#punctuated with moments of dread

[ivan-fyodorovich-k]

Just got on flight one of two, supposed to last an hour, then an hour and a half layover, then crossing the Atlantic

[ja3yun]

The Doll House | Drabble: Kill for You

demon/doll!heeseung x fem!reader warnings: smut (mdni), unprotected sex, creampie, no prep, handcuffs, blood kink, biting, death, gore, blood, knife, not-proofread, anything else lmk wc: 4.3k synopsis: when you wake up in hell handcuffed and scared, there is only one prince of hell that can save you a/n: based off this ask! this is just something quick i did and isn't my best but i have so many people asking for more tdh drabbles that i though i would cave <3 this one is not as bad as i think it is but there is a lot of blood and heeseung rips a man apart so...be warned. reblogs, likes, feedback, and comments are all welcome! (this could also be read as a stand alone?? idk)

the doll house masterlist

Your eyes flutter open, the lids heavy and sticky as if glued together. The throbbing in your head is relentless, a pounding pain that seems to echo in the very marrow of your bones. Your mouth is dry, parched as if you've been wandering in a desert, and the air is stifling, thick with a heat that makes it hard to breathe. The oppressive warmth is suffocating, pressing down on you with an intensity that speaks of more than just physical discomfort - it feels like the very essence of torment.

You try to lift a hand to your aching head, but your arm refuses to move. Panic sets in as you realise your wrists are restrained, bound by cold, unyielding metal. The sound of chains rattling echoes through the dimly lit room, a harsh realisation of your imprisonment. Your eyes dart upwards, following the chain to where your wrists are shackled to a pole above your head. The cuffs dig into your skin, a painful nip that serves as a concluding punctuation to your negative thoughts - somehow you’ve been kidnapped.

The heat is overwhelming, a furnace-like blaze that sears your skin and fills your lungs with each laboured breath. The air is thick with the acrid stench of sulphur and burning flesh, a scent that is all too familiar, a contrast between the land of the living and this infernal abyss floods back to you with terrifying clarity. You've been here before.

This is Hell.

The memory of past encounters with demons and the stark Your heart races, pounding against your ribcage as adrenaline surges through your veins. Each time you have been dragged to hell it has been at the hands of Heeseung, to show you his world or try and entice you into making a deal. Yet, he has never gone as far as this.

Every cell in your body screams for release, for salvation from this nightmarish reality. The heat seems to amplify your fear, each beat of your heart a desperate cry for help.

Suddenly, you hear footsteps approaching, each one a heavy thud that reverberates through the chamber. The temperature seems to rise even further, if that's possible, and the smell intensifies, a rancid mix of decay and coal. The sound sends a new wave of dread coursing through you. You strain against your bonds, but the metal holds firm, cutting into your flesh.

“Heeseung, I swear this isn’t funny!” you shout as you hear him approach, ensuring your discontentment with his actions is conveyed.

The door creaks open, and in the dim light, a hulking silhouette appears. Much to your surprise and heartache, it isn’t Heeseung who strides through the doorway but rather someone else, a demon you presume, his eyes glowing with a malevolent light. His gaze locks onto you, burning with an intensity that matches the inferno around you. He moves closer, each step a reminder of your vulnerability, each moment a testament to your peril.

"Heeseung? Is that what he’s going by now?" The demon speaks with an uninterested sigh, his voice dripping with disdain.

The demon strides towards you in a lazy, almost leisurely manner, as though he has all the time in the world. With you locked up here, chained to a rusty pole, he might just have an eternity. Despite the terror gripping your heart, you can’t help but notice his appearance. The sight is far from unpleasant; his chiselled abs and defined v-line momentarily distract you. It’s a poor excuse, but in the face of such danger, you’re just a girl.

He stops before you, towering over your bound form, his presence overwhelming. The heat radiating from his body adds to the already suffocating warmth of the room. You can feel the tension in the air, a palpable mix of fear and fascination. The demon’s handsome features contrast starkly with the darkness of his intentions, a cruel reminder of your predicament.

"I do forget how easily impressed you humans are," he smirks, rubbing a hand over his toned stomach. "Do you like what you see? I wore it just for you."

You shudder at his words but can’t help a small, begrudging gratitude that at least his current human appearance is more settling than the hideous creature you imagine lurks beneath. In scenarios like this, you must take the good with the bad.

"Who are you? What do you want with me?" The questions tumble out, driven by desperation. As far as you know, you’re insignificant to anyone but your two beautiful dolls back home.

The demon scoffs, rolling his eyes as he turns his back on you. "Don’t flatter yourself. You hold nothing of value to me," he chides, his tone dripping with scorn. He licks his lips, then twists his head to look over his shoulder, his eyes piercing into yours. "But you mean a lot to someone I need to speak with."

You scrunch your brows in confusion, his statement only adding more questions. It can’t be Jaeyun he needs to gain the attention of—no one knows about him or his should-be guardian ways. Sunghoon is just a soldier, and most people believe he’s still locked away in his cell. That leaves Jongseong or Heeseung.

The demon picks something up from a table in the room and drifts back over to you, his eyes an eerie shade of red wine. The object glints ominously in the dim light, and your heart skips a beat as you realise it’s a dagger, its blade sharp and cruel.

“You see,” he says, his voice soft yet menacing, “sometimes, to get someone’s attention, you need to send a message they can’t ignore.”

Your pulse quickens, panic bubbling up inside you. “Who do you need to speak with?” you ask, your voice trembling.

The demon chuckles darkly, tracing the blade of the dagger along your cheek, not cutting but letting the cold metal press against your skin. “Oh, you’ll see soon enough. Just know that your pain will be his torment.”

The cryptic words hang in the air, each one a dagger of its own, slicing through your hopes. The demon’s intentions are clear: you are a pawn in a game of unimaginable stakes, a tool to be used and discarded. And as the heat of the room continues to rise, your desperation grows, knowing that every passing moment draws you closer to a fate you can’t escape.

There is a nauseous feeling in your body, your chest heaving with the rapid beat of your heart as the demon brings the blade to your arm, pressing deep into your flesh. The sharp pain sears through you, and a scream rips from your throat, echoing through the hellish chamber. Blood wells up around the blade, trickling down your skin and staining the metal a dark crimson.

The demon watches with a twisted satisfaction, his eyes glinting with delight. But just as he seems ready to inflict more pain, the door swings open with a casual creak, and Heeseung strolls in, his presence commanding and nonchalant.

"Lay another mark on her, I dare you," Heeseung says, his voice calm but carrying a dangerous edge.

Heeseung’s words exhibit boredom as if your life isn’t on the line. Yet, you know him well enough now to recognise that the darting of his doll-like eyes from your face to your injury is enough to show you he cares; he wouldn’t be here otherwise.

Instinctively, your body tries to run to the comfort of Heeseung despite his unkindness to you in the past. Even if he has instilled fear in your body, manipulating and coaxing you to do things you wish never to speak of, he is still a place of solace, your body and soul drawn to him as though he were a magnetic field.

“I was wondering if you would show,” the demon smiles widely, a stark contrast to the sadistic pleasure he showed with you moments ago.

“I’m not here for you; I’m here for my girl,” Heeseung explains casually, shrugging his shoulders. Yet, you don’t miss the tensed fists just behind his back. It makes your heart skip a beat to know that somewhere in that non-existent heart of his, he cares and will try his best to get you out of this.

Amusingly nodding, the demon chuckles lowly. “I know, this pretty little thing was the only way to reach you. She calls and you answer, how cliché.”

Heeseung's gaze sharpens, his eyes narrowing as he steps forward, a slow and deliberate movement that radiates power. "You’ve had your fun. Now it’s over. Release her, and I might consider letting you leave here in one piece."

The demon’s smile falters for a moment, but he quickly recovers, trying to maintain his bravado. “And if I don’t? What then, Heeseung? Are you going to risk everything for this human?”

Heeseung’s eyes flash with a dangerous light. “You misunderstand the situation. It’s not a risk for me; it’s a certainty for you. Lay another mark on her, and you’ll find out exactly what happens when someone crosses me.”

The demon hesitates, the confidence draining from his face. He glances at you, bound and injured, and then back at Heeseung, weighing his options. The room grows unbearably tense, the oppressive heat pressing down on you like a physical weight. You’ll never complain about a sauna ever again.

The blood from your arm drips onto the floor with each passing moment, your eyes pleading with Heeseung to make all of this end as quickly as possible. A small smirk flashes on his face and disappears just as quickly, assuring you that he has a plan.

When the demon makes no move, Heeseung speaks up again, his voice deadly calm. “Tell me why you’ve called me here before I tear you apart.”

The demon sneers, trying to muster some of his lost bravado. "You've been so busy playing dolls that you’ve forgotten you have an army to run."

Heeseung’s eyes flash with anger, his smirk turning cold and dangerous. "So you put my love in danger because I'm not holding your hand? Are you all that fucking incompetent that you can't do your job?"

My love. You’re eyes widen slightly at the endearing term. There is a part of you that wonders if he means it, if the phrase that rolled so easily off his tongue was heartfelt or just another branch to add to his plotting plan. Hearing your heartbeat fasten with fear and adoration, Heeseung knows you registered his words and yet he doesn’t care.

“We are doing our job yet you’re fucking around with angels and bitches like her,” the man spits, holding the knife with determination. Any second now, the blade could be pierced into one of your main arteries, rendering you dead in a matter of minutes as you stay hanging helplessly against the pole.

“Call her that again. I dare you,” Heeseung snarls, walking closer to the man. His actions strike fear into you because what if one more footstep is the difference between life and death for you? 

As the demon goes to speak once again, his jaw locks and his tongue pulses as though he is choking. He suddenly drops the knife, much to your relief, clinging to his throat as if that will somehow allow much-needed oxygen to pass into his lungs.

Heeseung’s eyes flash a vibrant red, an innocent grin working its way across his cheeks. “What’s wrong? Can’t speak?” The feigned concern in his words makes your body crawl, his sinister actions unsettling you, even as a secret part of you loves it.

Perhaps it’s the fact that after this, you’ll be clear of danger and you can get out of this. Another part is pure vengeance. In hell, you feel the sins inside you heighten: lust, greed, wrath, you name it. Every bad part of you calls to be released.

Suddenly, Heeseung lunges forward, gripping the demon's throat as his fingers sink in with force until the man's face begins to turn blue. The pressure is immense, veins bulging as the demon struggles for air, his eyes wide with terror. Heeseung’s grip tightens even further, his nails piercing the skin, drawing dark, thick blood that oozes down the demon’s neck.

Heeseung’s fingers dig deeper, the demon’s gurgling attempts at speech becoming more desperate. Blood pours from the wounds, splattering onto the floor in gruesome pools. Heeseung’s grin widens, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. With a sudden, violent motion, he tears into the demon’s throat, his fingers piercing through flesh and muscle with a sickening squelch.

The demon’s eyes roll back, his body convulsing as Heeseung's grip tightens further. With a final, brutal yank, Heeseung rips the throat from the demon's body, the detached flesh dangling grotesquely from his hand. Blood sprays in an arc, coating the floor, walls, and over you and the Prince of hell, the metallic scent mixing with the sulphurous air.

The demon’s body collapses to the ground, twitching and spasming as it rapidly loses the battle for life. Heeseung casually tosses the mangled throat aside, wiping his bloodied hands on his trousers with a look of disdain. But he isn’t finished. Heeseung’s eyes glow with a fierce intensity as he crouches over the still-twitching body. With merciless precision, he plunges his hand into the demon's chest, feeling around for the pulsating heart. The demon’s mouth opens in a silent scream, his body arching in agony.

“You’re a fool to pick a human suit, this is too easy,” he laughs, staring crazily into your attacker's eyes.

Closing his fingers around the heart and with a feral growl, Heeseung bursts the main organ before he rips it from the chest cavity. Blood gushes out in torrents, the heart still beating weakly in Heeseung’s grip. He holds it aloft for a moment, his expression one of savage triumph, before crushing it in his hand, the remnants of the heart splatter onto the floor, a macabre testament to his power and strength.

Never bring a knife to a demon fight.

Lying lifeless, a broken, bloody shell of himself, the demon remains still, finally moving on from the pain. Heeseung stands, wiping his hand on the demon’s clothes with an air of finality, his lips upcurled in disgust. It’s been a while since he got his hands dirty but he has to set an example to the other soldiers of his legions. If he starts getting soft now, they’ll eventually overrun him. 

Turning back to you, Heeseung’s expression softens slightly, though the remnants of his violent act still linger in his eyes. “What the fuck happened, Y/N?” he asks annoyed, as if you were the one that asked for any of this to happen.

“I-I don’t know, just please get me out of here,” you stutter, your mind still trying to process the nightmare it just witnessed. Watching a man be brutally torn apart before your eyes has left you shaken to the core.

Sighing softly, Heeseung’s gaze sweeps over your body, his attention fixed on the wound on your arm. With careful deliberation, he reaches out and gently takes hold of your arm, his face drawing nearer to inspect the injury.

His touch is surprisingly gentle, contrasting sharply with the violence you’ve just witnessed. The warmth of his hand against your skin feels oddly comforting, a reassuring anchor in the midst of chaos. Heeseung’s expression softens, a flicker of concern crossing his features as he examines the wound.

“I’ll take care of this,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing contrast to the lingering tension in the air. He leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin as he carefully inspects the cut.

What you don’t expect is for his tongue to run over the slit, collecting the blood that streams from it. At first, your face is horrified, the ministration causing your stomach to churn, yet, as he laps up your wound, you feel relief, his muscle easing the sting and allowing your arm to relax, even if only slightly.

Heeseung is engrossed in the taste, the sweet metallic now overpowering all of his senses, and the sensory overload rushes directly to his cock. His member twitches in his pants as it begs to be released, Heeseung’s arousal flowing through his body, so much so that between each healing lick he is moaning out profanities.

Your body gets hot as you hear him get off over the taste of your crimson nectar. There is a first for everything but you never thought one day you would be in hell, handcuffed to a pole, and have Beelzebub exploring his blood kink right in front of you.

“You taste so good, Baby,” he whispers, his attention finally drawing from your arm to your face. 

It is at this moment that he sees the perfect opportunity. You, who are so determined to never lay with Heeseung again, refusing to cheat on your precious puppies, are all tied up and in the perfect position. 

Once you catch that desire-driven look on his face, you squirm slightly, attempting to free yourself from the restraints. But what Heeseung interprets as defiance is actually reciprocation. There's an undeniable thrill in seeing him defend you, dismantle your tormentor with a ferocity that leaves him splattered in blood - it makes you ache with need, your pussy crying in lust. You yearn to break free from these confines and throw yourself at him.

"You're so vulnerable, darling. What if I hadn't answered your calls?" he murmurs, his crimson-stained hands already unfastening the buttons of your jeans. You whimper as his fingers hover tantalisingly close to where you crave his touch. “You were screaming for me earlier, do you think you could do it again?”

His question is loaded, a subtle way to ask for your consent. He wants to make sure as much as he would love to just ravage you right here without a care in the world, he understands - even as a prince of hell - that he would be no better than the dead demon beside you if he took what he wanted without asking.

Swallowing your guilt and pride, you nod, finally giving in to him after months of cat and mouse. “I’ll scream hell down,” you whisper, keeping an intense stare on him.

It’s all the go-ahead he needs before he’s yanking down your Levis and panties, leaving you bare on your bottom half. Hurriedly, the prince frees his cock, stroking it a few times. “You can take it with no prep, right, sweetheart? Or are those dolls not fucking you good enough.”

You whimper in protest, the biting metal against your skin almost painful as your body yearns to be close to his, rattling them harshly as you try to break free. The mention of your lovers goes unheard as you disregard what he's saying and any guilt you should feel. Lust and impatience pulse through your veins, overwhelming all other emotions.

His bloody hands grip your thighs, harshly guiding your legs to wrap around him as he puppeteers you into place. Despite your lack of words, Heeseung takes your mewls of need as the go-ahead to delve in without working you open. Truthfully, Heeseung’s cock is a lot bigger than Jaeyun’s or Sunghoon’s, so prepping you would have been a great thing to ask for, but as your cunt leaks onto his stiff shaft, you know as well as he does that there is no time to be wasted, both of you craving this as much as the other.

With one harsh thrust, he plummets into you, the stretch from his girth both agonising and pleasurable. The pain heightens your experience, his cock bottoming inside you, eliciting a half-moan, half-shriek. You hate to admit it but you missed his cock and how you can feel the veins drag along your walls.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, baby. Are they really not fucking you?” he lefts out a sharp laugh before moving his hips in a steady rhythm. “You needed my cock, didn’t you?” 

Responding with fervent affirmations of "yes," your knuckles turn white as you clench your fists, yearning to touch him, feeling his smooth, doll skin yield beneath your nails. You needed his cock more than anything, all those times of pushing him away and deflecting your desires, this was a long time coming.

He grips your hips tightly as you hang there helplessly, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he finds a harsh pace that sends butterflies in your stomach. He missed being inside of you, feeling how your walls hug him tight as your body overcomes with bliss. 

Suddenly, his lips meld with yours, causing his rhythm to momentarily falter until he adjusts, finding the perfect angle to hammer into you. Heeseung's tongue slips between your lips, and you taste him on your tongue, your saliva wetting his mouth as your bodies move together in an urgent rhythm.

“Fuck, Heeseung!” you yelp, your lips retracting from him as he hits a soft spot inside of you, each punch of his tip now making you see stars. From that first night you spent together in the mansion all those months ago, you haven’t had the privilege to experience anything this otherworldly, Jaeyun and Sunghoon taking you to the moon but it pales in comparison to the galaxies that Heeseung promises you.

Smirking, he bucks his hips faster. “Scream it, sweetheart, tell me you’re mine,” he coaxes, his frantic eyes trained on your closed ones. He needs to hear you say it, even if only once.

However, once he realises that no words are falling from your lips, he takes his hand and wraps it around your neck, oh so similarly to how he did the demon. “Fucking say it or I’ll end you right now.”

The fear that washes over your being heightens your arousal, your walls collapsing slightly onto his member. It’s embarrassing how much degradation, pain, and fear turn you on. Despite the tiny part of your brain with a conscience screaming out to stop you, you yield, looking him in the eyes with your glossy ones. “Y-yours. I’m yours Heeseung- Fuck!”

His fingers wrap around your airways, his rhythmic thrusts growing more insistent as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear. “You're a good girl, so good for me,” his voice is barely audible over the crescendo of your moans. The world outside seems to fade away, replaced by the primal intensity of the moment. If hell didn't know you were lost in this passion before, it certainly does now.

The praises mixed with the pain of his grip bring you close to the edge along with each kiss from the tip of his cock to your cervix. Between the warmth of the room, the heat radiating from your body, and the lack if oxygen passing through your lungs, you feel yourself shutting down, every sense overwhelmed by the brutal fucking.

“I’m gonna-” you warn, pulling yourself up with whatever strength you can muster in an attempt to gain some control. Typically, your hands would be raking down your partner's back, grounding you as you come undone, however, the metal doesn’t provide the same comfort that you’re used to.

“Cum over my cock, sweetheart. Show me how good I make you feel,” he urges, chasing his own release as you start to milk his dick, drawing out the doll's cum with fervour. 

With one loud scream of his name, you release your essence over him, your hands that were once gripping the cuffs now go flaccid, letting the waves of your orgasm take over. Your mind is not in the space to warn you that doing so would hurt your wrists but like the masochist you are, the nips from the restraints only add a sadistic pleasure to your climax.

Your embrace entices Heeseung, guiding him towards climax as he releases deeply inside you, his grip around your throat tightening briefly before easing, letting you gasp for air. His hips maintain their rhythm, driving his essence into you as if intent on securing it forever.

"Take it all, sweetheart," he murmurs huskily against your neck, teasing your sensitive spot before nipping it firmly.

The sudden rush of sensations overwhelms you, pleasure mingling with the faint sting of his bite. Heeseung's movements grow more urgent, each thrust seeming to imprint his desire deeper within you. His whispered encouragements and the rhythmic sound of your bodies meeting fill the air, creating a symphony of passion.

With every surge, he drives deeper, claiming you completely in the throes of ecstasy. His touch, both tender and possessive, ignites a fire that burns through you, each moment building towards an inevitable crescendo of shared release.

As you both come down from your highs, the only sound in the room is your heavy breathing and squelching from your combined fluids as Heeseung thrusts a couple more times before slipping out of you. 

He admires his work; your worn-out body, the blood from the demon that has transferred onto your beautiful skin, and the cum dripping from your cunt and mixing with the chartreuse-covered floor. You’re a vision to him and if he was enamoured by you before, he’s just become dementedly obsessed.

Your eyes close and your legs go weak, losing their grip on his waist as you slowly begin to pass out. It’s not good for a human to be down in the pits of hell, not for as long as you have, thus, moving with a hint of urgency, Heeseung breaks your cuffs as though they were made of plastic and cradles your body against his.

“Shhh,” he whispers as he nuzzles his nose into your neck. Heeseung refuses to be vulnerable but you bring out a side of him that no one has ever been able to before. He wants to protect you, to worship you, to have you by his side at all times.

And he’ll be damned if this is the last time he has you.

[mischievousmoony]

Hiiii!!! i absolutely love your writing and i wonder if you wouldn’t mind writing a james potter x fem!reader thingy. Basically where she is out with some

friends that are absolute dicks and basically they ‘dare’ her to walk home in the dark alone whilst she is drunk and she agrees became se she just wants them to like her but she realises how much of an idiot she is and so she walks to James’ house where he comforts her and stuff.

if not don’t worry

love you!!!!

changed the prompt up a little hope it's okay lovie <3 i also made it a bit long for my definition of a drabble but thats ok hopefully u think the more words the merrier luv u

𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢

⟢ james potter x fem!reader ⊹ 2.3k ⟢ warnings/tags: hurt/comfort, intoxication, social anxiety briefly mentioned, implications of how dangerous the situation was, for some reason i used this as an opportunity to practice writing imagery so sorry if it's too much

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The sharp, crisp wind nips at your skin as you walk down the shadowy, deserted London streets, the echo of your heels clicking against the pavement being the only sound that punctures the eerie silence.

A misty breath passes your lips and you hug yourself a little tighter, your hands making futile attempts at smoothing the goosebumps that dot your arms. You mentally curse yourself for listening to your "friends" when they said a jacket would ruin your outfit, wondering if this was their plan all along.

More tears fall as your mind wanders back to the friends you thought you were making and the bitter wind swiftly dries them against your cheeks, leaving your skin tacky with the salty residue.

What was supposed to be an opportunity to forge new friendships with some girls from your class took a devastating turn when they all crammed into a taxi without you, leaving you tipsy and stranded with their parting taunts ringing in your ears.

"Wait, we won't all fit," you had jabbered facetiously, the gravity of the situation not yet apparent to your drunk mind as you clumsily stumbled towards the car, your heel catching on a crack in the pavement.

One of the girls snickered as she wrenched the door of the black cab open, "That's a shame, innit?"

"I suppose you'll have to find another way home," another girl remarked, the others laughing along, barely bothering to suppress their amusement.

The carefree smile you sported faded from your face, feelings of dread and alarm creeping up your chest as you murmured, "My phone is dead, I won't be able to call a car."

"Sounds like you'll be walking home tonight," one of them sneered with a cruel edge.

"W-what?" you stammered, your chest rising and falling with a frantic rhythm as the sobering situation sinks in, "Walking back to my flat would take close to an hour."

The last girl to pile into the car— the one who originally extended the invitation to their night out with warmth and enthusiasm— looked up at you from her seat in the taxi with a mix of feigned sympathy and cruel delight. Her eyes gleamed with sly satisfaction as she leaned out of the car and took the door handle into her grasp.

"Well, then you better start," she declared, her tone punctuated by a mocking laugh and the slam of the car door.

You wish you could say that there was a sudden flip in their behavior the moment the taxi pulled up, but the abrasive way they conducted themselves around you all night should have had you running ages ago. But your naivety and desperation to make friends clouded your judgement, you supposing that it might simply take more than one night for the girls to warm up to you.

The sound of the car screeching away still rings in your ears as you brave the streets alone, trudging in the opposite direction of your flat. The hour walk to your home— more if you walked along the safest path you could think of— was too daunting on your mind. Your desperation to get off the streets steered you to your boyfriend's instead, his flat being half as far as yours.

If it weren't for the overwhelming unease you felt, you might have been too embarrassed to face James tonight. But your nervous edge was enough to send you hastily fleeing to his flat, it being well into the A.M., and you being alone— dressed in an outfit you were only comfortable wearing around a swarm of girls you thought had your back— and barely able to hold your own after medicating your social anxiety with a few too many cocktails.

When you finally arrive at the familiar stoop to James' place, you feel a wave of relief wash over you as you stagger up the stairs, leaning heavily on the iron railing for support.

Your knocking is incessant as you mutter pleas under your breath, desperately hoping James is sleeping lightly tonight. It feels like more time has passed than it actually has by the time the door creaks open.

James appears in the doorway, clearly just out of bed. His hair is tousled more than usual, stray strands sticking out unevenly over his forehead, and his clothes are wrinkled from tossing around in his sleep. He straightens out his glasses that lay crooked over the bridge of his nose as he processes your presence, his face a blend of sleepiness and alarm.

You utter his name weakly, a fragile quiver that reveals your vulnerability and distress. James' heart breaks at the sound and he wordlessly pulls you inside and envelopes his arms around you. You let him pull you in and your hands find the plush cotton of his jumper, gripping onto it like a lifeline.

James' mind races with worry, trying to piece together what could have happened to put you on his doorstep, tearful and distraught, in the middle of the night. He knows that you had gone out for some drinks at some bar downtown. He also knows that you weren't supposed to be alone and that you were supposed to take a taxi home— these being the answers to questions he asked earlier to ensure your safety.

The possibilities of what could have went wrong fill him with a profound sense of dread, and he tries not to let himself get carried away with the nightmares that swirl around in his mind.

Wrapped in his arms, you kick your heels off to the side somewhere. The shoes were killing you, and one more second in them and you might have collapsed into a heap on the floor.

James can feel you tremble against him when you settle, a result of the cold and lingering fear from being outside, inebriated and alone.

"You're freezing," he whispers, his voice hoarse from his recent slumber and edged with worry as his large hands come to rub your arms. He frowns at the iciness of your skin.

It's James' first instinct to break the embrace and tug at his collar, pulling the jumper from his own back to drape its warmth over you instead, leaving him only in his joggers that hang lazily from his hips.

The cotton is still warm with his body heat when it cocoons you and the scent of him on the fabric brings you comfort. You sniffle pathetically when you meet James' large, sorrowful eyes that brim with concern as your head pops free from the jumper's collar. He smoothes the fabric over your body quickly before his hands climb up to your face.

The pads of his thumbs sweep away stray tears as he cups your face, his fingers brushing softly along your jawline as he tilts your head to meet his troubled eyes.

"What happened?" he asks, notes of concern in his voice as his thumbs trace soothing shapes into your cheekbones.

An anguished whimper sounds in your throat and more tears begin to spill. You shake your head, unable to find your voice to explain.

"That's okay," he murmurs, pulling you back into his chest as he cradles your head in his hands, "It's okay, my love, I'm here. You're safe."

He coos tender words of comfort and reassurance in your ear, his voice steady and soothing. One hand lowers to gently rub your back until the tremors in your body gradually subside and you begin to feel a sense of security build back up.

James only pulls away when the rise and fall of your chest slows to a steady rhythm. Brown eyes meet yours and he offers a reassuring smile. He murmurs words of beckoning and leads you deeper into his flat. He doesn't take you far, just to his sofa so he can get you off your feet. You're thankful, the blisters from your heels becoming almost unbearable to stand on.

Your boyfriend sits first, gingerly pulling you down onto his lap, both craving your closeness and understanding just how much you need him right now. You curl up with your legs folded in front of you and your knees drawn close to your chest, your side pressed snugly against his torso. One of his arms wraps around your back for support, while the other rests casually over your legs, his large hand comfortably settling on the back of your thigh.

His head lulls forward until he can nuzzle into your hair, his breath warm against your ear as he softly prompts, "Think you can tell me what happened now?"

You sniffle once, letting your lungs fill with air before you stammer into a hesitant explanation. Still embarrassed over the whole ordeal, everything comes out in a small, quivering voice, starting with the awkward tension at the bar and ending with the way they laughed as they cruelly left you on the curb.

A whirlpool of emotions rages in James' chest. He doesn't understand how anyone could be unkind to his lovely girl, and he certainly doesn't understand how anyone could be so heinous to leave a person alone on the street like that.

James swallows hard, his next question living on the tip of his tongue until he has the strength to ask it. His tone is unwaveringly serious, low and intense in its level of concern, when he finally does.

"Baby, please tell me you walked straight here. No one gave you any trouble?"

"No," you shake your head, "no trouble."

James feels his whole body relax at your words, and a noise hitches in the back of his throat as he releases a breath he didn't know he was holding. The overwhelming flood of relief and emotion threatens to bring him to tears, but he manages to hold them back. His eyes close briefly as he presses closer, his nose smooshing against the side of your head as he presses kisses behind your ear.

Your eyes flutter shut too as you allow James to cradle you in his arms. You think about how you almost tripped a few times, but you know that's not exactly what James is worrying about. Although, you can imagine he'd fuss over that too, checking your knees and palms for scuffs and kissing the skin there just because you could've hurt it.

As you feel the tension drain from his body beneath you, you think about how his fears mirrored your own.

"I was scared there would be," you admit in a small voice.

"I know my darling girl. I'm so sorry," he leans back, tilting his head to the side so he can meet your gaze. You don't miss how his eyes are glassy when they lock onto yours with calming intensity, "You're safe now, I've got you." He presses his lips to your forehead, lingering there as he mumbles, "I'm sorry this happened."

"I thought I was making friends," you choke out, the words cracking with the weight of the betrayal.

James feels his heart break all over again.

"Those girls don't deserve to have you as friend."

"But I want friends. It was so easy in secondary school. I've always had you, and Lily, Sirius, Remus. Everyone."

James listens intently, his sympathetic eyes gazing upon yours once again.

"I'm all alone at uni. And I don't why nobody likes me," you finish in anguish.

James promptly moves his hand from your thigh to cup your cheek, "Listen to me. You're lovely, so lovely. Anyone would be lucky to have you as a friend, alright? You're going to find people who think so too."

"And you have me," he corrects. "You still have all of us. I know things are different now, and I bet you're missing having friends in your classes, yeah? But uni's only just started. You're gonna find your people."

"You think so?"

"I know so, lovely girl," he says, his thumb flicking the tip of your nose endearingly, "I was already a goner the first time I spoke to you. And if I remember correctly, you and Lily were thick as thieves after one day of knowing each other. Right?"

You hum affirmatively, remembering the first days of friendship with the people you now call family.

"See? You're good at making friends. It's 'cause you're amazing, anyone with a brain can see that. Those girls are just bloody idiots." James' features take on a sour look when he thinks about them, but with you in his arms, he can't sustain his irritation for long— especially not with you smiling prettily at his words.

"There's that smile," he mumbles fondly, and your giggle is music to his ears. You stay like that for a moment, trading smiles and tender caresses.

Eventually, James' expression shifts, his brow furrowing as he becomes stern.

"Next time you go out, I'm gonna pick you up. I don't care how late, I don't care who you're with. And I'm buying you a portable charger for that phone."

"Okay, Jamie," you agree softly, recognizing the firmness in his voice that leaves no room for argument, and finding it a bit endearing how fiercely he cares for you.

He relaxes again with a sigh. His hand, which still remains cupping your cheek, pulls you a fraction closer.

"I'm happy you're safe, love. I'm happy you came here." Each of his words is wrapped with sincerity and affection. "I love you," he says earnestly.

"I love you too," you whisper, the same depth of emotion laced in your words.

He guides you even closer, meeting you halfway with a tender kiss to your lips. It's a beautiful blend of sweetness and innocence, a soft brush of lips that envelopes you in a blanket of sweet serenity, making you forget what it was ever like to be scared.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[mariacallous]

“Did they really decapitate babies?” my 14-year-old daughter asked me yesterday. She was pointing to a text message on her phone from a friend. “They’re saying they found Jewish babies killed, some burnt, some decapitated.” And I froze. Not because I didn’t know what to say—though in truth I didn’t know what to say—but because for a moment I forgot what century I was in. All of the assumptions I had made as a Jewish father, even one who had grown up, as I did, with the Holocaust just a few decades past, were suddenly no longer relevant. Had I adequately prepared her for the reality of Jewish death, what every shtetl child for centuries would have known intimately? Later in the day, she asked if, for safety’s sake, she should take off the necklace she loves that her grandparents had given her and that has her name written out in Hebrew script.

The attack by Hamas on Israeli civilians last Saturday broke something in me. I had always resisted victimhood. It felt abhorrent, self-pitying to me in a world that seemed far away from the Inquisition and Babi Yar—especially in the United States, where I live and where polls repeatedly tell me that Jews are more beloved than any other religious group. I wasn’t blind to anti-Semitism and the ways it had recently become deadlier, or to the existential dread that my family in Israel felt every time terrorists blew up a bus or café—it’s a story whose sorrows have punctuated my entire life. But I refused to embrace that ironically comforting mantra, “They will always want to kill us.” I hated what this tacitly expressed, that if they always want to kill us, then we owe them, the world, nothing. I deplore the occupation for both the misery it has inflicted on generations of Palestinians and the way it corrodes Israeli society; when settlers in the West Bank have been attacked, it has pained me, but I have also felt anger that they are even there. In short, I wasn’t locked into the worldview of my survivor grandparents and I felt superior for it.

But something in me did break. As I was driving on Tuesday, I heard a long interview on the BBC with Shir Golan, a 22-year-old woman who had survived the attack at the music festival where more than 250 people were killed, her voice sounding just like one of my young Israeli cousins. She described, barely able to catch her breath, how the shooting had started and how she’d begun to run. She’d found a wooded area and tried to hide. “I got really into the ground,” she said. “I put the bushes on me.” Covered with dirt and leaves, she’d waited. A group of terrorists had shown up and called for anyone hiding to come out. From her spot under the earth, she’d seen three young people, whom she called “children,” emerge. “I didn’t go out because I was scared. But there were three children next to me who got out. And then they shot them. One after one after one. And they fell down, and that I saw. I saw the children fall down. And all that I did was pray. I prayed to my god to save me.”

I pulled my car over because my own hands were shaking as I listened. She then described waiting, hidden in the dirt under bushes for hours, until she saw the terrorists begin to light the forest on fire. “I didn’t know what to do. Because if I’m staying there, I’m just burnt to death. But if I go out they are going to kill me.” She crawled over to where she saw dead bodies and lay on top of them, but the heat soon approached, so she found more bushes to hide in until she could run again. Burnt bodies were everywhere, and Shir looked for her friends but couldn’t find them, couldn’t even see the faces of those killed because they were so badly burned. “I felt like I was in hell.” She finally escaped in a car.

Her story flung me back to my grandparents’ stories. My grandmother hid in a hole for a year in the Polish countryside, also under dirt, also scared. My grandfather spent months in Majdanek, a death camp, and saw bodies pile up in exactly this way. Stories are still emerging of families burnt alive, of children forced to watch their parents killed before their eyes, of bodies desecrated. How was this taking place last Saturday?

But these stories aren’t what broke me. What did was the distance between what was happening in my head and what was happening outside of it. The people on “my side” are supposed to care about human suffering, whether it’s in the detention camps of Xinjiang or in Darfur. They are supposed to recognize the common humanity of people in need, that a child in distress is first a child in distress regardless of country or background. But I quickly saw that many of those on the left who I thought shared these values with me could see what had happened only through established categories of colonized and colonizer, evil Israeli and righteous Palestinian—templates made of concrete. The break was caused by this enormous disconnect. I was in a world of Jewish suffering that they couldn’t see because Jewish suffering simply didn’t fit anywhere for them.

The callousness was expressed in so many ways. There were those tweets that did not hide their disregard for Jewish life—“what did y’all think decolonization meant? vibes? papers? essays? Losers”—or the one that described the rampage as a “glorious thing to wake up to.” There was the statement by more than two dozen Harvard student groups asserting, in those first hours in which we saw children and women and old people massacred, that “the Israeli regime” was “entirely responsible for all unfolding violence.” And then there were the less explicit posts that nevertheless made clear through pseudo-intellectual word salads that Israel got what it deserved: “a near-century’s pulverized overtures toward ethnic realization, of groping for a medium of existential latitude—these things culminate in drastic actions in need of no apologia.” I hate to extrapolate from social media—it is a place that twists every utterance into a performance for others. But I also felt this callousness in the real world, in a Times Square celebratory protest promoted by the New York City chapter of the Democratic Socialists of America, at which one speaker talked of supporting Palestinians using “any means necessary” to retake the land “from the river to the sea,” as a number of placards declared. There were silences as well. Institutions that had rushed to condemn the murder of George Floyd or Russia for attacking Ukraine were apparently confounded. I watched my phone to see whether friends would write to find out if my family was okay—and a few did, with genuine and thoughtful concern, but many did not.

I’m still trying to understand this feeling of abandonment. Is my own naivete to blame? Did I tip too far over into the side of universalism and forget the particularistic concerns to which I should have been attuned—the precarious state of my own tribe? Even as I write this, I don’t really want to believe that that’s true. If I can fault myself clearly for something, though, it’s not recognizing that the same ideological hardening I’d seen on the right in the past few years, the blind allegiances and contorted narratives even when reality was staring people in the face, has also happened, to a greater degree than I’d imagined, on the left, among the people whom I think of as my own. They couldn’t recognize a moral abomination when it was staring them in the face. They were so set in their categories that they couldn’t make a distinction between the Palestinian people and a genocidal cult that claimed to speak in that people’s name. And they couldn’t acknowledge hundreds and hundreds of senseless deaths because the people who were killed were Israelis and therefore the enemy.

As the days go on, the horrific details of what happened—those babies—seem to be registering more fully, if not on the ideological left, then at least among sensible liberals. But somehow I can’t shake the feeling of aloneness. Does it take murdered babies for you to recognize our humanity? I find myself thinking—a thought that feels alien to my own mind but also like the truth. Perhaps this is the Jewish condition, bracketed off for many decades and finally pulling me in.

When news broke of the Kishinev pogrom in 1903 that took 49 lives (compare that with the 1,200 we now know were killed on Saturday), it caused a sensation throughout the world. “Babes were literally torn to pieces by the frenzied and bloodthirsty mob,” The New York Times reported. “The local police made no attempt to check the reign of terror. At sunset the streets were piled with corpses and wounded. Those who could make their escape fled in terror, and the city is now practically deserted of Jews.” In response to that massacre, the emigration of hundreds of thousands of Eastern European Jews to the United States began in earnest; the call of Zionism as a solution also sounded clearly and widely for the first time.

In his famous poem about the massacre, “In the City of Slaughter,” the Hebrew writer Haim Naḥman Bialik lamented, even more than the death, the sense of helplessness (“The open mouths of such wounds, that no mending / Shall ever mend, nor healing ever heal”), the men who watched in terror from their hiding places while women were raped and blood was spilled. I can’t say I know what will happen now that this helplessness has returned—if I’m honest, I also fear that Israel’s retaliation will go too far, that acting out of a place of victimhood, as right as it may feel, will cause the country to lose its mind. Innocent lives in Gaza have been and will be destroyed as a result, and competing victimhood is obviously not the way out of the conflict; it’s the reason that it is hopelessly stuck. But in this moment, before the destruction of Gaza grabs my attention and concern alongside fear for my relatives who have been called up to the army, I don’t want to forget how alone I felt as a Jew these past few days. I have a persistent, uncomfortable need now to have my people’s suffering be felt and seen. Otherwise, history is just an endless repetition. And that’s an additional tragedy that seems too much to bear.

[valkyriexo]

You get your period | Hyunjin

ᑉ³pairing; Hyunjin x Reader

ᑉ³genre; Sickfic, Smau, Comfort, Fluff,

ᑉ³warnings; Reader has their period, Mentions of blood

ᑉ³Authors Note; Edited ! Other members coming soon!

Part of the "He helps you when.." collection. Other members parts: Chan | Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin | Han | Felix | Seungmin | Jeongin

The room was filled with chatter and laughter, the sound mingling with the soft music playing in the background. Colleagues and acquaintances moved about, their animated conversations punctuated by the clinking of glasses and occasional bursts of laughter. It was supposed to be a happy atmosphere, a chance to network and socialize, but to you, it felt like a suffocating few hours.

Despite the vibrant energy pulsating through the room, you felt isolated, trapped within the confines of your own discomfort. Each laugh felt like a dagger twisting in your gut, a painful reminder of the mask you were struggling to maintain. You plastered on a smile, nodding along to the conversations swirling around you, but inside, you were crumbling.

All you could focus on was the throbbing ache in your lower abdomen. Each wave of pain felt like a vice grip, threatening to squeeze the life out of you. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, trying to maintain a composed facade while feeling like a wreck inside.

As you excused yourself to the restroom for the umpteenth time, dread washed over you. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if you were dragging yourself through quicksand. The familiar hum of the air conditioning seemed to mock your discomfort, the cool breeze offering no respite from the inferno raging within your body.

The mirror revealed a nightmare: your once pristine dress was stained with crimson. The stains seemed to mock you, taunting you with their unwanted presence.

You were mortified, embarrassment and shame threatening to drown you. Your hands trembled as you frantically tried to salvage what was left of your dignity, dabbing futilely at the stubborn stains with damp paper towels. But with each passing moment, it became increasingly clear that this was a battle you could not win.

The weight of judgment hung heavy in the air, suffocating you with its silent condemnation. What would your coworkers think if they saw you like this? Would they whisper behind your back, doubting your competence and professionalism? The thought made your stomach churn with anxiety, a knot tightening in your chest.

Desperation clawed at you as you contemplated your next move. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you grappled with the impossible choice between suffering in silence or fleeing in disgrace.

Just as despair threatened to consume you, a familiar ping broke through the chaos of your thoughts. It was Hyunjin, your ever-reliable boyfriend, offering a lifeline in the form of a text message. Despite your protests, he insisted on coming to your rescue.

As you frantically tried to salvage what was left of your dignity in the restroom, a soft knock on the door startled you.

"Love, it's me," Hyunjin's voice called out, filled with concern.

With a mixture of relief and fear, you opened the door to find him standing there. With gentle reassurance, he wrapped you in his embrace, shielding you from the judging eyes of the world. Without a word, he handed you a neatly folded garment, a discreet smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Put this on," he said softly.

You glanced down at the garment in your hands and felt a surge of gratitude wash over you. It was a dark blazer, impeccably tailored and stylishly understated. With trembling fingers, you slipped it on, feeling its comforting weight settle over your shoulders. You noted with relief that it was long enough to cover the stains on your dress

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion.

Hyunjin simply smiled and took your hand in his, leading you out. 

As you reached the exit, he led you towards the waiting car, its sleek exterior a welcome sight amidst the hustle and bustle of the city streets. With a gentle touch, he opened the door for you, revealing the interior adorned with plush towels carefully arranged to protect the seat.

You offered him a grateful smile as you settled into the car, the soft fabric of the blazer providing a comforting cocoon against the outside world. Hyunjin closed the door behind you with a reassuring click.

Through the tinted windows, you watched as he engaged in conversation with another manager, his gestures animated and his expression earnest. Though you couldn't hear their words, you could sense the genuine concern in his voice as he explained your sudden departure, painting a picture of a devoted partner looking out for your well-being.

As the car pulled away from the curb, leaving behind the chaos of the event, you couldn't shake the feeling of mortification that chewed at your insides. The image of Hyunjin coming to your rescue, witnessing you at your most vulnerable, lingered in your mind like a haunting nightmare.

You tried to push the embarrassment aside, but it clung to you like a persistent shadow, refusing to be ignored. Despite Hyunjin's love and reassurance, you couldn't shake the nagging sense of inadequacy that tugged at your heartstrings.

As you arrived home, Hyunjin wasted no time in pampering you with the kind of tender care and affection that only he could provide. With a gentle touch, he led you to the bathroom, where a luxurious bubble bath awaited, steam rising invitingly from the surface.

You couldn't help but smile as you sank into the warm embrace of the water, feeling the tension melt away from your weary muscles. Hyunjin hovered nearby, a silent guardian angel, ready to tend to your every need.

As the warm water of the bubble bath enveloped you, Hyunjin gently applied a soothing face mask to your skin, his touch light and tender. The cool gel felt like a balm against your flushed cheeks, easing the tension that had settled in your muscles.

With practiced hands, Hyunjin began to massage the mask into your skin, his fingers tracing delicate patterns across your forehead, cheeks, and chin. Each touch sent waves of relaxation cascading through your body, melting away the knots of tension that had formed during the long and trying day.

As he worked, his movements became more rhythmic, his touch alternating between gentle strokes and firm pressure points. With each pass, you felt the weight of the world lift from your shoulders, replaced by a sense of tranquility and calm.

But Hyunjin didn't stop there. With a soft smile, he moved his attention to your scalp, his fingers deftly massaging away the lingering remnants of your headache. The sensation was pure bliss, each stroke sending tingles of pleasure cascading down your spine.

You closed your eyes and let yourself be carried away by the gentle rhythm of his touch, allowing the stress and tension of the day to melt away into the warm embrace of the bath.

As the soothing scent of lavender filled the air, Hyunjin busied himself with preparing a tray of your favorite snacks, arranging them with care beside the bath. He selected strawberries, dipped in rich chocolate, knowing they were your weakness, along with a selection of delicate finger sandwiches and a glass of chilled sparkling water adorned with a slice of lemon.

He settled himself beside the bath, perched on a small stool, his gaze never leaving yours as he offered you a strawberry, coated in decadent chocolate. "Here, love," he said softly, his eyes warm with tenderness. "Let me feed you."

You accepted the treat with a grateful smile, savoring the sweetness of the chocolate as it melted on your tongue. With each delicate bite, Hyunjin's love enveloped you like a warm embrace, filling the room with a sense of intimacy and closeness that transcended words.

As you nibbled on the snacks, Hyunjin regaled you with tales of his day, his voice a soothing melody that washed over you like a gentle breeze. 

"I could paint you like this," he murmured softly, his voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid to break the fragile spell of tranquility that enveloped the room. "I want to capture this moment, this image of you surrounded by warmth and light, so I can remember it forever."

You paused, your heart skipping a beat at his words. "Paint me?" you repeated, a hint of disbelief coloring your tone. "But... why would you want to remember this? It's been so mortifying."

Hyunjin's expression softened, his eyes filled with understanding. "Because even in moments of vulnerability, you are still the most beautiful person I've ever known," he said, his voice tinged with sincerity. "And I want to remember every part of you, even the moments that you may consider less than perfect."

You felt a lump form in your throat at his words, a rush of emotion threatening to overwhelm you. At that moment, you realized that Hyunjin's love for you transcended any momentary embarrassment or discomfort. He saw you for who you truly were, flaws and all, and loved you unconditionally.

With a soft smile, you nodded, a sense of warmth spreading through your chest. "Okay," you whispered, your voice filled with acceptance and gratitude. "Paint me." And as Hyunjin's pencil danced across the page, capturing the essence of your beauty with each stroke.

And as the evening wore on, you reveled in the simple pleasure of being cared for by the most romantic man you had ever known. With each passing moment, the weight of embarrassment and shame lifted from your shoulders, replaced by a sense of peace and contentment that could only be found in the arms of your beloved boyfriend Hyunjin.

ઇଓ M.LIST | Ko-Fi | Taglist | Thank you for your support ♡ | Consider leaving a comment, reblog or like ♡ | © 2024 Valkyriexo 

[seoltzuki]

Polite

mina x afab reader

a scrapped work of mine

suggestive, not proofread

"you can’t touch before you say please"

The corporate dinner stretched before you like an endless expanse of dread, filled with the looming presence of obnoxious rich men who chewed with their mouths open and sweated profusely under the dim lighting. You sat at your designated table, feeling suffocated by the stifling atmosphere and longing for escape.

Across the room, Mina sat at her own table, her eyes occasionally flicking in your direction amidst the sea of gaudy displays of wealth and power. You could see the resignation mirrored in her expression, a silent acknowledgment of the absurdity of it all.

As the evening wore on, the cacophony of clinking glasses and boisterous laughter grated on your nerves, each moment dragging on like an eternity in the suffocating confines of corporate formality.

And to top it off, you dreaded the impending cocktail party scheduled immediately after this ordeal.

But despite the distractions, your attention kept gravitating towards Mina. Her gaze lingered on yours whenever your eyes met, a silent exchange of understanding amidst this shit show.

Observing her, every gesture and movement piqued your curiosity and admiration until your attention was suddenly diverted by the sight of her drowning her steak in ketchup. The absurdity of the act caught you off guard, but you couldn't help but chuckle inwardly at her unconventional choice.

But before you could dwell on it further, another unwelcome interruption barged in - a man intruded, his clammy hand squeezing your shoulder in a gesture that oozed familiarity and arrogance. His filthy remark elicited a forced laugh from you, masking your true feelings with a discreet eye roll as you struggled to maintain composure amidst the facade of civility.

As the dinner dragged on, the clatter of a scrapped fork against a plate echoed through the hall, punctuating the monotonous rhythm of polite conversation. A toast was raised, and people began to beg for release from their seats, eager to escape the suffocating formality of the evening and make their way to the building across the street—the Myoui firm.

Your feet dragged reluctantly toward the exit of the dinner hall, the promise of freedom beckoning as you retrieved your coat from the coat check. Amidst the bustling crowd, voices clamored with “may I”s, and you felt men pushing you around, each trying to approach a certain person—Mina, or perhaps, you.

They tried so desperately to be courteous, offering you an umbrella, but you declined all their offers; it was just a short walk, after all. As you reached the door, the sound of pouring rain greeted you, a dreary backdrop to the evening’s events.

Then, amidst the chaos, you heard the urgent clacking of heels on the ground, and before you could react, an arm looped around yours.

“May I?” Mina whispers, her breath warm against your ear as she moves a stray lock of hair from her face, opening her umbrella to shield you both from the downpour.

“Should you?” you respond, locking eyes with her as the weight of the situation settles upon you.

The prospect of stepping out into the rain together, arm in arm, would undoubtedly fuel the rumors swirling around the two of you, rumors you weren’t sure you were ready to confront just yet.

Mina’s disapproving click of her tongue and the pursing of her lips signal her impatience with your hesitation.

“You’ll be soaked,” she remarks, her tone firm as she steps ahead, her arm tightening around yours, urging you to follow her and cross the street.

She leads you towards her building and you can’t help but let out a sigh of frustration. The sight of the press and paparazzi waiting eagerly outside only adds to your irritation. Their barrage of questions about the rumored merger between your firms and the future of the rival companies feels like an invasion of privacy.

Mina, ever the picture of grace under pressure, gives her best smile and navigates her way through the crowd, the rest of the dinner attendees following closely behind. But you can’t muster the same enthusiasm. Your annoyance is palpable as you trudge through the throng, barely managing to summon even a hint of a smile.

The attendees follow Mina’s lead as they enter the building, chatter filling the air with excitement and anticipation for the cocktail event. She gracefully addresses the associates and workers, informing them of the location of the soirée on the highest floor and assuring them she’ll join the night soon after sorting out contract matters. You let out a hum of acknowledgment, preparing to join the others, but before you can make your escape, Mina’s hand darts out, grabbing your arm with a firm grip.

"Follow me," she says, her voice soft but stern, halting you in your tracks.

"Mina, please, I just wanna get this over so I can go home. I really don’t wanna negotiate right now," you huff, your tone pleading as she guides you through the halls of the building. The chatter from the others fades away as she unlocks a door with a keycard.

She scoffs, "trust me, you're not the only one who feels this way, y/n." With another swipe of the keycard, you step into a private elevator, the only floor listed as "CEO Myoui Mina."

The ride up is surprisingly quick, and you can't help but marvel at the lavishness of Mina's building compared to yours. It even takes you aback when the elevator doors slide open, revealing the 50th floor—her office, which could easily pass for a penthouse, offering a breathtaking view of the city.

She tosses the umbrella into a basket, then removes her fur coat. Extending her hand, she gestures for you to hand over your coat, before placing both garments on a hook.

You look at her, arms crossed, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle in. You just want to go home. She walks over to the bar, pouring two glasses of wine before returning and offering you one. You decline with a shake of your head.

“What did you bring me up here for?”

She takes a sip of her wine, contemplating for a moment before addressing the rumors head-on. "What do you want to do about them?" she asks, her gaze steady as she waits for your response.

Rolling your eyes, you walk up to the large window, gazing down at the drenched cityscape below, raindrops streaking the glass.

“To be honest,” you begin, “I just want to do my work in peace. I don’t want the press after me.”

Mina joins you at the window, her expression softening. “I understand,” she replies, her voice gentle. “But we can’t ignore this. We need to address the rumors before they spiral out of control.”

"We could ignore it. Let it die down-"

“Can I be honest?” Mina cuts in, her fingers gently brushing against yours as she takes a step backward, settling onto the edge of her desk. “I wouldn’t be opposed to merging with your firm. I think we could be very powerful together.”

“I appreciate your candor, Miss Myoui,” you say sarcastically, a scoff escaping your lips. “I don’t know what you heard about me, but I’m not someone who’s easy like your other associates.”

“Oh, but you wouldn’t be like my other associates,” she murmurs, her voice low and sultry, her eyes shamelessly tracing along your figure.

You draw nearer until you’re barely inches apart, a scowl tainting your features. In the charged silence that envelops you, a silent protest forms: Just because Mina is attractive, intelligent, and charming doesn’t mean she can toy with you like this.

“Mina-”

“You know we could accomplish a lot together,” she smiles, her charm radiating like a magnet drawing you closer. Her fingers tap lightly against her wine glass, a teasing rhythm that matches the quickening pace of your heart. As she speaks, her other hand ghosts over your thigh, sending a thrill coursing through your body.

You watch, transfixed, as she spreads her legs slightly, the slit in her navy blue silk dress riding up just enough to reveal a hint of skin. It’s an invitation you can’t resist, and you step between her legs, the heat of her proximity sending a surge of desire coursing through you.

“Oh, I’m sure of it,” you say, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips as you take the glass from her hands and set it aside. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?” You tilt your head slightly, your gaze locked with hers.

Mina nods, her hands now at the back of your thighs, her nails digging in slightly, sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. “For now,” she says, her voice low and tantalizing, “let’s focus on the present moment, yeah?”

Her touch sends a shiver down your spine as her hands trail up to your waist, squeezing gently. You reciprocate, trailing your fingers up her arm to her jaw, then to the back of her neck, where you play with the baby hairs there.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask, your eyes locked with hers, searching for any hint of what’s going on in her mind.

“You,” she whispers, as she bites her lip, a hint of desire flickering in her eyes. “I can’t deny it, you’re always on my mind.”

A surge of heat courses through you at her words, and you lean in closer, your breath mingling with hers. “And you,” you reply huskily, your voice low and filled with longing, “have been occupying my thoughts more than usual lately.”

With a smile playing on her lips, you lean in, pressing a tender kiss to Mina’s cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin. Your hand trails behind, gently cradling her jaw, holding her close.

She responds with a soft sigh of pleasure, turning her head to meet your gaze. With a tender affection that melts your heart, she pecks your palm gently, her lips lingering against your skin.

Your hand firmly grasps her hip, pulling Mina closer as your lips collide in a hungry, wet kiss. Urgent and fervent, tongues glide and teeth tug at lips, eliciting soft moans that slip out between desperate breaths.

With a low growl of desire, you feel Mina’s fingers boldly grip your ass, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you.

“Mina,” you gasp, your breath catching in your throat as she shifts her attention to your neck. You whimper softly, unable to contain the pleasure that courses through you as she leaves open-mouthed kisses on your skin, her lips trailing a path of fire along your neck.

A sharp bite causes you to moan loudly in response. Mina pauses and you catch your breath. Another quick kiss to your swollen lips leaves you yearning for more, and before you know it, she’s pushing you back onto her office chair.

You watch, transfixed, as she scoots back slightly on her desk, her movements deliberate and enticing. With a seductive glance, she widens her legs, rising up her dress to reveal her hips, the fabric riding up tantalizingly. The sight leaves you breathless, your heart racing with desire as you eagerly await her next move.

The sight of the wet patch on her baby blue lingerie sends a surge of arousal coursing through you, making you hold back a moan as you huff with desire. You roll towards her eagerly, intent on feasting on her wetness, but before you can reach her, a sharp heel digs into your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks.

You freeze, your breath catching in your throat as you look up at Mina with wide eyes, the intensity of the moment leaving you speechless.

With a sultry smirk, she leans forward, the heel pressing into your shoulder as she whispers, “You can’t touch before you say please, baby.”

Her words make you clench around nothing as you realize the game she’s playing. You swallow hard, your voice thick with desire as you utter the words she’s been waiting to hear.

“Please, Mina,” you whisper, your body trembling with need. “Let me touch you.”

Mina chuckles softly, “you gotta start being polite,” she teases, her voice dripping with mischief as she toys with you, relishing in the power she holds over you.

“Please.”

“Good. You can have a taste, y/n.”

[eff4freddie]

Physical Therapy

Joel Miller x AFAB Reader No Outbreak AU - 4.4k words

For @punkshort's AU August challenge, in celebration of her one year Tumblr anniversary!

A.N: My prompt was 'lifeguard Joel' and I'm nursing a bit of a sore wrist at the moment, hence whatever this is was born. Thanks for the fun prompt! I would very much like Joel to save me from drowning now, please and thank you.

Warnings: None.

It had just started out as a kind of tickling feeling around behind your ear on your left side, and down along the back to the shoulder blade. When you’d first noticed it you’d thought you had a hair stuck under your shirt, and all day you kept reaching up under your bra strap to try and free it. Later, you would rub the skin red trying to lift the phantom follicle from your skin.

Later, it developed into a coldness, punctuated sometimes with ants marching up and down your shoulder blade. Your clavicle ached in cold weather, and you rolled your shoulders of a morning to try and shake the weird sensations from the joint. You were too busy to worry about it, you had too many deadlines, you could just type with your left arm resting on a pad of paper to elevate it. You knew you’d been working too hard on your paper for your next research symposium. As soon as it was over you’d deal with it.

When it started thrumming of a nighttime you’d just take ibuprofen to dull it, numb it off with a heat pack and an occasional glass of whiskey. But when it got too hard to type, when the daggers started shooting down your arm to the point that you could barely get your sleeve over it, when your shoulder was so frozen you couldn’t lift it over your head to brush your hair, you conceded defeat.

Your physiotherapist was lovely, and young, and fit, and you wished you could hate her. She ran marathons on weekends, on purpose and apparently without having first been threatened, and she gave you a bunch of exercises you promised you would do, made you pay $24.95 for a bit of stretchy rubber you could tie to your doorknob and stretch with, a couple of strength building exercises printed out and folded neatly, which you immediately threw on your coffee table and used as a coaster.

You went twice a week after work. She massaged you until you had tears in your eyes, biting back the pain by clamping down on your back teeth. You lied to her that you’d done your stretches, and she let you, because she was a nice person. Your recovery stalled, and you both pretended not to know why.

In the end, you just got fed up with yourself. You’d had to push back your presentation at the symposium, had found it too painful to sit at your desk for the long stretches it would take to be prepared. Your supervisor had insisted you take time off, that your PhD could be extended, and you had balked at the idea and then, eventually, conceded that too. Your stupid frozen shoulder was icing out everything in your life you cared about. You suggested to your physio you might like to swim.

--

It had been a while since you’d been in a bathing suit. Glad you’d at least thought to shave, you went into the change room dreading coming out again. You’d deliberately gone at 2 PM on a Tuesday afternoon, figuring the only people there would be either 100 years old or ladened with babies, and their bodies wouldn’t be so threatening to yours. You remembered a time when your body had felt strong, when your legs had carried you around European cities, up and down mountains. You wondered where that girl went.

You were a careful person, and you liked rules, so you shuffled as speedily as you could towards the pool, careful not to run. Your brother had slipped once, aged 9 and a half, and knocked out two of his teeth when he went down. Your mother had to wait three months to get them fixed, having to save up the fee, and your brother had whistled slightly on windy mornings. You’d teased him about it, and you felt bad about it now, holding your arm tight to your body so as not to jostle your shoulder.

The water was cool, and you took the stairs one at a time to get yourself into it. You gasped when it reached your belly, reaching down to splash yourself to try and acclimatise. It wasn’t an especially warm day, but the sun was out and it was warm enough on your skin. You sunk down, feeling the water lap at your shoulder. The relief was immediate, the cool spreading over your strangled nerves, and you let out a sigh. You didn’t think you were about to swim any laps, but it was enough to bob around in the shallow end and feel the water carry your weight. Your mind was quiet for the first time in a while. You watched two birds glide on the breeze, ducking down to skim over the surface. You hoped they didn’t shit in it as they passed.

Then, a giggle. A tittering, high-pitched thing that shattered your reverie and made you turn towards it, a scowl on your face as you looked up into the sun. A woman in a high-cut bikini straight out of the 80s was standing at the base of the lifeguard’s chair, looking up at the man sitting atop it. She was practically drooling, flipping her hair and nearly slipping out of her top. You couldn’t make him out, the glare casting him in darkness and too proud to shield your eyes with your hand to get a good look. She had all her weight on one foot so she could thrust her hip out and her chest up. You heard his voice rumble out of his chest, deep and heavy and surprisingly kind. You couldn’t make out the words. You reminded yourself you didn’t care.

--

Your physio was proud of you, and you wanted to hate her for that, too. You reported your attendance at the pool, lied about doing your exercises, and paid another $24.95 for another rubber band thing after you pretended you’d misplaced the first one. You knew exactly where it was, on the doorknob where you’d tied it the first night and then ignored it. But it was a good, if expensive, excuse.

The next time you went to the pool you chose a time slightly earlier in the day, hoping that the midday sun might tan you a little as you rehabilitated. You bobbed around again in the shallow end, experimentally rolling your shoulders and moving your arms in small semi-circles in front of you. The water carried the weight so you could just focus on moving the joint, and when the ache set in you could just float there, let the water carry you completely as you floated on the surface. With your face to the sky and the sun beating down the whole world turned bright and colourless. It sanded down the sharp edges, turned the detail to pulsing fuzz on your retinas.

80’s Bikini Lady didn’t resurface, but you got out when an entire class of 4th graders arrived for their swimming lessons. As you went for your towel you heard that rumbling voice again, booming out over the top of 20 excited kids, instructing them to quiet down so he could teach them to tread water. You wondered if that was what you were doing now, your research and your thesis gathering metaphoric dust on your laptop. Treading water.

--

It took you until your fifth visit to try an actual lap. Your shoulder had been feeling lighter, the joint freeing itself under the water just enough that you could bear the weight of the it as you moved. You had been experimenting with little half breaststrokes, just two or three with your head high over the water and only deep enough that you could plant your feet at the first twinge of pain. But you wanted to try something different, today. You wanted to make it down to the other end, even if you had to grip the lane rope and pull yourself there.

You felt eyes on you as you walked to the edge, and you turned quickly to see the lifeguard was at his station. It was early enough in the afternoon that you could see him properly, his aquiline nose, his curls unruly and chocolate brown. He nodded at you, an acknowledgement that he was keeping watch, and you nodded back to him. It was just you and a man in his 60s in the pool today.

You hissed a little as you descended the stairs, feeling goosebumps rise on your skin. Today it was cloudy, and the water was cooler than you had been expecting, and you worried for a moment it would be bad for your shoulder somehow, that your muscles would be less malleable, less cooperative, in the cold. You swallowed, wondering if you really wanted to do this today. Then you remembered your thesis, and the way you had thrown yourself on dancefloors, in spin classes, ridden boys in your dorm room like your hips would never ache. You wanted that girl back. She was at the other end of the pool.

You pushed off, holding your arms straight out in front of you and using your feet against the wall of the pool to propel yourself forward, letting the momentum drift you the first few feet. With a brave breath in you spread your arms wide in a breaststroke, kicking with your legs to keep up some sort of speed. Three strokes, then four, then five and you were nearly a quarter of the way down the pool already. You just had to keep breathing, stick with it, pace yourself out. You cupped the water with your hands, pushing it away from your chest as you moved. There might have been a little twinge, but you banished any worry. You were doing it, if slowly, if gingerly.

You swam over the point where the bottom of the pool fell away, past the point where you could stand. The water felt cooler, the depth of it stealing some of the warmth, and you felt a little warning tingle up your elbow. Your neck pulled a little to the right to try and dodge the pain, and you faltered a little, lost some of your rhythm. In your surprise you’d opened your mouth and taken in a little bit of water, and you spluttered.

Suddenly your arms were out of sequence, and you were struggling to bring them back together in front of you while kicking with your legs. They felt uncooperative, like they were on different strings, and you were finding it hard to keep your neck bent up high enough to keep your face out of the water completely. You jerked to try and regain your momentum, and sent an electric shock through your shoulder, pain spreading out all the way down to your wrist. You gasped, the pain making you pull your arm into your body, trying to cradle it against your chest, and you started floundering, your nose and mouth dropping beneath the surface as you struggled to stay upright. You swatted at the surface of the water with your good arm, panic in your chest, as you tried to figure out if it was better to turn and head back to the shallows or carry on to the other end.

You heard a splash behind you, a huff of air as a body broke the surface and then an arm around your waist.

‘I’ve got you,’ he said, and you leant back into the warm body behind you, trying to suck in air.

‘My shoulder, my arm,’ you cried, keeping it tucked against you as the lifeguard pulled you to where you could stand. You gasped, choking a little on water but mostly just from shock, your face burning red with humiliation and the pain of your throbbing collarbone. ‘I’m sorry,’ you said, suddenly feeling like you wanted to cry, as you caught your breath, the man still holding you gently around the waist and leaning down to study your face.

‘You’re OK, you’re OK,’ he said, his voice like warm honey as it oozed over the panic in your brain. ‘Take a breath, I’ve got you.’

Oh fuck, you were definitely going to cry if he kept being so nice to you. You felt heat in the back of your eyes, bit down on your bottom lip so he couldn’t see it wobbling.

‘I just wanted to swim a lap,’ you said, and you could hear the desperation in it, feeling as small as a child.

‘You injured?’ he asked, and you nodded. He tugged you further towards the shallow end, led you by the good arm over to the steps.

‘My physio said exercise would help it,’ you explained, throwing her soundly under the bus. ‘I just…I thought I was ready.’ You felt the frustration bubbling over. You had a terrible habit of getting teary when you were mad. ‘It’s just been so shit, and I wanted to…I just don’t even know this body anymore, you know?’ you complained, wincing when you realised you’d just trauma dumped on him.

‘Can’t rush these things,’ he said, unfazed. ‘Gotta take it at your own pace.’ Standing up in this part of the pool the water only came to his waist, and he gestured to his belly where a jagged scar punctured his left side.

‘Jesus,’ you said, at the sight of it and also realising for the first time he was shirtless, water running in rivulets down his golden skin. He was so broad it was no wonder he’d managed to get to you in the centre of the pool in all of three strokes. You felt yourself start to tremble, and you weren’t sure it was from shock.

You’d known, of course, that he was handsome. You had eyes, after all. But up close, standing over you, hair slicked back as his brown eyes roamed your face for any sign of distress…up close, he was devastating.

‘Joel,’ he said, holding out his hand, and you took it, awkward and shy. He told you he liked your name when you mumbled it to him, and you realised he was very good at his job. You wondered where you could find an 80s bikini.

‘Thank you, Joel,’ you said, when your heart had finally settled back into its normal rhythm. ‘I’m sorry you had to…’

‘Trust me, pulling beautiful women out of the deep end is not the hard part of my job,’ he said, and then you watched as his eyes widened, like he was only just realising what he’d said, and you felt heat crawl up your cheeks.

You wanted to ask him what the hard part was. You restrained yourself, because you’d been humiliated enough for one day.

--

You skipped your next session at the pool, instead using the rubber stretchy thing to try and elongate the joint. It didn’t feel as good, and you nearly snapped it into your face more than once, and you definitely didn’t think about Joel’s golden skin glistening in the sunlight the entire time you did it. You didn’t think about his arm banding around you as he pulled you to safety, not even a little bit. The rubber thing was fine. It was going to solve all your problems.

--

You hated the fucking rubber stretchy thing. For one, it smelled like condoms but in a weirdly stale kind of way, and for two you were fairly sure it was going to rip your door off its hinges in your crappy little apartment, and you really didn’t want to have to call your landlord when that happened. It might mean you’d have to tidy up.

Also, it was late Spring and pretty soon school would be out, and the pool would be heaving, and so you had to get your shoulder back to normal as soon as possible before the place got flooded with kids. The bikini you fished out from behind a bunch of old clothes in the back of your closet was so that you could move your shoulder more freely. You were being pragmatic. You were planning ahead.

It was hotter again, the warmth of summer encroaching, and you were genuinely relieved to see the sparkling, clear water when you arrived on the pool deck. You walked, head held high and chest out just a little, past the lifeguard chair, studiously not looking but also really trying to look. You spent an extra few seconds fishing around in your back for your sunscreen, trying to steady your pulse. When you swivelled around, preparing to smear it over yourself, you glanced over at the chair.

Unless Joel had aged 20 years in the week since you’d been, and gained forty pounds and lost all of his hair, he was not on shift today. You felt yourself deflate, your shoulders slumping, your left collarbone sending out a thrum of pain in warning.

It was probably for the best, of course. You were here to do rehab. This was serious medical stuff.

You didn’t want to hazard another lap, not with Beergut McBaldALot on patrol, so you floated a bit in the shallow end and practiced making circles with your arms. You were stiff, having taken a week off to whip yourself up into a pointless frenzy over the lifeguard. The water eased some of the tension in the muscle, and you once again felt your mind start to still.

You wondered if, on his down time, Joel preferred board shorts or speedos. You couldn’t imagine him in a full banana hammock – you could, but you didn’t want to – but you wondered if he was a Daniel-Crag-In-His-First-Bond-Movie-When-He-Emerges-From-The-Ocean-Booty-Shorts kind of guy. That didn’t feel right either, though. His work uniform was boardies, and you decided that Joel was the type of guy who just wore them on his own time anyway, because they fit and they were on hand. As for what was going on underneath them. Well, that was something else entirely.

As you bobbed in the water you imagined his strong arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest and letting you rest your head on his broad, tanned shoulder. You wondered if you’d be able to feel his heartbeat on your cheek, if that close you could hear his tight little exhales as he glided you through the water, held you up so that you could finally, finally let go. You sighed a little to yourself, drifting in the middle of the pool and hoping no one had any plans to swim any laps. You let your hair trail out behind you as you drifted, imagined the slight pull of the water was his fingers threading through.

--

You weren’t hungry but you had nothing at home, so you stopped off at the grocery store on the way home, your shoulder feeling better for having had a little bit of movement. Sleepy from the warmth of the sun and your weightlessness, you barely noticed the man standing at the end of the cereal aisle until you were tripping over him, his arm shooting out to catch you before you could really, properly fall.

‘Ooof,’ he exclaimed, and you knew that voice, felt the furious rush of blood to your cheeks as you righted yourself and were met with the same warm, brown eyes.

‘We really must stop meeting like this,’ he said, smiling down at you, and he was just as beautiful on dry land as he was submerged. You felt your hands start to tremble and you worried you’d drop your basket.

‘Joel,’ you said, trying to hide the comingling shame and excitement on your face. ‘You look different when you’re wet.’

Murder you. End it now. It would simply be kinder.

Joel, to his credit, just laughed a little.

‘Hair’s a lot fluffier,’ he said, reaching up to tug at it and making you want to chew on your own fist.

‘There’s that,’ you said, your voice oddly strangled.

‘You breakfast shoppin’ at 4 in the afternoon?’ he asked, gesturing to the cereal box in your hands.

‘Dinner, actually,’ you said, strangely proud at your sheer level of disfunction. ‘Ever since my shoulder, cooking hasn’t really been…’

You trailed off. Your mom had sent over a couple of frozen lasagnes, and you’d worked your way through those in a week. For a while you got dinners delivered but it got expensive, and then worst, it got boring. Before all of this started there were some nights you’d been so engrossed in your thesis you’d forgotten to get dinner at all. You missed those nights, too. To be so distracted.

‘How’s the arm?’ he asked, and you realised you were cradling it again, holding it fast against your side.

‘It’s slow, and I’m trying to be patient,’ you said, honestly, and his brows saddled. He hummed in thought, pouting his lips out a little. You fought every atom in your body not to lean forward and pull them between your teeth.

‘Your physio given you exercises?’ he asked, and you nodded, avoiding his gaze. ‘You doin’ em?’ he asked, and you were suddenly really interested in the nutritional content of your Cheerios. He snickered out a laugh. ‘No one ever does ‘em.’

‘You speaking from experience?’ you asked, and he smiled.

‘I used to…well, not a physio but I did a little personal training, and uh…basically unless I was there barkin’ at ‘em no-one did what they were told.’

Bark at me, you thought. I’ll do anything you say.

You coughed, trying to collect yourself. Fuck, he was beautiful, but you realised what you liked most was just the warmth in his face, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. You trusted him, you realised. You didn’t know him, and you trusted him.

‘I’m pretty sure my physio knows I’m lying to her,’ you confessed, and he smiled.

‘She definitely does,’ he agreed.

‘I’m otherwise a very honest person,’ you added.

‘I have no doubt,’ he said, with a little twinkle in his eye that made you want to gouge the things out so you didn’t have to deal with them torturing you anymore.

Instead, you looked into his basket and saw kale, a bunch of carrots and a carton of eggs. You grimaced.

‘Please tell me you’re not on a cleanse or some shit,’ you said, and he smiled.

‘Nah, you got me just before I headed over to the candy aisle.’

‘You like candy?’ you asked, and he grinned.

‘Got a sweet tooth,’ he confessed.

‘Name your poison.’

‘Reece’s. The umm…the cups.’

‘The cups. A peanut butter man?’

‘Yes ma’am,’ he said, that southern drawl appearing again. You felt it hit you like a bullseye in your core. You wondered what else you could get him to agree to.

‘A man of taste,’ you said. You were flirting over grocery items and you didn’t fucking care. You would banter about the phone book if he kept grinning with his whorish little dimples out.  ‘Thank you for helping me out the other day,’ you said, and he shrugged.

‘S’my job,’ he said, and you shook your head at him, swishing your hands in front of you as if you could push his humbleness aside.

‘Yeah, but you chose that job, and I’m glad that you did,’ you said, simply. ‘It’s a generous thing, putting yourself on the line for someone else.’

‘Always been a kind of protector,’ he said, almost to himself.

‘I can see that,’ you replied, honestly, and he turned his gaze to you, considering you for a moment. ‘Although I guess a lot of the time it’s just watching people splash around.’

‘Ain’t hard to watch some people,’ he said, gazing down at you, his jaw muscle twinging a little.  You felt your stomach do a silly little flip.

‘No?’ you asked, your throat dry.

‘Mmm-mmm,’ he said, shaking his head but not breaking eye contact. You wanted to grab his broad, golden shoulders and hitch your thighs over them. You wanted to reach up and take his curls in your fingers, pull him onto his knees and his mouth to your nipple, let him nibble where they pebbled. You wanted to drown the gorgeous fucker, just for being so pretty he was setting your brain on fire.

For a second the two of you stared at each other, trying to pretend the sparks weren’t flying.

‘That can’t be dinner,’ he said, after a while, and you realised he was talking again about your cereal.

‘I could get some grown up muesli if that would make you happy,’ you offered.

‘Wouldn’t want you to get malnourished, come by the pool and drown from lack of…vitamins,’ he finished.

‘Lack of vitamins?’ you teased, and he blushed.

‘Can’t have you wastin’ away on me.’

‘So, you’re saying I have to eat the muesli for your benefit?’ you asked, and he shook his head.

‘No breakfast for dinner,’ he said. ‘Maybe I can fix you somethin’.’

Your heart stopped, right there in the grocery store, in your flip flops with your hair still wet from the pool.

‘…’ you said, and he finally broke your gaze, finally allowed you to breathe for a second. He looked thoughtful, maybe even a little sorry.

‘Not professional of me to ask out the patrons,’ he said, after a while.

‘Do you work at the grocery store?’,’ you asked, bolder than you were feeling. He moved closer towards you, just a half-step, so that you could feel his breath ghosting over your face.

‘If I gave you some exercises, would you do ‘em?’ he asked, his voice so low it came straight from the Devil himself. You felt the jolt of want spear between your legs.

‘My physio might get jealous,’ you said, and he grinned.

‘As your lifeguard I feel like it’s my duty to overrule, baby,’ he said. He lifted a hand to your bad shoulder, holding it gently, supporting the joint. You sighed a little, the extra support releasing some of the pressure from the tendon.

‘If you think it’s that serious,’ you whispered, as you leant in towards him, his mouth hovering just out of reach of yours. ‘Life and death.’

‘I’m afraid I might,’ he replied.

His lips tasted like coffee and sunshine. You lifted your arms to rest them on his shoulders. There was not a single twinge.

[xxspringmelodyxx]

Happy Anniversary~

Gojo Satoru x Reader (angst)

Currently sobbing, crying, and throwing up while writing this

“Toru, stop it!” I giggled, feeling his kisses cascade along my neck while his arms ensnared me, refusing to let me escape.

“But… I… love… you… so… much!” His words punctuated by the soft press of his lips, his embrace tightening around me.

“And I love you more, but we’re out in public. People are staring,” I chided, though the sensation of his cool, tender kisses was undeniably intoxicating.

“Who cares, let them see. Everyone will know that you’re mine~” His declaration sent a flutter through my heart, prompting me to pull back slightly, needing to gaze into his eyes. I gently cupped his face in my hand, tracing the lines of his features with reverence.

He smirked, a knowing glint in his eyes as he watched me with affection. “You know, if you like looking at me that much, I could take a picture for you and sign it even,” he teased, earning an eye roll from me.

“Oh, shut up, you. It’s not my fault you’re the epitome of gorgeousness,” I retorted, unable to hide the fondness in my voice.

“Look who’s talking~” His response was playful as he drew me closer, capturing my lips in a tender kiss.

I closed my eyes, letting him draw me into him. As our kiss deepened, warmth spread through my body, the world around us fading into insignificance. Eventually we needed to pull away to catch our breaths, but that was short lived as Toru pulled me back in for another, not wanting to waste anymore time.

I giggled into the kiss, trying to break away to tease him. I succeeded, but only for a split second. The instant I pulled away, he gently grabbed me by the neck and whispered, “Not yet. I’m not done~”, and pulled me back in.

With each kiss, our connection felt more profound, as if our souls were entwining in perfect harmony. It was a moment suspended in time, where nothing else mattered except the love we shared.

Lost in the bliss of our embrace, we seemed oblivious to the world around us. But reality intruded in the form of a gentle breeze, carrying with it the murmurs of passersby and the distant sounds of traffic.

Reluctantly, we pulled apart, our gazes lingering as if trying to prolong the fleeting moment. Toru’s hand found mine, his fingers intertwining with mine as we began to walk, the city bustling around us.

“So, where to next, my love?” he asked, his tone playful yet tender.

I smiled, the warmth of his affection enveloping me like a comforting embrace. “Anywhere, as long as I’m with you,” I replied, leaning into his side as we continued our journey together.

”Oh baby, there’s nothing that could ever tear me apart from you. I’m with you until the end of eternity,” he spoke, his voice filled with unwavering devotion, making my heart swell with love and hope.

With tears of joy brimming in my eyes, I smiled at him, feeling the warmth of his words wrapping around me like a comforting blanket.

”I love you, my ’Toru~” I whispered softly, the words a balm to my wounded soul.

“And I love you, my N/n~” His response was tender, filled with a depth of emotion that echoed in my heart.

But our moment of bliss was shattered by a sudden, loud noise that pierced through the tranquility like a knife.

“Ugh, what is that noise?” I groaned, instinctively turning to Toru for comfort. But instead of finding solace in his arms, I was met with a heartbreaking sight – his smile, tinged with sadness, tears glistening in his eyes.

“Toru? What’s wrong?” My voice trembled with fear, a cold knot of dread forming in the pit of my stomach.

“It’s time to wake up, my love~” His voice was gentle, but there was a finality to it that sent a chill down my spine.

“What… what are you talking-”

And then darkness consumed me, swallowing me whole as I plummeted into the abyss of consciousness.

———

“About,” I whispered, my eyes fluttering open to the harsh reality of the world around me. My smile that was previously plastered on my face quickly turned into a frown as realization washed over me, shattering my heart into a million irreparable pieces.

It was just a dream. A cruel illusion that teased me with a happiness I could never truly have. A sharp pang of sorrow struck me as I sat up, looking over to the side of the bed where he used to sleep. The place where he used to hold me close. The place where we would talk endlessly about any and everything just to delay going to sleep.

Toru was no longer here, his presence nothing more than a fading memory lingering on the edges of my mind.

I looked over to see my phone alarm going off. I quickly picked it up, turning the alarm off. Before I could put it back on the nightstand, I saw today's date and realized today was…our 5th year anniversary.

A wave of grief washed over me as I stared at the date, the weight of his absence pressing down on my chest like a leaden weight. The world around seemed to blur as memories of us together began to play in my head. The way he held me, the way he spoke to me, the way he looked at me, touched me, kissed me… everything. It all kept replaying in my head like a broken record. And each one… a painful reminder of what I had lost.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I clutched the phone to my chest, wishing that I could go back in time and stop him. If only I had held onto him tighter, told him how much he meant to me, begged him not to leave to go fight Sukuna. But time was cruel, unforgiving, and now he was gone, leaving behind nothing but memories and regrets.

I closed my eyes, willing the tears to stop, but they kept coming, a relentless torrent of sorrow that threatened to consume me whole. How could I go on without him? How could I face a world that no longer held his laughter, his warmth, his love?

I pulled the phone away from me, looking at my home screen, seeing the picture of us together. We looked so happy... he looked so happy.

A pang of longing shot through my chest as I stared at the frozen moment of happiness captured in the photo. How I wished I could turn back time, relive those precious moments with him once more.

But reality was unforgiving, and no amount of longing could bring him back. With a heavy heart, I set the phone aside and rose from the bed, a solemn determination settling over me.

I made my way to the door, slipping on a coat to ward off the chill of the morning air. The journey to the cemetery felt like an eternity, each step weighed down by the burden of grief.

———

Finally, I stood before his gravestone, the sight of his name etched in stone sending a shiver down my spine. The world seemed to fall away as I knelt beside his final resting place, the silence broken only by the sound of my ragged breaths.

"I'm here, Toru," I whispered, my voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't forget. I could never forget."

Tears welled up in my eyes as I placed a bouquet of fresh flowers on the cold, hard ground, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the somber surroundings. I knelt down, the tears threatening to fall any second now.

"I miss you," I murmured, my voice choked with emotion. "Every day, every moment. I miss you."

I reached out, tracing the letters of his name with trembling fingers, as if trying to etch them into my memory forever. The pain of his absence threatened to overwhelm me, but I refused to let it consume me.

As I knelt there, the weight of his absence bearing down on me, a profound sadness washed over me. How could someone like him be subjected to such cruelty and pain? Even when he was first born…he was already a target.

“I’m sorry, Toru,” I whispered, the words catching in my throat. “I’m sorry for everything you had to endure, for the life you were forced to live.”

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I thought of all the moments he had missed, all the joys and sorrows he had been denied. He never got to experience the simple pleasures of life, the freedom to choose his own path, to love and be loved without fear or reservation. Simply just because of who he was and this cruel world we live in.

But despite it all, he had remained strong, his spirit unbroken even in the face of unimaginable hardship. And through it all, he had found solace in my love, in the simple act of being seen and cherished for who he truly was.

"I wish I could have given you more," I whispered, my voice barely above a whisper. "I wish I could have shielded you from the pain, shown you the beauty of the world beyond the darkness."

Tears continued to fall unabated as I spoke, each word heavy with the weight of my regret. How I longed to turn back time, to rewrite the script of his life, to spare him from the agony he had endured.

But even as I grappled with my own guilt and sorrow, I knew deep down that Toru had found a kind of peace in my love. In those fleeting moments we shared, he had known what it meant to be truly seen, truly loved, and for that, I would be eternally grateful.

And as I knelt there beside his grave, the quiet stillness of the cemetery enveloping me like a comforting embrace, I made a silent vow to honor his memory in the best way I could – by living my life with the same compassion and kindness that he had shown me.

"I will never forget you, Toru," I whispered into the silence, the words a solemn promise echoing in the air. "I will carry you with me always, in my heart and in my soul."

I leaned over and gave his gravestone a kiss, a powerful pang in my chest appearing.

With one last lingering glance at his gravestone, I rose to my feet, a sense of peace settling over me like a gentle breeze. And as I turned to leave, I knew that even in death, his love would be my guiding light, illuminating the path ahead as I walked forward into the unknown.

With a heavy heart, I whispered the words that had become my mantra, my lifeline in the darkness:

"I love you, Toru. And I always will. Happy Anniversary, my love"

______________

[qtboni]

Heyyy I love your writings so much I wanted to ask if maybe you could write a ghost x reader story with angst to fluff maybe where the reader gets tortured in front of him or gets kidnapped idk

╰﹒ 𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐃𝐀 !

PAIRING: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley X Reader

C/W: fem!reader, angst to comfort, violent themes, kidnapped/captivity, restraints, choking/strangling, asphyxiation, death (minor), explicit words, inaccurate spanish dialogues, bit of canon divergence. w/c 3.4k

Ghost could only hear the ringing in his ears as a firm hand connected harshly in his head. "C'mon, pinche pendejo," A woman crouched in her knees infront of him, a snarky smile etched in her face. She looked like a predator waiting for her prey to break, and she had no intention of making it easy for him. "We were protecting a friend in the mountains. Someone attacked us there... Who?"

Valeria. Ghost concluded in his thought.

"Go fuck yourself." He grunted as a reply and averted his gaze elsewhere. It was clear he wasn't interested in giving out any information. His insulting statement made the woman's smirk to drop as an irritated expression took place.

"If I were you," Valeria replied, her thick accent sipping through. She snickered as she taunts him by tilting her head to the side, faking a pity expression. "I'd be careful with my words."

"Why would I, ya lil' fucker." Ghost hissed, his brows furrowing as he glared at her with a menacing expression. He tried to move his tied wrists and legs, but the rope was too tight. His frustrations boiled at the feeling of helplessness, the tight bonds threatening to cut off his circulation.

"Because?" She replied with a deep chuckle, her eyes gleaming with a malicious glint. In one swift motion, she grabbed him by his vest and forced him to look up at her. "I have your pequeña princesa right here." Her words were punctuated by a self-assured smirk, her expression daring him to defy her command. His muscles were tense, his hands curled into fists as he struggled against his bonds, the tight rope digging into his wrists and legs as he tried to break free.

'Princesa?' He thought, his mind racing to make sense of her word. But then it clicked.

You.

Ghost took a deep breath, trying to keep his composure in the face of her teasing. ’She's playing with me,’ He thought as he tried to keep a cool head, but her words and expressions were certainly having an effect on him. There was no way Valeria had caught you. He was sure you left with the team!

"So?" Valeria's voice brought him back to where he was. The woman infront of him smiled widely in a sadistic and disturbing manner, her eyes glinting with evil intent. "Tell me. Ask my question,"

"You're a fuckin' lunatic if you think I'll give up intel," He fought against his rising emotions, thinking to himself. She was just messing with his head for sure. But his heart beat at a frantic rhythm, each pulse hammering against his chest as he tried to maintain his composure. "Don't even fuckin' know what you're on about,"

Disappointed, Valeria clicked her tongue. But it was not out of annoyance, no. There was something sinister beneath her snobbish grin, as if she was toying with Ghost and was enjoying it. A series of sinister chuckling enveloped the dark lit room. He could see from the corner of his eyes that a leather roll was unwrapped in the table situated at the side, revealing a collection of various knives, razor blades, tiny tools that were nonetheless can convey damage to one's body.

"No?" Valeria turned away from him for a moment, locking eyes with one of her minions on her right. "Then, I suppose I have no other choice but have you believe me that I stick to my words, hm?"

"Fuck you," He spits even if his heart tightened with dread, thinking for the absolute worst. She's lying. You can't possibly be here. He watches as the woman turned back to him with the same wicked grin, gaze still piercing him like a dagger. "Sit comfortably, yeah?" She continued, speaking as if her decision was already made. She smirked as her words sunk in at Ghost, the thought of harm coming to someone else sending a chill down his spine. "You'll need it."

"I don't f-"

"Wanna know why, cariño?" She cuts him off with a mock, leaning even closer to him. She didn't give him a chance to reply back as her hands wrapped around his covered jaw, her touch causing the skin under to burn with a mental flare. Then she whispered into his ear, her words a slow and teasing drawl. "I'll torture her up real good, and make you... Well," She paused to consider for a moment, before a slow grin spread across her face. "You'll just have to see for yourself." A dark amusement flickered in her eyes, the thrill of his helplessness evident in her tone.

With a rough pat on his cheek, Valeria stood up, her expression serious and professional. "Tráela En," She ordered the men to her side, who immediately obeyed. With a quick glance back to Ghost, the men piled out of the room with Valeria, their footsteps echoing in the hallway outside.

With the men having left the room, Ghost thought of how he could try to escape the restraints that held him down. He wiggled his arms in an effort to free himself from the ropes, but they held firm. His eyes darted around the room frantically, his brain desperately working to develop a plan for escape.

Ghost tried to wriggle his tied up wrists free, but the ropes stubbornly held tight. He took in a deep breath, attempting to clear his mind in order to develop a strategy that could help him escape. He strained as he worked at loosening the ropes, his muscles straining under the effort, and still the bonds refused to budge. With every attempt to free himself, he was met with increasing levels of exhaustion. Time was his enemy here, the clock ticking steadily away. He continued to strain at the ropes, but still they refused to budge. His skin was growing damp with sweat, his breath heavy and raspy. He had to escape, he had to.

Ghost was too focused on freeing himself, his gaze glued to his bound hands, his thoughts locked in a desperate cycle. His focus on escaping the ropes made it impossible for him to notice Valeria entered, his heart racing as her presence suddenly became apparent.

"I was looking forward to this," a raspy voice purred. He snapped turned his head forward, his eyes snapping towards Valeria's boastful stance and... fuck, it's you. The familiar scarf, covered in dirt and dust. Its little ghost drawing, once vibrant and colorful, was now dull and worn, the image haunting him. Even the sound of the heart keychain strapped to your belt was enough to draw him out of his daze, the item bringing back a flood of memories of you.

This can't be.

—

"Yer fuckin crazy," A rough voice was heard amidst the throbbing pain present in your head as you were haphazardly thrown.

You winced as your body collided with what felt like cold asphalt, and tears of anguish welled up in your eyes. Despite the familiar voice you recognized, your covered vision made it difficult to make out anything. The sedatives forced upon you while in captivity made you dizzy and disoriented. As the sack was removed from your head, the full impact of your surroundings flooded your senses. The voices around you were loud and numerous causing white noise in your ears, their words indecipherable to you as your mind struggled to grasp your current situation.

"Don't fuckin' hurt her!"

A sharp yank on your hair jarred you out of your trance, forcing you to look up from the ground. The sound of your lieutenant calling out your name registered in your mind, forcing you to come back to reality. As your eyes met those of Ghost's frantic eyes behind his mask, your heart raced, your anxiety flaring up once again as you quickly assessed what was happening.

Valeria's grip on your hair grew tighter, a cruel and sadistic grin spreading across her lips as your pained gasp filled her with pleasure. "You were expecting someone else, weren't you?" She said to Ghost, her tone dripping with sarcasm and malice. She leaned in closer, her cruel glare inches from your face as she whispered into your ear with a mocking tone, "Too bad. Que te voy a matar." She chuckled, her breath tickling your ear as you winced in pain.

"Just give it up, Valeria," He gritted his teeth in anger. But she laughed, her voice echoing in the room as she turned to Ghost. She held his gaze for a moment, studying his expression. Then, she turned back to you, a cruel grin spreading across her lips. "Oh, you poor thing," she chuckled, her tone dripping with condescension. She softly carressed your scalp as if creating a faux sense of security. "Is this affecting you," She said to Ghost as she ran a finger down your cheek, the sharp pain of her nail digging into your flesh drawing a quick wince from you. "Or do you have anything else in your mind besides this?"

"Fuckin' leave her out of this." Ghost clenched his jaw, desperately trying not to show any more signs of weakness. He tried to stay composed as Valeria leaned in closer to you, her teasing smile growing bigger with every passing moment. He swore the nerves in his arms were bulging out of tense.

You winced at her touch, but you didn't dare to speak as your jaw locked and your muscles tense as you tried to ignore it. Valeria laughed again, moving a step back so she could face him again. "Oh, but I do love the way she look when she's in pain," she said, her tone playful as she studied your tears streaming down your face. "You really should have told me what I wanted to know." She chuckled, moving closer to you again, her hand moving in a gentle caress along his cheek. "It's okay, little sweetheart," she whispered, her voice full of deceiving sweetness.

She has a cruel glint in her eyes as she studied your expression. Her hand gently moved towards your cheek, then her nails started digging into your skin and you gritted your teeth, trying to hold in the cry of pain that was forming in your throat. "Speak, bitch," She spat on you, eyes narrowed with annoyance. You didn't respond, determined to close your mouth. Whatever this was, you're on your lieutenant's side. "No?"

It was only as Valeria let go of her grip on you that you realized how numb your muscles felt. Your legs felt like they were made of lead as you tried to scurry away, but the effects of the torture had left your body limp. Unable to move, unable to escape, you watched helplessly as Valeria went over to the side and grabbed something, the glinting object catching your eye.

You met Ghost's gaze and saw him return it, the terror evident in your expression as he silently implored you to try harder to escape. As if you were the one who has their limbs tied up. "How amusing," Valeria came up between you both, playfully swaying the sharp material in her hands. "It seems like our little friend is too strong-willed for our torture to affect her."

You weren't given the chance to react at all when the knife had already slit your arm. Everything went silent as the stinging sensation was too much to bear. You screamed out as the cold metal pulled out, leaving your blood to gush out of your flesh.

"You fuckin' bitch!" You heard Ghost yell out as he struggled in the chair, attempting to break free from its constraints. Your ears were greeted with the sound of the chair's loud creaks and groans. The noise seemed to echo through the room as he yanked against the ropes, his movements growing more frantic as the sounds turned into small shouts of effort. "I'll fucking kill you!"

"Give me información, pendejo." was all Valeria stated.

As Ghost's struggles continued, your weak and fatigued body could barely muster the energy to keep your eyes open, let alone attempt to help him. He called out for your help with more desperation, his shouts growing louder and more frantic as the knife sliced at your bruised skin again and again.

"S-Stop!" Your body was paralyzed with fear, your mind paralyzed in shock, unable to process what it was witnessing. You wanted to run, to do anything to make it stop. But all you could do was watch, your tears falling down your cheeks. Your body had betrayed you. "Please..."

"Valeria!" Ghost shouted, no, he tried to call for her to stop when your body convulsed as another wave of sobbing washed over you. Two strong hands squeezed your throat, your breaths coming out in shallow gasps. You tried to comply, but the words coming out of your mouth were so slurred and incoherent, it was impossible to understand. You felt like you were on the verge of passing out, your mind and body exhausted from the pain and stress of Valeria's torture.

"Let go!" You choked out the words between the hands on your throat, your strength fading. You tried to pry her off but Valeria's grip only tightened, cutting off your air. As you struggled, she pressed her hand hard against your face.

"Shhh," she whispered, her voice a cruel taunt. Your vision was blurring as your eyes rolled back, a hand over your mouth stifling your desperate screams. Her voice felt far away, as if you were under water.

"Let... please... let go..." you managed to wheeze out desperately. As you fought against the darkness in your mind, your strength waning, you felt your awareness fading away. You felt as if you were floating, weightless and free all over despite the cold temperatures of the air around you. You felt peaceful, your senses fading and your consciousness slipping as you lost your grip on reality, slowly surrendering to the embrace of the void, your world fading away.

As you began to slip away, the world around you began to dissolve into a blur. It was all splotches of black, the darkness slowly consuming your senses. In your distorted vision, you saw something casting a shadow over you. It was hard to tell what it was, but you tried to focus your eyes on it, your irises dilating in recognition. The blurring slowly faded away, your senses sharpening as you glanced over Valeria's shoulder.

There, the person moved quickly, seizing Valeria's arms, yanking her away from you and tossing her aside. He turned to her with a fury in his eyes, ready to throw hands. The world came back to you with a sudden jolt, your lungs inhaling deeply as your eyes popped open. The colors of the room and the chill of the air on your skin became tangible as you registered the sharp pain of the ground beneath you.

With your eyes squinting, you see how she smirked at him, her gaze confident even as Ghost's body trembled with rage. He stepped forward, grabbing Valeria by the hair and twisting it, using his full strength to force her to the ground. He yanked her by the hair across the floor, his grip tight and unforgiving. His eyes filled with hate, his body trembling with anger, as he slammed her face-first into the floor.

"How dare you," he spat, his voice hoarse and raw. "How dare you lay your dirty hands on her!" Ghost's voice was thick with rage and loathing, his words pouring out in a torrent of fury. But Valeria smiled coolly, looking at him dead in the eyes as he continued to pull her across the floor. She didn't try to fight it, allowing herself to be dragged, but Ghost didn't let up. He didn't release his grip on her hair, even as her body bumped and dragged across the floor.

Ghost pulled Valeria forcefully against the wall, pinning her against it as he kept a firm grip on her hair. She tried to move, to squirm free from his grasp, but he didn't let her. She grabbed the knife that was tucked into her belt, the blade glinting in the light, and tried to stab him in the back. Ghost caught the movement in his peripheral vision, and he quickly grabbed her wrist, twisting her arm in a painful maneuver. The knife dropped from her hand as she let out a cry of pain, the blade falling to the floor with a soft thud.

Ghost looked down at Valeria, her expression twisted into a smirk as she glared up at him in defiance. In that moment, he felt his rage flare, his emotions taking over. Ghost brought his face right up to Valentina's, his expression filled with cold malice and hatred. "What?" He asked, his voice a harsh whisper. "Did you think I *wouldn't* finish you off?" He grabbed hold of her hair with both hands, his expression feral as he looked into her eyes.

Ghost twisted Valeria's arm sharply, and before she knew it, he had her in a chokehold. He tightened his grip, his face filled with rage as he looked into her eyes. She struggled desperately, trying to fight him off, but Ghost's strength was overwhelming. He held on tight, slowly squeezing tighter and tighter, his grip tightening with each breathe. She coughed and gasped for air, her eyes filling with a mixture of fear and regret. And then, a moment later, she was gone. The sound of her body hitting the floor broke the silence as Ghost released his grip, letting her fall to the ground. His heart pounded in his chest as he stood above Valeria's motionless body, his breath catching in his throat.

"Lt..." You managed to choke out as you cleared your throat, trying to get his attention to you. Your hands were shaking, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. He slowly turned to look at you, eyes filling with sudden concern. As the pain and anger disappeared, he was overcome by fear and anxiety, the thought of losing you too much to bear.

He rushed towards you, his heart pounding in his chest. There was no hesitation, his arms enveloping your body in a tight embrace. His embrace was tight and firm, his body pressed up against yours with his warmth radiating from him and his breath filling your ears. The adrenaline pumping through his body still, and you trembled in his arms, clinging to him for reassurance.

"We need to leave fast, love," He murmured, absentmindedly calling you a petname, as he took notice of the bruises and bleeding cuts marring your body. Without another word, he lifted you into his arms, your body limp and weak, and carried you. "Not for long before those suckers come here,"

You hummed as a reply, too tired to form words as you rested your head on his firm chest. You felt him adjusting you a bit when his hand came in contact with the cuts you had on your arm and you hissed, body curling up to comfort yourself. "Sorry," he whispered, his voice gentle. He stayed close to you, letting you lean into him as your body trembled. The fear began to fade, and you felt his warmth surround you, his arms a source of strength and comfort.

As Ghost, with you in his arms, walked outside, you were both silent. The cold air and the rustling of your clothing movements were the only sounds you heard, the sounds of the outside world muted and hazy. Ghost's grip around you was firm and protective, and you felt his body against yours as the cold air brushed back your hair. There were no words spoken between you, the air filled with silence and Ghost's gentle breathing, his warm presence beside you.

Suddenly, Ghost's voice filled your ears and it sent your heart fluttering. "Swear on my word," He gently whispered in the volume of what he should only hear. The heat of his embrace still radiating around you, his arms still wrapped around you, protecting you from the world. "I'll never let you get hurt again."

[lilyrizzy]

prompt—When we broke up but I'm still his emergency contact for maxiel

sad fic alert! i hope you like it <3

Max wakes up to the angry vibration of his phone on the bedside table, the flashing screen far too bright in the dark of their- his bedroom.

With heavy eyes, he tries to make sense of the blurred numbers, the ones that tell him it's four-thirty in the morning and the ones that tell him it's an unknown number calling. The area code is from here, from Monaco.

"Hello?" He answers after just a moment of considering letting it ring out. He'd been having a good dream, full of honking laughter and summer sun, in which the noise of the phone had been the waves of the sea until he'd woken up.

"Is this Max Verstappen?" A serious-sounding voice on the other end of the line asks. Before Max can ask in return, who wants to know- "I am calling about Daniel Ricciardo."

For a heart-stopping moment, Max wonders if this is him. The man Daniel has been photographed leaving clubs with, who has shown up to races with him, who is probably keeping his bed warm since-

"Who is this?" Max asks, hot anger boiling over his voice, replacing the previous lukewarm irritation. "What-"

"I'm a nurse calling from the Princess Grace Hospital," the voice interrupts, quick and professional, "Mr Ricciardo had an accident while out at a nightclub, intoxicated."

The words are icey water thrown over the furious fire in Max's gut. Goosebumps raise over his arms, his legs, his whole body as he throws the covers off, already scrambling for the jeans he shrugged off just before bed.

"An accident," he repeats, panic raising the pitch of his voice an entire octave, "is he-"

"Mr Ricciardo is fine," the voice interrupts again, smooth. "A few stitches in his arm where he cut himself on some glass in the bar, a bruised head from a fall. We have cleared the risk of a concussion. We just need someone to pick him up and take him home."

Relief threatens to choke Max, but then with it a sense of dread that coils tight in his stomach. It doesn't stop him from reaching for the keys of his fastest car, because he knows the answer already to the next question he asks.

"You want me to- To come and get him?"

"Yes," the man confirms, "He isn't sober enough for us to discharge him without a family or friend."

Max doesn't have the heart to tell this stranger that he isn't either anymore.

---

Sat on the edge of the hospital bed, Daniel has the nerve to look sheepish. It's obvious he's still a little drunk from the way he sways even sat down. It's obvious he's had more than just alcohol from the anxious way his foot is tapping against air, the bed too high for his feet to touch the ground.

"Hi Maxy," he says looking up to see Max standing in the doorway, and Max wonders when one nickname and the flash of a smile will stop him from remembering how happy he used to be.

At his sides, his fingers itch to reach out, to touch what Max knows too well are the softest parts of him, to make sure they are still warm.

"Daniel," is all he says instead, and for a moment they just stare at each other under the harsh glare of fluorescent hospital lighting. Then, "they called me, to come to get you."

Daniel nods, and then the nod dissolves into shaking his head from side to side as though moving it to music only he can hear.

"Yeah well," he snorts, "they think a few little stitches and a bash on the head is enough to require a babysitter. I did try to tell them I'm a badass race car driver and this-" he waves his left arm -"is nothing compared to my titanium hand, but-"

He punctuates his protests with a jerky shrug, and this is nothing like the Daniel that Max knows.

The Daniel Max knows would be pouting, asking if Max thought he was brave for doing it all alone. Better yet, the Daniel Max knows would have wanted Max here to hold his hand while the doctor threaded the needle through his skin. Would want Max to look after him afterwards, to make it all better with a kiss and buttery toast in bed.

With Daniel's arm still waving indignantly in the air, for the first time, Max looks at it properly. Before, he'd been too busy looking at his face, the red rim of his eyes, the dark circles underneath them, still so greedy to drink him in. At race weekends in front of cameras, he's made an art of looking away.

The bandages are thick, covering a lot of his forearm. The baby cupid with his bow is mostly covered, the delicate arch of his foot and toes are the only parts of him visible, peeking out from the bottom.

"Did it hurt?" Max can't help but ask, and it's stupid. That even after perfecting the hurt they caused each other with months of shouting matches, followed by even more of stone cold silence, the idea of Daniel in pain is still one that he can't quite stomach.

Daniel's gaze shifts down to fix on his own shoes as he answers.

"Nah," is all he says with another shrug. "Nah, I just- I'm tired mate, can you drive me home? Or to your place, I just- I need to sleep it off."

Max tries not to wince at the reminder that home and Max's apartment aren't the same thing to Daniel anymore.

"Okay," he says, nodding even though Daniel isn't looking at him. "Let me find the nurse, for your paperwork."

---

In the car, Daniel presses his cheek against the window and lets his eyes fall shut.

Months ago, in another life, Max could have told Daniel not to smudge the glass with his sweaty skin. Daniel would have giggle infuriatingly and told Max, you love my sweat. Maybe Max would have a hand on Daniel's knee. Maybe Max would have leant over at the traffic lights to lick his cheek and joke back, salty, my favourite.

Or maybe he would have got annoyed, like at the end, and told Daniel to stop being such a child.

"Did you ask them to call me?" Max asks eventually, just as the light turns green again. The question has been playing on his mind since the panic of being woken by a hospital phone call ebbed away.

On the other side of the windows, the sun is beginning to rise. A new day.

"No," Daniel says, his voice clear. More awake than he looks. "No they- I forgot to change my emergency contact info back to Blake."

Max bites the inside of his cheek and nods. It's not something he thought about, because it's not something he has had to do himself. His dad is still his number one 'in case of emergency' number, and his manager Raymond his number two. It's something they fought about, once, Max not understanding the big deal, but now-

Now, one day Daniel might get really hurt or worse, and it makes Max's stomach churn to realise he would have to hear about it from Instagram or the Daily Mail like everyone else who isn't special to him.

It's not until they pull up outside Daniel's apartment building that he opens his eyes again to see where Max is dropping him off. He looks disappointed, and then- Hurt.

It takes everything in Max not to tell him to wait, that he'll drive them back to Max's place, home after all. To promise that Daniel can sleep it off in their old bed, that Max will make him their usual hangover cure that Daniel teasingly nicknames 'Max-y-Million's breakfast of champions,' but-

It'd be too hard, to know that none of it would be real. That Daniel wouldn't stay, but that the images of him there amongst all of Max's things that used to be their things would. To feel the moment fade into another memory that haunts the apartment.

"Do you need me to walk you up?" Max offers instead, but he knows what the answer will be before Daniel speaks.

"I'm good," Daniel promises, face shuttering closed so Max can no longer see the soft vulnerability of his surprise at them winding up back here, at this crossroads again.

The last time Max had driven him here it had been with a car full of suitcases and cardboard boxes.

"Okay," Max says, and it's ironic how out of all the times he threw Daniel's immaturity in his face, he is now the one suddenly blinking back tears like a child. He fixes his eyes on his steering wheel, the bold yellow Ferrari badge, so he doesn't have to watch Daniel leave again.

The car door doesn't open.

"Maxy," Daniel sighs instead, and it's all it takes for the first tear to fall, to slide off his nose and into his lap. "Max, I-"

"Don't," Max pleads, even though he's desperate to know what Daniel might say.

I miss you. I love you. I hate you. I remember when we used to be easy, why can't it be like that anymore?

"Me too," he says, because no matter what it's the truth.

Daniel's fingertips on his cheek make Max jerk, the unexpected tenderness as he wipes away a tear startling him. When Max won't look at him, Daniel sighs again, a little harder. More softness Max has chipped away from him.

"I'll see you in Barcelona," is all he says though, and the next sound is the slam of the car door behind him.

[redroomreflections]

II HANDS II HEAVEN 2

Notes: I listened to Beyonce's album and wanted to write something to this song

Summary: Natasha Romanoff and Reader reluctantly team up for a couples retreat mission. Despite initial resistance, they find themselves drawn together by unexpected circumstances and shared experiences.

Masterlist | General Masterlist

w/c: 4.5k

Hour 1: 

The soft click of buttons being pressed echoed all around you as you searched for a suitable station. The radio's static hissed between each channel, punctuating your frustrated tsk of disapproval.

"Why can't you keep it on one thing?" Natasha's voice broke the silence, her annoyance noticeable. It was the first thing she had said to you thus far. She was committed to the cold and unimpressed demeanor. 

"I haven't heard a good song so far," You grumbled, settling back into your seat. "I'm bored. Do you have Spotify?"

Natasha shook her head curtly, her response brief and to the point.

"Okay, Apple Music then?" You pressed, determined to find a solution to your boredom.

Natasha's expression remained unchanged as she replied with another terse shake of her head, making it clear she wasn't interested in engaging in conversation.

"You do know you'll have to talk to me at some point?" You asked, turning to face Natasha, hoping to elicit some kind of response from her.

"I dread the moment it comes," Natasha mumbled, her tone tinged with a hint of resignation as if speaking more to herself than to you.

"Are you always this rude and cold to your teammates, or do you reserve that for me?" you tilted your head, your irritation beginning to bubble to the surface.

"I treat everyone according to their merits," Natasha replied evenly, her expression unreadable.

“What is that supposed to mean?” You frowned. 

"It means I assess each situation and act accordingly," Natasha replied cryptically, her gaze steady.

"Okay," You whistled, a hint of frustration in your tone. "I'm not a fan of kissing ass, so I guess we won't ever talk then." With a resigned sigh, you turned to look out of the window, feeling drained by the interaction. Despite your initial excitement about joining missions and working with Natasha, the reality proved less than enjoyable.

Hour 3 

Three hours with no good music or anyone to talk to. For the average person, it might break them. Not literally, but it's difficult to remain silent for such an extended period. However, for two spies, the task is easy. Natasha keeps her eyes steady on the road, her hands firm on the wheel, and the gas pedal at an easygoing pace. She's actually a decent driver, not that you expected anything less.

Conversely, you have resorted to counting the cell phone towers you encounter along the road. That, and the number of horses you see. It's a mundane task, but it helps pass the time as the miles stretch endlessly.

"I'm not the enemy," You said softly, breaking the silence again.

At first, it seemed that Natasha hadn't heard you. Her posture remained unchanged, giving no indication that she had acknowledged your words.

"I said I'm not the enemy," You repeated, a note of frustration creeping into your voice.

"Really? I read your file," Natasha shrugged, her tone matter-of-fact. "It doesn't paint exactly a friendly picture."

"That was supposed to be private," You raised a brow, feeling a twinge of frustration at the breach of privacy.

"As if they would allow someone like you on the team without warning all of us," Natasha pointed out, her gaze still fixed on the road ahead.

"Someone like me," You repeated, tasting the words on your tongue. It didn't sit well with you. "They allowed someone like you on the team and turned out just fine."

Natasha's expression remained impassive as she glanced briefly at you before returning her focus to the road. "Actions speak louder than words," she replied curtly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

“Really? How much did you have to clean from your ledger before they finally saw you as one of them?” You asked. 

Natasha's reply was a simple, nonchalant shrug, but her silence spoke volumes. It was clear from her demeanor that she wasn't fond of you, and you could sense the tension lingering between you like a heavy cloud. Despite your attempts to make things a little less tense between you,  Natasha's guarded stance remained unchanged, leaving you with the unsettling feeling that maybe some divides were too deep to mend.

Hour 5 

Pit stops are always a welcome break from the monotony of the road. After spending so much time in close quarters with Natasha, you practically leap out of the car as soon as it comes to a stop. Unclicking your seatbelt, you hastily rush out of the vehicle before she even puts it in the park.

The gas station was surprisingly crowded for the time of day, but you paid no mind as you barreled through the door and made a beeline for the bathroom. You scrunched your nose at the sight of the less-than-ideal conditions—rusty and tainted yellow seats—but there was no time to be prissy about cleanliness. Squatting over the toilet, you made do with what you had, knowing that as long as it got the job done, you could steam your lady bits later if needed. 

As Natasha took on the task of pumping gas, she locked the car doors before heading inside the gas station. She grabbed a few energy drinks from the cooler, anticipating that you'd be on the road for a few hours longer before calling it a night. 

Approaching the attendant, Natasha paid with cash, dropping a fifty-dollar bill onto the counter without hesitation. She was accustomed to taking care of things herself, and this small gesture was just another example of her practicality and self-sufficiency. From the corner of her eye, she could see you exit the bathroom and begin to peruse the aisles. Figures you’d take longer in here too. 

You immediately gravitated towards the trashy magazines, scanning the shelves for the latest editions of Us Weekly. Picking up a few copies along with a crossword puzzle, you indulged in some guilty pleasures to pass the time. Satisfied with your selection, you moved on to the snack aisle, grabbing a plethora of junk food to ease your mind during the long drive ahead.

As you were finishing up your shopping, a man approached you. He was not half bad, but at least ten years your senior.

"Well, aren't you a pretty thing," He said, his tone oozing with charm. “Are you from around here?”

"Well, thank you," You replied, flashing him a coy smile as you played along with his flirtation. "No, I'm just passing through," you added, subtly keeping the conversation light and casual.

“What a shame,” He shook his head. “We’ve never had someone so pretty like you in town before.”

You chuckled lightly at his compliment, the corner of your lips curling into a playful smirk. "Well, I guess it's your lucky day then," you teased, enjoying the brief flirtation despite knowing it was all in jest.

The atmosphere suddenly shifted at the sound of a throat loudly clearing behind him that caught your attention. Without needing confirmation, you already knew who it is. Natasha stood there, her expression visibly ticked off as she looked between the two of you. 

"Oh, hey you," You said,  trying to diffuse the tension with a casual greeting. "I was just talking to my friend," you added, quickly glancing at his name tag and noting that he's an employee here. "Monty."

Natasha's eyes narrowed slightly as she caught onto your subtle attempt to downplay the situation. Stepping forward, she interjected smoothly, "Actually, Monty, my wife and I are just passing through. Isn't that right?" She emphasized the word 'wife' with a hint of amusement. The slight raise of your brow indicated you were impressed with her. 

You couldn’t resist the urge to push her buttons just a little further, knowing exactly which nickname would get under her skin. With a mischievous glint in your eye, you turned to Natasha and said, "That’s right, babe," You passed Nataha all of your items to carry. “Thank you for the compliment, Monty. Gonna take the old ball and chain here back on the road.” You gestured to Natasha as she rolled her eyes. 

You walked away with Natasha hot on your heels, feeling the weight of her disapproving gaze. As she passed the items to the attendant and dropped another twenty on the counter, her frown deepened.

"I can't believe you," Natasha shook her head, clearly unimpressed with your behavior.

"What, marriages aren't always sunshine and rainbows," you shrugged nonchalantly, flashing her a grin before adding, "Oh, and these too," as you gestured to a pack of cigarettes behind the attendant.

Natasha's disapproving look intensified as she glanced at the cigarettes. "You know those kill, right?" she remarked, her tone laced with concern.

You met Natasha's disapproving gaze with a playful twinkle in your eye. "Ah, but where's the thrill in life without a little risk?" you quipped, shrugging off her concern as you reached for the pack of cigarettes. You shot Natasha a cheeky grin, unfazed by her concern. "Don't worry, honey, I'll write you into my will," you jested, playfully taunting her as you grabbed your bag full of goodies.

With a final wave, you strode out of the store, the jingle of the doorbell emphasizing your exit.

Natasha rolled her eyes at your remark for what felt like the millionth time.  "Don't bother," she retorted dryly. She followed in your footsteps only to find you taking selfies with one of the new cellphones Steve provided both of you. 

“What are you doing?” She asked. 

You glanced up from your selfies, a mischievous grin spreading across your face as you held up the phone. "Just documenting our thrilling adventure," you quipped, snapping another photo before turning the camera towards Natasha. "Say cheese!"

Natasha sighed, walking over to the gas pump to finish filling the tank. 

“You know, for a spy, you’re too stiff,” You commented. “This is to show off. We can’t be newlyweds if we don’t have any pictures.” 

Natasha cast a skeptical glance over her shoulder as she finished up at the pump. "I fail to see how selfies contribute to our cover," she remarked dryly, her tone indicating her reluctance to participate in your impromptu photoshoot. Nonetheless, she didn't protest further, knowing that maintaining the illusion of a happy couple is crucial for the success of the mission.

Back on the road again. 

Hour 8 

As you lazily flipped through the pages of yet another US Weekly magazine, the last hour seemed to blur into a haze of crosswords and candy consumption. Your feet rested against the dash of the car, a piece of licorice hanging between your lips as you absentmindedly hummed along to the music playing in the background.

"It's amazing what she thinks of marriage," you mumbled to yourself, your attention caught by the latest gossip surrounding Jennifer Lopez's love life. "It's like celebrities don't care about the sanctity of marriage or something."

“You say this as if we aren’t doing the same thing right now,” Natasha commented. 

“She speaks,” You chewed the last of your licorice. “It’s not the same thing. We are doing this for the greater good of the people.”

“If you say so,” Natasha shrugged. “Get your feet off the dash.” 

You rolled your eyes playfully at Natasha's instruction, but complied nonetheless, retracting your feet from the dashboard with a sigh. "Fine, fine," you conceded, settling back into your seat and returning your attention to the magazine in your hands. "Oh, a couple's questionnaire. We should do this. It might help with our story better," you suggested eagerly.

Natasha's expression remains unchanged, a hint of reluctance flickering in her eyes as she considers your proposal. "I suppose it couldn't hurt," she gave in reluctantly, her tone betraying her lack of enthusiasm for the task.

You reached into the glove box for a pen before writing both of your names on the page. “Okay, first question. What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?”

Natasha's response was simple and to the point. "Strawberry," she answered. 

You couldn't help but recoil in mock horror. "Strawberry? What, no one likes strawberry," you exclaimed, feigning disgust at her choice.

“Well I do,” Natasha rolled her eyes. 

“Mine is chocolate,” You answered. “What are some of your healthy and unhealthy habits?”

Natasha paused for a moment, considering the question carefully before responding. "Healthy habits? I prioritize physical fitness and maintain a disciplined training regimen," she began, her tone matter-of-fact. "As for unhealthy habits, I have a tendency to keep my emotions guarded, which can sometimes lead to a lack of emotional expression and connection with others," she admitted, her voice tinged with a hint of self-awareness.

“Self aware queen,” You scribbled into the blank space. 

“Yours is smoking right?” Natasha titled her chin to the pack of cigarettes sitting in your lap. 

“Yes, and no,” You said quietly. 

“What does that mean?”

You glanced down at the pack of cigarettes in your lap, a faint frown crossing your features as Natasha brought up the topic.

Natasha arched an eyebrow, prompting you to elaborate on your ambiguous answer.

"It means... it's complicated," You explained with a sigh, hesitant to delve into the complexities of your relationship with smoking. 

“Something your wife should know right?” 

Natasha's remark struck a chord, and you offered a small nod in response.

"Yeah, something my wife should know," You agreed, acknowledging the validity of her point.

As Natasha waited for an explanation, you took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts before speaking.

"After I defected, and even a little before, I needed something to calm me and keep me busy," You began, your voice filled with a hint of vulnerability. "I tried a lot of things—painting, reading, training. But... nothing seemed to stick quite like smoking did," you admitted reluctantly, feeling a pang of shame at the admission.

Natasha nodded in understanding. 

“What’s your favorite position,” You asked suddenly. 

Natasha's eyebrow arched in surprise at your unexpected question, her gaze shifting to meet yours as she processed your words.

"What? That's not in the book," She remarked,  a hint of amusement coloring her tone.

You offer a playful smirk in response, shrugging nonchalantly. "You're right, it's not. But it's something a wife should know," you quip, the mischievous glint in your eyes betraying your playful intent.

There’s a few seconds of silence before Natasha decided to answer. Though you’re not sure if the answer is her truth or not. You suppose its not for you to challenge. 

“Missionary,” Natasha answered. 

“Missionary?” You asked incredously. 

“What? What’s wrong with that?” She glanced over at you. 

“Nothing, nothing,” You hurriedly smoothed it over. You debated on your next comment but decided to anyway. “It’s just… so vanilla.”

“Vanilla can be nice,” She shrugged. “Besides, it’s not supposed to be my answer. It’s Joan’s answer.” 

“Joan?” You questioned. Natasha reached into the glove box to pull out two black wallets.

You took the IDs from Natasha's outstretched hand, examining them briefly before nodding in acknowledgment. "Joan and Alexis White," you repeat, committing the names to memory as Natasha provides you with the fabricated backstory.

"We got married last year in Turks and Caicos," Natasha continues, her tone matter-of-fact. "We did a no electronics wedding. Completely unplugged, so barely any pictures. We met in college. You studied psychology and you’re halfway through your master's in clinical counseling. You took a couple of years off school to take care of your sick parents. I finished law school and became an attorney."

You take in the details of the fabricated narrative, filing them away for future reference. "Interesting," you echo, your response neutral as you consider the implications of your new identities. 

“I know a guy,” Natasha adjusted her position in the seat. 

“Can I ask you something?” You turned in your seat to fully look at her. 

“I thought we were already doing that?” Natasha said. 

“No, but off the record,” You sighed. “Why do you hate me?”

Natasha's expression remained stoic as she met your gaze, her eyes betraying a hint of guardedness. There was a moment of silence as Natasha considered her response, her expression unreadable as she chose her words carefully.

“I know you consider me a lazy, untrained spy but…” 

Natasha's features softened ever so slightly, a flicker of empathy glimmering in her eyes as she met your gaze.

"I don't hate you," She responded quietly, her tone gentle yet firm. "And I don't consider you lazy or untrained. You have your strengths, just as I have mine. We're a team, whether we like it or not. But we need to learn to trust each other if we're going to make this work." 

“I’m not who you all think I am,” You said. “You read my file. My past is…”

"I know we all have our secrets," She replied gently, her tone surprisingly understanding. "And sometimes, our past doesn't define who we are in the present. Everyone has their reasons.” 

Indeed they do. 

Hour 12 

As sunlight still bathed the winding roads, both of you acknowledged the exhaustion of the day and the need for a break. Pulling up to the nearest Holiday Inn, Natasha brought the car to a stop. You had just drifted into sleep, your head leaning against the window. Natasha hesitated to disturb your rest, admiring the peacefulness that enveloped you in slumber.

She hadn’t known before that you could talk this much. She tried to push down the feelings of guilt she felt as she thought about what you said earlier. She doesn’t hate you. She's simply not fond of you or new people in general. She read your file which she doesn’t regret but what she found in there was a story much like her own. 

A lonely kid with nowhere to go. A convenient organization willing to pay whatever to take advantage of you. It’s clear you hold more guilt and pain over your past but things are still so new. She remembers feeling that way before. Though she may not express it openly, Natasha acknowledged the complexity of your situation and the depth of your pain. She understood the burden of carrying secrets and regrets, and she felt a twinge of empathy for the vulnerable, lonely kid she saw reflected in you.

Startling awake as you sensed the car no longer moving, you opened your eyes to find Natasha quickly averting her gaze. The realization dawned on you that you've arrived at your destination for the night. Despite the abrupt awakening, you felt a sense of relief at the prospect of rest after the long journey. 

“We can crash here for the night,” Natasha announced, unfastening her seatbelt. “Book a room or two.”

“Sounds good,” You agreed with a weary nod, gathering your belongings as you followed Natasha into the hotel.

Approaching the front desk, Natasha inquired about booking a couple of rooms for the night. However, the receptionist, Lou, delivered an unwelcome message.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we only have one room available for the time being,” Lou explained, her fingers tapping on the keyboard to check the inventory. “It’s a double bed room. There’s a convention in town, so we are all booked up at this time.”

Natasha's expression tightened slightly at the news, a hint of frustration flashing in her eyes before she composed herself.

“Well, that’s less than ideal,” she remarked, her tone tinged with disappointment. Turning to you, she added, “Looks like we’ll have to make do with sharing a room for the night.”

“Fine with me,” You hiked your carry on bag higher onto your shoulders.

As Natasha and you ascended to the third floor, anticipation for a good night's rest began to build. Upon entering your room, you found it surprisingly spacious, with enough room for two double beds.

Eager to freshen up after the long ride, you wasted no time in dropping your bags in front of one of the beds. Without another word, you made a beeline for the bathroom, eager to indulge in a well-deserved shower.

"Don't worry, I'll just wait here," Natasha assured, her tone carrying a hint of amusement as she neatly stacked her belongings in a corner of the room.

Observing the surroundings under the guise of gathering ice for the room, Natasha familiarized herself with the layout and exits. Satisfied with her findings, she returned to the room only to find you rummaging through your bags, clad in nothing but a towel.

"Sorry, I was in such a hurry but I felt icky," You explained, glancing up at her sheepishly. You sat on the bed, pulling a pair of thin silk sleep shorts onto your hips before adding a sports bra. You were still damp but you felt fresh. 

“No problem, “ Natasha dismissed. “I’ll just go…” She hiked a thumb towards the bathroom. 

She stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind her before she sighed. 

At least it wasn’t a single bed. 

-------> part 3

[kechiwrites]

decided to break it

toxic baby daddy!ghost x reader

part 4/?

synopsis: babies change everything, and neither you, nor simon handle change very well at all.

wc: 2.2k

cw: afab!reader, angst, hurt with no comfort, language, break up fic, abandonment issues, no gendered language, discussions and depictions of pregnancy. no use of y/n ever.

author’s note: im back <3, more tomorrow, or perhaps later tonight if i feel up to formatting on this hell site. for kitten, shia, nori, 👩🏿‍🍼 anon, and everyone else who cheered me up when i felt super down post-holidays

new to baby blue? start here.

"Fuck." You murmur, maybe for the fourth time since the 15 minute timer had gone off on your phone. The word doesn’t seem heavy enough to sum up how you’re feeling, but you give it a few more tries anyway, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” The word 'pregnant', however, is the heaviest you’ve ever seen, latching onto your limbs and skin and dragging you to the floor beneath you. ‘Pregnant’ stares you in the face from the stick in your shaking hands, punctuated with a little smiley face you can barely see through tears. In the back of your mind you kind of wished you'd gotten the kind with the little ambiguous pink lines, just so you could pretend you didn't understand what two lines instead of one meant. Just for a little bit. Alas, the pharmacist recommended the slightly more expensive test, the kind that gives you a week estimate. The kind that tells you you've been fucked for 3-4 weeks now.

Every emotion you'd been feeling up until then cedes to white hot panic. It's hard to breathe in your little blue bathroom.

You wonder what he'll say. 

No. 

You dread what he’ll say. 

It’s nothing you two have ever talked about, not in the cold blackness of night, when he’d sat in your arms with his face bare to you and murmured every gory detail of his upbringing to you and not a goddamn therapist. Not the following morning when you’d sobbed your terror of the future, and losing everything you had into his lap. And certainly not when you had mutually decided you were “getting serious”.

And now you have to. You have to tell Simon you’re pregnant.

There's a pit in your stomach when he comes by that night, mask off and eyes warm, considering like they always are. You get swept up in how it feels to be near him, to have him crowd into your space, soaking your senses in his scent, his warmth. He kisses you gently, so soft it makes you want to cry. He used to say he wasn't capable of being like that. Not with you. Not with anyone. 

Instead of sobbing into his chest like you’re desperate to, you chide him about wearing his boots in the house. You take the time he needs to unlace them to memorize what being with him feels like in this moment, the last time things will be easy. 

He levers up and nudges his boots over to yours, where they sit side by side. Tears choke your voice again, and you’re praying it’s just a pregnancy thing rather than a ‘you being an unstable wreck’ thing.

“Sit.” You turn to the kitchen, setting your kettle on the stove and turning the knob to high. He hunkers down on the worn cream leather of your couch. You linger in front of your stovetop as long as you can, fussing with the mug Simon uses almost always, an ugly misshapen pink thing you’d made at a beginner ceramics class four years ago. It’s chipped at the lip, rose coloured glaze cracked, exposing the beige clay underneath it. Your hand glances over boxes of tea, back and forth over colourful labels that may as well be written in gibberish for all the luck you're having reading them. 

It feels like there's no air in the room, like the secret under your t-shirt is taking it all, vacuum sealing your room until your chest burns and your head feels like it's going to pop. You tear open a brand new box of earl grey, stuffing it back onto your shelf when the tea bag is sat securely in the cup. 

"What's wrong?” He grouses from the couch, and it’s only then that you realize your shoulders are hunched up around your ears. 

“I..” your stomach rolls and sweat begins to bead on your forehead. You can hear him stir in his seat behind you, shifting forward so he can peer at you from your living room. Saliva gathers in your mouth, and oh god, maybe you actually will throw up, it’s too early for morning sickness right? Unless the stupid tests were wrong and now you’re going to cover your countertops in the stew you had for lun-

“Hey.” Simon is standing behind you now, his hands gripping your shoulders, shaking you lightly until you whip around to face him. The kettle is screaming now, filling your home with that shrill, high shriek of steam from the boiling water whistling through the appliance's tiny spout. 

Somehow it’s still quieter than your pulse pounding in your ear.

“I’m pregnant.” You choke out, if only to stop yourself from retching over Simon’s socked feet. God, it’s like time stops, then it splits and cracks in clean halves. Into before and after he knew. Before and after his concerned expression crumbled into disbelief, before and after he schooled that disbelief into placid nothingness. And it’s not like you’d entertained the delusion that he’d be happy about it. But the silent hang time before he reacts is this terrible, hollow, unknown that tears up your insides and relishes in the shiny, red viscera. 

A gruff, quiet "Are you sure?" is what you get from him, when he finally recovers, and you try so hard not to let it bother you. It's a shock. A surprise. A loud bang in the middle of a serene night, a cannon going off in your face, a gunshot into the sky when you thought the race was an hour from starting. 

You try to give him a bit of grace. Still, the pit in your stomach grows.

Now it's a bit of a sinkhole.

"Baby, I wouldn't be telling you if I wasn't sure." You move to snag your fingers into the fabric of his shirt, to tug him close so you can hold each other, support each other, but he take a small step backwards, letting his palms slip from your shoulders. 

The sinkhole is a cavern, yawning wide, open and empty. 

You toss your hope and love inside.

“I need…some time.” He mutters, slinking out of your space, out of the kitchen and back into your entryway. 

'Time to fucking what?' you think, but hold back. You know Simon. You love Simon. And you remember where he's come from. What he's come from. You realize a second too late you should be following him, and when you stumble over the kitchen threshold, he’s tying up his boots, his broad back facing you. You try to peer around him, try to get a look at his face, desperate to gauge where he’s at. But when you notice he’s knocked your shoes over in his scramble to get away, to be anywhere but here, you stop moving..

“Y-yeah. Okay. Just..uh, get back to me soon okay?” you stutter, and wrap your arms around yourself, like you know Simon won't. Not with the way his hands are shaking. 

He doesn’t even respond this time. 

The soldier just stands. He opens your front door. And walks out. Leaving you in your entryway. Water past its boiling point in the kettle.

You don’t see him again until you’re four, nearly five months along, the bump under your clothes now impossible to hide. When you stumble into your home, exhausted from working, he’s in your living room. Sitting there in his mask at your tiny dining room table. Like no time has passed at all. Like he should be there. You realize you never did get your spare house key back.

“Get out.” you spit, blood boiling under your skin. 

"I know you're upset-" He begins, like he’s about to deliver a practiced speech.

"Get the fuck out!" Your tone is caustic, and you hope it burns him, hope it strips off all the facade on the rotting structure he is underneath.

"I never meant to leave it so long. This." He won't even say it. Can't even refer to you, let alone your baby. He stands up and becomes this big, dark mass in the bright space of your living room, black mask, black shirt, black boots, just a huge black hole that sucks up every good feeling you’d had in his absence, every ray of light that’d shone through the dark gloom he’d left behind. Nothing escapes his pull. 

He peers at you from the gap in his mask. The stark white skull stretched over his face mocks you, maliciously whispers in your ear; ‘Did you think you knew him? That he was honest with you? Open to you?’

And you had. You did. You thought you were making progress, building some semblance of a future, falling in love.

It makes you sick to your stomach to think of it.

"You want to apologize, take the fucking mask off Simon." Your voice breaks, and part of you hopes he hears it for the plea it is. Hopes he understands what you’re asking of him. Hopes he feels how bad you missed him, under the hurt and pain and bitter, bitter loneliness. If he would just take it off, just pull the stupid fabric over his face and show you he was still yours under there, that he’d make a mistake and he’s ready now, then maybe the two of you could fix it. This.

Instead, his silence, his stillness cracks open your ribcage and pours black ink over your heart.

Humiliation and anger simmer on your tongue. What comes next is shockingly easy. "Oh you can't do it, huh? Can't be a fucking person with me, huh?" You shove at his chest, and he takes it, staring at you with pain in his eyes. Like this is hurting him.

"I shouldn't have waited so long, but I-" he steps towards you and it feels so good to rip away from his touch. To step back from his advance.

"No!” You shout, and your face is so hot, skin ablaze with righteous anger. “Shut up! Three months? Are you out of your fucking mind?"

And yes, one month of that was deployment, you’d known that, you’d talked about it, together. One month of no contact. One month of sand and heat and blood. But the other two months had been that white hot panic you'd felt on your own, in that tiny bathroom with the peeling blue wallpaper he'd promised he'd help you strip and replace. The other months had been missed calls, and ignored texts and you getting bigger under your sweaters because unlike him, you couldn't just take a break from the situation.

“Get the fuck out of my house!” You shove past him, deeper into your home, spinning around so he’s closer to your entryway than you are. “Don’t you ever show your face here again, do you hear me?” You’re screaming now, much to Ghost’s visible discomfort. Good. You hope your nosy ass neighbours call the cops. You hope they physically remove his pathetic ass. You hope they embarrass him. (It isn’t very likely, of course. But God, could you dream).

“You can't just keep it from me.” He steps closer and you lament that he has you on the backfoot. It’s your space, your home and yet it feels as though you’re the one who’s out of place, off kilter and uncomfortable. You glare at him. 

“It’s mine too.”

‘It’ he says, and that bothers you. Irks you. Him calling your baby an ‘it’. 

“Give me a fucking break, it wasn’t yours when you left me, you couldn’t wait to get your sorry ass out of here when I told you. Now you wanna play daddy? I don’t fucking think so.” You dig your fingernails into the meat of your palms, leaving aching crescents in their wake. 

“And you know what? Maybe it’s my fault for wanting to be with someone who is so fundamentally fucking broken that he couldn’t fucking bear to show me his goddamn face until I’d begged him. Maybe I’m the idiot for thinking you could ever be capable of love, of decency. I needed you. And you abandoned me, Simon. You are a fucking monster.” 

The word hangs in the air, hovering between the two of you where it can’t be taken back, and it sure as hell can’t be forgotten.

“You are good at distancing yourself, you are good at killing your feelings. Keep doing that. Stay the fuck away from me and my kid.” You’re panting when you finish, and everything hurts, one of your hands is bleeding, your eyelids prickle with the pain of unshed tears, your throat feels strained and tight. He nods once, jerky and quick, before he takes an unbalanced step back. Then another and another, his eyes never leaving yours, like he’s looking for something, anything other than hurt and hatred.

But there’s nothing else to find.

He turns, opening your front door and trudging out, heavy footfalls bracketing short moments of gut wrenching silence. It feels final. But it doesn’t feel good. Not like you thought it might.

He’s halfway into his SUV when you scramble out your front door, shouting over your porch railing to him in your driveway. “And get rid of my fucking keys!” He stares at you, standing stockstill, before he gets in the driver’s seat and pulls away.

whew, nice to post ghosty-poo again

series masterlist here

support city girls, reblog what u like

[dark-and-kawaii]

𝐹𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝑒𝓃𝑒𝒹 𝐿𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝒟𝑜𝓋𝑒

Haarlep x Reader/Tav

Summary: Haarlep is torn between their nature as an incubus and unexpected feelings for you as they comfort you through a nightmare.

Notes: This was supposed to be apart of the soft Haarlep series but I preferred it on its own. Maybe I’m wrong for that, but still enjoy our favorite incubus xoxo

Ao3

Haarlep stirs from their slumber as they sense your body wracked with silent tremors. Their groggy gaze, heavy with the remnants of the void, lands upon you. There, in the dim lighted boudoir, they watch your features contort in silent agony.

Your brows knitted in distress; eyes flickering in a frenzied dance behind their veils, fists clenched to the point of blanching, and oh, those delectable beads of sweat adorning your brow, rendering you a vision of tortured grace. Trapped in the clutches of a nightmare, how Haarlep’s dark heart revels in the sweetness of your fear. You looked beautiful like this.

Yet, as he languishes in the sight of your torment, a bitter reminder gnaws at them; you are Raphael's precious "little mouse”. A reluctant savior, the incubus nudges your shoulder, coaxing you back to the waking world of Avernus. Your eyes flutter open, brimming with tears that carve trails of sorrow down your cheeks.

"Such agony etched upon your face, a sight so deliciously tragic," Haarlep muses, propping themselves up on one elbow, drinking in the view of your disheveled form. Your breaths come in tattered heaves, your gaze locking onto theirs with a terror that suggests you're still ensnared by the nightmare's tendrils.

"Haarlep?" you whisper, the name a feeble breath of sound.

"Last I checked," Their tone laced with an edge of mockery.

You scan them, searching, clinging to the reality of their presence. "I... You were-,” You hesitated, your eyes twitching from the vivid nightmare, “You were dead…- taken from me in that nightmare…," you confess, your voice a fractured whisper as you burrow into their warm chest, seeking solace. "The fear was-, the thought of losing you… I-”

Those words strike a dissonant chord in Haarlep's shadowed heart. Their expression falters, unseen by you. Shouldn't your heart be laden with dread at the thought of losing Raphael, not them, a mere incubus bound to the infernal depths? The revelation is a torment all on its own, a twisted irony that stirs within their damned soul.

Your head remained buried in their chest, Haarlep could feel the cascade of tears soaking into their skin, each drop a testament to your fears. Your grip on them tightens, as if afraid to let go, as if desperate to anchor yourself to Haarlep to assure you of their existence. Fingers dig into their fiendish skin, a grasp so desperate it borders on pain, a silent plea for him to remain at your side, "It felt so real, Haarlep," you murmur against them, the weight of your sorrow imbuing your every word. "To lose you… I- I couldn't bear it… I was so scared."

How Haarlep longed to devour those precious tears, to gorge themself on your terror. But, there, in that moment, with your trembling form nestled against their chest, your words meant for them rather than Raphael, they feel the ache to embrace you, to soothe away the shadows of your nightmare.

"You should watch your words, dove," Haarlep purrs, stroking the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair. "What would Raphael do, should he hear these words?"

You stiffen at the mention of his name, your breath caught in your throat, but the tears continue to spill.

"What would you have me do?" Haarlep hums. "Would you have me vanquish the devil that taints your dreams?" They punctuate the question with a nip to your shoulder, savoring the flavor of your skin, your body responding with a shudder.

"Just… stay with me," you breathe. "Please. Don’t ever go."

Haarlep sighs. How cruel this night proves itself to be, taunting them with a morsel of desire and then robbing them of its sweet sustenance. But they oblige, allowing you to wrap yourself around their frame, their limbs coiling around yours.

"Sleep," Haarlep whispers against the nape of your neck.

Their command seeps into the air. It beckons to your consciousness, dragging you back into the realm of sleep. Haarlep watches as your muscles relax, a contented sigh escaping your lips. A smirk graces their lips, yet the expression fails to reach their eyes, an emptiness lurking behind their crimson gaze…

An emptiness that is foreign, unwelcome. A feeling unbefitting of a creature born of darkness and lust. Haarlep's nature dictates they relish in the despair of others, and feed off their pleasure, not offer comfort, not feel the pang of something akin to... concern? But as you lie there, clinging to them, Haarlep cannot deny the shift within, the stirrings of a sentiment they dare not name aloud.

In the quietude of the boudoir, with only the flickering shadows as their audience, Haarlep contemplates the enigma you've become. To them, you are Raphael's, yet, in this moment, you are undeniably theirs. The incubus is caught in a web of their own making, one thread of true care woven into the fabric of deceit and seduction.

"Little dove," Haarlep murmurs, their face pressing into your shoulder. You nestle closer, a silent affirmation of the security you feel in Haarlep's arms as you drift off.

Haarlep remains still, allowing the quiet rhythm of your breath to wash over them, a calming counter to the chaos of their thoughts. Soon a new day will bring reality, and with it, Raphael's return. Haarlep knows that when the time comes to relinquish you back to their master, the incubus will do so with a heavy heart, a heart that should know no such weight.

For now, they allow themselves this indulgence, to watch over you as you sleep, to be your silent protector against the night's terrors. And when you awake to greet Raphael, Haarlep will retreat behind their mask of indifference, their role as your companion tucked away like a shadow at daybreak.

Yet, as Haarlep's eyes finally close, surrendering to the weary pull of their own slumber, they cannot escape the truth that has been whispered in the dark: they do not wish to let you go. And that realization is perhaps the most terrifying dream of all.

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐌𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐬

↳ summary: it's late, and you find yourself thinking about life on the road as you know it

↳ notes: been thinking about short haired sam a lot lately, and wanted to write something that captured the feel of the earlier seasons. bit shorter than usual, but enjoy!

↳ warnings: none

↳ song: every rose has its thorn—poison

masterlist | commissions | carrd

These were the moments you loved the most.

The hunter lifestyle didn't offer much. It didn't offer comfort, it didn't offer money, and it certainly didn't offer saftey, so you had to make do with what presented itself. If that meant getting breakfast from shitty gas stations more often than not, or staying cooped up in a car for hours on end, then so be it.

There was something oddly poetic in the way you lived your life. You had nothing to your name but the clothes on your back and a sturdy gun Dean had traded you for your old one once meeting you for the first time. Your diet consisted of greasy finger foods, a rare bite of Sam's salad when he felt like sharing, and two beers short of an alcoholics anonymous intervention. Your hospital bills were a mile long and then some— or they would be if you didn't have a habit of changing aliases every time the three of you hopped a state line —and scars riddled the cracked expanse of your skin. But you loved the lifestyle, and it loved you in its own sick, twisted way.

Occasionally the world outside your own would slow down so you could catch up to it. It would be the small things to ground you back in reality away from spectors and spooks. Pulling off the road and stopping to watch a sunset. Spending the night out at a nice bar with clean countertops. Having enough money to sleep in a nice motel; one that didn't make you feel like you were going to catch the plauge just by standing in the rooms doorway.

That's where you were right now. In a cleaner-than-you're-used-to room, awake when you probably shouldn't be, catching up on a chapter or two of your current book while your two roughed up, flannel wearing, loveably stubborn companions snored away on the beds across from you. Dean was the louder one tonight, but you couldn't be particularly bothered to get up and get him to stop. Knowing your luck, he'd oblige for a few moments before rolling on his side and forgetting you were ever there. How Sam dealt with it was beyond you, but then again, he had spent a lot more time around his brother than you. Perks of being siblings. Or downsides, you mused with a slight grin.

You paused in your reading to look up. Even if your back was aching a little and your feet yearned to be propped up on a nice polyester pillow or two, the sight of Sam and Dean sleeping was enough to curb those urges. They deserved as much rest as they could get. The last hunt you all had gone on had been pretty brutal, and the two of them had ended up taking on the majority of the grunt work while you cased the perimeter of the building the monster had holed up in. Djinns. Always a finicky bunch.

Sam turned over in his sleep slightly, mumbling something under his breath before sighing. Your lips quirked upwards as you watched from afar. Particularly at how his hair seemed to fan out from his head in a halo shape. You noticed that he had been growing his hair out recently, and while that didn't surprise you— it's not like you all exactly had time to stop in at a barber shop —you found yourself missing the almost fluffy quality his old hair held. Oh well. You'd settle for the sheen this new style brought.

Running a hand down your face, you blew out a puff air in a show of amusement. You must have stayed up later than you'd thought if you were resorting to critiquing Sam's hair of all things. Dreading a quick look at the analog clock on the motels nightstand, you went for it anyway, and was hit in the face with the knowledge that you'd stayed up for so long that it was already tomorrow. As if to punctuate the glowing green numbers, a bird outside chirped happily, and you grimaced at the thought of how the lack of sleep would affect you later.

It took a total of three seconds for you to dog ear the page you were on and set the book down. The lamp you had been using as a light source plunged the room into darkness with a click, and it left you with a slight impression on the back of your eyelids.

Your feet led you over to the soft couch with little to no protest, and a throw pillow bounced off its surface when you flopped down. Not even bothering to search around in a dark closet for a blanket, you buried your face in the couches slightly perfumed fabric, said a silent prayer of thanks to Dean for getting such a nice room, and smiled.

"Night guys."

And then you were out.

[meowzfordayz]

within view

Author’s Note: this is sorta canon, sorta not? 😅 It’s set in the JJK-verse, but that’s about it. 🤷🏻‍♀️ Shoutout to @soumies who forever inspires me w/ her love and writing for Megumi (highly encourage you to binge and reblog her masterpieces). 💞

within view

Fushiguro Megumi x Reader

Word Count: ~1,700

CW: 18+NSFW, cream!pie, explicit language, Fem!Reader, oral, spit, traumatic references

~faqs~

“Is this okay?” Megumi murmurs, chest hovering above your naked breasts, forehead nearly touching yours as he straddles your hips, so afraid to mar your skin, yet so enthralled by its warmth, your softness.

“Of course it is,” you smile—a knowing, aching smile—ignoring how his fingers tremor in favor of stroking his cheek, nose bumping solid and grounding against his.

“You’re beautiful.”

His tone is hushed. A quiet, almost melancholy reverence of how fragile and fleeting your closeness is, your scars somehow brighter under the sleepy yellow light of his room. Can we turn the light off? he’d asked, freezing like a deer caught in headlights at the sight of you already perched on his bed, fuzzy socks kneading at his worn carpet. Anxious? you’d replied, raising a gentle eyebrow I’ve got you. And he’d had a moment, a moment of self loathing and longing, a moment of But I should have you, a moment of how Anxious couldn’t even begin to describe how he felt, tangled in the scent and truth of you. Choking through the future of losing you, your blood staining the palms of his too-big hands, your pulse faltering, slipping, slipped through the gate of his heart.

“Thank you,” you say, smile widening as your chapped lips brush his, bitten and red.

“I want to feel you come undone,” Megumi whispers, fingers still tremoring as he slowly cups your tits, elbows sinking into the mattress on either side of you, rough thumbs caressing your nipples while your tongue traces his confession back into his mouth, “I want to memorize every piece of you.”

I couldn’t bear forgetting you.

“This isn’t your first time, is it?”

It isn’t.

But it’s his first time with you. It’s his first time feeling the dread of time, of how quickly your shirt and skirt ended up pooled on the floor; of how quickly he surrounded you, body craving the strength and tenderness of your flesh; of how quickly this first time will be. Of how he wished he could make it last forever. Make you last forever.

“Nah,” he mumbles, blushing as he meets your curious gaze, doing his best to focus on the gleam in your eyes instead of your erect nipples, “Not really.”

Your arms reach up and around his back, its smoothness punctuated by gnarled scarring, guiding his weight onto you, eyelashes fluttering at the hardness of his bulge pressed into your groin. He groans at the friction, squeezing your tits when you grind yourself upward, wet kisses dipping from your mouth to your chin to the hollow of your throat. His kisses travel further downward, steered by the adoring tug and push of your fingers in his hair. Pausing at your bellybutton, Megumi grins lazily, resting on your abdomen while he nibbles playfully at your sparse happy trail. You snort fondly, scratching patiently at the tops of his ears before tugging him again.

“What do you want?”

The heat of his words goes straight to your core, faintly muffled by the cotton of your panties, a plaintive push of his head deeper into your clothed pussy making him chuckle.

“I want what you want,” you declare, thighs tightening then loosening around him, beckoning him toward your desire, spine arching into the promise of his breath, “To come undone.”

For you.

By you.

Megumi’s eyes narrow, a satisfied inhalation your only warning before he’s shuffling to the end of the bed, broad shoulders looking prettier than ever with your legs slung careless and muscular over them. Your panties come off with an impatient, clumsy effort, joining the puddle of your shirt and skirt, one hand settling on your lower stomach, the other nestling itself between your thighs. You squeal at the sudden flick of his tongue on your cunt, the hand on your stomach pulling subtly to reveal your clit while sly, calloused fingers prod large and teasing at your moist folds. You can feel the growing smugness in his ministrations as he commits to a rapid lapping pace, tongue relentless as he stimulates your bud, a low Behave short circuiting your squirming as the pressure increases. Switching to a careful sucking, your clit throbs in his mouth as your needy whimpering spurs him on, the dull pain of your fingers in his hair a welcomed distraction from the gradual tiring of his jaw. You whine loudly when he changes to a messy swirling, the tip of his tongue circling your clit with hungry fervor, that same hand pressing demanding and firm on your stomach, your cunt dripping eagerly onto his now glistening fingers while a filthy, viscous noise fills the air as he toys sloppily with your folds. I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum you gasp on repeat, begging him to Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop the slightest alteration in tempo and direction waxing and waning your climax, building and building your climax as he interrupts and interrupts it, five seconds away from writhing in his grip.

When you cum, Megumi thinks he might’ve died. Perished between the clench of your thighs around his head, the flex of your calves as your toes curl, your cunt hugging his fingers, and how your fingernails dig unforgiving yet contentedly into his scalp, your limbs convulsing with a familiar, addictive pleasure. You bask in a sweeping haze of Megumi and Thank you and Anytime, I mean it your sweaty skin a priceless pillow for his cheek as you painstakingly meander back to the land of the living.

“May I make love to you?” he requests, the calming of your heartbeat audible in the stillness of the aftermath, wiping his swollen and sticky mouth with the back of his hand.

He’s desperate to devour the image of your orgasming, exhausted body; to float in the exuberance of his damp sheets and the smell of sex. Your sex.

“Mhm,” you hum in blissful agreement, yawning with a sheepish giggle as he crawls up to kiss your flushed face, legs lifting and splitting while he struggles to kick off his sweatpants, briefs clinging to one of his ankles as he gives up on stripping completely.

“You’re so… fuck,” Megumi mutters, enamored with your shameless display, the glow of your anticipation, dewy strings of cum so lewd and stunning as you spread your folds for him.

Positioning himself with a shy confidence, his cock slaps heavy and engorged on your clit, counting his lucky stars as you shudder with sensitivity, the tip catching once, twice, thrice on your hole. Precum lubricates his initial jut forward, cockhead forcing its way through the entrance of your cunt, relaxed from your prior orgasm, but too tight to immediately accept his girth. Fuck he hisses, hiding his scrunched expression in the curve of your neck Shit! He thrusts again and again, spitting on his length—and then your cunt—to ease the process, cock steadily plunging deeper and deeper into your pussy. His hands clutch your hips, then your sides, and finally your shoulders, hunched over you as he resists the urge to collapse, uneven panting tickling your ear. You moan when he bottoms out, balls plump against your asshole, his biceps trembling not from how possessively he holds you, but from the plush slick of your cunt and how perfectly your breaths sound as he fucks them frantic and determined from your lungs, resigned to his fate of cumming far too soon.

“Touch yourself,” he pleads, wanting, needing you to cum at least once more, “Touch yourself and cum with me.”

You abide in an instant, matching the rhythm of your practiced fingers to the selfish pace of his thrusts, suffocating on the fullness of his cock, the jab of his tip pounding into your walls, the nasty pap pap pap of his balls slamming against your asshole harder and faster as he approaches his orgasm. You deserve to feel this forever you think as his bed rocks conspicuously into the wall, the guarded shadow of his usually steadfast resentment barely discernible, overflowing with a certain greed that only you can coax from his self disparaging worldview.

“I’m cumming,” he grunts, jaw tensing as his eyes squeeze shut, jolting with exertion as he spurts hot and thick into your pulsating cunt, your fingers smooshed between your body and his as you climax with him, “Fuck…” as he fills your luscious hole, twitching every time you clench from your own orgasm, cum threatening to ooze out as his cock slowly limpens, “Fuck…”

You wonder if Megumi knows how majestic he looks when he cums; if he’s aware of the whines and whimpers that escape him, similar to your own exclamations, but more guttural and staccato; if he feels vulnerable when he gives into the sensation of falling, an endeared Oof knocked from your sternum as he lays spent and sated on your breasts. And he wonders if you know how terribly you’re ruining him, the feathery graze of your fingertips dragging through his hair a sore respite for his yearning. Wonders if he could melt into your embrace and simply… stay there. If you could shield him with your fierce temper and share of battle weary scars, the reality of living—of curses and death and ticking time bombs—extending unfortunate and tangible beyond the paradise of You. He would fight for you in turn, protected by your sturdy resolve as he protects you with his particular insanity. You wonder What if as he disentwines himself from you, cum beginning to trickle from your cunt as he hurries to fetch a washcloth for you. He wonders I was enough as you let him cleanse your skin, wiping patient and mesmerized, his cum glossy and translucent.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, curling nude and sleepy behind you, “Should we get dressed?”

“Mmm, let me borrow one of your shirts?” you respond, drowsily wiggling your bum against his groin, “Clothes, cuddles, snacks.”

How can he deny you when you reach blindly for his hand, nuzzling cutely into his palm Mwah! as soon as he relinquishes it to you.

“Yeah,” his voice cracks, a dumbfounded intimacy unfurling its wings in the center of his palm, “Yeah. Alright. In what order?”

You laugh, a cheerful, unbothered declaration of safe, “Does it matter?”

Megumi supposes that No, no it doesn’t so long as you’re wearing his favorite shirt, sitting on his lap, eating his instant ramen. Nothing else matters, if you’re within view.

[crowborn666-nsfw]

His Anger

(I have a bite kink can you tell)

Satan x Reader

Tags: AFAB Reader, angry satan(not at you tho <3), biting, talk of safeword, unprotected sex, he calls you kitten, bath with aftercare,

~~~~~~

You knew by the sheer aura that filled the air that Satan was anything but happy. You glanced up from your book, watching his bedroom door for when it evidently would slam open.

Satan often allowed you to read in the quiet of his room, but you’d never been in there when he’s mad.

Like you expected, the door slammed open, a stack of books falling over drawing an angry curse from the demon in the doorway.

With slightly shaky hands, you glanced down to bookmark your place and set the book aside. When you looked up, the door had been shut and Satan was there.

“H-Hello…” you swallowed, eyeing him quietly. He was definitely angry, but there was a tiny spark of something different in his expression.

“What are you doing here?” He hissed, inching closer to you. Instinctively, you leaned back.

“R-Reading, if I’d known you were angry I would’ve chosen a different place to read.” You whispered into the quiet of the room. You glanced away, no longer able to hold his piercing gaze. “I-I can leave you be if you want.”

As your leg slid out from under you and your foot touched the floor, Satan’s hand shot forward, squeezing your thigh tight.

“No. Stay.”

“O-Okay.” You nodded, a squeal leaving you as you were suddenly scooped up into the air. You clung to his shoulders, his arms hooked together in the crook of your knees as he stood, hot breath fanning over your chest and neck.

You soon felt the mattress hit your back, and it hit you then what Satan wanted.

You quickly moved to discard your shirt, earning a pleased purr from the demon above you.

“What’s your word?”

“Huh?” You blinked up at him, doe-like confusion written plainly on your face even in the dim light of the room. He leaned down closer to your face, green eyes shining in the dark.

“Safeword.”

“Oh!” you smiled sheepishly, taking a moment to think, “…Cat.”

He chuckled down at you, waiting as you shimmied out of your pants, kicking them off the bed. You looked back up at him, feeling a bit hot despite being clad in only your underclothes, you were sure your face was flushed.

After all, he was staring at you so intently, taking in your features. His hands trailed your sides, thumbs rubbing circles into your stomach.

Despite the calm air, it dissipated in an instant as Satan’s grip on your hips tightened and he yanked you towards him, causing you to grind against his hips. A startled moan left you, which was followed by a chuckle from Satan, whose thumb began rubbing circles into your clit.

You moaned, squirming under his touch. You didn’t dare ask for more or for something different, you knew Satan was in a very angry, fragile mindset, so you decided to let him do as he pleased.

Just as that thought finished passing through your mind, Satan leaned down, carefully nipping at your ear. “I want to hear you.”

He trailed his lips and teeth down your neck, sucking and biting marks into your skin, taking care not to break skin, even in his angered state.

“What else can I do to help?” You asked, words punctuated by small moans.

“Let me have you.” Satan growled, clearly starting to lose composure again. You nodded, gasping when he practically tore through your bra and panties, growling as his lips attached to your skin.

You kept your hands fisted into the sheets, unsure if he wanted you to touch him. You let your jaw fall open, giving him every sound that left you as he bit and marked your chest, his own hips rolling against yours.

You moaned as your felt his erection against your thigh, your sex getting more and more slick with each brush of fabric on skin.

“Please…”

The plea had slipped from your lips, and dread settled in as Satan slowed to a pause, lifting his head with a growl, “What was that?”

You trembled, not missing the way he grinned against your skin. No turning back now…

“P-Please?” You desperately hoped your voice sounded like a gentle request, you didn’t want to irritate Satan further by acting needy, “I’ll be good, Satan. Just please fill me? Need you, I’ll be so good!”

Satan hummed, sharp nails tapping against your hips. You shut your eyes, laying still in case he wished to ignore your plea.

Adrenaline rushed through you at the sound of shifting fabric, and it wasn’t long before you were gasping at the feeling of Satan’s cock sliding through your folds. “Well, since you asked so nicely. You better be good for me, kitten.”

“I will—ah!”

Your voice was ripped away when he sank into you in one thrust, your voice coming back strangled as you adjusted. You were sure your knuckles were white from how tightly you were gripping the sheets.

You met Satan’s glowing green gaze, yet it seemed he wasn’t an angry as before.

“Go ahead,” you breathed, “you can move.”

Satan wasted no time, setting a brutal pace with a snarl. His lips and teeth found your jaw, hands holding down your hips as he rammed into you. You moaned pitifully as pleasure and pain rippled through you, the sound of the bed creaking reaching your ears.

It wasn’t long until you could feel that knot build inside you, threatening to snap.

“‘M close!” You breathed out, panting directly into his ear as he growled out a moan of his own in response.

“Just hang in there, you can do that can’t you?”

“Yeah, I think so.” You moaned, taking note of Satan’s faltering pace. Tears pricked your eyes as your release got closer and closer, and just as you were worried you wouldn’t be able to hold out, Satan leaned down into your ear.

“Cum.”

You came with a cry, back arching as you felt warmth in your lower belly, and Satan moaned into your neck.

Your pants filled the silence of the room, and in the dim light you could see Satan’s horns and tail disappearing.

“Feel better?” You asked, lifting a shaky hand to his hair.

Satan nodded, lifting his head to assess you as he pulled out.

“Does anything hurt? Was I too rough with you?”

You shook your head. “No I’m okay.”

You sat up, just as Satan leaned forward to press gentle kisses to the bite marks that littered your body.

“Let’s go wash up.”

The warm water of the bath was heavenly, and you leaned back into Satan’s chest once he was settled behind you. Satan was adamant about you not lifting a finger, taking it upon himself to clean you both up.

And by the looks of it, he’d slipped some kind of potion into the bath, as the bite marks you could see were fading away. He murmured praises into your ear, kissing your neck to help you relax further.

Once the bath was done, Satan dried you off himself, helped you keep your balance as you got dressed. The ache between your legs was still evident, and your legs still felt like jelly, but nonetheless, Satan was happy to carry you back to his room, crawling into his bed with you, which was cleaned with a simple spell.

As you both settled into each other, you pressed kisses to his neck with a hum.

“My turn?”

Satan laughed softly, lifting his chin for you. “Your turn.”