them around me when you’re happy or excited, it’s my favorite place to be.”

“but yours are too-“

“this isn’t about me,” he cuts you off, sharply but not unkind. he moves to your breasts, caressing them more gently than he ever had before.

“these? do you even see how many people stare at you when we go out at night?” he asks, pinching a bit at your skin. “it makes me so jealous, makes me want to take you home and keep you all to myself always. no one should be able to appreciate you but me.”

his hands roam further down, slotting themselves over your hips and squeezing with his fingertips. 

“see these? they’re what i use to hold you down when you’re on top of me. how else would i be able to get you in the exact position i want you, hmm?”

your breath picks up as his fingers ghost over the swell of your lower belly, and you have to resist the urge to curl up around yourself so that he doesn’t see you. 

“this?” he leans down to pepper kisses against your burning skin, leaving invisible marks that you can feel as though they were tattoos. “this is perfection. i want to bury my face in your stomach and suffocate in it, this isn’t a flaw to be hidden. it’s not something that you need to get rid of, not something that you shouldn’t have. it’s part of you, and that means that it’s perfect.”

his words are washing over you like tidal waves, wiping out your thoughts and replacing them with his. it’s all complimented by the scorching touch of his hands on your skin, you can feel him everywhere, consuming your entire being. 

“your thighs?” he continues, kneading at the skin around your quads. “they were made to be on a goddess, do you get it? i want to sink my teeth into them and never let go. i want to cover your thighs in bite marks until you can’t see your skin anymore, so they’re all mine.”

he grabs your ass with both hands, his long fingers covering a surprising amount of surface area as they dig into your muscle. 

“and do not get me started on this ass. this belongs in museums, on display so everyone can see what perfection looks like and feel bad about themselves for not being this perfect.”

and it’s a bit silly that you start crying because of that, but you can’t contain your bubbling emotions anymore. salty tears leave your eyes and you move to cover your face, but he stops you before you can.

“i don’t love you despite these things,” he says, caressing your face with the gentlest touch, feather soft. “i love you because of them. i’m sorry that i’ve never told you like this how obsessed with you i am. i think you are the most exquisite person that has ever walked this earth. do you understand?”

“yes,” you breathe out, finally understanding. finally accepting what he was saying.

“good,” he lets a smile creep onto his face, cheeks filling out. “now, will you let me make my pretty girl feel good?” 

you nod, taking in a gulping breath as he slowly undresses you, taking time to run his hands over your skin reverently. when he takes off your panties you’re surprised by how wet you are, the cold air hitting your pussy and making you shiver. he runs a finger through your folds, collecting the slick there and spreading it to your clit. 

“this perfect pussy? how could i want anything else when this is all mine?” he circles around your clit one, two three times before sliding one finger into you, slow enough that it makes you shiver. he crooks his finger inside of you, massaging your walls languidly like he’s mapping out every single millimeter of you to memory. it’s almost more overwhelming than when he bends you over and takes you on the kitchen table, hurried and frantic, because at least then you didn’t have time to think. now, you have all the time in the world to focus on the way he feels inside you, the way his free hand is warm on your thigh where it’s squeezing, the way his own breath catches when you clench around him like he’s the one with a finger inside of him. 

“i could keep my fingers inside of you all day, that’s how much i love it.” he slips another inside and you sigh at the stretch, your muscles tensing when he finds the spot inside of you that sends sparks running through your nervous system. he smiles at you, almost wickedly, before speeding up his movements, accentuating them by pressing his thumb to your clit. almost too fast, you feel your orgasm approaching, much slower than you’ve ever felt it. you can almost see it taking over your body, a golden light starting at your fingers and toes and spreading up your limbs to your core, slow inch by slow inch. you forget to breath, gulping in air when the light finally snaps into place, squeezing your legs around his hand as you ride it out for what feels like straight minutes. 

you come back to yourself in his arms, his fingers stroking the wispy strands of hair across your forehead out of your eyes. he’s looking at you with the fondest smile you’ve ever seen, like he can’t believe that he gets to hold you in his arms like this. 

“don’t hide these things from me anymore, okay? i can’t make you feel better if i don’t know that you’re feeling bad in the first place.” 

kinktober masterlist

[itaipava]

— mundane little moments of love with f1 boys.

˒ ⌕ LANDO NORRIS

it’s one of those late-night phone calls; one minute you’re laughing about god-knows-what and the next, humour has simmered down, replaced by a moment of silence — and there is warmth and comfort in the quietness, but also an unmistakeable sense of longing. as you just close your eyes and listen to each other’s breathing, you start to wonder if he has fallen asleep, but he breaks the silence with a ’wish you were here’ and you heart clenches a little as you whisper back a ’me too.’

˒ ⌕ DANIEL RICCIARDO

it’s one of those moments when you’re sharing a bathroom space. it’s the playful little ’don’t peek’ as one pees while the other shaves. it’s the lingering hand touches when he’s passing you the towel. it’s him being a little shit and splashing water at you while you wash your face. and it’s the way your eyes meet in the mirror while you’re brushing your teeth together and you both smile — it’s just a small stretch of lips at first until you’re both grinning uncontrollably because right now, everything just feels right.

˒ ⌕ CARLOS SAINZ

it’s when you lay your head in his lap while you guys watch something on tv. you don’t realize it, but the way he looks passionately at you says a lot about how much his heart is racing right now. he gently strokes your hair and you close your eyes, delighting in the sensation. and he can’t help but leave a kiss to your temple, a smile creeping across his lips when he sees you smiling. and then he realizes that, at this moment, you are safe and he is at peace.

˒ ⌕ CHARLES LECLERC

it’s one of those hugs. the kind that starts off almost casual yet goes on longer than it’s supposed to, simply because neither refuses to let go. it feels warm, familiar, and safe in each other’s arms. at one point, he snuggles in closer, burying his face against the crook of your neck, you can feel his breath and his little smile on your skin. he comments on how much he loves your smell and you snicker before asking him to describe it, and he takes a moment before answering, ’just smells like…you. like home.’

˒ ⌕ LEWIS HAMILTON

it’s one of those unexpected deep conversations at unlikely places, like the grocery store. it’s just that almost sacred connection you get when you’re telling someone your thoughts and ideas, and you worry that you sound scattered and might not make sense and you’re ready to brush it off with a nevermind and an awkward little chuckle but you don’t need to because he gets it. and as you continue the conversation while you put the cereal box into the cart, you feel a fresh surge of love for him.

˒ ⌕ OSCAR PIASTRI

it’s when he’s out of town for work and you send him silly selfies of yourself with sweet, encouraging messages attached. his friends notice him staring at his phone screen for too long with a lingering smile on his face and a certain look of fondness in his eyes. they crane their necks to take a glance at what their friend is looking at and see that it’s the selfie you sent. immediately, they tease him about how smitten he is. and oscar tries to hide the flustered blush on his face by looking annoyed. “oh shut up,” he mutters while proceeding to set your photo as his home screen. 

˒ ⌕ MAX VERSTAPPEN

it’s one of those moments on the couch or bed, watching netflix together. it’s endless hours of browsing through the catalogue of movies and shows only to end up playing the same one you’ve watched for the hundreth time. it’s the looks you share when the characters are saying questionable things, and the simultaneous outbursts you have when the people in the screen are being frustrating, and having to pause to have a debate about whatever is going on in the show. it’s just nice. it’s nice to have someone who willingly sits through every disney movie and every boring movie that ends up being good because each other’s presence (and jokes) are all you need.

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - sex doll au, implied dub/con, unhealthy relationships, possessive behavior, and generally depraved behavior.

You're starting to wonder if you should've gotten a different pair.

You knew what you were getting into when you decided that, of all the androids in Teyvat's stock, you were going to be one of the few brave souls that dared to put two members of the Akademiya Collection that weren't Tighnari and Cyno under the same roof. The salesperson had cringed as you made your selection, your more tech-savvy friends pursed their lips and asked if that was really for the best, and you couldn't mention your specific preferences on any public message board without being berated off the platform entirely. You didn't care, thought. The heart wants what it wants, and apparently, your heart wanted two burnt-out post-grads to rail you into next week.

That's what you told yourself until you got Alhaitham and Kaveh home, at least.

The bickering, you were prepared for. You weren't surprised by the constant passive-aggression, the subtle pokes at Alhaitham's arrogance and Kaveh's bleeding heart, and you managed to stomach it the first time your dreams of a multi-major threesome were dashed because Kaveh mentioned some ancient philosophical principle and Alhaitham couldn't resist the opportunity to correct his wording and you were left bouncing yourself on Alhaitham's cock while he dispassionately flipped through a textbook you haven't opened since you were an under-grad. Minor hiccups, nothing you couldn't forget about when Kaveh buried his face between your thighs or Alhaitham split you open on his fingers while reading your latest research paper aloud, denying you an orgasm for every grammatical error. That part, you wouldn't trade for the world.

The jealousy, though - you could live without that. You've heard that there's supposed to be fail-safes for this kind of thing, measures the developers take to make sure any companion droids can co-exist without tearing each other apart, but their mutual distaste seems strong enough to overwhelm whatever barriers their creators put in place. You've lost count of the number of times there's been a false-alarm in some other part of your apartment while you're on your knees at Alhaitham's feet, how many times Alhaitham's flawless hardware has suddenly 'malfunctioned' while Kaveh has your ankles propped on his shoulders.

Not getting laid, you can deal with, but it's a little hard to be so forgiving when Kaveh spends the better half a day pouting because you took Alhaitham to work and left him at home, when Alhaitham deletes your registered commands from his memory bank because you had the nerve to take Kaveh to a farmer's market that that he'd rather die than step foot in. You've tried to be fair, to divide your time evenly, but they're not happy with that, either. Neither of them would ever say it out loud, but it's clear enough that they both want to be the center of your attention. It'd be cute, if they weren't so spiteful.

The only thing worse than their jealousy is when they put aside their spitefulness, their petty arguments, and decide to agree on the only thing they can ever agree on: that their beloved 'master' should be the one to make up for all those hours of neglect. It's a little like your fantasies, but not quite; your chest pressed against Alhaitham's Kaveh's chin resting on your shoulder, the former inside of you while the latter whispers sweet-nothings against the curve of your throat. It's more violent than anything you ever would've expected from two men so scholarly, more aggressive - teeth buried in your skin, bruises in the shape of their palm painted across your thighs, fingers forcing their way past your lips whenever you so much as consider using your safe-word. You're left strung-out for hours after they're done with you, and Kaveh's free to press himself against your side while Alhaitham tries to pass himself off as the caretaker he so clearly isn't. It's the only time they don't waste their breath on bickering. It's the only time they ever get along.

It's the only time you don't have the strength to focus on anything but your two precious, precious androids.

[chuuyascumsock]

I am NOT a Sadist (I am) || Minors DNI

Summary; Sorry, not sorry. I love when there’s hurt feelings with emotional make-up sex :)

Tags; Chuuya Nakahara/Reader, Afab reader, Angst, Mentions Of Depression, Hurt/Comfort, I Totally Projected My Poor Communication Skills Onto The MC, Also Self Sabotaging, But She Gets Better I Swear, I Project A Lot Actually Lmao, Sounds Kind Of Like An Unhealthy Relationship At First But They Fix It, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, They Do Hurt Each Other’s Feelings A Little, Obviously There’s Crying, Pet Names (Baby, Doll, Sweetheart, Sweet Girl, etc.), Mention Of Phone Sex, Handjob, Fingering, Emotional Sex, Make-Up Sex, Creampie, Lowkey Breeding Kink If You Squint, Actually Pretty Vanilla For Once, Pussy Is Chuuya’s Therapy, Classic Missionary, Missionary Accomplished, Why Does No One Talk About Chuuya Going On His Overseas Trips And Leaving His S/O For Months At A Time, I Feel Like It’s Such A Good Angst Idea, My Longest Oneshot Yet Btw At A 5k Wordcount.

The honeymoon phase of your relationship with Chuuya ended quicker than you had anticipated. It felt like a slap in the face in all honesty, unexpecting of what you were really getting into as a normal civilian. Being married to an executive of the port mafia had its many upsides, yet no one really seemed to talk about the downsides and struggles of the mental toll that weighed on your conscience that came with the title as Chuuya’s wife. 

Chuuya had always been there when you needed him, and you were grateful that even with his rough exterior and conflict with opening up emotionally he could empathize with your varying issues and emotional outbursts. You tried not to be emotionally high maintenance for the sake of Chuuya already having so much on his plate, and things had seemed to be going well for the time being. 

Until he went away for his first overseas trip during your marriage. 

It was normal for Chuuya to take overseas trips while you were dating, some lasting a few days to a few weeks at most and during those times you often texted him throughout the day about how much you missed him before calling later on when he was lying exhausted in a hotel room to talk about how both of your days had gone. Of course, it had often led to phone sex, ending with the camera angled against a pillow while your fingers worked in and out of your neglected, needy pussy– your face buried into his pillow and smothering your senses with what was left of his presence in your apartment. And Chuuya would stroke his throbbing length at the sight with languid motions, thumb swiping over his leaking tip as he murmured through the speaker about how he wished he could be there to feel you split open on his cock and fill you up with his cum. And every time he came back from his trips, your relationship seemingly grew stronger from the distance, spending all his free time with you whenever he got the chance. 

And then Mori sent him away on a half year mission to Europe and everything seemed to go to shit. 

It was different when you had been dating as it was for a few days to some weeks at most, but a six-month excursion made your throat clench and your heart ache with saudade. You tried to keep a positive mindset, yet it was harder as each day had passed and Chuuya grew too tired from the days’ events to even call anymore. Messages on his side grew shorter and dull by the end of the third month, only sending a small good morning and good night text with the occasional ‘I love you’.  

Instead of bringing it up or attempting to fix it, you felt a sense of hopelessness and withdrew from him as well, not wanting to burden him with your spamming messages or feelings that could hinder him while dealing with an important mission. You spent the next three months stewing in a depressive state, loneliness eating away at you as you went day to day going to your job and coming back to an empty apartment. You stopped going out with your friends, stopped bothering to take care of yourself– completely ruining your sleeping and eating schedule in the process– leaving you with dark bags under your eyes and slightly paler looking complexion. You had grown so comfortable in Chuuya’s love and had no idea how to handle the situation you were in, fearing of saying something that would upset him. 

When Chuuya had come back, he hadn’t noticed the change in your behavior– too tired himself to see the toll his absence had taken on you. But to you, your straining relationship was apparent, and it only fueled your depression as Chuuya spent less time with you when he got back home than he used to when you were dating. He was either working on other missions given by Mori within the area or spent his free time sleeping. You barely felt as if you were married anymore, your relationship seeming more like roommates who rarely ever interacted every passing day.  

Your deteriorating mental health was beginning to wear your mind and patience thin, leading to a series of outbursts and fights between the two of you. You’d snap at him with an antagonizing start, and he’d finish with a frustrating end, either leaving to cool off or going to sleep on the couch. You could tell it was getting to him because he confronted you one day after he had mentioned that Mori was thinking about sending him on another grueling months-long overseas mission in America and you gave him the cold shoulder, closing yourself off from him. 

“What the hell has been your problem lately, huh? You’ve been acting shitty for the last few weeks and it’s really starting to get on my nerves,” He gripes, crossing his arms over his chest defensively as he leans against the kitchen counter. 

“I don’t have a problem, you’re the one starting things,” You tiredly glare at the words in your novel, wanting to read and forget everything falling apart around you, but it’s hard when Chuuya persists.  

Chuuya scoffs, “Bullshit, you have this nasty attitude and it's been bothering the hell out of me– so what the hell is your problem?” He repeats, his eyes burning holes into the side of your apathetic expression from across the room.  

“Good thing you won’t have to deal with it for long, huh?” You respond flatly, avoiding his question once again. You and Chuuya have always had an issue with things like this due to him being blunt when he was upset about something while you tended to dance around it and drawl the problem on longer than it had to be than if you were to talk about your problems from the start. 

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” His jaw sets, teeth clenching behind his scowl, “You know it annoys the hell out of me when you say cryptic shit like that— answer my question.” Chuuya’s temper was something no one enjoyed testing and you once feared setting him off, but now you couldn’t find it in you to care whether he blew up on you or not. 

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your next mission?” You’re metaphorically poking more than just a bear at this point; this is an entire fucking lion you’re sticking your hand into the mouth of– waiting for it to rip you apart. 

Chuuya’s steps are heavy as he approaches you with a stern glare, “I’m not leaving until you tell me, I’m tired of these games, [name].”  

His words make you snort bitterly as you mock, “Yeah, okay– like you’re not just Mori’s lapdog– at his every beck and call.” You know he’d leave the minute Mori sent a text or called asking where he was. 

Chuuya’s face contorts in mild surprise and slight hurt at your words, not expecting you to stoop so low as to refer to him as a lapdog for Mori. “I really don’t know why the fuck you’re acting like this, but it’s seriously pissin’ me off. Can you just tell me what I supposedly did wrong to make you treat me like this? Because last time I checked, I didn’t fuckin’ do anything,” His statement was ironic in the sense that him not doing anything was the problem.  

Your nostrils flare with a deep exhale in spiteful amusement, though nothing was amusing about it, because you knew you were going to regret everything you said after the fight was over.  

“Of course, you didn’t,” There’s clear sarcasm in your tone, your hands now messing with the pages of your novel mindlessly. 

“Why won’t you just talk to me!? I can’t read your mind– how can I fix a problem when you won’t tell me what I did wrong?” He starts to raise his voice in frustration. You can see his fists clenching from the corners of your eyes. 

You only remove yourself further emotionally by shutting down completely. It was common for you to go completely non-verbal in any argument, the stress of the conflict physically affecting you in ways that kept you from speaking– like your throat tightening and tongue growing heavy in your mouth. This was another issue between you and Chuuya as he was the type to raise his voice whilst arguing to make himself and his feelings known, the complete opposite of yourself. 

An inkling of doubt buries in your chest as you begin to think that maybe you’re not as compatible with Chuuya as you thought you were. 

Chuuya notices your silence and he feels his impatience growing, his foot starting to tap against the floor with agitation as his hands fall to rest on his hips, “God dammit, [name], can you just tell me? I’m not in the mood to play detective and try to figure out why you’re playing your fucking games, I have shit to do.” 

You find it in you to respond, though it’s weak and filled with animosity, “You always have shit to do.” 

An exasperated sigh leaves Chuuya as he stands in front of you, “Is that what this is about? Because I have work? A job? Believe it or not, the mafia isn’t as lenient as to give me a day off, sweetheart,” He says sarcastically, throwing his hands up for emphasis. “Sorry that I have to serve an organization that will literally have my head if god forbid, I even thought about leaving!” 

“You don’t even spend time with me anymore when you do have time off,” You rasp, your eyes set on the crumbling pages underneath your fingertips. 

“I’m exhausted because I’m constantly working my ass off! Sorry that I can’t do fuck whatever and whenever like you can! Unlike you, I actually work for the things I want instead of sitting around and waiting for it to just fall into my lap!” Your brows furrow at his words, knowing it’s utter bullshit. But it still gets under your skin. 

You could easily quit your job and live off of the makings of what Chuuya has— he’s even offered the idea before— but you wanted to keep a sense of independence and to continue to be productive instead of a burden that burns cash. Your conclusion is that it was to get back at your lapdog comment. 

“And you know what? You have nothing to fuckin’ complain about because you get everything you want. Are you just bored? Is that why you’re starting shit? Or is it those friends of yours filling your head with bullshit?” He leans over to your eye level, his hands resting above his knees for support with a firm stare into the side of your face as you refuse to make eye contact with him. 

You were over this. All of it. You were tired of the tension, the fighting, feeling the way you were.  

Which led the next words to slip out from your mouth without a second thought, “I want a break.” 

Chuuya’s scowl quickly shifted to a look of pure bewilderment, to immense hurt and slight panic, then to anger, “A break? You can’t just take a break whenever something doesn’t go your way, that’s not how this works.” 

“I don’t care, I want a break,” It’s getting difficult to talk again as you feel your eyes begin to water. 

“Look me in the eyes and tell me that,” He demands, almost hesitantly. 

It takes minutes for you to finally look into his piercing gray eyes without crying and repeat your words, “I want a break.” 

His body straightens and he brings a hand to rub at his eyes, his other hand on his hip. He seems disappointed and a whole lot of other emotions, but mostly frustrated at this whole ordeal. There’s a deafening silence before he drags his hand down his face and lets it fall to his side, “You want a break? Fine, I’ll tell Mori I’m going on the mission then and be gone by tomorrow morning— you’ll get your break.” He then storms off to finish getting ready for work, leaving you to sit alone on the couch, regretting everything that just happened. 

And even when you still have the chance to stop him from walking out the door and just talk to him, you don’t. Instead, you stare down at the ring on your finger numbly, listening to his heavy footfalls as they move towards the front door and then the slamming that follows when he leaves. 

You soon break down crying after, feeling as if you’ve lost everything. You know you could easily fix it with a simple text of wanting to talk things out, but the self-sabotaging nature in you refused to move a muscle. You cry for hours until your body grows exhausted, and you fall asleep on the couch in a tangled mess of some throw blankets and decorative pillows. 

Hours later, Chuuya enters your shared apartment quietly, taking his hat off as he runs a hand through his hair. He’s tired just as much as you are with how things are going in your relationship, and he doesn’t know what to do. He’s lost and trying so desperately to figure out how to fix it, but he can’t when you won’t tell him what the problem is. He knows you struggle deep down with telling others about how you feel, and it makes him feel hopeless at times when you won’t even tell him how you feel. 

His eyes trail over the living room before they fall on you and the blankets your body is buried under, your sleeping face peeking through. Chuuya takes light steps over to the couch before crouching in front of you and taking off one of his gloves, his hand slowly reaching out to move a few baby hairs away from your face. His eyes soften when he rubs away the tear stains on your cheeks with his thumb.  

There’s a small ache in his chest from the events and words exchanged earlier, feeling a growing tightness in his throat. He didn’t mean it when he said those things and he knows you didn’t mean what you said. But that doesn’t mean they didn’t hurt any less.  

He begins to feel guilt weighing on his consciousness. He replays all your expressions and words in his mind and starts to think about your reaction to the whole reason the fight started in the first place. It takes a few moments of him silently sitting next to the couch and caressing your face mindlessly until he finally realizes what’s been wrong the whole time. 

When you wake up hours later, you’re no longer on the couch, but placed comfortably in your bed. You rub the crust from your eyes and feel a heavy weight in your chest like a bag of stones when the spot next to you is void of Chuuya. ‘He actually left,’ You thought, but you knew you had no one to blame but yourself— even if you had hoped that he would stay. Now fully awake, you slip out of bed sluggishly and shuffle out your bedroom. 

A faint voice from the living room catches your attention and you notice that it’s the TV. There’s a small spark of hope that flickers in your stomach as you slowly creep into the living room. Relief settles in your heart to see the back of Chuuya’s head peeking from the couch. You make your way around the couch timidly until you’re in Chuuya’s sights. He stares tiredly at the TV before he sees you move into his view from the corner of his eye and looks over to you. 

“I… thought you were going to go on the mission…” You whisper, anxiously twisting and fidgeting with the end of your oversized shirt that slightly hangs off your shoulders. 

“I had Mori get someone else to do it,” Chuuya responds quietly, his eyes traveling your figure from top to bottom before propping an arm on the backrest of the couch as a silent invitation for you to sit next to him. 

As soon as you sit next to him, his arm shifts until his callous hand rests on the nape of your neck, rubbing at your skin in a soothing manner. He pulls you into his side after a few moments and turns his face slightly to press a soft kiss against your hairline.  

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around,” He starts off, sincere in each word as he continues, “Why didn’t you say anything?” It sounds almost rhetorical because you know he knows why on a surface level, but he doesn’t know why.  

You’re silent for a bit before hesitantly answering, “I didn’t want to stress you out by making you feel like you had to constantly tend to me.” 

“You’re my wife, not a burden. No matter how stressed out I am, I don’t want you to ever think that you can’t come to me with your feelings or just to bother me. I know I was gone for a long time, and I shouldn’t’ve become as distant as I had, but–” He sighs out in exasperation, “–Baby, you’ve gotta communicate with me. I don’t wanna fight like this and worry about our marriage. I want us to work out– I need us to work out because…” Chuuya trails off before moving his body to turn towards you and tilt your chin up with his other hand to look you in the eyes. 

“I need you, [name]. You’re my person. Okay?”  

Your chest throbs and aches at his words as his slate gray eyes flicker over your face and then meet your now watering eyes, “You’re my person too, Chuuya. I’m sorry…” You croak out through quivering lips and break down into tears, leaning forward to bury your face into his chest. “M’sorry– didn’t mean anything I said last night– won’t do it again,” You stumble over your words through muffled sobs.  

Chuuya moves his hand from your chin to hold the back of your head, pressing you into his chest as he kisses the top of your head, “I know you didn’t, sweetheart. I didn’t mean what I said either. You know I love you, right?” 

You nod, your small sobs and hiccups muted by his loose tank top as you hug your arms around his torso to pull him to you as close as possible, “I love you too…” 

He pulls you back reluctantly from your embrace and cups your face in his hands, wiping away your tears with his thumbs, “I promise that I’ll make an effort to be a better husband, I don’t want you to feel like that ever again. I shouldn’t have neglected you like that and made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me. That’s the last thing that I want.” 

“I’m gonna do better too, promise,” You sniffle, trying to hold back from anymore tears falling down your face, “Wanna be better for you.” 

“I wanna be better for you too, doll,” He murmurs before his face grows closer to yours to place a soft, innocent kiss against your lips. 

Your hands come to clasp over his own that cup your face and your eyes lull into his fond gaze, “I missed you,” You whisper with longing. 

“I missed you too, baby. It killed me not being able to wake up next to you every morning n’see your pretty face,” He exhales gently, kissing you again. 

Your heart stutters at his words and you reciprocate the kiss, refusing to pull away as quickly as before. When your lashes flutter open, you lean your face into his touch, “I need you, Chuuya,” And it’s clear to him that it wasn’t meant in just an innocent manner.  

“Yeah? Missed me that much, sweet girl?” His nose nudges against yours affectionately before capturing your lips into a sensual kiss. Feeling his lips smother against yours and the ring on his finger to remind you of his undying love and devotion to you only encourages the simmering heat in your chest and lower stomach. And when he mumbles a muffled, “C’mere,” against your lips, you’re quick to climb into his lap and thread a hand into his ginger hair. He hums in amusement at your eagerness and moves his lips to trail pecks along your jaw and down your throat, “Always were so needy f’me and I fuckin’ love it– love everything about you, doll.” He groans under his breath, hands heavily groping at any part of your plush body to keep you against him. 

“Only for you, it’s always been you,” You breathe out with a shaky exhale and Chuuya is unable to hide the small whimper that escapes the back of his throat. 

“Fuck, it’s always been you too, doll. I love you so much it hurts,” He pulls you back down into a desperate and hungry open-mouthed kiss, his tongue seeking out until his muscle is entangling with yours.  

Your face flushes with warmth as you mold your lips against his feverishly, head tilting to deepen the kiss until you’re both panting for air into each other’s mouths, “Please…” You plead, squirming in his lap. 

“I know, babydoll, I feel it too,” Chuuya groans quietly, feeling your thinly clothed pussy skim over the bulge in his gym shorts. “Wanna take this slow though, need to feel all of you, okay?” His hands cup the bottom of your thighs as he moves off the couch to stand up, your lips not parting for even a second as he makes his way to your bedroom and over to the bed. When his shins bump against the bottom frame of the bed, he leans over to lay you down on the mattress gently, lips leaving yours to move back down the expanse of your neck. You shiver, fingers messily tangling into his locks of hair whilst your other hand finds its way in between your bodies to run your hand over his erection. “F-Fuck,” Chuuya breathes out against the skin of your throat, hips jerking forward into your touch. “God, it’s been so long, I almost came,” He admits with embarrassment before latching onto a small patch of your skin to suckle at, pressing kisses to the spot occasionally. 

“Baby, please— wanna touch you so bad,” Was all you had to whine before he slips his baggy gym shorts off to reveal his stiff, throbbing cock. Your hand wraps around him, thumb pressing to his leaking slit to swipe at the precum dribbling out to spread it along his length with a few pumps of your hand. There’s a quiet “schlick” each time your wrist flicks to draw your hand back up to his angry mushroom tip before moving back down to the base of his shaft. 

Chuuya is unashamed when he lets out airy moans against your neck that’s now littered with his love marks, “Shit, you’re s’fuckin’ good, baby— just like that.” His right hand finds its way under your large shirt to grab at your underwear and pull at it until it tears off you. 

“Chuuya,” You whine in complaint, watching him toss the now torn fabric onto the floor, “I liked those.” 

“S’okay, I’ll get you more, sweetheart, promise,” His teeth dig into his bottom lip as he slips his middle and ring finger through your folds to spread your glistening sex open. “Look at how fucking wet you are, you like jerkin’ me off that much, pretty girl?” He groans, eyes glued to your hole clenching around nothing. 

You bury your face into the crook of his neck timidly as your hand pumping around his cock falters slightly from the way he talks, “C-Chuuya…” 

Chuuya chuckles before softly moaning into the side of your head, face nuzzling affectionately into your hair, “C’mon, doll, don’t be shy, look at how your sweet little cunt takes my fingers.” 

Flustered, you peek from his neck to watch his digits dip into your arousal, dragging them up to circle over your clit a few times and then slipping down to sink into your pulsing walls. Whilst his fingers weren’t considered long, they have you twitching from pleasure with how thick they are. “Feels good,” You slur out as your hand squeezes around the base of his cock. 

“Yeah? You love it when I stretch this pussy out with my fat fingers, huh?” He sucks in a short breath as he tries not to come right then and there in your hand as he fingers his digits in and out of your squelching pussy. “My sweet girl likes having her hole stuffed by her husband, hm,” His fingers work faster in and out of your cunt as he angles his thumb to draw rough circles into your needy clit.  

Your grip and stroking around his length only continues to falter as your thighs spasm softly, “M’gonna come— fuck— Chuu, noo, no, no…” You squirm, your other hand tugs his hair. 

“What’s wrong, doll?” Chuuya’s fingers slow to a stop, causing you to whimper from the ebbing buildup of your orgasm. He’s the same as you when he feels your hand come to a stop around his shaft. 

“Wanna come on your cock,” You mumble into him, “Want you to fill me up with your cum.” 

Chuuya feels his heart thrum in his throat wildly as he hears you speak before making quick work of your shirt and his tank top until you're both as bare as you were when you were brought into the world. “Yeah? Need me to fill your cute pussy up until my cum is spilling outta ya?” He hovers over you between your spread thighs as he hooks your legs over his hips.  

“Just wanna feel you close to me,” You admit with a sweet and quiet voice, your legs drawing him in until his throbbing cock is rubbing between your pussy lips with his tip nudging at your puffy clit. 

His eyes widen barely before softening, his movements becoming less erratic and eager as he leans down to place a gentle kiss against your lips. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, doll, m’gonna take care of ya like I always do.” He whispers, his right hand moving to guide the tip of his cock against the entrance of your core. Much like his fingers, his thick length bullies into your warm pussy slowly, stretching and splitting you open on his cock. “Fuuuuck, baby, you take me so well. Can’t get enough of seeing you stretch open on me.” 

Your legs tighten around him as you feel his hips press against yours until his balls are flush with your ass, “You’re s’big— it hurts every time, but it hurts good,” A small whimper leaves you as your hands grip at the bedsheets. 

When Chuuya pulls away, he watches his cock twitch from the loss of warmth your tight hole provided before seeing it stretch you back open to fill you. “God, I’ll never get over you,” He hisses through his teeth, pistoning his cock in and out of you at an agonizing pace, “Your pussy was made for me.” 

Chuuya’s gaze isn’t on where your bodies connect for long before he’s back to hovering over you, pinning your hands above your head. They’re placed palm up on top of one another before being locked in place with his left hand interlocking your fingers. The action makes your heart tighten with affection as well as your fingers when you squeeze his hand. The subtle noise of metal clinking from your wedding bands only makes your heart swell with pure unadulterated love for him further. Your eyes start to water again from the overwhelming emotions and love you feel for him. 

He squeezes your hand back in comfort, eyes studying your teary face, “You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that, doll?” He says out of nowhere, “M’so lucky to have you.” 

You clench around him as you stare back through blurry eyes back into his focused ones, moaning from the way his tip kisses at your g-spot with each thrust. “Mm— Lucky to have you too— you’re so good to me, Chuu,” You mewl out, feeling your stomach twist and coil with intensity.  

“Want you to come for me, please, baby— wanna make you come,” Chuuya’s words grow more pitchy and airier as he reaches his right hand down to rub at your throbbing clit with vigor. 

“A-Ah, fuck—“ Your body arches, hips erratically bucking into his, “C-Coming..! Shit, s’too much.” You sob, tears slipping down your temples and into the mattress. Your cries are soon silenced by Chuuya’s lips swallowing your noises in a passionate, yet sloppy kiss. You muffle incoherently against his lips, but he knows it’s a repeated line of I love you’s as your nails dig into the back of his hand and you cream around his length.  

As your walls spasm around his twitching cock, a guttural groan leaves his throat and he spills his hot, viscous cum deep into your starving pussy until it’s leaking out of your tight hole and down his balls. “Atta girl…” He murmurs through pants, kissing your sweaty forehead lovingly. 

“I love you,” You repeat gently one last time as you both relish in the softness of your afterglow. 

“I love you too,” Chuuya sighs with a ghost of a smile on his face as he admires you underneath him, hand coming down from your hands to wipe away your stray tears, “Promise me you won’t go anywhere, doll? Cause I’ve still got years of loving you left to go.” 

[lilisgardensblog]

Getting ready for bed with Neuvillette~

SFW, fem reader, you two are a married couple, he's the sweetest,cutest and most loving husband

Monsieur Neuvillette always comes home after a trial in the late afternoon, putting on him usual serious expression. but it all fades the moment when he opens his door and sees his beautiful wife

"Ma chérie..." he sighs and hugs you from behind, burying his face in your neck. you can see the already cloudy sky turn dark grey as your husband tightens his embrace,pulling you closer

"bad day?" you ask, turning around in his arms so that you're now face to face. you cup his face and kiss his nose as the chief justice of Fontaine melts completely under your touch.

people always wondered how your married life is with the stoic chief, always asking if his cold or simply uninterested in you since it was an arranged marriage. but he was never one of those things, in fact he was the sweetest and warmest person you knew. he always made sure you're comfortable, always asking for your opinion and listening to your thoughts.

still in each other's arms, you whisper in his ear, not wanting to ruin the peaceful atmosphere "let's get ready for bed, amour" he looks at you before nodding and hand in hand you lead him into your matrimonial bedroom

he let's go of your hand, wanting to do his usual routine- change clothes and go on his side of the bed so he won't disturb you. but you had other plans tonight

you place your palm against his now rapidly beating heart and lock your gaze with his, as a little pinkish blush covered his cheeks

"let me help you" you suggest as your hands already travelled up to his shoulders and down his arms, taking off his jacket

Neuv hands found yours as you went further down his arm and he brought your knuckles up to his lips, placing a tender kiss making you blush at the sight of your husband being so affectionate

he released one of your hands only to place it on top of his head as he still held your other hand close to his heart

you took off his head accessory and placed it on the table near you as his hands found your waist and brought you up in bed

another one of your habits together was sitting together before bed, when you undo the hairstyle the melusines did that morning. you first started this habit when he came home soaked with his eyes puffy from crying. you were worried he'd catch a cold and after he changed in dry clothes you started working on his hair, trying it and combing it

he'd patiently sit waiting for you to remove the ribbon in his hair before turning around to grab you and cuddle you. he loves cuddling you, his face buried in your hair, your perfume intoxicating him, while he whispers you sweet nothings and slowly drifting to sleep

he's not a sleep talker but he sometimes mumbles in his sleep, whispering your name and adding every sweet thing he told you before he felt asleep

you'd ask the next morning what he dreamed about, but all he says is "you, mon amour" leaving your mind wondering about what kind of dream did he have

(tysm once again for the appreciation shown to my last work; sorry for any mistakes english is not my 1st language)

[damiansgoodgirll]

reader and rhea being in love with each other but rhea is married 😭 make it smut but angst please 💗😭💖🙏

rhea ripley x reader

likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!!

‼️smut, rhea’s a softie in this one, angst

just tonight

“we shouldn’t be doing this…” you whispered against her lips.

“i know…” she was aware of the situation you were both in but she couldn’t help it. you knew you shouldn’t have done it and yet she had her middle finger pumping in and out of your pussy while his other hand moved teasing both of your breast. she was married, with a man, but that didn’t stop her from having you in her hotel room everytime she was travelling. you were both colleagues so that made it easier but it didn’t mean that it was right.

“i’m serious rhea…we shouldn’t be doing this…” you knew you had to stop but you couldn’t. she was the only person that was able to make you feel so good and she knew it.

“do you want me to stop?” she whispered, against your lips.

no - you didn’t want her to stop. you couldn’t explain it but you couldn’t stop needing her fingers buried in your pussy and he lips over yours “no…” you moaned when her finger hit that sweet spot that always made you see stars.

“then i’m not stopping…” she watched as you moaned softly, trying not to let your friends next door hear what you and rhea were doing.

there always been tension between the two of you. the moment you went from nxt to raw, rhea felt a sort of attraction that she couldn’t explain. she was happily engaged at the time, she loved her man, so why did she feel the need to have you? to touch you? to kiss you?

you couldn’t deny that you were attracted as much as everyone else was. women and men, all fighting for a chance with the famous rhea ripley and yet she chose you. the first time that it happened it was after her wrestlemania victory. her boyfriend wasn’t in town and she needed to let go some tension. you didn’t mean to sleep with her, you two weren’t even particularly friends. there was just a working bond between you but nothing more. rhea wanted something more. she spent days and days scrolling to your instagram trying to get to know you better. what you liked, the movies you watched, the music you listened to. she wanted to know everything about you. and she was surprised when she found out that you were single. she couldn’t understand how someone beautiful and kind as you were still single.

but right now she didn’t want to know it because she couldn’t imagine someone else making you feel the things she was making you feel.

she loved having you naked and panting for her.

“let them hear you baby” she whispered against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“what…no, damian’s next door, i can’t” but she didn’t help you when he hand moved from your breast to your swollen clit, making you slightly jump over the bed.

“i don’t care…everyone needs to know who’s making you feel so good baby…let me make you feel good” she said. she was soft with you. she wasn’t the rhea ripley everyone knew. she wasn’t the menace everyone was afraid of. no, she was sweet with you, she was kind and loving. she took your pleasure over hers. the way she kissed your body tenderly made you feel loved in a way no one else ever did.

can’t help falling in love was playing softly in the background, mixed with the warmth of rhea’s naked body pressed over yours, her fingers teasing your pussy and her lips prepping kisses over your face and neck. those wonderful sensations were enough to make you cum. rhea let you screamed her name as she watched your blissful face. your eyes closed, your mouth open and some hair stuck over your face. she watched you as you were the most beautiful person in the world. she helped you calm down, licking her fingers and tasting your juices “fuck…” she moaned “you taste so fucking good every single time…” and to proved her point she gently kissed you, letting you taste yourself over her lips “i could be buried in your pussy all night long…”

you softly chuckled, slightly open your eyes. she moved some of your hair that got stuck over your face and she helped you laying comfortably on the bed.

“rhea…i have to go back to my room…” you didn’t want to but you couldn’t risk being caught. and even if you loved her, you couldn’t risk her marriage.

“stay here, just tonight” she whispered, covering your body with a fluffy blanket and laying next to you.

“rhea…”

“please…stay, just tonight, just for me” she had tears in her eyes but she was quick to wipe them away. she didn’t like being so vulnerable. not in front of other people, not even in front of you. she couldn’t understand why now. why couldn’t she have met you before? she was already engaged, and now married and she loved her husband but the things she felt for you, she couldn’t explain why.

you looked at her, her soft face wet with tears “fine…i’ll stay here, just tonight” you saw a little smile on her face as you said that.

“just tonight” she whispered as she moved your body closed to hers.

you closed your eyes, head resting over her naked chest as her hand went through your hair.

you couldn’t explain why but you loved her and the fact that she couldn’t be yours was killing you.

[reidmoony-toast]

Strawberry Wine. ౨ৎ

"If I was empty space, and you were a formless shape we'd fit"

Spencer x fem singer!reader

The two times they miss each other, and the one time they don't

content: no use of y/n, fluff, pining galore

cw: lil suggestive? (She sings Chappell Roan)

wc: 2.4k

an: I've been cooking this up for a while, but life has been super busy, so I haven't yet finished the other parts. I'm very sorry if they take a few weeks to finish :[ Anyways, hope you enjoy! <3

| pt.1 | pt.2 | pt.3 | series masterlist ౨ৎ

· · ──────────── ·𖥸· ──────────── · ·

He really wished he wasn’t here. He never should have begrudgingly agreed to Penelope’s crazy plans, no matter how much she bugged him about it. This was about as far opposite to his kind of thing that you could get.

The lights were bright–unbearably so; flashing so much he feared he would have an epileptic episode (if it weren’t for the small fact that he didn’t actually have epilepsy, but he digressed).

The large room was also deafening, filled with fans, all of them buzzing in anticipation. Penelope was not an exception–she bounced up and down like a rogue ball, shrieking in excitement close to every thirty seconds. He would know. He had been counting.

Although he would rather be at the very back (if he had to choose anywhere in this wretched place), Penny had physically forced him into the very front row, only a barrier separating them from the stage.

He didn’t know and definitely didn’t want to know how Penelope had acquired such tickets and at such short notice before the show. He had found that he was better living in ignorance of the borderline illegal habits of his best friend.

He had just endured half an hour of what Penny had called the ‘openers’. He was dismayed to hear that the performance was not the actual concert; he learnt that the hard way when he had asked Penelope if they could leave, which she replied to with a cackle, stating that the band that had just exited the stage was, in fact, not the main event of the evening.

He had buried his face in his hands and let out a loud groan. He only had himself to blame for being caught up in the ‘Garcia puppy eyes’ trap, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t whinge at least a little bit–or a lot bit.

He didn’t know much about this singer girl, only that Penelope was obsessed with her, bringing her up in conversation many a time. He admitted that he often didn’t fully (if at all) listen when Garcia gushed over her–he seemed to always zone out.

He had never properly heard her songs, only in passing when Penelope would blast music in her cave, and he didn’t even have a clue what she looked like.

He was mentally preparing himself for the next few gruelling hours, with Penny jumping up and down beside him, when the lights dimmed, sending the whole room into a frenzy.

He winced at the screaming and whooping coming from all around him. Smoke machines started emitting mist, covering the stage and fogging up the colourful lights. The crowd continued to roar, Penelope squealing next to him and gripping the railing of the barrier.

A figure emerged through the haze, the silhouette showing locks of hair cascading over their shoulders, clad in a silk slip dress that ended at the mid thigh, hugging their curves.

They started singing–a smooth, silky voice wrapped around him, making the room suddenly feel more bearable. He swallowed hard. The singing was beautiful. Sweet and rich, wrapping around him like a cosy blanket.

He raised his eyebrows with pleasant surprise. It was, admittedly, not bad in the slightest. He hated to say it, but he was enjoying it, a lot. More than he should, given that it was new-age pop, not the refined tones of classical music–his favourite genre by far.

All thoughts of music flew out of his head as the owner of the angelic voice stepped into the stage lights, allowing him to properly see her for the first time. His breath left his body as he took her in.

She was gorgeous, stunning–almost ethereal, as her other-worldy voice filled his cochlea, transmitting electrical signals through his nerve pathways to his primary auditory cortex.

Her hair shone in the light, giving her a halo of the highest grade, her bright lips curled into a perfect smile around her words, and her eyes shone with a million glinting stars.

He was utterly enamoured by her–every facial expression, every movement she made, every note she sang was all absorbed thoroughly by his wide eyes.

In no time at all, the first song was over, finishing with loud cheering and clapping from the audience. The angel grinned out at the sea of fans, soaking up the feeling.

Unlike Spencer, she was well and truly in her element, looking as though there was not where else in the world she would rather be.

He gazed in open-mouthed awe at the way she floated effortlessly about the stage–and, of course, that breathtaking smile that scrunched her nose and revealed the prettiest dimples he had ever seen.

He was snapped back to reality with a sharp poke in the side from Penelope, centering his gravity away from the girl on stage and back to where he stood.

“What?” He said loudly, an exasperated look adorning his face as he tore his eyes back to his best friend. She was smirking at him, arms crossed in front of herself.

“You have such a thing for her, I’m surprised you're not drooling right now,” she answered mockingly. He scoffed, dismissing her words with a wave of his hands as he faced the stage again, not wanting to miss a moment of the show. He heard Garcia laugh deeply at his half-hearted denial.

All thoughts of Penelope soon left his mind as the heaven-sent saint started to sing again, striking chords in his heart at every note.

The song came and went again, and Spencer wished they would not go by so fast, so he could see her for as long as possible.

The next song started with a more upbeat track, and the angel laughed, running back down stage, scarily close to where Spencer stood. “She was a, Playboy, Brigitte Bardot,” she started to sing, “She showed me things, I didn't know.”

She stuck out her tongue playfully, shaking her hips, making the satin fabric hugging her curves sway.

“She did it right there, out on the deck,” she bit down on her bottom lip as Spencer’s face heated, realising what the song was about. “Put her canine teeth in the side of my neck.”

She gestured with her fingers to a spot on her neck, pretending as if her fingers were the teeth, tipping her head back with imaginary ecstasy. He swallowed heavily, face hot.

“I'm in the hallway waitin' for ya,” she sang, “Mini skirt and my go-go boots,” on those lyrics, she bent over, running her free hand from her heeled boots and up her legs, jutting her ass out.

Spencer’s mouth fell open in shock. He had never felt like this from only a few minutes of meeting someone, let alone just laying his eyes on them. This was completely out of the ordinary for him, and it left him reeling.

~☆~

Songs flitted by like the butterflies in his stomach, and his gaze was permanently fixated on the captivating women centre-stage. He couldn't tear his eyes away even if he tried–and he most definitely didn't.

A new song started, fading in with a catchy guitar riff, and the crowd went wild, sparking a wide smile on the angel’s face.

The drum beat started, and she strutted down the stage, tipping her head back and shaking her smooth curls out in the dim lights before she began to sing. “Midnight,” she dragged out the end of the word.

“Come and pick me up, no headlights,” she blew a kiss to the fans in front of her, winking as she made her way down the stage towards where Spencer was situated.

Penelope grasped his arm tighter and tighter as she neared, buttery voice washing over him.

“Watch us go ‘round and ‘round each time,” she stretched out the note, rolling her head to the side, eyes landing exactly where Spencer was standing. He froze, dumbstruck, as he locked eyes with her.

He gulped heavily as a cheeky grin adorned her face, soft lips framing perfectly white teeth. She straightened up, continuing the lyrics as she floated even closer to him, never breaking eye contact.

“You got that James Dean daydream look in your eye,” She knelt down on the stage in front of Spencer. His breathing stuttered as his gaze remained on her, utterly entranced.

“And I got that red lip classic thing that you like,” she dragged her thumb across her lip, singing to him through a happy, if not slightly teasing, smile.

“‘Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style,” He could see her mouth curving around each syllable as she sang into the microphone, eyes still, somehow, on him.

He most definitely looked like an idiot in that moment, with his flushed cheeks and slack-jawed awe of the ethereal woman only a few feet away, but he didn't have it in himself to care.

She had seen him, and not only that, she had actually come over and sat, right there on the stage in front of him. No matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, she was–without question–looking, and singing, straight at him.

She leaned impossibly closer, leaving only a few inches between their two faces as she crooned the words into the microphone. His eyes flicked across the features of her face before they settled on her own.

Up close, they were mesmerising– long, thick lashes framed bright irises, sparkling with the light of the night sky– he could almost map out the constellations he knew off by heart from the incandescent twinkles in her eyes.

“You got that long hair, slicked back-” She moved her free hand to hover over the collar of Spencer's shirt, seemingly asking silent consent to touch him.

He shook out of his trance long enough to nod vigorously. She let out a short chuckle, grabbing his collar and carefully but firmly pulling him closer by his shirt. “-white T-shirt.”

His breath hitched as hers ghosted his lips with every exhale, noses almost touching, with hardly any room for the microphone as his heart raced impossibly faster.

“And I got that good girl faith and a tight little skirt.” At that, she pulled away, letting go of his collar as she leaned back to run her free hand over her skirt, smirking at Spencer and his flaming-red face.

“And when we go crashing down, we come back every time,” she repeats, still serenading him. “'Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style!” She finally stood, winking and blowing a kiss at a thoroughly flustered Spencer as she strutted to another part of the stage.

Spencer stood there, dumbfounded. He couldn't believe she had not only noticed him, but also sang right to him. His shirt was crumpled from where she had gripped it, but he didn't dare fix it. If possible, he would never smooth the rumpled fabric if it meant he could have a reminder of her always.

A rough shake of his shoulder brought him back to the present, Penelope standing astonished next to him, incredulous smile playing on her lips and she all but shrieked in his ear–something along the lines of, ‘You're so lucky!’ and ‘You're so down bad!’.

He didn't pay her any mind, instead keeping his still-red face on her, and her only.

She wandered to different parts of the stage during the remainder of the song, but Spencer didn't miss the more-than-occasional glances she sent his way throughout the next few songs, smile growing each time they locked eyes.

When they did, he matched her smile with his own goofy grin, his heart feeling as if it was beating out of his chest, breathing becoming erratic as he clutched the railing with white knuckles.

~☆~

All too soon, the concert came to an end, accompanied by raucous applause from the crowd. He clapped like a mad thing too, finally understanding why her fans acted the way they did.

The version of him from two hours ago would have teased him relentlessly for this, but he didn't care. It was another completely different version of him, a version that had not yet laid his eyes on her.

It certainly felt like a life-altering moment in his existence. His being was now split into ‘before’ and ‘after’. Before and after her.

She waved and blew kisses enthusiastically as she made her way off stage. He deduced that she would have to walk right past Spencer to get there. He pathetically hoped she would look at him one last time–prayed she cared enough to seek him out once again.

Electricity jolted through his entire body, head to toe, as she locked eyes with Spencer when he was in her direct line of sight.

She gave him a wink and a little wave, biting her lip through a larger-than-life grin; he felt giddy, hand coming up in an awkward half-wave. He silently cursed himself for the stiltedness of his actions.

She, however, didn't have such qualms as she blew him an air kiss, giggling as she turned away, skipping the rest of the way off stage. The screaming continued as the heel of her shoe disappeared behind the side-stage curtain.

He felt oddly hollow as the venue lights came back on, signalling the end of the show. He kept staring at the spot where she had last been, silently hoping she would come back out and sing again. Look at him again.

He blinked hard, finally re-orienting himself, glancing around to see a few people staring at him, whispering to themselves.

They were talking about him–about his encounter. He turned away again, ducking his head as his cheeks burned again.

As quickly as they came, the stares went again, and his eyes flicked back to the stage again. He so badly wanted to meet her, talk to her, even just lay his eyes on her again. That would be enough.

Penelope cleared her throat next to him, and he hummed in response, still not looking away. She snorted. “Come on lover boy, time to leave.”

He turned his attention to see her nod in the direction of the exit.

He gazed back at that spot once more, heaving out a melancholy sigh, before turning away, heading towards the door.

“Yeah, let's go.”

· · ──────────── ·𖥸· ──────────── · ·

Thank you for reading, feedback is appreciated x

Tags: @reidology13 - Comment to be added!

Masterlist ౨ৎ

[autumnywinter]

can you pretty pls do more yandere elliot?

I hope this is good! I don't know if it's obvious or not, but he's my favorite character to write for.

Yandere!Elliott x Reader

Tags: Stalking, manipulation, mentioned blackmail, gender neutral reader

From the day you and Elliott met, you had become pretty close. Moving made it pretty hard to befriend anyone, especially due to your schedule, but Elliott seemed always available for you, always nearby and ready for a conversation. You and him had practically became best friends within the first few months of knowing each other. Elliott was a sweet guy, one that you cherished as a good friend.

Over the time you had moved, you had been trying to get back into dating. Elliott was supportive, and was always there to cry on when you were inevitably ghosted or dumped after one date.

This one really hurt, however. You were really into this person you had a date with, just for them to never speak again after the second date.

You turned to the one person you felt like would always be there for you. Elliott. You knocked on the door of his cabin, trying not to cry. It was pouring rain outside, soaking you to the bone. Your clothes clung to your skin, hair soaked and dripped down to your neck uncomfortably.

Elliott opened the door, worry immediately painting his face when he saw you shivering violently in front of him. "Y/n! What happened? Come inside, it's freezing out there!" He ushered you inside quickly, shutting the door behind you both. Elliott helped take off your jacket, hanging it up near the fireplace to dry it quicker.

"I'm sorry for showing up unannounced," you mumbled.

"Don't apologize, it's alright. Here, let me get you some dry clothes," Elliott said. He rushed into the restroom, coming back out with a fluffy purple towel and a white t-shirt and gray sweatpants.

It made you feel a little better imagining him own and wear such casual clothing. He had a huge vocabulary, but "casual" wasn't exactly something you assumed was in his dictionary. Even now, he was dressed in a beige turtleneck and black slacks.

Elliott dried your hair off with the towel gently, making sure to get all of the water out as best as he could. He then handed the clothing to you, turning around politely so you could change without him looking.

You quickly stripped from your wet clothing, putting on Elliott's warm, dry clothing instead. They smelled like ink and pine. Kind of like the trees that grew around your home.

"I'm done. Thanks," you told him.

He turned back around to face you. His cheeks were dusted pink, looking you up and down. Elliott cleared his throat and broke away his stare. "Of course. Do you want something to drink? I recently bought some hot chocolate, but I have tea too."

"Hot chocolate sounds nice," you responded quietly. Elliott smiled and went into the kitchen, returning shortly with two mugs of hot cocoa. He handed you one, sitting down on the couch next to you. He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you close, to the point where you were basically laying on top of him.

It was normal for cuddling to ensue between the both of you. Elliott was a very touchy person, always holding your hand or hugging you tightly. You never minded, though. Elliott was always soft and warm. It was comforting.

Elliott's hand drifted to your still-damp hair, massaging your scalp. You let out a content sigh, melting into Elliott's hold. "Do you want to talk about what happened?"

Your contentment dissolved into sadness again. "I was ghosted. Again. And I really thought they were into me."

He cooed and put his own mug down on the coffee table in front of you both before taking yours. You followed suit when he opened his arms invitingly.

You crawled into his lap, arms around his neck and head buried into the crook of it. Elliott buried his nose deep into your hair and inhaled. You were too busy crying to notice.

Elliott's arms tightened around you, rubbing soothing circles into your back. "Shh... it's okay. You deserve the world, and if they don't realize that, they were never worth it to begin with."

"I think I'm the problem. It has to be something I'm doing if--what, three people now?--have already ghosted me after one or two dates." You leaned into his warm hands that thumbed away your tears. "Maybe I'm just unlovable."

Elliott stiffened underneath you and his expression hardened. "No. Y/n, look at me," he said. He never sounded so firm before.

You lifted your head up to look at him. Elliott's eyes softened as soon as he looked at your tear-stained face.

"You are not unlovable. If anything, it's their loss. You're wonderful and kind and absolutely gorgeous. If they can't see that, then they're idiots. Okay?" Elliott leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss onto your forehead. "And perhaps, true love isn't as far away as you think it is."

You were too tired to look into his usual flowery words. Instead, you nodded and curled up against him again. Elliott returned to holding you, letting you cry into his shoulder.

He hummed to you. His hand stayed in your hair, another one on your back keeping you pressed against him.

When you woke up, you were tucked comfortably into Elliott's bed. The blankets were heavy on top of you, warm and cozy. Elliott was still holding you, but you could hear his soft snores. You smiled a little to yourself. He must've carried you here. Elliott was a sweetheart, even when you cried into him for hours until you fell asleep from exhaustion.

You laid there for a while longer, trying to fall back asleep. You couldn't, though, so you carefully slipped out of Elliott's grip to find the bathroom.

Despite having been in his cabin many times, you never actually went anywhere but the kitchen and living room. Elliott's cabin was small, but the darkness made it seem a lot larger than it actually was. You didn't want to turn on the lights to wake him, so you fumbled for your phone but couldn't find it.

Trying not to trip over anything, you shuffled around until you were sure you found the doorknob to the restroom. You closed the door behind you and flicked on the light, just to see a closet.

Just as you were going to walk out, you noticed something odd. A photo of you laid on top of a box. You curiously picked it up.

It wasn't a photo of you posing for the camera, or a selfie, or anything of that sort. It was a photo of you from far away, walking through town. The photo was clearly taken without your knowledge.

There were more photos under it. All of you. You were in every single one. Some of you shopping, some of you working, some of you talking to your friends. One of them even had you changing through the window. Your stomach churned when you saw one of you in bed, sleeping peacefully. You could see his shadow looming over you in that one.

It got more disturbing. You saw articles of your clothing that you had lost and never found. A pillowcase that was stained with hopefully your past drool, a used hairbrush, and various other things were inside the box too.

The door suddenly opened and you jumped, dropping everything in your hands. You backed up against the wall, staring at Elliott with wide eyes.

He stared back at you, eyes flickering from you to the box and pictures on the floor. His mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out. After a few seconds, he finally spoke. "Y/n, it's not what it looks like."

"Then what is it, Elliott?" you asked shakily. "What the hell is this?"

Elliott ran his fingers through his hair, sighing deeply. He crouched down and started picking up the pictures you dropped. "Please, listen to me. I would never hurt you. I just... I couldn't help myself." He collected all the photos with shaky hands and put them back in the box.

You didn't know why you weren't running. You should be sprinting out the door by now, but something kept you frozen in place. Elliott slowly stood up and took a step towards you. You flinched.

"I love you," he confessed. "So much. I've never felt this way about anyone in my life. I was so depressed before I met you. Everything was dark and meaningless. But then I met you." He stood close enough to cup your face in his hands, thumbs caressing your cheekbones. "You are everything to me. My light, my heart, my reason to live. I can't imagine living without you. I need you like I need air. Every time you're away from me feels like torture."

He leaned in close, forehead pressed against yours. You were still processing everything.

Elliott's breath tickled your lips. "I would do anything for you. Kill for you. Die for you. Anything you want, I'll give it to you. I could treat you so much better than those... people ever could." He spat out the word 'people', resisting to use another word to describe them.

Realization dawned on you. "Did you kill them?!"

"Of course not! I just," he dragged out a long sigh, letting you back away from him, "scared them away. If threatening them didn't work, I got blackmail on them. That was the only way your last date left you alone."

Your knees were weak. "You're sick."

Elliott frowned deeply. "I'm in love." You opened your mouth, but he cut you off. "Who do you go to when you're sad? Me. Who do you talk to about your problems? Me. Who do you call when you need comfort? Me. I'm the one who's always there for you, Y/n. Not them. Maybe you don't realize it, but you need me just as much as I need you."

"We're done talking, Elliott," you said. You tried to push past him to leave, but he grabbed your wrists tightly. You winced. "Let me go."

"I'll die without you. Please, stay," Elliott begged. "I'm sorry if I frightened you. I just got overwhelmed. I promise I'll be better. Just please, don't leave me. I can't handle losing you. I'd never ever hurt you."

Your shoulders sagged, so Elliott let his grip only slightly loosen. "You're scaring me."

Elliott cooed. "Oh, sweetheart. You have nothing to be scared of. I could never hurt you. I just love you so much." He released your wrists completely, only to wrap you up in a tight hug. "I just want what's best for you. And that's me. I can take care of you. You wouldn't have to lift a finger. I'll cook for you, clean for you, I'll do anything for you." Elliott was almost crying into your shoulder. His entire body was shaking.

Your fear and disgust turned into pity. Elliott was clearly sick. He needed help. You wrapped your arms around him hesitantly. Elliott melted into your hold like butter. He held you tighter, if that was possible.

"Elliott, you need help. This isn't normal." You rubbed his back in an awkward attempt to comfort him.

"I don't need help, I just need you." Elliott buried his nose into your neck, inhaling your scent.

You pursed your lips. Elliott was a good friend. He was always there for you. That was the only thing that prevented you from storming out the door or slapping him across the face. Well, that and the fact you were still terrified of him. "Why don't we lay down? It's late."

Elliott pulled away to look at you. His eyes were bloodshot and his cheeks were red from crying. He nodded. "Yes, you must be tired. Let's go lay down." Elliott took your hand and lead you into his bedroom again. You both laid down and Elliott immediately wrapped his arms and legs around you. Your face was almost smothered into his chest, and his scent didn't carry the same comforting smell as it normally did.

"Elliott?"

"Hm?"

"Will you let me leave in the morning?"

Elliott was silent for a moment. You thought he might've fallen asleep until he replied, "We'll talk about it in the morning."

That was code for "probably not".