#so again probably kind of bad opinions.

[lorillee]

i have no evidence to back this statement up mainly because im avoiding like the vast majority of the yakuza fandom like the plague because i dont want to get spoiled. but i would honestly bet you money that out of majimas most popular ships the majima/saejima shippers probably consistently have the best opinions

[daisywords]

\

[onewingedangels]

I was watching someone on yt ranking tr1-5 levels from worst to best and they put one of the Ireland levels as "the worst" level ever like my guy my dude vci headquarters levels are right there........

[sparklecur]

drawing generic bust shots 999999 times in a row Makes Me Happy but so does getting notes on my posts and at some point im gonna have to decide which is more important

[devilsskettle]

whenever i hear a song that i would like if it weren’t for the fact that it was too long, i think about this:

like you can afford to write tangentially if you/your music is already popular and you know that people are going to listen to you no matter what and in fact laud your longer pieces as being genius etc but can you really be releasing 5+ minute long songs without a built-in audience?

[ex-vespidae]

the worst kind of gjinkas is when people take a fucking canonically ancient character and make them into the most bland looking anime teenager-looking person

hhh

[thebibliosphere]

It's so funny getting into heated discussions about reading preference styles with some people. I'm in a Discord group chat, and the topic of different POVs in fiction came up, and it was apparently a popular opinion in the group that multiple POVs in a book is "garbage" and "hot trash."

I kind of laughed it off as a funny quirk, then mentioned I couldn't relate because I find singular POVs to be extremely dull and a major turn-off when it comes to reading. But y'know, to each their own. Brains like what they like.

The temperature of the group chat got noticeably chillier, and I was informed curtly that several people in the group write singular POVs and I should think before I speak.

I said I know, just like they know I write multiple POVs, but they felt fine trashing that.

"Well, that's different."

"Why?"

"Because you're a fluke. No one likes reading multiple POVs."

Oh-kay. Again, I didn't want to get heated over it and again reiterated that not everyone's writing style will vibe for everyone. I then helpfully added, "It's like, y'know. I don't particularly enjoy first-person narratives, either. They feel juvenile to me, probably because they're predominant in a lot of YA lit, and it's jarring to read in adult fic. Doesn't mean it's bad; it just means I don't like it."

Anyway. I'll let you know when they're done burning me at the stake.

[fairestwriting]

Reader sleeping on the couch after an argument w/Dorm leaders? How they would react w/happy endings?

this got super long so i decided to change up the post layout so longer stuff would look nicer. But im also posting from a new device so if this goes up and theres any formatting fumbles then uhm. you didnt see anything

𐙚 Riddle Rosehearts

Despite how hotheaded and stubborn he is, it’s actually really rare for you two to really argue. He values your opinions on everything, and he’d hate for you to feel like he doesn’t hear you or care about your feelings. The last thing he wants is to make you feel like doesn’t care.

That, however, is something he’s still learning. It’s not very easy to let go of the habits he developed growing up— Especially if he thinks what he’s doing is best for you. He doesn’t know how to convince people, so he ends up coming off forceful and inconsiderate. It might even happen without him noticing he messed up, if you’re not extra straightforward about it.

So he knew you weren’t happy with him, but really didn’t think it was that bad, seeing you asleep on the couch is the last thing he was expecting. Even more if it’s the first time it happens, it makes him freeze go into panic mode.

You’re woken up to a really shaken looking Riddle, asking you what you’re doing on the couch at this time in very genuine confusion. He might not even have considered it was because of the argument, too focused on trying to figure out what’s up with you. And it’s hard to stay upset at him when he so readily listens to whatever you have to say, apologizing profusely and making a promise to not do it again that he’ll always keep. His intention from the start was to do what’s best for you, after all— So if he turns out to be wrong, the first thing he wants to do is to correct it.

𐙚 Leona Kingscholar

Arguing with Leona is… definitely a situation. It might have you wondering if it even counts as an argument at all. Sometimes he just doesn’t seem to even react to what you have to say, sometimes he straight up states he can’t be bothered to argue. He’s not as stubborn towards people he really likes, but he’s still very proud.

He can actually tell that he messed up very quickly, pretty much in the middle of whatever interaction went wrong, but can’t bring himself to actually back down and admit it. He doesn’t even bother trying to convince himself that he’s right or anything, he’s just that allergic to saying the word “sorry”.

When he walks past you, his first thought is that he should just “let you sulk”. It’s probably not the first time it happens to him in a relationship— And the same routine plays out every time. He wants to walk away, but he can’t. He eventually does, then he comes back and stares for minutes. Regret starts to really sink in then.

You have a blanket draped over you the day after, and Leona just so happens to be around to ask, much more tentatively than usual, if you’re coming with him to get breakfast. It’s his version of an apology, kind of. He’ll actually say it out loud if the subject of the argument was more serious, but that’s rare. He’s not very good at this and the both of you are aware of that, but he still cares, and he’ll get there eventually. Maybe.

𐙚 Azul Ashengrotto

Surprisingly, or perhaps not, he might actually have the lowest argument rate out of all dorm leaders? He owes a lot of it to just being good with words, he pretty much always manages to bring up his disagreements in a really non-confrontational way, they’ll barely even register as disagreements at all. If he can’t find a way to seamlessly compromise, he often just keeps his thoughts to himself.

...Mostly because he gets too anxious at the possibility of you rejecting him. Even if it’s something small, it’ll stay inside his head and refuse to leave, getting dwelled on when life starts to get particularly stressful. If you two argue, the likelihood is that he actually started it, because some other minor issue came up and the pile he was mentally stacking ended up falling apart.

Things can get really messy in the moment. Everything sounds offensive to him when he’s freaking out, while at the same time he’s painfully aware that he’s being overly emotional and causing problems that didn’t exist before. He stops his rant suddenly when self control manages to return to him, but at that point things were already said, and you’re walking separate ways after he awkwardly suggests you two just take a moment to cool off.

He might not even see you on the couch, being too ashamed to leave his office, but Jade will let him know either way. Azul won’t disrupt your sleep, and he’ll even try to give you enough time in the morning to get through your usual routine, but as soon as it’s possible he’s looking for you to privately apologize. He takes care to clear up any misunderstandings before voicing any of his worries, even though it’s visible how nervous he is. It comforts him just to see you looking at him with fondness again, seriously relieved that he won’t be losing you over the situation.

𐙚 Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim is another one who doesn’t really argue, but that’s not to say he doesn’t voice his disagreements, because he does, and he does it very often. It happens as soon as the thought pops up in his mind, spoken all lightheartedly. Regardless of what the subject being talked about is.

…Which can very easily become a problem. He does take all your boundaries very seriously, but you need to be very straightforward about them. So if it happens that you two get into a topic he doesn’t know is touchy for you, he might say something that comes off insensitive. And yes, he will ask you as soon as he sees the change in your expression, but the lack of tact doesn’t mix well with you already being upset, and you end up just walking away.

Only then he stops talking, freezing up completely. He can tell, that you probably want some space now, and he’ll honor that— but the whole thing doesn’t leave his mind for hours. He has no clue of when he should go look for you to try to talk and apologize, no clue of how he should even word it all when he doesn’t know what he did wrong. His heart shatters when he sees you sleeping on the couch.

He probably asked Jamil for advice, then heard that he should really give you your space, but he just can’t take it. You get shaken awake and he’s tearing up while he apologizes, saying he really didn’t mean to make you upset, that he’ll do his best to be more careful if you tell him just what went wrong, but also that you don’t need to talk right now if you don’t want— He’s a little clumsy, and very emotional, but you know he means well, and that he loves you very much, which he’ll be sure remind you of over and over again.

𐙚 Vil Schoenheit

It’s no secret that he can really nag people, but Vil really doesn’t like to actually argue— He’ll say it every time a disagreement or misunderstanding starts to get tense. Partially a self-reminder, he’s aware that he doesn’t have nearly as much patience as he would like to. It can take a decent amount of effort to keep himself in check.

You two do successfully compromise very often, but sometimes even his suggestions can come off very harsh. It’s no secret to anyone who knows him. His peacemaking attempts are still pretty blunt, and his opinions are never held back. It can easily get upsetting, going as far as feeling like he’s judging you even though he’s not.

Vil actually takes a moment to tell that he might have said the wrong thing. He’s not so proud he’ll refuse to admit his own mistakes, but he’s just… used to upsetting people. You can outright leave mid conversation and it still won’t be his gut reaction, he always believes whatever he’s saying and only wants the best for you. It can take a good few moments until he realizes you’re not just “sulking” the way his underclassmen at the dorm do when he scolds them. Finding you asleep on the couch can honestly shock him.

He won’t wake you up right away— It’s still important for you to get your rest, and he wants to really think about what happened before he says anything— but there’s no way he’ll let you spend the night there. His voice is really soft when he calls your name, waiting for you to gather yourself before he tells you he’s sorry. Gently reassuring you in whatever you need while he explains himself, he’ll make sure everything is okay before he touches you at all, wrapping you up into a hug when everything is finally settled.

𐙚 Idia Shroud

He’s freaking out, full stop. He didn’t even think he’d ever get far enough with someone to be in this position. Since when does he even have the audacity to argue with a partner he never even believed he’d get? Whatever he did, he wholeheartedly believes he screwed up big time.

...And even though it’s his anxiety talking first, he might actually be right. He’s usually really passive, doesn’t even voice disagreements beyond maybe just whining about not wanting to go somewhere with a lot of people. And even then, he might be willing to try, just for you — So what went wrong? Probably a messy misunderstanding, where he said a lot of things he doesn’t mean…

He’s honestly just expecting it to be over. Believing that you’re going to block all his socials and never speak to him again. The second you walk away, the only thing in his mind is the absolute worst, so when he sees you on the couch he’s… relieved? But just for a second. It means there’s still hope for him! You would have just disappared if you wanted nothing to do with him, right? But he also recognizes the trope, he knows he’s going to need to work to be forgiven—

Idia is just standing there when you wake up. Pacing around the living room and losing his mind. He gets startled when he sees you’re awake, like he’s terrified of what will come next. At least he’s had (more than) enough time to think about what happened… the apology you get is very much sincere, even if it gets rambly at certain parts, ending with the two of you comforting each other.

𐙚 Malleus Draconia

For obvious reasons, things can get tricky with Malleus. Whenever you feel like you’re really starting to understand him, something strange will happen again, it’s a real cycle. All the factors in his upbringing connect with each other to build a very specific kind of character. Even if it looks like you two are really similar, there’s going to be a minimum of a handful of details that just change everything.

He’s always careful with his words, with basically no exception, but sometimes he just doesn’t know what the “right” thing to say would be, or he doesn’t know what a certain cue could mean in the moment, or whatever he knows is something that doesn’t apply outside of specific context of the royal family he’s a part of— The possibilities are endless, but a lot of the time, it’s more likely that things will just chalk up to the fact you don’t understand each other’s perspectives.

He might notice something is off right away, he might think nothing wrong happened at all, it can be wildly different depending on the topic at hand. He’ll ask what’s wrong if he does notice, but even if you do try to explain to him why you’re hurt, it may not make sense inside his head right away. And even though he’s genuine and fast to apologize, it can feel cold when he clearly can’t tell what’s actually wrong.

When he walks by the couch you’re asleep on, it doesn’t even register as being related to the argument right away. He shakes you awake to tell you it’s not a good idea to sleep there because it gets really cold later in the night. Right now, he’s had enough time to process and understand the situation, quickly giving you a new, truly heartfelt apology. Even if in the whole thing, in retrospect, was a pretty minor issue — And if it isn’t, or you’re just not ready to forgive him yet for whatever reason, he doesn’t push it. The only thing he’ll insist on is having you sleep somewhere more comfortable, really.

if you like my work you can support me by commissioning me or tipping me on ko-fi ── ᵎᵎ ✦

[mourning-again-in-america]

@centrally-unplanned said: As someone who doesn't follow law too closely I individually hear a lot about his decisions being unsupported and ill-considered, sort of a "just isn't that good at the law" compared to Alito's "he sure has some hot takes", but as someone who only reads opinions as-needed for other non-legal topics I ofc don't hold that opinion myself, just things you hear. I see the distinction you are drawing, which makes sense!

first of all, i am, how you say, crossfaded right now, second of all, i have barely read any of his opinions, third of all, i am extremely not a lawyer, fourth of all i am a known ~will baude simp and he might be characterized as such wrt thomas tho i would not say so. furthermore, some qualifications i would like to make: I am not trying to defend his opinions in the criminal justice sphere, I think he's overreacting to a trend among the Dems that was dead for 20-30 years, was temporarily resurrected, and appears to have been quashed (see: "victimology"); this especially goes for capital cases, I disagree with him on the necessary and proper marijuana case Randy Barnett argued, I also think that he overreaches when he posits the powers of the Presidency (esp the exclusive and *non-overridable* powers of the Presidency) via Article II and welcome much more scholarship on this before various aspects of this are set in stone (see state secrets cases and many many others), as well as the qualifications on the other post, and so many more and yet furthermore, I reject argumentum ad Bostock, textualism before original public meaning and original legal meaning before "original public meaning", and I'm anti-Borkian on the 9th amendment, and probably so many other things AND YET.

i think that he has done a real service to law by demonstrating how one can try to struggle and do originalism. if it had been just him, or just scalia, people would have dismissed it as eccentrism, an odd quirk. but with *both* of them on the court, duelling and concurring to their heart's content, people took it seriously! and now we see gorsuch, kavanaugh, and barrett are each trying to show to the country that *we can do it*. we can *actually* live under constitutional government. i especially appreciate him disagreeing very publicly with the supposedly settled precedent of the Slaughterhouse Cases. i also think that contrasting New York etc. v. Bruen (authored by Thomas) with Dobbs (Alito), one sees a much sharper view of how to provide a determinate view of ascertaining rights, rights supported by text and the history of the founding etc., and less susceptible to the critique by libs that originalism is just "yadda yadda i got five votes, here's some bullshit that's sorta related that happened in the past, here's some social conservative moralizing, fuck you!". There's some more that I could go on, but I'm not sure what would be relevant to you (or any readers of this blog).

If I could offer some hypotheses as to why I think such a belief may have been propagated (and may Allah forgive me for attempting "realism" and possible assertions of bad faith), although this is a bit before my time, I believe a lot of people who are more Democrat inclined were burned hard by Bush v. Gore, and the concurrence by Rehnquist, joined by Scalia and Thomas only rubbed salt on that by suggesting (quite rightfully imo, but thankfully cabined in Moore v. Harper (2023)) that a state legislature could declare by law how that state shall delegate its electors to the Electoral College before the election, superseding the voters, and *possibly* (but now no longer as per Moore v Harper) superseding a state's constitution and the state courts (I shall refrain from speaking as to whether there could be any such emotion from the confirmation hearing and Anita Bryant). Also, I don't think that people really "got" what Alito's deal was like at his confirmation, or until possibly even a decade later when it became so obvious that Alito wasn't just a wingnut libertarian, he was a cranky sonofabitch much further to the right than John Roberts, who I have heard the media focused their fire on much more, allegedly (source: insinuations on FedSoc podcasts) because of his view on the amendments to the Voting RIghts Act during his time in the Reagan admin (I personally think there's a quite humorous analogy between the initial reactions to Gorsuch vs Kavanaugh, Josh Blackman iirc has said that Kav probably wouldn't have gotten in had not the Senate majority leadership felt it had to go "nuclear" for Gorsuch). Also, a lot of my evidence for my respect for Justice Thomas comes from the questions that he would ask during oral arguments, which he only began doing recently, because of, I believe, first the change in argumentative procedure during the remote COVID days, and then the outcry from the general listening public that his questions were much more than welcome -- and I separately respect him for his reason why he didn't ask questions much before: he didn't like interrupting people for his own purposes.

Even beyond this, I have *much* hatred for Alito, who I have never seen an opinion I've liked from, and from listening to 2+ years of oral arguments, I have *very rarely* heard an argument where Alito asked better questions/made better use of his time than Thomas, and based on a frankly very limited sample of opinions and shadow docket stuff, I don't think I've ever found Thomas saying something or agreeing with something that Alito didn't also agree with, when I found it outrageous. Also, Alito just generally strikes me as at least a bit of a political hack (a very broad umbrella that also covers Kagan, Roberts, Kavanaugh, Barrett, and maybe Thomas, Jackson, and Sotomayor, and maybe maybe Gorsuch). Also also, he seems to have very little to say about abstract issues that aren't also political (this being something I quite respect the *actual* originalists, such as they are (Thomas and Gorsuch imo), for), see the previously referred to opinion about the govt acq'd entity that is Fannie Mae/Freddie Mac as a point for Thomas. Also also also, as sort of argued above, his opinion in Dobbs is just so *meh* if not straightforwardly disappointing in Dobbs compared to Bruen. Alsox3.5, I think that he brings "turnabout is fair play" to a harmful level of "tu quoque -- it seems that if you've ever been a hypocrite in a way that he disagrees with, you may be forced, just for that reason, to suffer his wrath! But *really*, putting aside my terrible fears that eventually Alito & Barrett can get the votes endorsing *truly* theocratic rule (and putting aside as well that I think that this has a 0.25-1%ish likelihood of happening, maybe up to 5% if strategical political assassinations are normalized), my vociferous objection to Alito comes from a comment of his during oral argument in either SEC v Cochran or Axon v FTC, where he suggested that the eventual winner, trying to get the ability to challenge the constitutionality of the administrative so-called "judge" (if i'm remembering the cases right) via their allegedly unconstitutional removal restrictions in a federal district court before submitting to/requiring finalization of possibly interminable agency process, could have gotten what they were looking for via a writ of mandamus, which is supposed to be *extraordinary relief* to correct an injury under *clearly established law* (the supposed "clearly established law" that Alito suggested was Seila Law, which was itself suggested as being a drasting break from how things have been, and I think, having not read that opinion, it was not necessarily settled how the decision should impact the SEC and FTC esp given Humphrey's Executor). I could dismiss this as a one-off comment, were he not also similarly arguing on the shadow docket (stays, injunctions, etc.) in either motions granted or the newly-so-called "dissentals" (dissents from denials of X where X may be an injunction, a grant of certiorari, etc.), in a similar way, for such hasty new application of very strong changes to the law, and i have not heard a good theory or explanation for this -- in fact, when i've heard will baude forced to take a position on these things, iirc he has described it as "not great", and I have heard very little/no discussion of this from my feed of FedSoc's YT channel!

To prevent it very simply, I think that Thomas offers a vision of judging that, while ofc susceptible to critique and improvement (like all human reasoning), in my view, offers analytical tools that can be used regardless of partisanship and my main issue with him is that I don't think he goes far enough -- I really cannot wait to hear his ideas on the original meaning of the 14th amendment. Alito, however, what does he have to offer? Fear of being a chump? Advanced game theory? I do not expect to weep if he is easily forgotten.

[luludeluluramblings]

tbh I’m more intrigued by the idea of college-age Reader getting pregnant while unmarried still living in the manor and NO ONE has any idea who the father is (maybe she does, but she’s withholding that for now or maybe he’s not in the picture?) and it’s the biggest freak out ever. that just seems so fucking wild and potentially hilarious to me. and nobody noticing she’s pregnant until she’s farther along? or them finding out randomly?? imagine:

damian: you look pregnant. what is wrong with you.

reader: i am pregnant though

the batfam: ????????!!!!!!!!!! and then she proposes that now that she’s old enough and starting a new chapter in her life raising a baby and all she should just move out! (cue everyone disliked that meme)

Neglected!Pregnant!Reader x Yandere!Bat Family

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Part Two ☁️ Part Three ☁️

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Okay, I think I'm about to become a Pregnancy!Reader writer. Which, I'm not mad about. Kind think it would be fun, but I know the trope isn't for everyone. So, if it’s not your thing, I’m sorry.

A/N: Some of this is based off of things from my own pregnancies.

A/N: Oh, no. Frick, I wanna make this a series now. Check the bottom, cause I have a plot idea for this and I want opinions on it. I spiraled, this was supposed to be a quick blurb. I got carried away. Gonna build up to the yandere shenanigans because I’m turning into a writer with a million WIPs.

A/N: Tagging @skay-ali because I like their The Forgotten Daughter series.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Very minor Yandere Themes (like barely there), minor NSFW, graphic descriptions of pregnancy and medical procedures, Vomiting.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

You don't really remember that night it happened. But, it only happened once and after you swore you'd never drink again. The hangover after that night had been one of the worst of your short life.

In fact, the sticky feeling between your legs and bitter taste on your tongue had also added to your decision to swear of these college parties. Luckily, you have enough of your memory to remember that you and your partner from that night had both been willing even when wasted. Even if you couldn't remember their name. Or, their face.

It takes you a while to notice. One missed cycle wasn't anything to freak out about, and it was exam season. The stress had probably caused the nausea. It wasn't until you were heading down to breakfast one morning and smelled the burnt eggs in the kitchen that Stephanie had burnt that you realized something might be wrong.

You, of course, ignore it. It was just a fluke. Burnt eggs weren't appetizing to anyone. But, then you nearly faint walking through the perfume section after looking to restock your favorite bottle of scent.

The doctor you finally went to another week later had asked about your cycle and the last time you had been intimate with someone. That's when the reality of things started to set in. You hadn't even thought to do an at home test to check. Your doctor was kind though, saying they could just do a quick urine sample and blood test just to make sure. It might be something else.

The next few minutes felt like ages. But, when the Doctor came back to tell you the positive results you panicked. Not as in panicked as in you broke down, but you threw up a mask. You're good at doing that. You must get it from your father.

When she asks you if this is good news or bad news you can't help, but blurt that it's good. Great even. Which causes her to beam at you. Before you know it, you're being handed a complementary diaper bag with formula and tiny bottles while being given the rundown on your possible due date and future appointments. You nodded you're head along with the information, sliding the paper's into the diaper bag as she hands them to you.

But, then she turns to you with delight and tells you that the Ultra Sound tech has an opening and you're just far along enough they can do your first ultrasound. It'll only be a thirty minute wait.

After nodding along once more, you go back into the waiting room. Holding your new bag with white knuckles and falling into deep thought.

This is happening. But, how? Are you even fit to be a parent? You've hardly ever been loved. How are you going to love someone else? How are you going to do this? What will the family think? What will your few friends think? You don't even remember who their father is. This is impossible. You're not ready. You'll never be ready. That churning feeling is in your stomach again and you feel that single piece of toast you had for breakfast about to come back up.

The thirty minutes fly by with those thoughts in your head. They still swirl in your head as your go back into the ultrasound room.

It's dark, but the tech had few soft lights on in the room. Its actually kind of... cozy.

What's not cozy it the tech telling you that she's going to stick a wand up your bits so you could see the baby. Your eyes screwing shut at the cold invasive feeling.

But, when you open them, she turns the screen for you to see. It's almost amazing how fast the image appears on the screen.

And, their moving. Actually moving. You end up laughing at the sight, causing the screen to flicker and the little blob to move. When the nurse plays the heart beat you can feel yours stuttering in your chest.

Watching them bounce in there with each laugh, it’s easy for the next words to spill out of your mouth.

“Oh, I’m gonna love you.”

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Every step after that feels remarkably less lonely. It’s not just you anymore. You have someone who you’re going to love.

You don’t bother telling the Family. Bruce would just lecture you on being reckless while the other’s would judge you for it.

Honestly, you don’t care if they did. This is your baby.

Funnily enough, for a house full of detectives and highly intelligent vigilantes no one actually notices. Not even Cassandra. It’s a bit insulting how much they don’t pay attention. But, your symptoms soon make it so you don’t care.

The waves of exhaustion, the way everything smells strong and certain things make you want to gag. Heartburn that burns your throat. The subtle cravings that make you cry when you can’t fulfill them. Thankfully you finished your exams because you were too tired to even move from your bed most mornings due to strange nightmares.

Eventually, someone does notice. And, it’s not anyone you would expect.

Of all things you cried over on the pantry floor, it had to be salt and vinegar chips. They hadn’t been what you wanted, but it was too late to go get french fries and a smoothie at this hour in Gotham. And, you stuffed them down your throat with angry tears.

It was Stephanie of all people to find you. You gave her a sharp glare when she seemed to grow wide eyed. Normally you avoid her gaze, but you were quite pissed about having chips in your mouth and not fries. As her eyes grew wider, your nose wrinkled in further annoyance at her.

Just as you’re about to tell her off, she speaks.

“Do you— um, want something else?”

It’s pitiful how fast your snarl turns into a pleading pout.

“Yes, please. I want fries. I want Jokerized fries so badly.” You practically blubber when she gives you a pointed nod towards the car garage.

It takes you a bit to get off the floor despite the fact that your bump is hardly noticeable, but Stephanie noticed the extremely subtle curve.

“How far?” She asks hesitantly, looking from the bump to your face.

You also hesitant for a moment, looking up at her with tears on your cheeks and a serious look in your eyes. “14 Weeks.”

Her eyebrows raise and a wiry pout appears on her face. “Damn. You’re smaller than I was at that time, so not fair.”

The slightly surprised that information gives you almost makes you pause. But, if you had you would’ve probably toppled back down to the pantry floor.

“Explain on the way?” You ask, still a bit nervous. The two of you had never been close since you moved into the manor less than a handful of years back.

“Sure.” She grins, leading the way.

As you both walk, she whispers. “Does Bruce know?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.”

“Ah.” Stephanie managed to hide the winces from you.

When you two finally make into the car, you’re already feeling better about life. You’re about to have your fries, and possibly a shake too. You didn’t expect to have any company, but surprisingly it’s nice.

Stephanie drives, and get the fries to go. Munching on them as Stephanie drives you back to the manor. Her sharing her own pregnancy experience.

"Wait, so Tim dated you when you were pregnant with another dudes kid? Babe, forget being me being small, you got game."

"Damn right I do." She says smugly, stuffing her own fries in her mouth. "So, um, do you wanna talk about what happened with you?"

And, just like that your mood shifts.

"No."

"Oh- Oh! I'm sorr-" She starts up, and you can tell she's assuming the worst.

"Don't you start, Stephanie." You interrupt with a pointed glare. "I don't want to talk about it because it's none of y'all's business."

That makes her cough on her french fry. "Wait, wait, what do you mean? Don't you want help?"

"Nah, I got it." Comes your stubborn reply, glaring out the window as you dip your fry into the cheesecake milkshake.

"... You should tell Bruce." She suggest after a moment of awkward silence.

"What? So he can ignore his grandchild, too?" Your filter is none existent with your hormones all out of wack.

"He doesn't ignore you-"

"Oh, yes the fuck he does." Your firmly state. Growing a bit heated. "Y'all all figgin do."

Stephanie is about to roll her eyes, chalking your words to you just being unreasonable. But, then the thought starts to creep upon her with each passing building when she realizes this is the first time she's actually hung out with you. Ever.

"I'm sorry." She murmurs to you. The silence falling over you both as the cars continues back to the manor.

"... I'm only forgiving you because you bought my fries..."

"Really?! That's all I had to do?"

"What? I was desperate for this- Wait! Hang on. Stop the car. Stop the car-"

"What? Why?! Are you- OH! Fuck!"

You ended up regurgitating up all the fries you had just eaten. Right into your lap.

"Oooo, that's nasty." Stephanie says, cracking the windows.

"Is it bad that I still want to eat them?" You mumble to her, eyeing the remaining fries.

"Please, please, wait till we get back or I'm gonna hurl, too."

"Fine." Comes your reply. Your eyes drifting shut for a moment. "If you tell anyone I'm gonna tell Cassandra about your crush on her."

"How did you- Frick, you are more like Bruce then I realize." Her voice going from panic to begrudging realization.

"Now, that's offenseive."

"Oh, come on. You're kids gonna have some of Bruce's DNA too."

"Eww. Eww. Don't remind me."

The banter between you both coming back with ease.

When you make it back to the manor, parting ways for the night. You feel at ease. You may have made have finally made a new friend in all this and gained a pillar of support.

As you shower and finish off your fries, you can't help but think about the apartments you had been looking at. Wondering what Stephanie will thinking of your nursery ideas.

Down in the cave, Stephanie slowly walks down the steps. Realizing this might have just gotten complicated.

"You okay, Steph?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Soooooo, what if, and hear me out, wee add some baby daddy drama to this?

A/N: Please note, I write a Reader that DID NOT grow up with the Bat Family, which means we could have some really really juicy drama here. But, we could just keep the options limited to just close friends of the Bat family.

A/N: What do y'all think? Baby Daddy drama? One of the Bat Boys the Daddy? One of the other vigilantes? Should I do a Baby Daddy poll? I just feel like this is an opportunity.

A/N: Also, Stephanie was a teen mom in some comics from my research. Which I think adds to this and gives her a better chance of bonding with Reader until shit goes down.

[lovelivision]

LET'S SUMMON A DEMON.ᐟ

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: kamo choso/reader

𝐖𝐂: 17k

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: when summoning a demon is successful, you suddenly find your life turned upside down. both you and the demon getting more than you bargained for in the other.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ only, smut, swearing, mentions/depictions of reader being stalked, mentions/depictions of the supernatural, light blood warning, cunnilingus, fingering, p in v sex, creampie, f!reader, she/her pronouns used, virgin!reader, choso probably ooc (demon)

This wasn’t a good idea hours ago and it’s certainly not a good idea now. Your friend rocked up earlier today, rambling about how she’s had a fantastic idea to summon a demon and bind it to do your bidding. Muttering something about needing revenge against one of her coworkers for always eating her lunch.

At the time, you had looked her square in the eyes and said, “You cannot be serious.”

“I am,” her eyes had sparkled and her mouth was curled up in an overly excited smile, “Don’t tell me you’re scared?” She was goading you and you knew it.

It’s fair to be scared though, you think anyways. You haven’t told her – or anyone for that matter – but you have a predilection towards the supernatural that you tend to keep to yourself. So, you very much believe and you very much were scared.

By the way she was talking about it, you could see she wasn’t completely serious, not believing that you’d actually successfully summon a demon. You however, well, you weren’t convinced it would work but only because you have no idea where she had gotten the summoning spell from, otherwise you one-hundred percent believe it’s possible to summon something otherworldly.

In the back of your mind, you thought it possible and if it was, you seriously doubt she’ll be able to contain the thing. So no, you did not summon a demon with her, at least… not at first. You had denied to, vehemently in fact, but the girl is good at one thing and it’s convincing you to follow through on horrible ideas.

She is the one common denominator in all your questionable actions and it doesn’t help that she’s obsessed with the occult and witchcraft and ghosts and just about every other ‘spooky’ thing you can think of. How many times did you see or feel something and have to pretend you didn’t? You lost count a long time ago.

Things are attracted to you, so you stay away, or at least you pretend you don’t see them, it makes your life easier. Telling her would just result in her curiosity piquing and possibly putting you at risk and you’re certainly not going to tell her of your ‘ability’ or unfortunate circumstance, not today… or ever.

Despite your better judgement and despite her history of having bad ideas, you’re sat across from each other on your living room floor. Floorboards marked with some kind of summoning circle drawn in a red paint pen she had brought with her. A little bowl is sitting in the centre of it, what looks like miscellaneous herbs and paper sitting in it.

“This is stupid,” you grumble at her, looking at all the candles she’s set up and lit, far too many in your opinion.

“Shush,” her tone is sharp, “I’m trying to focus,” she’s squinting down at the old looking book she has sat in her lap.

It’s actually really old looking, “Where did you get that?”

Groaning, she looks through her lashes at you, “Seriously, be quiet, do you want this to work or not?”

Tone dead when you immediately reply, “Not.”

“Sceptic,” she rolls her eyes.

Scoffing, you accuse, “You don’t even think it will work.”

“Ah, But I hope it will,” a smile is present on her lips again.

It’s quiet after that, unsettling so, but her sudden words are even more unsettling. Murmuring some kind of incantation, the words send a shiver down your spine, a bad feeling settling in the pit of your stomach.

The lights in your apartment are off but they flicker on for a second before going back off, you don’t like this at all. You don’t think she feels it but you do, the air is charged and all your hairs are standing on end.

Her words don’t stop though, eyes focused on the words in front of her, the feeling inside you keeps increasing. Like it’s pitching higher and higher, it’s making you feel high-strung. When she reaches the end of the page, it all drops at once. The feeling completely gone from you, like she messed it up at the last second or like there’s more that needs to be done.

Your friends voice shocks you, “Man… the lights flicking on totally had me thinking it would work.” She sounds disappointed.

Trying to sound neutral, you hum at her, “You know it never does…”

She seems completely unaffected, probably not realising just how close she seemed to be to summoning something you probably shouldn’t mess around with. The fact it didn’t work is for the best.

“Whatever, you wanna watch a movie or something now?” She gets up easily, hands patting her thighs as she does.

Warily, you ask, “What kind?”

Shooting you an evil smile, she gleams, “The Exorcist.”

Grabbing a cushion off the couch beside you and chucking it at her, “Oh, fuck off.”

Catching it easily she laughs and tosses it back on the couch before helping you up off the floor. You do watch a movie together but it is not ‘The Exorcist’.

It’s late when she’s shuffling out your apartment door, you’d told her she was welcome to stay but she had said her parents were visiting early tomorrow and didn’t have faith in herself getting there before them if she stayed.

Of course, she didn’t clean up her mess, left everything behind. Almost everything, she remembered to take the book with her. Sighing to yourself, you wander over to the summoning circle. Your curiosity gets the better of you, and crouching down, you reach into the little bowl, wondering just what she had put in there.

Something sharp pricks at your finger and you hiss through your teeth, not expecting it. When you pull back, you’ve accidentally left drops of blood in the bowl and inside the circle itself, what the fuck did she put in there?

Looking at your finger, you can see the little amount you’re still bleeding. Cursing your friend internally, you’re about to get up when the lights in your apartment suddenly go out. All the candles that had long since been extinguished flick back on, that heavy feeling weighs in the air again and you want to run but you’re frozen to your spot.

A cold feeling runs down your spine and the room feels like it’s full of static electricity, your blood growing hot quickly. Your eyes shut for a moment and you hope whatever is happening stops soon, pretend you don’t see it, pretend you don’t see it, you chant to yourself. It’s always worked before; you pretend you can’t see anything and you get left alone.

Though that may not ring true when you’ve literally summoned whatever it is into your apartment of your – almost – own free will. When you open your eyes, it’s hard to see. All the candles having gone out, but a pair of black boots are stood in front of you. You’re still crouching down on your haunches, head tilted down, the boots are throwing you off… do demons wear boots?

Whatever it is, is stoic, unmoving, just standing in front of you and waiting. Attempting to be brave, you pry your eyes up, scaling its body and… it’s… a man? Well, appears to be anyway, it’s– he’s standing there, looking down at you, somewhat impatiently.

His expression doesn’t change, “Do all humans crouch on the floor for this long or are you unique in that aspect?”

You frown at that; you know when you think demon you expect them to be murderous and angry but not… verbally hostile. “I’m scared.”

He squints at you, “Stop it, it’s inconvenient to me.”

“Having a demon in my apartment is inconvenient to me,” you mumble.

His arms cross and he seems genuinely ticked off by your statement, “Oh? Maybe you shouldn’t have summoned me then.”

Finally, you gather yourself enough to shoot up off the floor, standing to your full height, which feels like a poor choice when you realise he still towers over you. It’s not just his height that’s intimidating though, mostly you think it’s just him, his essence, his aura? Energy? You don’t know but he’s what you were feeling, the overwhelming pressure that makes your blood hot.

“Hmm,” he leans forward slightly, getting a closer look at you, “You’re a bit interesting, aren’t you?”

You don’t know what exactly he’s seeing but you don’t like the implication, “No.”

“No?” He doesn’t understand why you’d deny it, to him, it’s fairly obvious that you are different than most humans of today’s age. He leans back out of your space but keeps his eyes trained on you, “So…”

You’re still frightened but he’s not done anything, he’s not moved his two feet from that same spot he first appeared in, “So what?”

Sighing, he groans, “What do you want?” When you don’t speak straight away, he adds, “My interest is fleeting, tell me what you want so I can leave.”

“What I want…?”

“Yes, that’s what the summon was for,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “Why mess with things you don’t understand?”

Your voice is smaller than you want it to be throughout this whole interaction, “I didn’t mean to summon you…”

He looks down at the summoning circle and all the candles, all signs pointing towards yes, you did mean to summon him.

You rush to explain, albeit poorly, “Okay, I know how it may look like I meant to but I didn’t mean to.”

He raises a brow at you, “This is incredibly annoying; you know that right?”

As you look up at his unamused face, you feel your eyes burn with your question, “Are you going to kill me?”

He grimaces at you, “Kill you? Do you know about how any of this works?”

“Not really, no…” your eyes flick behind him for a second, “…I meant it when I said I didn’t mean to summon you.” As your eyes adjust to the dark, you can take in his appearance more. Dark hair and eyes, pale skin, you regretfully notice that he’s attractive. Though, that’s hardly surprising, wouldn’t you want to be appealing to the people you wish to trick?

His head tilts at you but he stays quiet, he’s hoping you will offer the information yourself, asking you things has been woefully unhelpful so far. Only serving to make you more anxious and confused about what’s happened.

The silence is becoming unbearable to you. It’s the way he’s just staring at you, like he’s interrogating you with his gaze, “My friend wanted to summon you… not me.” You don’t know how much you should tell him.

He clicks his tongue, “So, why am I bound to you and not your friend?”

Bound? He’s bound to you, oh this cannot bode well, “I don’t know?”

Scratching at the back of his neck, his tone is tense, “Just tell me how the summoning happened. What did you do?”

Your hands lift in defence, “Not much at all, honest.”

For the first time since he appeared here, he moves and grabs your wrist, his hand pulling yours close. He inspects your finger, the one with the nick on it, “You bled.”

It’s scary, you’re scared, he’s fast and strong and now you know he can move and was just choosing not to, “Only a little bit… not on purpose.”

Dropping your hand again, he moves back, giving you space, “But you did.”

“Yeah.”

Frowning, he explains, “You’re the one who bled so now I’m bound to you, not your little friend.”

You nod as if this is all common sense, as if summoning a demon is so natural to you, “Oh… I see, okay, well… can you stop… being bound… to me?”

“In short? No.”

You guffaw at him, “What?”

He scrunches his brows, “Did your friend not bother explaining any of it to you?”

“Obviously not,” your answer was unintentionally sharp and you feel bad, since he’s been, well not kind but he’s not hurt you, “Sorry, no… she didn’t… How exactly does it work?”

“The way this particular binding works is – you summon and bind me with blood, which you have done,” he looks down at your pricked finger, “Then, I can’t leave until you ask a favour of me. After I have completed it, I can leave but I will still be bound to you and when you call my name, I’ll be summoned back and I can’t leave until you ask a new favour of me.” His frown settles deep on his features, “Essentially, girl, you have bound me to you forever.”

You’re wide eyed and surprised, who knew binding spells were so… permanent? “Oh… that’s… not nice, sorry…” You purse your lips, “Is there not… a spell to counteract it?”

“No,” he looks down his nose at you, features resetting back to neutral, “You shouldn’t have been able to summon me in the first place, I thought I got rid of all your human books that contained the information.”

Your brain gets a little stuck on ‘human books’, the implication of ‘demon books’ interesting to you and also amusing. He seems very forthcoming but you’re still cautious, “Why tell me all this? Would it not be easier to use underhanded trickery and get me to ask for a menial favour and leave without telling me your name?”

His gaze sharpens at you, “A ‘favour’ has to be specified, I don’t follow your every whim. You have to specify that the favour you’re asking for is the one I am required to follow through on.”

It’s awfully particular, it feels like whoever figured out how to bind him was very careful about how to do so in a way that would benefit them most, “Okay… you know it’s not lost on me that you’ve not mentioned your name.”

“Names have power to demons,” his brow twitches, like he’s annoyed that you’d noticed that, “You’ve not mentioned your name either.”

“You’ve not asked for it,” you shrug, “Human names don’t hold that much significance though.” Not as much as demons, considering you can literally summon him with his.

“You’re not going to give me your name?” He’s taken aback by your unwillingness.

Shaking your head, you say, “Not until you give me yours.”

His brow raises at you, interested, “My name will mean you can summon me freely.”

“I suppose so but I don’t really have any intention of using it like that,” you’re not lying, you don’t even intend on asking a favour, you mean, what the hell are you meant to do with a blood bound demon?

Your only intent is uncovering more information, he’s giving you answers and telling you things freely but he’s also keeping things from you, specific information. You’re not dumb, you’re not going to trust some demon just because he – presently – doesn’t seem to want to bring you any harm.

He challenges, “Ask a favour so I can leave then.”

You’re blunt and straight to the point, “I don’t want any favours from you.” He looks completely annoyed by your answer and you can understand why, “…You’re not going to kill me are you?”

He grits his teeth, “I can’t.”

“You can’t?” You find that unlikely to be the truth.

He speaks slowly, “I am capable of doing so but I can’t.”

“So, which is it? Can or can’t?”

“I can but I won’t,” he rolls his shoulders.

“Why not?”

“You have a lot of questions,” he’s growing tired of answering them, “The bind means I can’t harm you.”

Thinking on it for a second, you consider how to ask your next question, “What about the bind makes it so you could theoretically harm or kill me but also means you can’t?”

He sighs like he doesn’t really want to answer you, “We are bound. If you die I die–”

“–So why use the word harm?”

He stops, “What?”

“You said harm not kill,” it’s an interesting distinction, “Do you also take on whatever injury I may get?”

His eyes are intense, paying close attention to you, “Anything other than something of your own doing or natural occurrences I will be aware of… though, I imagine I probably won’t feel it as much as you would.” He cracks his neck, “I could torture you into asking a favour but it would hurt me too, though again, not as much as it would you.”

You’re trying to sort through everything he’s said when he interrupts your thoughts, “You’re getting very caught up on if I’m going to do something to you, if it matters, I wouldn’t want to even if I could.”

That gives you pause, “Why tell me that?”

He waves you off, “You’re very stiff, it’s uncomfortable to look at.”

He answers properly when you ask him things directly… you don’t know if he’s choosing to or if he doesn’t have a choice in the matter. Everything you know about demons are the things that everyone knows, or the things your friend has told you but you don’t exactly trust her sources. In either case you’re unsure if you can even trust any of his answers so far.

Even though you won’t believe his answer fully, you ask anyway, “Have you lied at all?”

Shrugging, he says, “Not so far,” and then he gives you the same question, “Have you?”

“Not intentionally.”

He hums at you, intrigued by your answer.

Against your better judgement, or will really, you’re beginning to relax slightly. His presence is overwhelming but after sitting in it for a bit, it’s not… off putting. It’s not a feeling you’re completely unfamiliar with, the little shadows that follow you have the same static feeling to them, just lesser. You hadn’t ever really considered what they were but you’re wondering now.

“The bind… is very inconvenient to you,” you’re simply making an observation, if he’s been telling the truth – which you’re still not sure on – this situation is incredibly beneficial for whoever binds him and incredibly annoying to him.

“It wasn’t made to be convenient for me, it was made for the express purpose of aiding the person who binds me.”

“…Right…” tilting your head, you look him over a bit more carefully, “…Is that why it’s so extensive?”

Either he wasn’t listening or he’s confused on why you pointed it out, “What?”

“Well, I’ve just noticed there are a lot of rules that make it harder for you to have your freedom after the summoning… so either you’re lying to lure me into a false sense of security or whoever made the rules really didn’t want you to have an easy way out,” you’re getting tired of standing here like this.

He notes, “You really don’t trust me.”

It feels a little silly for him to point that out when he’s a complete stranger and also a demon, so yeah, excuse you for being a little sceptical on whether he’s trustworthy or not.

Instead of being rude, you ask, “Do you trust me?”

He eyes you over, like he’s sizing you up, “Humans are supposed to be incredibly stupid.”

You scratch the back of your neck sheepishly, “Ah, we are.”

He makes a sound like he was about to laugh before coughing to cover it, “You’re perceptive, is what I was trying to say.”

“I suppose I have more reason than most to be cautious but I’m no smarter than the average person,” you shrug.

Clicking his tongue, he changes the topic, “Since you’re coming to understand, ask your favour, I’d like to leave.”

“I told you I don’t want one,” you don’t mean to be rude but it sounds a little harsh when you repeat your earlier sentiments.

He scowls slightly, “I can’t leave if you don’t ask one.”

You counter him, “I don’t even know what I would ask for.”

“Then ask for something mundane,” he’s getting impatient now, tone curt.

“I’m really sorry, demon man, but I still don’t trust you and I’m not even sure there won’t be any pitfalls to asking you for a favour.” There is always a catch.

His scowl deepens at how you refer to him, apparently not liking it, “Usually you would be right but these are different circumstances.”

The lights finally flicker back on and you squint against the sudden change, it wasn’t even all that light in your apartment in the first place but after sitting in the dark for so long, your few lamps feel like you’ve been flash banged.

Huffing, you turn and walk towards your kitchen, turning your back on him might be dumb but it’s also a way to test his word. If he tries anything, then at the very least, you can die knowing you were right.

His steps trail behind you, ignoring him, you continue your walk to the kitchen. Passing your breakfast bar, there is a little creature sitting on top of it and you falter almost imperceptibly. Recovering, you do as you always do and pretend you don’t notice it. They don’t frequently enter your apartment; you’ve never really been sure on why but it’s presence inside took you off guard because of it.

It's mostly shapeless, dark shadows, sometimes they’re rounder, thinner, spikier, they come in all shapes and sizes and sometimes they’re almost cute but they’re a nuisance. When you acknowledge them, they attach to you and cause trouble. Hence, your avoidance of them, it’s almost like acknowledging them gives them power. A fact you learnt the hard way.

Behind you, the demon make a noise of interest, one that irks you, “What?” You question.

“You saw it,” he states.

Turning, you face him, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He only raises a brow at you.

The creatures shape is twitching, reacting to the demon in front of it, not seeming all that fond of him. He reaches his hand out and flicks at it, the shape disintegrating, gone after he’d put his hand through it.

After touching it, he shakes his hand slightly before tucking his arms crossed over his chest, “Why lie?”

Your brows pinch together, he’s caught you in your lie and you’re wondering if it really will do any good in continuing with it. For the first time in your life, you admit to being able to see them, “It’s easier to pretend I can’t see them…”

He sighs, exasperated, like his situation has somehow gotten so much more annoying, “Ignoring them won’t work forever.”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it,” you’ve been fine this long.

Moving to the sink, you wash your hands, wanting to clean the blood off your pricked finger. While wiping your hands dry, you jump when turning and seeing him right in front of you, “Don’t sneak up on me like that, geez,” your heart is hammering in your chest, he’s really quiet.

Ignoring you, he says, “Being bound to you just became even more bothersome so I’m going to tell you some things I left out.”

“I still don’t trust you.” Again, literal demon in front of you.

His face is incredibly serious, tone grim, “You don’t have much of a choice.”

For the first time tonight, you feel more inclined to listen to and believe what he’s saying. It’s not like he’s been light-hearted all night but he’s not been nearly as stern as he was just now. So, you nod at him, asking him wordlessly to continue.

“I can’t lie to you when asked a direct question, I wasn’t going to tell you because it benefit me more if you didn’t know but continuing without your trust is going to be annoying. I don’t need you thinking in the back of your mind that I’m going to kill you.”

He’s standing a little too close to you now, it’s setting you on edge, “Why do you need my trust?”

“You, are a target, those things follow you because of your energy. In short, you have a lot of it and they want it.” He squints at you accusatorily, like it’s your fault or something.

Taking a step back, you lean against the kitchen counter, giving yourself a bit of space from him, “They’re mostly harmless though, if I ignore them.”

“There are scarier things out there than them,” he alone is proof of that.

You’re trying to remain calm and collected, “That’s...”

“Remember, if you die, I die,” it’s almost like he’s trying to keep you calm, keep you on track.

You need to test if you can trust his words, “I’m really sorry,” he looks confused by your sudden apology, “But if you can’t lie to me… then what is your name?”

Oh, he didn’t like that at all, his face contorting in anger, “Choso.”

There’s a slim chance that he’s still lying to you, to get you to trust him but the utterly frustrated expression he’s wearing tells you otherwise.

He’s stepping close to you again, arms either side your form, hands resting on the countertop, keeping you trapped between him and the bench, “If you still don’t trust me after that, this is going to become incredibly difficult for the both of us.”

“I trust you…” As much as you can anyway.

“Had to get bound to someone like you,” he mutters angrily.

You’re a little offended, “Hey, I didn’t exactly want to get stuck with you either.”

Grunting, he pulls back, not paying your words any mind, “You need to be more careful from here on out.”

“I’m always careful,” does he not realise you’ve lived for this long, you’re careful.

He corrects, “More careful.”

“What else could I possibly do to be more careful,” ignoring them is all you really can do, it’s not like flicking them away would work for you.

“For one, stop attempting to summon demons,” his tone makes it feel like you’re being scolded… because you are.

Feeling the need to defend yourself, you murmur, “It was my friends idea…”

With no hesitation, he returns, “Your friend is an idiot.”

“Hey–”

“­–And so are you, for also doing it.”

You don’t like that he has a point, it’s worse that you did it actually, since you know these things are real.

His question feels like it comes out of nowhere, “What else does your friend like doing?”

You doubt he’s suddenly grown an interest in her as a person, “Why?”

Your eyes track him as he moves to the other side of the kitchen and leans again the countertop opposite you, “Because if they’re the kind of idiot to summon demons, they’re probably also doing other stupid things.”

Pursing your lips, you look away from him because he hit the nail on the head, “She likes to go to abandoned buildings, cemeteries… she likes all things… uhm, scary? I guess.”

Tilting his head, he looks you over again, he seems to do that a lot, “Does she not know about you?”

Covering yourself with your arms, you answer, “Easier not to tell her.”

“Idiot.”

“Okay! stop calling me an idiot now, please,” You get it, you’re an idiot, you don’t need this demon telling you that repeatedly.

“Stop going to risky places with her,” he doesn’t apologise, “Puts you at risk.”

“Okay,” it’s easier to just agree, you’re getting tired, it was already late when your friend left.

Abruptly, he announces, “Don’t bother asking a favour, I won’t be leaving for a bit.”

You almost sputter, “What?” You had just about resigned yourself to asking for one so he would leave and you could sleep in peace.

Rephrasing, he says, “There are some things I want to see, so I will be staying for a bit.”

“How am I meant to sleep in my apartment when there is also a demon in it?” You’re so, so tired, why is he so weird. Are all the demons this weird? Or is it just this one?

He is completely unsympathetic to your plight, “Not my problem.”

“You’re not very nice,” you’re not even really sure why you say it, like it would mean anything to him.

He doesn’t even dignify it with a response, just looking at you with an expression that looks almost as tired as you feel.

“Listen, demon man–”

“–You know my name now, use it.”

That catches you off guard, you hadn’t used it in fear of offending him but it seems like you managed to do that anyhow, “Choso…” using his name feels weirdly intimate, “I need to sleep, so you have to go away.”

Gaze even, he says it how he sees it, “I can’t and like I said, I’m not going to. There are some things I’d like to see.”

The most annoying part of what he’s just said is surprisingly the first bit, “What do you mean can’t?”

“I have to be within the general vicinity of where I was summoned or near the person I’m bound to,” he answers cooly, like that isn’t the most inconvenient thing you’ve heard all night.

“What? How am I meant to sleep peacefully? Have people over?” You have a date coming up, what if you wanted to bring them back here?  

He repeats an earlier statement, “Not. My. Problem.” No sympathy from him.

You raise your hands in exasperation, clenching into fists by your head before dropping them and letting the tension go. Trying to calm yourself, “I need to sleep, I’m going to sleep and hope this is some weirdly vivid dream.”

He goes to open his mouth to speak but you cut him off with a single hand raising, “No. We can talk more at an appropriate time, if you’re still here.” You inhale and exhale a deep breath, “Do not come into my room. Stay out here.”

Rolling his eyes at you, he dismisses, “Go to bed.”

Keeping your eyes on him, you squint, sceptical of him as you wander out the kitchen and towards your bedroom. He doesn’t watch you but you know he can tell you’re watching him. When your back hits your bedroom door, you slip inside and shut the door.

How are you meant to get even a little bit of sleep with him out there?

⟢

It’s dark in your room when you open your eyes, only a small amount of light creeping in from behind your closed blinds. You guess you somehow managed to fall asleep, it’s still early in the morning though, so you probably only got a few hours. You have never been more thankful for the weekend than you are right now.

Rolling over, you look at your bedroom door, wondering if that all really happened last night or if you’ve just woken up from a really weird and detailed dream. Flopping onto your back, you stare at the ceiling instead, not sure if you’re ready to face if it was real. You’d stay like this all day but footsteps from outside your room prompt you to get up.

Tentatively, you poke your head out your door, eyeing your living area carefully. A figure is sat on your couch, reading one of your books. It’s Choso, you sigh with the realisation that it was all real, feeling like you’re apart of some sick cosmic joke right about now.

He speaks without looking to you, knowing you’re there, “You read a lot of poorly written books…”

“Excuse me?” How does he manage to insult you in ways you weren’t expecting.

He glances at you quickly before looking back at the book, “I’ve been reading some of your books but your selection is disappointing.”

Your eyes shift over to your bookcase next to your television to see a pile of books sitting in front of it, like he can’t be bothered putting them back properly after he’s deemed them unworthy.

“You’ve made a mess,” your tone weak, exhausted.

His attention is finally off the book as he shifts to face you, arm resting on the back of the couch, “Those ones aren’t worth keeping.”

“I liked them…” Sure, they weren’t all works of art but some of them were cute fantasies filled with action and adventure and romance and… You feel like you might spontaneously combust out of embarrassment because… did this demon read the books containing porn?What a horrific albeit amusing thought.

He raises a brow at you, confused by your sudden change in behaviour. He ignores it though, not really one to care about your comfortability, “Are you ready to talk again?”

“I don’t think anyone would ever be ready for the kind of talk you wish to have,” you’re staring blankly into the distance. There are literally a billion different things on your mind right now and nearly all of them have to do with him.

His eyes track you as you wander over to the book pile he’d made. Crouching down, you begin putting them back into their spots on the shelf.

He hums from behind you, “It’s simple, I need to determine some things about your situation and until I’m satisfied I won’t be going anywhere.”

Groaning, you continue cleaning the books, “You understand how inconvenient that is to me, right?”

“You understand how inconvenient it is to me that my immortal life is tied to a pitiful human, right?” Before you can protest or really add anything to the conversation, he continues, “One, at that, who enjoys meddling with things that wish her harm?”

Ignoring basically all of what he’s just said, you glare at him, “If you’re so intent on staying here then the least you could do is be considerate and leave things as you find them.” Getting up, you approach him and pluck the book from his hands, “Or better yet, not snoop around in things that do not belong to you.”

He waves you off, “Things would go smoother if you would just cooperate.”

You don’t really have a reply so you don’t give him one, choosing instead to walk back to the bookshelf and place the book you took from him on it. This being your reality hasn’t really set in yet, how are you meant to live like this? Glancing back at the demon lounging on your couch, he stares back at you, apparently having been watching you the whole time.

“Ignoring me won’t make me go away,” he says it so matter-of-factly that it pisses you off.

Turning away again, you ignore him… like he’s wrong and it’ll start working. It’s not going to, you know that. It’s been made clear he’s not leaving but you keep hoping he will. Maybe you could blame this all on your lack of sleep. You’re so tired, the rest you got definitely not enough, though you don’t think even a perfect rest would be enough to deal with all this.

His voice cuts through your thoughts, “You said we could talk more at an appropriate hour.”

You groan at him, “You’re a demon, there’s a blood pact, you technically can leave but are now choosing not to and apparently plan on making it damn near impossible for me to live a normal life.”

“I’m not the one who decided it would be a fun evening activity to summon a demon.”

Oh, he’s struck a nerve, “Well it wasn’t mine either!”

“Speaking of, get that book off your friend,” he stretches his limbs, “I don’t know what’ll happen if that binding spell is used again while I’m already stuck to you.”

You snark back at him, “Maybe you’ll go bother them instead.”

Paying no mind to your tone, he answers, “That would be the best-case scenario.”

With the books all back on the shelf, you sigh, “It’s too early for this.”

Disregarding your bad mood, he changes the topic again, “When you go out, keep a mental note of the things you see.”

“That’s so much work,” you’ve put so much time into training your brain to ignore them, doing the opposite would be effort you don’t know if you can be bothered to exert.

It’s his turn to be in a bad mood now, “I don’t care, do it.”

“So bossy…” You mutter under your breath.

“Just do what I ask, you’re being so resistant when this is for your safety,” he’s growing weary of your attitude.

“Yeah but like… I’d probably be fine; I have been for this long.” You shrug at him, “This is about you being worried about dying but you will be fine because I am always fine.”

He stares back at you, apparently lost for words but the look in his eyes says enough. He hates this situation and he hates how blasé you’re being about it.

⟢

It’s been about a month since he first showed up and he still won’t leave even though you gave up and started doing what he asked. Paying attention to the little creatures while also not looking like you’re paying attention to them is difficult and tedious but you’ve done it. Somehow, there seems to be less of them ever since Choso, you don’t know if correlation is equal to causation in this situation but it has to be more than a coincidence.

When you had told Choso about this connection you made he only hummed at you in thought and then walked away to the spare room you graciously allowed him to stay in. He’s so dismissive of you but getting time to yourself without his overwhelming presence is a small relief you allow yourself to feel.

Having him in your home is weird to say the least, he’s not as annoying as a house guest as you initially thought he would be but it’s also strange that he’s just… always here. If he sleeps you’re never around to witness it and he still goes through all your things even though you protest every time you find him doing so. To his credit, you imagine he is incredibly bored so you’re not as mean as you could be.

Tonight is the date you were meant to go on a while ago, you kept postponing it. There’s been too much on your mind to think about dating, even if you wanted to you wouldn’t be able to bring him back to your apartment, not with the demon residing in your guest room.

It’s too late to back out though and you’ve cancelled so many times now, you’d feel bad if you did it again. So, you get ready even though you’re not as excited as you would’ve been a month ago. It really is a shame; he’s a nice person and you feel awful for rescheduling on him so much.

While looking in the mirror by your front door, Choso shows up behind you, watching you fuss over your appearance. His brows pinch at you in confusion, “What are you doing?”

“Getting ready,” you glance at him through the mirror.

He waits a moment like he’s expecting you to say more, “…For?”

Your brow raises at him, “I feel like I’ve told you already.”

Still, you didn’t answer his question. Something that has been growing to annoy him. He sighs at you, “Then remind me.”

Spinning to face him before answering, “I have a date tonight.”

“Hmm… and you’ll be going out… all night?”

The way he phrased it is bizarre to you, cocking your head as you ask, “Is that a problem?”

“It should be fine,” he looks to be in thought, an expression you’re getting used to seeing.

“Is there something you want or can I go now,” you meant it as more of a rhetorical question but he doesn’t seem to take it as one.

“I want to test something before you leave,” he steps closer to you.

You’d take a step back but the wall is right behind you, “And what do you want to test?”

He ignores your question, much to your dismay. He’s stepping closer to you and you feel worried at what he’s about to do, not able to do anything but stand here. As he wraps his arms around you, you brace yourself for something more to happen but nothing does. His hands pull you closer to him, your body flush to his. When you realise he’s not going to do anything to you, you wiggle in his hold.

He leans down to speak into your ear, “Don’t move.”

The words breathed against your skin send a shiver down your spine. “Were you just… in the mood for a cuddle or is there a grand reason behind this?” You’re hoping to offer levity, feeling uncomfortable at the moment.

It’s warm, he’s warm and sturdy, his breath hot against you. Your body temperature is rapidly spiking, your thoughts getting fuzzy the longer he holds you against him.

He pulls back from you, as stoic as ever, “Pay attention to your surroundings tonight.”

It’s not until later into that evening that you realise what he may have done by holding you like that, the shadows that you so often see nowhere near you. His little test lingering in your head the whole time you’re trying to have a nice date, not able to focus on the person in front of you.

Instead, your brain is caught on how it felt when a particular demon held you close and how his breath against your skin made your head spin. This whole ordeal is only going to become more taxing on you, you just know it.

⟢

Days have passed and your mind is still stuck on how Choso had held you, brow twitching every time you find yourself daydreaming about him. He’s the demon in your guest room, not some cute guy at work, you need to get a hold of yourself. You can’t be thinking about him like that… maybe you should just ask for a favour so that he leaves for a bit. That way you’d at least get some space from him, he’s always here and it’s getting harder and harder to ignore how attractive he is.

The sound of your mindless chopping fills your ears, trying to prepare dinner for this evening and getting woefully distracted. A slip of the knife and a pain in your finger reminds you just how distracted you seem to have gotten. Intaking a sharp breath at the cut you’re about to move for the sink only for Choso to be behind you, his unexpected presence startling you.

“How many times have I asked you to not do that,” you scold him, he’s scared you like this too many times to count.

He disregards your admonishment, “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m aware,” you blink at him, “I was going to–”

The words you were about to speak dying in your throat when he grabs your hand, his tongue licking up the trail of blood before lathing over your cut. Careful to watch what he’s doing the whole time, not wanting to hurt you further as he licks up the mess. You can only look back at him dazed, brain feeling like it’s short circuiting. He’s flustered you and you have no idea how to respond to such an action.

“W–why did you do that?”

His gaze flicks to you, mouth pulling back, “To help.”

Before you slap him silly you look at your small wound and see it’s been completely healed. Apparently his tongue possesses some healing properties, and you’d find that really interesting if you weren’t trying really hard to not think about how he looked while licking you.

“You taste good,” he says it easily, like it doesn’t have you melting into a puddle on the floor.

Your mouth gapes at him, lost for words before settling on, “You can’t just go around licking people, Choso.”

“I don’t,” his expression incredulous, finding your accusation baseless despite his actions just now.

Not knowing what else to say, you stand there looking back at him stupidly. The expression he’s making unreadable, clearly nowhere near as affected by his actions as you are. His hand reaches for your chin and tilts your head back to look at you, eyes examining you closely.

“What’s wrong with you,” he asks suddenly.

You don’t understand what he means by that, “What? Nothing?”

“I’ve noticed you’ve been distracted lately, what’s wrong? Has something happened?”

It’d be easy to mistake his questions for concern if you didn’t know any better, but you do, he’s a demon. Something you find yourself having to remember often, he doesn’t care for you, not in a matter that you’d want to be cared for. You don’t even know if he’s capable of it. It feels cruel to be asked questions and given reminders to look out for yourself when the person giving them doesn’t actually care about you but rather himself.

“Choso, please hand me that tea towel,” you pause and his head tilts at you in confusion. Clarifying, you add, “You have to, this is the favour I am asking of you.”

The only tell that you’ve asked properly being his grim expression, wholly unimpressed by this situation. His jaw clenches as his body turns stiffly to grab what you’ve asked for, as if he were trying to hold off on completing the request.

“Why now?” He hisses lowly.

There’s a tug in your heart, already regretting your actions but he can’t stay here with you. Letting your feelings for him grow would be stupid and despite what they say, absence does not make the heart grow fonder. This is logical, this is the smart choice, this is what’s best… so why is it hurting you so much.

Eyes intense and annoyance palpable, a singular request uttered, “Call me back.”

You shake your head at him, having him return so soon would defeat the purpose of what you’re attempting to do.

“You are the most frustrating human by far,” he begrudgingly hands you the tea towel, scowling as he disappears from your apartment.

The breath you let out is large, body folding with it, stuck between feeling relief and regret. Everything is still and your apartment feels emptier than ever. Blankly, you stare at the tea towel in your hand. Its bright and happy pattern feels mocking. This is fine.

Looking back at your bench, the half-chopped vegetables sit on your cutting board. This is fine. This feeling will pass. In a week, or two, this will feel like nothing more than a long and vivid dream. This. Is. Fine.

⟢

It’s beginning to feel like… the damage had already been done. The days go by but you still remember how he looked when you’d come home. His brow relaxing when you’d step through the door, like he was worried about you while you were gone. His patience while he listened to you complain about things he wasn’t even a little bit concerned with. It’s been lonely at home.

Your coworker calling your name reminds you that you’re at work. Shaking your head as if to rid yourself of the memories before turning to them properly, “Sorry. What’s up?”

“Wasn’t that guy in here during your last shift?” Their voice filled with concern.

Glancing over in the direction they’re looking; you see your date from a while back. “Ignore him, he’ll get bored eventually.”

“Okay…” They squint at you, “But actually I think you should tell management about him, just so they know.”

You wave them off, not really concerned. It is a little troubling though, the guy had taken it so well when you initially told him you weren’t interested. Only to do what seems like a complete one-eighty and blow up your phone with messages. Obviously you blocked him and now he’s lightly stalking you. Maybe you’d care more if he ever approached you or if you weren’t busy thinking about Choso but alas he is low on your list of concerns.

At your coworkers intense eye contact you concede, “Fine, I’ll tell them but I doubt they’ll care.”

They put their hand on your shoulder, offering support, “If he tries to come over, tell me and I’ll deal with it instead.”

Placing your hand over theirs, you look deep into their eyes, “I love you.”

Their face twists in disgust as they push you away, “Go do your job.”

You laugh as you shuffle away, despite your joking you’re appreciative of their support. 

⟢

Those little creatures hang around you again, ever since you sent Choso away they’ve been lingering more. It’s somewhat of a bother but you did fine before he showed up and you’re doing fine now. You go through the motions, ignoring them, working, going back to your empty apartment. Your date that you can’t remember the name of keeps hanging out at your job but he gets ignored like the shadowy critters.

Not that you’ve been keeping track but it’s been a little over a month since you last saw Choso. The last thing you remember seeing was his angry face, still, you want to see him again and maybe if you didn’t feel so guilty you’d have called him back by now. Too many times you’ve almost called his name aloud but your feelings haven’t faded and calling him now seems pointless.

Plus, you’re a little concerned about how mad at you he might be. The way you asked your favour was cheap and unexpected so you’re sure he’d have some choice words and a stern look to give you. Though, there is the chance he’d be mad at you for calling him back after all this time, he might be comfortable wherever he is and you calling him might only serve to feed his anger.

Ultimately you’re indecisive on the matter, you could call him back for just a little bit, if he’s angry you’ll send him away again and it’ll all be okay… probably. Mind moving a million miles a minute as you slump back into the couch, you called out of work today, feeling stressed after not sleeping well.

You’re not quite sure what exactly has you feeling this way but you’ve been feeling a lot of unease lately. It’s more than likely everything combined but you’re not ruling out something more sinister. Choso’s words about scarier things being out there nags at you whenever you get a quiet moment to acknowledge his warning.

Your arm drapes over your face, covering your eyes. Inner turmoil getting to you as you grumble, “Stupid demon and his stupid warning, can’t even sleep properly anymore.”

A knock on your door startles you, body shooting straight up. You’re not expecting anyone, all your friends are either at work or would tell you before dropping by. Cautiously, you approach the door, choosing to look into the peephole before even thinking of opening it.

An unpleasant shiver rocks through your body, blood running cold as you see that your unwanted guest is your date from all those weeks ago. You knew he was stalking you but he only ever appeared at work, you’ve never even seen him in your neighbourhood. The fact he shouldn’t know your address meaning he’s followed you home without your knowledge making you feel sick.

Taking a step back, you consider your options. Opening the door is out of the question, pretending to not be home and waiting him out seems to be a good idea but if he’s already been to your job and seen you’re not there then he might not be as willing to believe that. You’re nervous, there’s no way to know how much he knows about you or how long he’s been watching you for. If he’s been waiting for you to leave for work then he’d know you’re still in here.

In your anxiety you bite at your lower lip, worrying it between your teeth when more patient knocks sound at your door. You didn’t really want to have to turn to him but he’s probably the only person that would get to you quickly and put you more at ease.

Fleeing to your bedroom, you keep your hurried footsteps light, not wanting to draw his attention to the sound. You cringe internally at the small squeak your door lets out as you close it as slowly as possible. Giving yourself a moment, you take a deep breath and brace yourself for the probably very angry demon you’re about to summon right to you.  

Just as you’re about to say his name, you falter, wondering if there’s more to it or if it really is as simple as just saying his name. “…Choso.”

You’re on edge immediately, it’s familiar though, distinctively Choso in how your blood warms and your hairs stand on end. It really was as simple as saying his name.

He stands in front of you, frown deeper than you’ve ever seen it, his arms folded over his chest, “You took your sweet time.”

Instantly he has you on the defensive, “I had my reasons.”

His tongue clicks at you, wholly unimpressed, “Care to enlighten me on what they may be?”

Remembering your reason for sending him away, you awkwardly reply, “Not really.”

He sighs at you, clearly annoyed by your answer, “I assume you’ve reconciled with yourself then, since you’ve summoned me back.”

“Well… no–”

There’s a thudding on your door again, more aggressive than the first few times he’d knocked. Clearly growing impatient and probably able to hear your voices. You flinch at the sound, almost forgetting that there was a reason for you calling Choso back.

Choso catches onto your unease quickly, “Who is that?”

“Ah, well… you remember that date I went on? He’s sort of been… lightly stalking me.” You clear your throat, “I felt a little… scared… so I summoned you back.”

“How long has he been stalking you for?”

“Lightly, stalking…” You overcorrect to a decidedly very unamused Choso. “…I noticed not long after you left.” You can’t say you’re really appreciating the ‘told you so’ look he’s got plastered across his features right now. “Him stalking me has nothing to do with you so stop looking at me like that.”

“For a smart girl you’re awfully clueless sometimes,” his hand reaches past you for the door handle, “After I deal with this, you’re telling me why you made me leave.”

A conversation you’d really rather not have, it’s embarrassing to think about admitting to liking the demon you accidentally forced into a blood bind. Even more embarrassing that you had to force him to leave your house because he was driving you insane.

You avoid eye contact with him as he passes by, opting to stay put while he handles the unwanted guest. Having him back brings a kind of security you weren’t even fully aware of having lost, the fact you trust this literal demon with your wellbeing should be more concerning but it only adds to your feelings for him.

While waiting you can hear their muffled voices followed by nothing, an off-putting silence filling the apartment before the door is slammed closed. Cautiously, you stick your head out of your room, looking over to where Choso is standing. His broad back facing you, when he turns to meet your eyes you can’t help but feel guilty.

You leave your room properly and walk over to him, checking over his appearance to make sure he’s fine.

His next words are simple and chilling, “He was possessed.”

You feel faint, “What?”

“Not in any real sense, those things that follow you simply latched onto him, influencing his behaviour.” There’s a distaste in his tone when referring to the shadows before he continues,  “Probably hoping to use his proximity to you to their advantage, though they’re not all that intelligent which calls into question how they managed it.” He’s looking down at you, expression grim, “Did you forget my warnings? Why did it take you so long to call me back?”

“Well, I obviously couldn’t tell he was being possessed,” you’re feeling an awful lot like he’s victim blaming you right now and you’re not in love with that, “Sometimes men are just scary like that.”

“So, you’d rather be lightly stalked than call me?” He mocks you from earlier.

“Did I say that?” You sigh, tired, “Is he going to be okay?” You’re feeling a sense of responsibility for him, it’s your fault he got possessed and if you had noticed sooner he’d have been normal long before he followed you home.

“He’ll be fine, though he probably won’t remember much of his last month.” His brow raises at you, clearly waiting for some kind of real explanation for the mess you’ve caused.

“Don’t be so crabby,” you walk away from him and flop onto the couch, head resting on the back of it, “It all turned out fine in the end.” Not acknowledging how guilty you feel is far easier than being vulnerable with him right now.

He follows you to the couch, standing resolutely in front of you, “I know you don’t have this much of a disregard for your wellbeing–”

Smirking at him, you try to play everything off, “You’re starting to sound like you were worried about me.”

“Of course I was worried about you,” his words and the ease at which he speaks them catches you off guard, “You’re being inexplicably stupid and your faux ignorance at the gravity of your situation is becoming annoying.”

Okay… ouch. Any warm fuzzy feelings you had are kind of dampened by the harsh slap of reality he just gave you.

“I know things felt a little off but I had no way of knowing if I was just imagining it or not, don’t blame me for acting human.”

“Whether you like it or not, you are not the same as every other human, act like it. Those instincts are there for a reason.” He can see the way you’re getting antsy, uncomfortable with the way he’s scolding you. “Tell me why you had me leave.”

You scrabble at that, “Is that necessary?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Is this really his priority right now?

“Because I don’t want to be caught off guard like that again and I’d rather fix what’s bothering you now.” He watches you closely, not missing how you only seem to grow more restless.

Turning your head to the side you offer, “If I promise not to do it again, will you let this go?”

“No.”

You stand up at that, trying to make the conversation feel more even, “And why not?”

He speaks very calmly, “I had to wait until you were ready to call on me, wondering the whole time if you were safe and only knowing you hadn’t met an untimely end because I was still alive.” He leans down into your space, brows furrowing at how you turn away from him. His hand grabs your chin and pulls your gaze back to his, “Don’t do that to me again.”

It’s hard to keep eye contact with him, his emotions raging behind his stoic demeanour. Your answer to his question is ambiguous, “I couldn’t have you here.”

He, of course, pushes back on that ambiguity, “Why?”

He’s infuriating you; his insistent pestering is annoying. Fine. If he wants to know so badly, you’ll tell him.

“I couldn’t think clearly with you here…” you’re confessing but it comes across as challenging, a result of your foul mood, “Because I like you and I didn’t want to let myself feel it.” As if he’d be put off by your admission, you cement, “That’s why I couldn’t have you here.”

The only response you get from him is an unreadable grin. An annoying and stupid smile as he continues to hold you still so you can’t even turn away from the maddening expression. It’s almost torture, it feels like some kind of sick and twisted form of punishment. Being in the palm of his hand, emotionally and literally.

“Human emotions aren’t all that complex but all the different reactions and rationales behind them are,” he hums at you, finding this humorous somehow.

“I’m glad you’re thoroughly entertained by my inner turmoil, now either let me make you leave or stop being unnecessarily cruel.”

He lets go of you finally, a small mercy, “I thought you liked me; you’re not really acting like it.”

Thankfully you have the chance to look away from him now, “Don’t push it, Choso. Did you think I’d fall into a puddle because you touched me?”

“No but eye contact seems to embarrass you, maybe if you gazed into my eyes long enough you might.” Pleased grin still settled on his features, it’s the most you’ve seen him emote aside from annoyance.

Your response is to glare at him, directly into his eyes. If looks could kill he’d be dead and buried six feet under. “Make a choice.”

His smile falters, “What?”

“Either stay here or leave.” Those are his only options, having him here will feel unfair to you but it might be more inconvenient to him, you want to at least offer him an out.

He’s genuinely confused, he just got back to you, “Why would I leave?”

You don’t really understand the confusion but spell it out all the same, “…I don’t imagine you love the idea of a human falling for you.”

“Is that what you’re doing? Falling for me?” Oh great, he’s amused again.

You can feel a headache coming on, fingers rubbing at your temples, “Don’t change the topic.”

He shrugs, “I don’t mind.”

You stop, “What?”

He repeats, “I don’t mind.”

“Don’t mind what?” Your hands drop to your sides.

His arms fold over his chest, “Your feelings for me.”

“Why not?”

“They don’t have much to do with me.”

His logic is flawed and he’s pissing you off, he always pisses you off, his feigned indifference is stupid. You keep glaring at him, eyes glinting dangerously. You step closer to him and he doesn’t move away, as sturdy as ever. Leaning up, you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling yourself to him.

You’re hugging him, he wavers for a moment before he’s hesitantly moving his hands to loop around you, hugging you back. Otherwise, he’s completely still, clearly taken off-guard by your sudden affections. You’re careful to make sure your lips just barely graze against his ear, softly admitting to him, “I missed you.”

His fingers dig into your shirt at your voice, you’re getting to him more than you expected to. Pulling back, you’re surprised by the look in his eyes. A lidded and endearing expression that almost has you forgetting the aim of your actions. Resolve weak because you’d really like to kiss him and with how he glances at your lips quickly you think he might let you but he’s a bastard and you’ve not forgotten that.

Patting his chest with your hands you smile, “Welcome home, Choso.”

Removing yourself from his hold you’re met with some resistance but ultimately you’re walking away from him and back into your room. Shutting your door, you’re leaving him alone in your living room. His head fuzzy and thoughts confused on what exactly just happened.

⟢

Having Choso back has been comforting, you’re living a lot more peacefully. Both your stalker and the shadows have left you alone. Going to work hasn’t been as nerve-wracking lately and in that sense it feels like a huge weight has been lifted off your shoulders. But while it’s been calm outside your apartment, inside it is a different story.

Ever since Choso’s return he’s been watching you a lot more closely than before, spending more time around you when you’re home compared to when he was first here. There’s even been a few times you’ve had to stop him from following you to work. More recently he’s taken to staring at you, your peripherals picking up on his unwavering gaze. Sometimes when you realise, it devolves into an argument.

He continues to be steadfast that he’s not staring, nothing’s wrong, and he’s the same as always but his behaviour is clearly stating otherwise. You’re the one who likes him, shouldn’t you be the one acting strangely around him? Overall, it’s not a huge deal it’s just annoying to feel so observed in your own home. If you were meaner, you’d ask him in a way so he’d have to answer honestly but it feels oddly invasive to have someone be honest with you against their will.

You’re just trying to enjoy your evening, watching T.V. and lazing but you can feel his eyes on you. It’s making it hard to get comfortable,so without looking at him you simply say, “Stop it.”

“I’m not doing anything,” he sounds sure, like he’s certain he’s not doing anything to warrant your words.

“Choso…” you pause and turn to look at him, getting a little distracted by how he looks with his hair down. “I can’t get comfortable when you keep staring at me, just watch the show.”

His head drops forward to look at the T.V., clearly unimpressed, “This is boring.”

Ignoring the urge to argue in favour of your favourite show, you retort, “Because staring at me is so interesting.”

Silence. He has nothing to reply with.

Groaning at him, “You’ve been staring at me so much lately, it’s becoming frustrating.”

Reply quick and wrong, “I’m not staring.”

You squint at him accusatorily, “You are a liar.” Growing exasperated, you grumble, “If you have something to ask just ask it.”

“Can I touch you?” He’d almost seem sheepish when asking if he wasn’t so blunt.

There’s an upsetting kind of excitement settling in you when he asks, mostly you’re taken aback though, “What? Why?”

“Because–” He begins to explain but you’re cutting him off before he can.

“–Choso, you understand that I like you right? I like the idea of–” you stop, the sudden quiet awkward before you start again. “The point is – I like you and it’s unfair of you to ask me things like that.”

“Is that a no?”

Thinking on it for a moment, you decide, “It’s not…”

His hand moves for you slowly, as if he’s cautious of the fact you might change your mind. Hand on your cheek gentle, a kind of softness you didn’t think him explicitly capable of. It lingers for a moment, thumb brushing high on your cheek before he drops his hand. Moving lower instead, wrapping around your torso. You’re not completely sure on what you were expecting when he asked if he could touch you but as he pulls you to him and embraces you, you’re certain you weren’t expecting this.

The angle is a little awkward, you’re trying to hug him back as best as you can but it’s uncomfortable and it seems to bother him because he’s quickly tugging you onto his lap. Arms big and firm around you, holding you close. This is a kind of intimacy you’ve not experienced before; it’s making you nervous, you still don’t know what he wants from you, and this did nothing to make it any clearer.

“Calm down,” his words vibrate through his chest.

“I am calm.”

He knows better, “You’re not, I can tell.”

“Ignore it,” you’re embarrassed.

He huffs at you, partway amused, “Fine.”

Then he’s pulling you in closer, his face burying into you, nosing at your neck. The way he inhales your scent has goosebumps breaking out across your skin, almost shameless in his actions. It feels like he’s trying to make you even more nervous, taking your words to ignore you at face value. There’s a sick kind of joy he has to be getting from this, from how your heartbeat speeds up and how your breaths come faster. You almost feel like you’re shaking with nervous energy.

Voice trembling when you ask, “What are you doing?”

His response is to state the obvious, “Embracing you.”

You murmur back at him, “Are you done yet?”

“No.”

How annoying, at least he’s consistent in how easily he frustrates you. His few simple words always managing to get under your skin, its effect on you running deeper than you feel comfortable with.

Instead of trying to understand his motivations any further, you choose to relax into him, allowing yourself to be held. You have a feeling that he’s not sure enough of his own actions to explain them to you, so you’ll settle for being confused but held.

His breath tickles your ear, “You missed me?”

“Hmm?” You take a second to process, “Yeah…”

“Say it.”

His request takes you off guard, you’re pulling back slightly to make eye contact with him. He wants to hear you say it, his eyes imploring yours.

Your hand cradles his face, giving him what he wants, “I missed you.”

“I think…” his gaze flits between your eyes and your lips, “I missed you too.”

A small smile breaks out across your face, “Be careful, you might damage your demon rep if anyone hears you.”

He leans up to you, his lips just shy of yours, almost brushing them when he speaks, “I wouldn’t mind.”

You’re about to say something that would no doubt embarrass you when he’s taking the chance to connect your lips. Heart leaping in your chest at how fully he kisses you, insistent in how he leans up to you more, arms around you and tugging you down into him. There’s a neediness in his movements you didn’t expect him to have for you.

It’s making you dizzy, his kiss, his hands on your back, the desperation from him you weren’t ready for. Like he’s been pent up and the flood gates have opened, barely willing to part for a second to breathe.

It’s a lot, you’ve never been kissed like this, so completely, so desired. It’s hard to think, all thoughts you have muddling together. You need to breathe but every time you try to open your mouth to speak he’s planting another full kiss to your lips.

With your fingers in his hair, you tug on him, he groans as he’s pulled back. Finally, you’re able to draw in the air you needed, chest rising and falling quickly with relief. Choso stays looking at you, his eyes lidded as he watches you breathe. It’s hot in your apartment now, or that might just be you, your skin warm, feeling warmer with how he’s looking at you.

There’s nothing coming to mind, it feels like you should say something, but you’re completely lost for words. He’s rendered you speechless, still feeling a little dizzy as your eyes drop to his lips, glossy and slick from your shared kiss. A small smile spreads across his face, and it prompts you to look up, realising you were staring.

You feel fuzzy when you remember how he’d said he missed you, a dopey grin on your face, “You said you missed me.”

He doesn’t deny it, “I did.”

“You meant it?” You’re already asking your question before he’s even really finished giving his reply.

He pretends to think on it, for no other reason than to tease, “Hmm… Yes. I think so.”

You mutter at him, “Cruel…”

His hand cradles the side of your face, so gentle in how his thumb brushes over your cheek, “Did you?”

“Did I what?” A little lost at his question, too busy registering how it feels when he touches you.

“Mean it when you said you missed me,” The hand on your face trails further down, thumb tugging your lower lip.

Your lips quirk up in a smile, tone playful, “I mean everything I say.”

The look he gives you conveys severe doubt, it comes from experience of dealing with you.

His expression earns an eye roll from you, conceding without him even saying anything, “Okay so maybe not everything but I mean it when I say I missed you.”

Hand trailing even further down, now resting against the side of your neck. He’s probably able to feel your thumping pulse under his fingers, “And the other thing?”

If you tried to guess what he was asking you’d probably know but just to be sure, “What other thing?”

“You said something about liking me,” he’s trying to play it off, a nonchalance he usually possesses nowhere to be found in his words despite his efforts.

“I’m starting to think you just like hearing how much I like you,” crossing your arms, you add, “It’d be cute if it didn’t feel mean.”

“I’m not trying to be mean.”

“You haven’t even told me how you feel about me.”

Choso’s head quirks slightly, “Was the kiss not enough?”

“I don’t know, maybe you kiss everyone else like that too,” your finger jabs at his chest accusatorily.

“Did you just call me a whore?”

“No.” You look away and pout, “I implied it.”

“I’m not a whore.” He seems distracted when he says it.

You squint at him; some doubt there but not serious. You’re not sure you ever considered him a virgin, but you didn’t really consider the opposite either. His hands are still on you, one slipping under your shirt, warm against your bare skin, the distraction in his words a little clearer now when you notice the way he’s been looking at you.

“Can I kiss you again or are you too busy implying I’m a whore?”

“You can’t kiss me again because you didn’t answer my question.”

His brows pull up, “Funny, I don’t remember it being phrased as one.”

Leaning into him, your lips hover over his, so close you’re almost touching. Just as he’s about to close the gap you pull back, “How do you feel about me?”

He sighs when you move away, “Right now?”

If that’s how he wants to play it, fine. “I’m not gonna sit on just anybody’s lap and make out with them.” You make a move to get off of him, not willing to sit so suggestively in the lap of someone who doesn’t even like you.

He stops you from going anywhere, his large hands firm on your hips. “Am I just anybody? I thought you liked me.”

“Right now?” You quirk a brow at him.

“Don’t be petulant.”

“I’m not being petulant, I’m just not willing to debase myself for a demon who doesn’t even like me.”

“I never said I didn’t like you,” he offers like it’s enough, gaze already set on your lips again.

The very lips that are pouting moodily back at him, not entertained by such a small concession. Instead of dignifying him with a further back and forth, you seriously move to get off him. Hands planted on his chest as you throw a cautious glance back at where you’re stepping. When he realises he’s not satisfied you his hands grapple for you, somewhat frantic that you’re leaving the comfortable place he’d had you sat.

Words rushing from him, almost surprising himself with how needy he sounds, “Don’t– don’t leave–”

“–Why not?” It’s sharp, how you cut him off, quickly growing embarrassed at how forward you’ve been.

“Because I like having you close,” he replies obviously, brows pinching slightly. He takes your pause as opportunity to manoeuvre you back into place, arms around you, holding you tight to his chest.

Soft sigh leaving you, annoyed by how endearing you find him. “Choso…”

“I missed you…” His face has found its way to your neck. Breathing in your scent, shiver running down his spine with it, “…Because I like you.” Almost like he can’t stop himself, he licks at your neck, tasting you. A low sound coming from him, “I like you a lot.”

This took a sudden turn from playful to frustrating to dizzying, the air around you is heavy as he licks and nips at your skin. Pulling shaky breaths in when his hand slides under your shirt again, the feeling of his skin on yours hot.

“I–”

Whatever you were about to say is getting cut off, “–Are you gonna let me kiss you now?” His words are spoken between kisses as he trails his lips up to the side of your face.

Without saying anything, you turn your head slightly to the side. Lips meeting his easily, melding together in a soft kiss. He’s careful this time but no less insistent, quickly growing less restrained. Your hands grip his shoulders, fingers pulling at the material of his shirt.

A small noise leaves you when he’s licking into your mouth, the sound seemingly setting Choso off. One of his hands jumps for your face, the other holding your throat. His kisses growing needy. It’s all you can do to try and keep up with him, his lips fervent and messy.

Your fingers thread through his hair, nails lightly scratching his scalp and it’s like he melts into you. Soft moan leaving him you weren’t expecting, your chest stuttering as you stifle down the whine bubbling in you. He sounded so pretty when he moaned, you want to hear it again. Repeating the motion, you nip at his lower lip at the same time, trying to coax it out of him.

Unfortunately, he stuffs down the noise the second time, just barely – his body shudders with it. He uses his hand on your throat to hold you in place, his forehead resting on yours. Huffed breaths shared in the space between you, your eyes are unfocused and glassy, his much the same. You’re trying to calm yourself, worked up and very nearly squirming on top of him.

There’s something you should tell him, especially with how heated this exchange is getting but you can’t seem to get your head on straight long enough to voice yourself. Choso seems to be able to tell that you’re struggling though, his expression amused but no less kiss drunk than you.

Showing mercy, he gives you an opening, “What’s wrong?”

“I just…” This is embarrassing, “I don’t wanna be presumptuous or anything but you should– uhm… I just think you should know…” your skin feels unbelievably hot right now, feeling flushed as you murmur, “…I’m a virgin.”

He hums at you, completely unsurprised at your confession, “I know.” He ignores your sputtering at his simple statement, nose running along your cheek in a soft show of affection.

“What do you mean–” You fight to hide the shiver running down your spine at his gentle touch.

“–Are you telling me this because you want to have sex?” His words are low against your skin, something about him feeling predatory, “Do you want me to take your virginity?”

Choso can’t help but feel greedy, the idea of you letting him – a demon – be your first fills him with a possessiveness he couldn’t explain in a way that wouldn’t have him looking like a huge pervert.

Your voice is shaky as you avoid answering him, “You never answer my questions…”

He huffs a small laugh, having purposefully cut you off so he didn’t have to answer, “Do you really want to know how I know?”

Something about how he looks at you, eyes glinting in the soft light of the room has you questioning if you really want to. “Is the answer going to embarrass me?”

“You?” He makes a soft sound, his thumb smooths over your throat, “Probably, you fluster easily.”

“I don’t fluster easily…” his gaze is setting your skin on fire, “…I just like you is all.”

“So you’ve said,” he mumbles out, leaning in and licking up the length of your throat where his hand just was.

The reaction he gets from you is damn near visceral, a gasp pulling from you at the sudden action. Your brain is rebooting, struggling to form words when he begins nipping at your neck. Anything you were about to say comes in the form of jumbled words and weak moans. A sound he seems to delight in if the curling of his lips against your skin is anything to go by.

“You get distracted easily,” his breath is ticklish against you, “You never answered my question.”

Did he ask a question? You suddenly can’t remember, “What was the question again?”

He laughs at your lapse in memory, “Did you want me to fuck you?”

The choice in phrasing makes you bristle, hating how he’s right that you fluster easily. He’s taking joy in how you pause at his question, obviously having asked so bluntly just to watch you squirm. Choso is patient though, happy to continue leaving marks on your delicate skin while you try to get it together enough to reply. His canines grazing over the patches of skin he’s sucked marks into, the shivers that run through you at it making him smile.

“Y– hah– yeah…” your reply is clumsy and breathy. His lips are off your neck as soon as you answer, his arms hold onto your thighs as he stands. Not expecting to be picked up you let out a refrained squeal and wrap your limbs around him tight. “A warning would’ve been nice,” you chastise him, to which he pays no mind. 

All of Choso’s focus is on getting you to your bedroom, knowing better than trying to fuck you on your couch, not for your first time anyways. And now his head is full of all the times after, will you let him take you on all the surfaces in your home? Will you pick fucking him on your couch over the completely inane show you were watching earlier?

When he reaches your bed, he leans down, aiming to gently lay you on your mattress but you’re still clinging to him. He speaks into your skin, “Trying to put you down.”

“Right…” You smile bashfully and let go, dropping the last inch onto your bed.

He’s crawling over you and moving in to kiss you softly, lips gentle as he holds you. It’s sweet and fleeting, already he’s pulling away from you to pull his shirt off. Leaving himself bare to you, his skin enticing. Only realising the meaning behind this action when his hand is trailing down to your pants, fingers dancing along your waistline. He’d taken his shirt off to ease your nerves about him undressing you.

Little glimpses of how he regards you in his actions, treating you with a kindness you’ve never felt. A concern for how you feel and how he makes you feel, all completely wordless, not feeling the need to explain himself. The fingers at your pants tickle against your skin, his eyes meeting yours and finding that you’re looking at him with borderline hearts in your eyes.

His hand slips past your waist band, tugging your pants down over your hips. You lift your legs to aid in his removal of them, feeling absurdly shy lying in front of him in nothing but a shirt and your underwear.

Palms smooth up your inner thighs, lightly pushing your legs open for him to sit between. His eyes burn into you, making you feel nervous. You try to close your legs but his hands are heavy on you, keeping them open. When you look at him, you can see his skin flushing a very pretty light pink.

“You’re so wet,” he comments, hoping to fluster you more than him.

It works because you’re squirming again, legs struggling fruitlessly against his grip, “Shuddup.”

Mindless hum coming from him as acknowledgement and you doubt it’s because he’s actually heeding your words. More so he’s had another thought and moved on, motives clear when one of his hands moves from your plush thigh and to your panties. Thumb pressing into the wet spot on them, dipping into your cunt only to tease you.

Drawing his thumb up, he presses into your clit, giving pressure against it and not much else. Small whines and stuttered breaths leaving you at his teasing, feeling completely on edge and realising he’s probably not going to stop teasing any time soon. Clearly he gets pleasure from watching you fidget and struggle to keep your noises contained.

He tortuously plays with you over your panties for too long, fingers sweeping from your clit to your hole and back too many times. Your wetness leaking into your underwear the longer he plays with you, the thin material moulding to your pussy. Hips jumping every time his finger trails over your clit, pleasure so muted that you’re growing frustrated with him.

“Choso,” you grumble at him, reaching your limit.

He barely glances at you, still playing with your pussy, “Finally found your voice?”

Bastard… he’d been waiting for you to say something. His patience almost frightening, no hurry in his movements.

“Can you… do more?” This is embarrassing, it’s your first time and he’s teasing you so cruelly, “Please?”

He smiles politely at you, “Of course.”

Bastard…

Finally, after what feels like hours, he’s tugging your panties down your legs. Foreboding smile on his face as he holds them up, thumbing over the crotch of your drenched underwear. At your disgruntled whine he discards them to some corner of your room haphazardly. Feeling so vulnerable, you go to close your legs again, the contrast between his and your state of dress something you’re too conscious of all of a sudden.

“Keep your legs open,” he chastises, hand on your knees and pushing them apart obscenely.

When he shuffles to lean down you startle, “You– you don’t have to do that…”

“You don’t want me too?” His eyebrow quirks at you.

“You won’t get anything out of it…”

He’s a little annoyed that you stopped him for such a stupid reason, “Not what I asked, do you want me to eat your pussy?”

You can’t look at him, face absurdly hot, “…Yes.”

“Worried about stupid things,” he murmurs, moving onto his stomach again. Pulling you closer to his face once he’s in place, “I’m going to enjoy this immensely.”

Stuttered gasp leaving you, he’s not waited anymore, apparently having deprived himself long enough. Maybe it’s his fault for playing with you for so long but he’s grown desperate for this, if you hadn’t let him, his heart might’ve broken. He licks through your cunt, tongue opening up your slit. Small grumbles leaving him as he drinks you down, his arms wrap around your legs and tug you open more, face pushing into you.

You’re a little worried he’s going to suffocate himself, his eagerness staggering. Just as you’re about to say something to him, his tongue is insistently pushing inside your hole. Shocked whines leaving you as he fucks you with it, his nose rubbing into your clit. You’re a twitching mess, already so pathetically close. All his teasing has made everything so much more sensitive, head fuzzy as he laps at your cunt.

One of your hands reaches down and threads through his hair, tugging on him. He doesn’t even flinch, throaty moan leaving him the only evidence that you had actually pulled on him. He’s ravenous and obsessed with how you’re fluttering around his tongue, your small whines and huffed breaths making him dizzy.

Looking down at him you hope to mumble out anything but when you’re met with his glazed over and lidded stare, your heart stumbles in your chest, pussy jumping. He looks drunk on you, his throat bobbing as he slurps down your slick. He’s messy and the sounds filling the room are wet and depraved. With how he’s fucking into you and the look on his face, you can’t tell if this is more for your benefit or his.

Cries of his name leave you, stumbling over the syllables every time his nose presses into your clit just right. Then he’s withdrawing his tongue, sad pitiful noise leaving you at the loss of getting so close. A hand leaves your thigh, single digit probing at your entrance, pushing in so carefully. His eyes locked on how you’re stretching around his finger to accommodate him, he feels like he’s going to start drooling.

Your cunt so warm and tight around his finger, his chest pulling at the thought of opening you up with his cock. The clumsy manner in which you’re calling out to him making him feel sickly fond of you, pressing a light kiss onto your inner thigh.

Unexpectedly, he praises you, “You’re pretty,” murmured low, his eyes racking over your whole form.

The compliment has you shy, it’d be so sweet if your slick wasn’t dripping down his chin. “I– thank you…” you look away from him.

He chuckles at your response, refocusing on your cunt, slowly pumping his finger in and out. Relishing in how you squirm at it, beginning to seriously doubt your ability to take him. Taking his time in opening you up, digit rubbing against your inner walls just to watch your chest stutter and hips twitch.

Not adding a second finger until your whines are pitchy and you’re relaxing around him, stuffing your little cunt full with his two big fingers. The feel of your walls clamping down on them making his dick twitch in his pants. Scissoring his two digits to stretch you open, impatient and mouth watering, he’s leaning down to lick at your pussy again. Tongue slipping in with his fingers just to get a taste of you before slurping at your clit.

You feel full and dizzy, head lolling back as he fucks into you, struggling to close your legs around his body. Free hand still holding you, pushing up to open you even more. Choso’s name leaving you through mumbles, hard to talk around your moans. The way he’s stroking your walls has you seeing stars, his tongue on your clit making your back arch.

It’s so much, not able to decide if you’re trying to roll your hips down into him or if you want to pull away. Not that you’re getting much of a choice anyways, anytime you twitch away he’s growling at you and pulling you right back down to him. The sounds of his fingers fucking into your pussy filling the room, wet slapping that would be embarrassing if you weren’t getting so close.  

The hand in his hair tugging on him again, dark moan leaving him, not stopping for a moment. He can feel how you’re squeezing down on his fingers; he can hear the way you’re skipping breaths, thighs shaking from the build-up. He doesn’t stop, even as you whine and push at him, so sensitive that your impending orgasm feels like too much. He’s not depriving you of this, he’s not depriving himself of this.

With a loud gasp and shocked whine, you’re cumming around his fingers. Almost feels like Choso purrs at how you’re contracting around him, not stopping his movements to help you ride out your high. Eventually pulling his fingers out of you only to grab onto your other thigh and pull you completely open. Mouth on your cunt before you’ve even really registered that he’s made you cum.

He lewdly slurps at your pussy, apparently having been patient about making you cum when this is what he really wanted. You’re sensitive and flinching away from him, soft whimpers leaving you, not even able to try and move away from him with how he’s holding you. The hand you have in his hair pushing at his head weakly.

“Choso– it’s– hah– too much,” your eyes feel wet and your thoughts are foggy.

He groans in disappointment but pulls back all the same, though not before blowing lightly on your clit, smile evil at your twitchy reaction. Showing mercy, he moves his head to rest against your thigh. Teeth nibbling at your skin, tongue lathing over the small marks he’s made. Finally sitting up and resting on his knees, he delights in how ruined you look. Marks he’s left on you from all his kisses on your neck, your thighs, cunt glistening with your cum and his saliva, eyes glazed, lips swollen from his kisses and how you’d been biting at them.

Readjusting, he trails his hands up your sides, pushing your shirt upwards as he goes. His eyes meet yours, checking to make sure you’re okay with his actions. You’re lifting your arms to help him take it off properly, shirt sharing the same fate as you’re other clothes and being banished to the floor.

He can’t help himself, hands groping at your tits, squeezing and pulling at you. Lightly pinching at your nipples just to make you gasp. Leaning down he lays his tongue flat over your nipple, licking at it sloppily. Messy in how he drools onto your sensitive skin, hands still pawing at the fat of your tits.

Distracted by how he’s playing with your naked body, neglecting his throbbing cock. Switching his mouth to your other nipple, teeth dragging over it lightly. His dick leaking into his pants at the shiver he pulls from you.

“Cho–” his name gets caught in your throat at how he pinches at you, back arching up into him.

The small way you called out to him seemingly enough to pull him back to, finally removing his mouth from you in an obscene display. Thin string of spit connecting his mouth to your skin, breaking when his tongue passes over his lower lip. Moving upwards, his face nuzzles into the side of your cheek, leaving soft and wet kisses against you. Fighting the urge to leave even more marks on you, instead resting his mouth next to your ear.

“You doing okay?” His breath is warm but still it sends a pleasant chill down your spine.

You nod your head at him in response to his question, not feeling sure enough of your voice to try and speak.  

A hand holds the side of your face, his lips meeting yours in a wet kiss. Tongue licking into your mouth fervently, small groan sounding from him when your hands hold onto his shoulders, appreciating your touch. He’s warm, a comforting warmth that you’re coming to crave from him. Looping your arms around his shoulders, you pull him down onto you, his skin against yours.

His mouth parts from yours at the sudden shift but lets it happen, his arms scooping under and around you. Skin against yours tickling a part of your brain nicely, your legs wrap around him. Wanting him pressed up against you completely, only to whine when you’re met with the material of his pants.

Choso huffs a small laugh at your disgruntled noise, amused by your desire to have him pressed to you. He shifts to sit up but you’re clinging to him, refusing to let go. “If you want me to take off my pants I need to sit up.”

Annoyed, you let go and flop back onto the mattress. His eyes watch the way your tits move with the force of your landing and you cross your arms over them, “Take off your pants then.”

He doesn’t waste any more time, tugging his pants off hastily, like he’s suddenly been reminded of just how hard his aching cock is. It’s quick how he undresses himself, one second wearing pants and the next completely bare with his large cock in his hand. Lightly stroking himself, hissing between his teeth at the slight pressure.

Flushed a deep pink, so hard and leaking precum down the length of himself, it looks almost painful. Before you can reach out for him, a hand is pushing back on your thigh, “Need to be in you.”

You don’t even get a chance to be shy, not with the way he’s rubbing the tip of his dick between your folds. From your hole to your clit and back down again, pressing into you just slightly each time.

He speaks through his teeth, “You need to relax.”

“I am relaxed,” you return.

“You’re not,” he can barely push in, too worried about hurting you.

He presses his thumb to your lips, about to ask you to lick, surprised when your lips wrap around it and suck lightly. His skin flushing a deeper pink, feeling like he’s about to melt into a puddle in front of you. A breath shudders through him as he pulls his thumb from you, reaching down and rubbing circles into your clit. You need to relax for him.

His cock probes at your entrance, carefully pushing into your gooey hole. Still so cautious of your comfortability despite the ravenous need clawing at his insides. After a bit of coaxing, he’s able to push the tip of his cock inside. Your chest seizes and your cunt clamps down against the feeling, the stretch painful enough to have you shocked but not enough to have you in legitimate pain.

Choso just about passes out, your pussy so tight around him that it takes him off guard, even more so when your hole flutters around him. He reaches out for your hand and laces your fingers together, his breaths heavy and sputtered as he tries to collect himself enough to talk you through it.

“Gotta relax,” he huffs at you, dick jerking at the pretty look on your face, “I’m gonna take my time, gonna be so careful with you, so just calm down.”

“Oh– Okay,” you can do that, you can calm down.

Choosing to focus on something else, on how his hand holds yours, on his voice soothing you. Trying hard to even your breathing, partway succeeding, enough so that you’re relaxing again. Something Choso is infinitely grateful for because he felt like he could cum from the tight grip of your cunt and the cute look of your pinched brows alone. He’s so patient with you, waiting until you tell him it’s okay before even thinking of moving again.

Voice still shaky when you tell him, “Y–You can move, Choso.”

He grunts at you, an acknowledgement that he’s heard you. Hips slow as he sinks in more, breath catching at how you react to him. Thumb back on your clit to help you take him more, only getting about halfway before your free hand is pushing back on his chest. Immediately he stops, not wanting to push you past your limits. Your hand is gripping his tight, it makes his heart tug, his hand squeezing back at yours.

“You’re doing s–so– hah– good,” he coos at you.

Aiming to help but his voice is breaking and needy and the only thing it does is make your pussy flutter around his achingly hard dick. His eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head at the feel of your slick walls.

Glancing down, you worry, “I don’t th– think I’m gonna be able to take it all.”

You sound so concerned about not fully taking him and he can’t help but chuckle breathlessly at it, “That’s okay, this much is enough.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he pulls your hand to his mouth and kisses your knuckles, “You okay if I move?”

Nodding at him, “Yeah, you can move.”

Drawing his hips back, he hisses through his teeth, brows scrunched as he focuses on his movements. Careful as he starts a pace he thinks you’ll be able to handle, fucking you on half of his cock. Even this much has his head spinning, addicted to the feel of your plush cunt sucking him in. Relishing in the sound of your rapid heartbeat and stifled whimpers, your hand unravels from his to grip the sheets. He takes the chance to hold you open, more control over his pace this way.

Incoherent whines tumble from your lips, words not even close to comprehensible. Desperate need resting inside your chest suddenly, you want all of him, you want to feel stuffed to the brim. Trying to convey it is hard, especially when just half his dick has your brain scrambled and fuzzy.

“C–Cho– more,” stumbled and huffed but clear enough, “Please.”

He hesitates, “I don’t think–”

“–Please~” you whine out to him, plead stretching long with your gasped moans.

He can’t help but cave when he looks at you and sees your cute expression, unshed tears sitting pretty on your lashes. Giving you what you want and fucking into you, stuffing more of his cock inside your tight hole each time he thrusts in. He feels like this might be as close to heaven as he’s ever going to get, opening you up on his fat dick while you tremble under him.  

Choso’s beginning to feel like a mess with how you’re squeezing him, so tight his balls ache. Your staggered breath and absent gaze driving him crazy. Skin glowing with a sheen of perspiration while your eyes roll. His cock hitting so deep inside you your breath hitches when he’s finally balls deep, you could almost could swear he’s in your ribcage.  

Your toes curl and your head lolls back, drooling at how it feels to be this fucking full, your mind truly slipping through your fingers and he hasn’t even begun fucking you proper yet. Before he moves he grips your hips, fingers digging into the fat there, enjoying how soft you are. Drawing back cautiously to make sure he doesn’t do anything to hurt you and upon realising you’re basically already fucked dumb finds himself thrusting back inside you. The force of it rocking you, fingers gripping the sheets tight as you moan pathetically.

Setting a rabid pace, he finally lets himself fuck into you how he craves. Hands gripping your skin while he stuffs your sensitive pussy, your lips bulging around his thick length, struggling to take him. Beyond turned on with how good it feels, obscene and wet slapping resounding from the room, along with the pitiful sounds you manage to let slip.

Beginning to feel like he’s fucking you to borderline insanity, his or yours he can’t ascertain, all he knows is that he’s obsessed with the slick heat of your cunt. Effectively pussy drunk and if he thought he wasn’t leaving your side before he sure as hell isn’t now, not willing to give up something as sweet as you. It’s funny how you’ve basically pussy whipped him without even trying or knowing.

“Feel s–so– fuck– feel so good,” he gasps at you, needing you to know just how perfect you are.

His hands move from your hips to anywhere else he can grab, handsy as he gropes at you, wanting to touch you everywhere he possibly can. Eventually landing on wrapping around you and pulling you up, the position having you sinking down on his cock more. Sputtered moans leaving you at the sudden change, arms looping around his neck and scrabbling at his back, nails no doubt leaving marks.

Chest to chest, skin contact that has a shiver running down your spine pleasantly. You wish you could tell him how good he’s making you feel, how close you’re getting, how fuzzy your brain feels but the words won’t come. Instead settling for whimpering into his shoulder, drooling on him slightly.

His hands travel lower and grab at your thighs wrapped around him, pulling you further open and using his grip to use you like a sex toy. Fucking you so deliciously and easily that you feel like the room is spinning. Your mouth latches onto his neck, leaving behind dark marks, something for your mouth to do beside crying out his name uselessly. Not that he particularly minded, enjoying immensely how wrecked you sounded as you cried out for him.

He notices the way your breath catches and nails dig into him more, getting close to cumming. Something he wants desperately, his thrusts more forceful, excited at the thought of you gripping him sinfully tight.

“You been doing so good,” he breathes, “Just let go for me.”

The words spoken against your ear sends a tingle through your body, muscles pulling tight like you’re getting ready for impact. Your whimpers pitchy as you twitch in his grasp, your nails nearly making him bleed. You’re cumming around him so perfectly, falling apart in his hands, squirming and hips jumping. Cunt so fucking tight he swears he’s gone to heaven, his eyes rolling back in his head as he moans shamelessly. His teeth bite into your neck, lathing over the wound quickly healing any blood he might’ve drawn with the action.

Hips jerking up into you as he fucks you through it, your orgasm ultimately triggering his. Shuddering as he cums inside you, filling you to the brim with it. His blood boiling as he continues to fuck you through his high, all too happy to let it leak out of you.

His unstopping thrusts pushing more of your combined mess out around his dick with lewd squelching noises. Sheets all sticky, evidence of how messily he’d fucked you. When you mumble at him he stops thrusting into you, somewhat begrudgingly, all too willing to force you and him into overstimulation.

Instead of pulling out and placing you down, he stays seated inside you and lays on his back. Leaving you laying on top of him, his arms around you again, embracing you. You’d snuggle into him more but you’re still not sure you’re in your body, limbs all so heavy.

“I’m sorry if I was too rough,” he sounds sheepish when he speaks into the top of your head.

You hum at him in disagreement, “Was good.”

Pressing a kiss to your temple, he asks, “Want to get cleaned up?”

“You’re gonna have to give me a bit, I don’t think I can move yet…” your eyes feel tired, “…Or today.” It feels like he grows warmer at your comment and you smile lazily.

Maybe he should feel more concerned over how fond of you he’s grown but as you drift off on top of him, snoozing so peacefully, he really can’t find it in himself to care.

𝐀/𝐍: i put my whole visussy into this fic ngl and i had so much more i wanted to add/do to it but it quite literally sucked motivation away from my soul. if you guys have questions about the story though you're more than welcome to ask ! i literally had SO many notes for this fic and while i don't think it's the best thing i've written i am obscenely happy to have finished it and i hope you guys like it !!! thanks for reading <333

[⚠︎] — 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: do not reupload / repost / translate / plagiarise my works © all works are the intellectual property of lovelivision ★ ⁝ my works are not to be used for AI under any circumstances

[oceanwithouthermoon]

prev they do not DESERVE to be in my cute fluff posts<3

need more future in-law interactions between saikis parents and kuboyasus parents.. imagine them meeting for the first time at like a school event and yasus mom goes up to kurumi and kuniharu and is like "your kid the one mine wont stop flirting with?"

i think mama yasu would see how kusuo interacts with kurumi and immediately be like "yeah, this is the one for my son."

we know that aren canonically puts A LOT of respect on his parents.. so i think it's safe to assume that thats the standard in their home.. i want to say its contradictory that despite being raised a murderous delinquent, he was also raised so traditionally, with all the "respect women, respect your elders, respect your parents," etc. but i dont think its contradictory at all, i think its pretty commonplace actually? but yeah, anyway.. kurumi is super ditzy and is always just barely almost getting herself hurt but kusuo is always putting his hand on table corners before she bonks her head, pulling her to his side right before she bumps into things, catching things she drops before they break, etc..

this is a topic i should also touch on without the context of a ship actually.. i just think it would be cute for the others to see how sweet kurumi and kusuo are, and also how SIMILAR they are..

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 10

in which spencer reid and inexperienced fem!reader manage to discuss the direction of their physical relationship between makeouts. reader isn't feeling comfortable at her apartment, so they plan their first trip together.

series masterlist

this fic is 18+ warnings/tags: d/s dynamics but not smutty, softdom!spencer/sub reader, mild pda?, hint at switch!spencer, they talk about sex/how r feels about her first time, making out, r has long hair, almost dry humping if you're standing several miles away, unresolved sexual tension, teasing/flirting. don't like? don't read a/n: yayyyyy hi guys!! no idea when part 11 will be out. I missed them. I love them so bad. they are my favorite ever. they are so special to me 4ever. hope u missed them and ur just as happy to see them happy as I am :")

“Do you like eyelet?” Spencer asks, reaching up to grab a set of sheets you couldn’t. He insists that you let him get everything from the top shelf because it’s been handled less. 

You shrug, distracted by the angle of his jaw and the line of his throat as he retrieves the plastic package. 

It’s Sunday. Three nights in a row spent with him—the longest sleepover streak thus far—and you don’t want to go back to sleeping alone tonight. But you know it’s time. Both of you have things to attend to tomorrow, and you’re not exactly in the habit of getting things done when you’re together. All weekend you’ve lounged in his lap on the couch or tangled yourself in his arms in bed—fully clothed, of course. Spencer had suggested the no-sex rule on Friday, and you’re glad for it. You feel no pressure to be doing more when he’s kissing you or holding you. 

Of course, the concept of having sex again crosses your mind—when you’re washing your face and catch a glimpse of the bruises on your neck in the mirror, or when the tips of Spencer’s fingers trace idly over a span of exposed skin on your lower back as you watch a movie on the couch and you’re struck with desire, or you move just right and feel a tiny lingering twinge of soreness. There was a time when if you had Spencer Reid to yourself for three nights, a Navy SEAL wouldn’t have been able to pull you off of him. Now, when you think about the fact that there will be a second time, you get that butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling—but you’re not sure if it’s good or apprehensive. 

Either way, it’d be too much right now. 

You do miss feeling that kind of closeness with him. That intimacy. It can’t be replicated, no matter how many naps you take together. Probably something to do with brain chemicals and hormones. He could explain it all, if you were brave enough to ask. 

So you know it’d be too much… but it’s not that you don’t want it. There is also, of course, the issue of the way he looks. It’s not helping your cognition. It’s not encouraging you to make good choices. 

You’re not supposed to be thinking about sex. You’re supposed to tell him if you like eyelet. 

“Yeah, I guess.”

Spencer gives you an exasperated look and sighs. He’s wearing his glasses today. His hair is freshly washed and fluffy. The navy blue sweater he’s wearing is about the only step between a button down and pajamas for him, and he looks good in casual clothing. You chew your lip. 

He doesn’t notice your ogling. “You’ve said that about everything.”

“I’m really not that passionate about the fabric of my sheets,” you defend, shoulders rising and dropping. 

“Surely you like some of them less and some of them more. Usually you jump at the chance to express an opinion.”

Okay. Uncalled for. 

He’s obviously kidding. You overreact anyway. 

“You suck,” you mumble, brushing past him in search of something suitable for your bed. 

Spencer processes this for a moment and then trails after you down the aisle. 

“I suck?”

“Here, look. Bamboo. That’s good, right?”

Your boyfriend glances at the package you’ve selected, probably holding back a whole host of facts about bamboo farming in China. 

“It’s fine. Why do I suck?”

“Because you implied I’m opinionated.”

“I didn’t imply it. It was an explicit statement.”You groan petulantly and put the sheets back on the shelf with force. Spencer picks them up and follows you deeper into the store. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

“You didn’t,” you huff, turning around to face him once you’re safely sequestered in a new aisle. The store’s not busy—an elderly couple roams for fake fruit and towels, humming vacantly to the Muzak, and a single mom wrangles her kids in a cart. Back here, it’s just the two of you. “Not really.”

“Then what did?” He asks gently, stepping closer. Spencer’s not overly-affectionate in public, but the tone of his voice, the way he’s looking at you like he can see your thoughts, feels intimate. 

You’re helpless when he gets like this, and he probably knows it. It’s an abuse of power and when you can think straight again you’ll have to scold him for it. 

“It doesn’t even matter. You’re just gonna drop me off after this anyway.”

He tilts his head like a curious puppy, eyes alight with a good puzzle as he quickly strings together the facts in his head. 

“Is that it?”

You frown and hesitate, eyes catching on a loose thread at the hem of his sweater. 

“… No.”

“Yeah, it is. You’re upset because I’m taking you home.”

You scramble to deny. “That’s not it.”

“I think it is,” he murmurs, a smile playing at the corners of his perfect mouth. 

You study the waxen floor tiles intently. 

“Well… I mean, would that be weird? You’re gonna miss me too, right?”

You sound unsure—insecure, even. When you look back up at him, his eyes are melted chocolate, even under the fluorescents. He glances down at your mouth briefly and then over your shoulder. 

Pleasekissmepleasekissmepleasekissme.

He doesn’t, but you can tell he really wants to, which is almost as good. 

“Of course, I’m going to miss you. But we’ll see each other soon. Probably tomorrow.”

“Unless you get called out on a case. But it’s not even really that. It’s just—how am I supposed to… I don’t know! We just spent three nights together. How am I supposed to go back to sleeping alone for a whole week?”

Maybe you’re too attached to him now, because acknowledging the thought which has been lurking all morning opens the floodgates that were holding back a sea of dread, and you feel it in every inch of your body. Five nights alone stretch out before you like an infinite, impassable forest. Friday is an eternity away, and there’s no guarantee he’ll even be here Friday night, if the team gets a case. 

Spencer somehow regards you with both curiosity and innate wisdom, like you’re a new specimen in a familiar field, for a long enough moment that your cheeks begin to warm. 

“Sorry, that was embarrassing. I’m being weird, it’s fine—”

Just as you go to walk away, he pulls you carefully back in by the wrist, even closer than before. 

“No. You’re sweet,” he murmurs, hand warm even through the knit of your sleeve. Gingerly you look back up at him. 

“But you’re not gonna miss me as much as I miss you.”

“Do not undermine my capacity for yearning. I missed you when you were brushing your teeth this morning.”

“Ooh. So clingy,” you tease, though you’re obviously delighted by the information, and he borderline pouts. 

“Don’t say that. Say you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” you laugh as he pulls you to his chest, keeping you there with a hand to your back. 

“Okay. Now say you love me.”

For a moment you’re distracted by the proximity, the lowering of his voice as he brings you into his space and your faces are only inches apart. The smell of his body wash coming from both of you. 

“I love you,” you breathe, and it’s not as teasing as you’d meant for it to be as his eyes dart to your lips. 

Even though you’re bossy, is what you don’t say. 

This seems to please him, because finally, he’s tilting his head down and pressing a quick kiss to your lips. It’s still enough to make you lightheaded. 

“Apology accepted. I love you too,” he murmurs. And then he’s pulling back, trying to walk around you. “Do you wanna stop for coffee on the way back to yours?”

“Wait,” you order, suddenly listless and disoriented in the middle of the aisle. “You’re not gonna…”

Spencer frowns back at you.

“I’m not gonna what?”

“You’re not gonna… say it?”

“… I love you? I did say that.”

“No, there’s—usually when I do stuff you ask me to do, you say—”

Only when the first ray of understanding illuminates his face do you realize you actually shouldn’t have said anything at all. 

“Nevermind. Yeah, let’s just go.”

Spencer catches your arm again as you attempt to walk past him, laughing quietly as he leans down to speak in your ear. 

“I am not calling you good girl in the small decorative statues aisle.”

“What if we go back to the bedding aisle?” You ask, through the warmth of your own cheeks. 

It’s sort of a joke. 

“Remember what I said about appropriate context?”

“All those sheets, and duvet covers, and stuff. It’s basically the same.”

When he doesn’t respond, you gather the courage to tear your eyes from a little robot statue and look at him. Eyes ever-so-slightly narrowed, warmed only by a hint of humor. A barely detectable curve of the mouth. 

Oops. With all your blind-button pushing, you might’ve accidentally tapped the one responsible for all the marks on your neck—the one that makes him tick in a way which usually ends with you underneath him. 

And then, for the first time, you actually watch as he pushes it down—activates some sort of self-cooling system. Probably he understands that whether you meant to be provocative or not, this interaction isn’t headed in a salacious direction. Even if you weren’t in public, the rule is holding fast. 

His hand slides from your arm to intertwine with your fingers. 

“What are you doing next week?”

You blink at the sudden change in subject and tone. 

“Uh… I don’t know. Working, probably.”

“From home?”

“Yeah. Why?”

He chews his lip thoughtfully. 

“I… still have a few days of annual leave that I need to use. I don’t know if this is… this might be too much, and you can say no. But Rossi has a place in Shenandoah. It’s a cabin—it’s, it’s really nice, I’ve seen pictures. He used to use it for hunting, I guess now he rents it out in the summer and fall but it’s empty during the off-season and he’s always offering it to the team. It’s only like, an hour away. An hour and nine minutes actually, if you take the 66 Express outside the Beltway from Arlington. I looked it up, um… semi-recently. I’m sure he’d let us use it, if you wanted to come burn four days of leave with me. No pressure. Of any kind. I could also, just, y’know, stay home, and we could still spend time together that way. We could finish Deep Space Nine. Or watch something else. Or watch nothing. Whatever you’d like to do.”

Your heart rate has been increasing steadily since he started his impromptu speech—you’re glad he seems nervous inviting you. You’re a little nervous accepting. A trip together is definitely a new step. But getting the hell out of dodge with him for a few days sounds wonderful. 

“I’d love to go,” you say earnestly. 

Spencer’s face goes blank for a second, and then his eyebrows raise, like he wasn’t expecting you to say yes. 

“Oh. Oh! Great! Okay, I’ll—I’ll talk to Rossi about it tomorrow.”

He remains highly chipper as he hands his card over to the cashier for your new overpriced bamboo sheets. 

The promise of getting Spencer to yourself for four consecutive days and nights is the only way you’re able to fall asleep to a cold bed that night. 

It’s harder, at home now—you’re self-conscious of every and any noise. Music, cooking, talking on the phone. 

It doesn’t make sense, because you know you can’t hear your neighbors, so they shouldn’t be able to hear you, and Jerry’s a creep, who might’ve made the whole thing up just to get under your skin—but it’s all you can think about, when you’re there. 

Monday evening, Spencer comes to visit, as promised. You undo all the locks and open the door just enough for him to slip through. 

He kisses you hello as you close the door and sets his things down at the table while you relock. 

“No Jerry today?”

“Nope. I haven’t seen him since Friday.”

“Good,” Spencer says only once you turn, a distinct chill to his tone and a mostly unfamiliar frigidity to his eyes. It’s not directed at you, but it’s unnerving nonetheless, so you draw closer and wrap your arms around his waist—hoping to melt him back into your Spencer. 

He reciprocates, speaks softer now that he has you in his arms, and immediately you feel better. 

“Rossi said yes to us staying at the cabin and Emily said I can take the time off. Did you still wanna go?”

You’re pre-occupied with your face buried in his shirt, so you just nod, basking in the scent of his shower products once more. They’ve gone from simply comforting to intoxicating. 

“Is everything okay?” He asks quietly, brushing your hair over your shoulder. His fingers barely glance off your neck and you almost shiver. Want begins to pool deep and warm in your stomach as you lift your head and he looks down at you, so fondly. 

Want which you can’t afford to feel if you’re not willing to act on it. 

“I’m fine,” you breathe. Fuck. He’s too close. He’s too hot. You pull away and move to the kitchen. “Um, dinner. What do you want? We could make something. Or order something. I don’t have much, honestly.”

“I’ll be happy with anything. You sure you’re alright?”

“I don’t want to have sex!”

The words simply explode out of you, like a bat out of hell as you whip around. Just barely you manage not to clap a hand over your mouth in mortification. 

You stand, back to the fridge, watching Spencer nervously for his reaction. 

His brow knits. His lips part and close again several times. 

You’re wondering what the fastest and most convenient method of not being alive anymore would be when he finally answers. 

“… Okay. I wasn’t trying to initiate anything, did I—did I make you uncomfortable?”

“No! No, I’m sorry. I just… I wanted you to know that while I’m still, like, figuring things out—like, with my neighbor and everything—it’s just a lot, so… so I know this past weekend we agreed to not do anything and I think it would be best to… keep not doing anything. Just for now. I shouldn’t have said it like that—I didn’t actually… mean to say it. I was gonna, um, find a way to bring it up more delicately.”

You clear your throat and look down to study the patterned tile, cheeks burning. 

By way of several nervous glances up at him and back down, you watch Spencer silently come to lean against the counter across from you, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Okay. Thank you for telling me. We’re not ever going to do anything you don’t want to do. But, out of curiosity… is this just because of your neighbor? Or because you maybe don’t feel ready yet?”

He’s asking gently, because he wants to know, and you know there’s no wrong answer. It’s still nerve-racking.  

“Um… like, a combination of the two, I guess. Mostly… the neighbor. I think. But I’m telling you this because…” and here comes the worst part. “I need you… to… hold me accountable.”

“For what?” He asks plainly, but you know what he sounds like when perfectly suppressing a smile. The surface of the sun has nothing on the temperature of your face as you close your eyes and forge ahead in the name of open and honest communication—something the two of you are trying to work on.

“If I… come on to you… you have to turn me down.”

This is not getting any less embarrassing. 

“Should I anticipate you coming onto me?”

“Probably,” you sigh, looking at him through your lashes and bringing your hands to your cheeks, hoping maybe they’ll cool you down and poor circulation will work in your favor for once. “I know myself. You know me. I like… asking you for things. But for the rest of the week, if I do… you know, want something from you—you have to tell me no.”

Spencer nods slowly. “What if you genuinely change your mind?”

“I won’t. I might think I have, I might even tell you I have, but don’t believe me, okay? I don’t think straight when I’m turned on, and if we do anything, I’ll like it until fucking Jerry is pounding my door down the next day, and I just can’t deal with that.”

Spencer’s face goes completely void of expression to the point that if it weren’t for context clues you’d have no idea he’s probably imagining pistol-whipping the guy. 

“Has he knocked on your door?” 

Testosterone. 

“No. Back to my point. I’m trusting you to keep me in check so I don’t do anything I’ll… I’ll end up regretting. Not that I regret the other night!” You scramble just as Spencer’s brow begins to furrow. “I don’t. I just regret that my gross neighbor had to get involved. And I don’t want that to happen again. So… is that… is that okay? Will you do that for me?”

“Of course I will,” Spencer says gently, without hesitation as he pushes off the counter. “Can I ask a follow-up question?”

You nod and regard the space between you, unsure if you want to eliminate it or keep using it like a buffer. By not coming to you, he’s giving you the choice. 

“You said this was mostly because of your neighbor. But you didn’t sound sure. It’s fine if you aren’t feeling ready yet. I just want to make sure I know what’s going on with you.”

“I don’t really know,” you admit, after a brief pause. “I feel like… as long as I know he’s on the other side of the wall I wouldn’t even be able to wrap my head around how I actually feel. It’s also confusing because, like I was saying, I… just because I feel like I want something in the moment, doesn’t necessarily mean I’m actually ready for it, you know? I don’t even know if… I don’t even know what being ready again really means or would look like.”

“You did the other night.”

“Yeah, but that was different. Because now I’m gonna think I know what I’m getting myself into, but that’s not necessarily true.”

Another pause in which you chew your lip and look away. 

“I don’t want you to overthink it, honey. I think being ready just means you’re comfortable, and you’re with someone who’s going to keep you safe, and nobody’s pressuring you, and you’re not, you know—pressuring yourself. Wanting it is actually really important, too. But what I’m hearing right now is that even if you might want it, you’re not in a place that feels safe. And that makes sense to me. So we’re just not gonna do anything until that changes, okay?”

Eyes still cast downward, your lips twist into a sardonic little smile. 

“I feel like I’m talking to my therapist.”

He laughs with a single breath. 

“I really hope your therapist doesn’t speak to you like I do. The ethics there would be highly questionable.”

The joke refreshes your courage and you look back up at him, smile still edged with humor but mostly unspoken gratitude. 

The half-smile on Spencer’s face, however, is fading steadily as he studies you in flickering passes. Like there’s something still on his mind. You were hoping for a subtle invitation back into his arms, but the space between you remains—infused now with a tension as it becomes increasingly obvious. 

“Also… this trip we’re going on. I feel like I should say this—I don’t know if it was even on your mind, but… I don’t want you to feel pressured to have sex just because of the timing. Me inviting you on a last-minute trip to an isolated cabin—it’s not a master plan to get you to sleep with me again, I promise. I really just wanted us to be alone. Not—not that kind of alone—I mean, we’ll be alone, but it doesn’t have to be like that. I was just thinking about how nice it was for us to get those three nights together, you know, and the whole weekend too, and with my job, that’s not always going to happen, so it just seemed like a good opportunity—”

“Spencer,” you laugh, letting the tension snap like a rubber band as you go to him, slinging your arms over his shoulders, delighted to be the one doing the interrupting and not the flustered rambling, for a change. “I know you don’t have an ulterior motive. As for what kind of alone we’re going to be… we’ll figure that out, okay? Don’t worry about me. I don’t feel pressured by you. I never have. If anything, I’m the one who pressures you for sex.”

You’ve got him smiling once more, as his hands find your waist and his gaze flips from your mouth to your eyes and back again. It goes very subtly mischievous in a way you don’t quite trust, but he’s dipping his head to kiss you, and something tells you it’s going to be a good one, so when your nose bumps against his, and you can feel his breath on your lips, you’re not at all prepared for him to speak. 

“Begging is not the same as pressuring, sweet thing,” he murmurs, and then he’s kissing you so thoroughly you don’t even have time to be properly affronted. The offended gasp gets stuck in your throat, and melts into a tiny huff as it turns out the kiss is a very good one. You can’t think hard enough to be offended. Not even when he chuckles against you. 

“That’s not fair,” you mumble when he allows you a second to breathe. He hums, satisfying himself with kisses to your cheek and playing along. 

“What’s not fair?” 

“You… I was supposed to have the upper hand in that situation! You were the nervous one for once!”

Another hum, buzzing against your lips this time. 

“You have to learn how to take the upper hand, angel. I’ve had a lot of practice. It’s a big part of my job.”

Admittedly it’s hard to think when he talks like this, but you try. 

“So… you manipulate me? That’s not very romantic.”

He laughs quietly again. 

“No. I do not manipulate you.”

“You’re just a control freak,” you tease. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, immediately, still soft-spoken as he pulls back to carefully search your eyes. “Does that bother you?”

You search hands and knees for a crumb of outrage, for a hint of any of that strong feminist theory you’ve instilled into your brain over so many years. 

There’s nothing to be found. 

“No,” you admit, dejectedly, hanging your head as much as he’ll allow. “Should it?”

“Only if you don’t like it. When I take the upper hand like that, I’m really just… posing a yes or no question. So far, you lean towards saying yes. You let me win. But you don’t have to.”

“What happens if I… if I don’t let you win?”

He angles his head, coaxing you to look in his eyes once more. A hand comes up to swipe a dot of mascara from under your brow. He’s looking at you so serenely, like none of this is at all complicated. 

“Whatever you want. I wouldn’t be the one making the rules anymore.”

Oh. 

Oh. 

You laugh nervously. 

“That’s a lot of pressure. What if… I want you to keep making the rules? For forever?”

He kisses you again, insistently enough you have to tilt your head back. When he answers, it’s low, a promise, and pressed right against your waiting mouth. 

“Then I will.”

You loose a tremulous breath from your parted lips and you know he can feel it. He can feel how you’re clinging to his shirt, pressing yourself closer, how your skin has warmed and your breaths have hastened, he can probably taste how much you want him, how you’re already thinking about giving it all up for him—

And maybe that’s why he laughs dryly into your mouth before pulling away. 

Because he’s a good boyfriend. 

Spencer knits his brow and clears his throat as his hand slides down your arm, eyes narrowed like he’s wondering how things escalated so quickly. You certainly are. 

Suddenly he’s back to the nerd you met in a coffee shop all those months ago, and you like him like this, too. “So… dinner?” 

“Mhm. Yeah. We should… we should definitely eat. What do you wanna eat?”

You don’t miss the quick once over he gives you. Or the way his throat bobs once he tears his eyes away. 

“Um… how does Indian sound?”

You swear you don’t know how it happened. 

Everything was going fine—there was food on the coffee table, a show on the TV. Spencer made tea. It was wholesome. 

And then, somewhere between setting the plastic takeout bag down and actually opening it, you ended up like this. Kneeling next to him on the couch, one hand braced on his thigh, the other tangled in his hair as you kiss slow. Like this could actually be leading somewhere. 

“We should stop,” he reminds you, even as his hand traverses up your leg. You lean further into him—he has to tip his head back to meet your lips. 

“We’re kissing. It’s nothing.”

“You were—” kiss. “Just telling me—” kiss. “That you don’t want this right now.”

Deep kiss. The grip he has on your hip does not agree with his words. 

“This is just kissing. Kissing isn’t sex.”

Even as you’re saying it, you’re throwing your leg over his lap, landing in a straddle. 

“No,” he groans as if pained, throwing his head onto the back of the couch and depriving you of his mouth. “Baby. You have to get off. We can’t do this.”

“My bathroom—we could—it doesn’t share a wall with his apartment, we could go in there and turn on the shower and we could be really quiet—”

Suddenly there’s a hand over your mouth. It’s not yours. 

“Please stop before I say yes.”

You pull his hand away, fingers wrapped around his wrist. 

“You should. You should say yes. It’s a good idea, I know he wouldn’t be able to hear us over the shower—”

“It’s not about that. It’s about the fact that you asked me to turn you down not even an hour ago, no matter what you say, and I said I would.” He takes a shuddering deep breath. “And… I’m going to. I’m saying no.”

“No,” you whine, head falling to his shoulder, because you know he’ll keep his promise. He cups the back of your head—a kind, sympathetic gesture, which does nothing to alleviate the heat of your blood or the ache between your legs. You pout into his neck. “This is terrible. I might not survive.”

“I think you will.”

“Maybe if I enter a coma.”

He laughs and strokes your thigh. 

“There are worse things than sexual frustration.”

“Not right now. This is the worst thing I can imagine.”

“I’m so sorry. You poor thing.”

You pull back to face him, hands on his shoulders. 

“Oh my god. Don’t act like it’s not bothering you.”

“I’m not bothered.”

“I know that’s not true. You know how I can tell?”

The slightest adjustment of your hips draws attention to exactly what you mean. Spencer goes completely deadpan. 

“Stop,” he orders in monotone, and you laugh even you allow yourself to be tossed back onto the couch because you’ve successfully flustered him again. He puts a throw pillow over his lap and leans forward, hiding his blush beneath perfect hands with a tortured groan. “You’re terrible.”

The couch attempts to suck you in as you wriggle back from a lying position, propping yourself up on your elbows and grinning at him. 

“I did it,” you gloat. 

He angles his head toward you, revealing half a pretty face, still dusted red but now with all the markings of inquisition. 

“You did what?”

“I took the upper hand.”

Those dark eyes narrow and before you can think to retract your legs he’s wrapping his hands around your ankles, pulling them over his pillow and leaving you flat on your back once more. Again you giggle. 

“You took nothing,” he asserts, but you’re not bothered—still smiling as you accept your new position and toss your arms above your head casually. 

“Somebody’s a sore loser.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Eat your curry.”

“Sorry, I’m full. From, you know, the taste of victory.”

He exhales a dry chuckle, leaning forward to finally retrieve the containers of food. 

“I can’t believe I ever let you call me a nerd.”

The rest of the evening remains PG. Conversation flows and trickles comfortably over dinner on the couch, and afterwards, he suggests a documentary. From the outside, it might not look like much—but to you, with your head on his chest as the TV casts its flickering, ghostly light over the room, with the beating of his heart against your ear and his breath against the top of your head, it’s everything. Six months ago you didn’t know what it was to exist so comfortably around another person like this. Now, though he feels familiar and safe, you don’t take it for granted. The novelty of something so simple is not lost on you, and you feel like the luckiest girl in the world as your eyes begin to flutter. You’re lucky to have someone you feel completely safe with. 

Spencer murmurs your name like a question.  It buzzes against your ear. You hum in response. 

His thumb fans lines over your shoulder blade. “Can I ask you about something?”

“Mhm.”

“The other night… we didn’t really get a chance to—to debrief, afterwards. Which is fine, you were tired, it was late. But then the next morning I had to go, and everything with your neighbor happened, and we talked about that a little bit, but… but earlier, it sounded like maybe you… I don’t know. Maybe you weren’t feeling good about how it happened?”

“Spencer, I told you I don’t regret it,” you remind him, pushing up from his chest to look him in the eye. His hand slides down your back. 

“I know… I just wanted to give you another chance to talk about it. In case anything was on your mind.” He frets over your hair, an invisible speck on your skin. Like he’s nervous. “And I want to make sure you’re feeling okay about how it went. I know what happened the next day was an unfortunate addendum, and I’m sorry about that. As soon as you give me permission, I will have him arrested. But I don’t want that to overshadow your experience.”

“It’s… not,” you breathe, fiddling with a button on Spencer’s shirt. 

“So how did you feel about it? Barring anything external?”

“Good.”

Spencer strokes your jaw with a knuckle, gently admonishing. 

“Don’t just say that. Think about it.”

“I have,” you assure him immediately, cheeks warming as you realize just how swiftly you’d replied. 

What a lovely button. Mother-of-pearl. The shirt is a pale lilac. It looks good on him. One of your favorites, actually. 

Spencer lets you pick at it. He would probably let you pull the button off, tear every stitch on the shirt with a seam-ripper if it helped to soothe your nerves. 

“I’m not trying to embarrass you, or make you uncomfortable. We don’t have to go into explicit detail. I know it still feels weird to talk about. But it’s something we do have to talk about.”

“I know. And I would bring it up if something didn’t feel right. But it… was…” you chew your lip as you think of a way to phrase it that doesn’t sound too mushy-gushy. “Overwhelmingly… a very positive experience.”

“You sound like Yelp review,” Spencer says through a smile. You attempt to smother the continual heat of your embarrassment against his shirt. He’s seen you at your most vulnerable, more intimately than anyone ever has before. And you’re still shy about acknowledging that fact. 

“Shut up. Say something nice back.”

With a typically gentle hand, he pushes hair away from your ear. 

“I…” he begins meaningfully, taking a moment to sweep your hair over your back. “Feel incredibly grateful that you trusted me to take care of you. I know that’s big for you, and I know it can be a really scary thing. Mostly I’m happy you’re happy. And that I didn’t mess up irredeemably.”

“What would you have messed up?” You laugh, retreating from your shelter against his chest to knit your brow. 

He makes a face in the half-dark like he shouldn’t have said it. 

“Uh… that… veers into explicit detail… and possibly too much honesty.”

You laugh again and adjust to frame his sheepish smile between your hands. 

“I see. You have to keep your mystique in tact.”

“I really don’t think it’s that much of a mystery.”

“Well, I’ll spare your ego.”

“Wow, thanks. For the first time in your life.”

You go in for a chaste, smiley kiss, which stays sweet and kind even as it melts into something stickier. 

It comes to a turning point and Spencer inhales deeply, gently angling his head away and shifting to check his watch. You collapse on his chest, catching your breath. 

“I should go.”

“No. I feel like you’re going away to war.”

“I’m going to Court House. Where I live.”

“What if I never see you again?”

“It’s twenty minutes away. So you could always just drive.”

You frown. 

“I hope you get trench foot.”

“You know seventy seven thousand soldiers died from trench foot in World War Two?”

“Obviously I did not know that.”

“Well, next time you should just say you want me to die. Up.”

He pats the back of your thigh and you push off of him, only after considering trying to hold him hostage for a split second. 

You hover by the couch like a ghost, watching with increasing anxiety as he gathers together the empty containers from your meal and throws them in the kitchen garbage before collecting his things. 

There is one thing—one potentially difficult thing you haven’t mentioned to him that seems to be a direct consequence of finally sleeping together. 

You’re clingy. 

Clingier than you’ve ever been. It didn’t seem possible to want to be around him more than you already had, but now when he’s gone you feel his absence like a vacuous hole by your side. Without his warmth, you’re always a little colder. A little less comfortable. 

It’s embarrassing to admit that you’re starting to get separation anxiety, so you won’t put it into so many words—but you think, as he turns, slinging his bag over his shoulder with a knowing look, that he understands. 

At the same time, you begin to close the space, meeting gently in the middle, toe to toe. You keep your hands behind your back, afraid that otherwise you’ll try and glom onto him like a barnacle on a ship’s hull. 

“There are some things I’d like to get done this week so I don’t have to worry about them during our trip. So I might not see you for a day or two.”

Dutifully you nod, though you’re slightly crushed. 

“That’s okay. We’re grownups.”

“I don’t know,” he tuts. “I’m worried I’m gonna start writing my name with your last on all my notebooks.”

That stupid, stupid charm. 

“Mm… I’m kinda out of your league,�� you grin. 

Spencer’s smile wanes slowly, but his eyes remain soft and aglow as they explore your face as reverently as his hands would. When he speaks, it’s in an honest, borderline whisper. “I’m acutely aware.”

Slowly his head dips, and your eyes flutter shut. A sweet, lingering kiss lands on your cheek. Then he’s pulling back. 

“That’s it?” You can’t help but ask, peering up at him and barely concealing a frown. 

He smiles that lovely smile, but by this point you’re attuned enough to his facial expressions to recognize the subtle heat playing just beneath the surface of those golden-oak eyes. 

“What? Did I give you the impression that I put out?”

“It’s just a kiss.”

That teasing edge becomes ever so slightly sharper as he regards you, head tilting. 

“Mhm. And the last time you said that—was it before or after you mounted me?”

You shoo him away pretty quickly after that—partly for discipline, and partly because the sooner he’s gone, the sooner you’ll go to sleep, and the sooner it will be tomorrow. 

And this trip can’t come soon enough, because you’re pretty sure you know exactly what kind of alone you’d like to be with Spencer Reid.

[clitorphosis]

DOLL PARTS

Death Island Leon S. Kennedy x reader | 18+ MDNI. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, KIDNAPPING, DUB CON SEX, SMUT, female reader, age gap, abusive relationship, guilt tripping, Stockholm syndrome, dumbification ig, rough sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, choking, creampie, finger sucking, bruises, implied physical violence, internal conflict, teasing, guilt, implied obsessive behavior(Leon) i think, dirty talk, pet names, degradation.

Summary: There is a deep desire to hold onto his past, on the part he is close to lose after every birthday date. And you are perfect for this. For him, to kidnap you is to save that part. Cause life goes on and without him, but yours can’t go on without him now. Of course you don't understand.

notes: this is a mess I fear, but I had a blast writing this tho so idc LOL!!! Also thanks @writingwisterias for letting me bother you with my rambling and my indecisiveness with kidnapper leon（╹◡╹）I don’t condone anything here in real life. :3 uhm, reblogs, asks or comments and any kind of feedback are really appreciated!

tags: @melanchol1cs

Clocks are ticking, not only in real time but in his mind - a disturbing reminder of how at his age Leon wasn’t even able to settle down. Tick - tock. Of course, men can always find a young woman, and two or three times of unprotected sex would be enough to impregnate one. Still, Leon doesn’t believe that applies to him - alcohol is not only a boner killer but also of fertility. Neither does he crave babies, he can be considered a dad to Sherry, also they would only show how time flies. She is enough of a reminder, no need for more.

He found you on the dating app - Sherry suggested he try, as a joke, probably not expecting him to follow the advice.

For him, you looked like a doll. Almost a godsend. Pretty, young, and easy to manhandle. Almost drooled at the prospect of having your legs wrapped around his waist. He should feel guilty or disgusted at the idea to fuck you… at the images of the material of your panties clinging to your hips, wrinkling up with every movement before his fingers would curl under it to tug them down. Right? No-no, he is only 38 years old - at his age men are already bald, Leon is having an easy time here. He has a chance, always had.

While he was unsure what to do, was a simple ‘hello, how are you’ enough for you? Or would it be too simple? Or repulsive? Why is he even worried about that, you probably matched him on accident.

You texted him first, something he didn’t expect from a young woman - even women of his age don’t text him first, they are dry and uninterested. Like sex with them.

“hiii ^^” This forces a smile out of him. Again, three dots appear. “You didn’t swipe me as a mistake, right?:3”

He hesitates, his thumb floats on the digital keyboard for a moment. No, it wasn’t a mistake, still, he needs to gratify his ego. “If it was, would it get you sad?”

“yep, actually, very big big sad!”

That was it. Easy and quick to get closer to you. He expected more obstacles, maybe times changed indeed or you are into older guys. All he needed to do was to open his wallet, be nice enough, and show how a ‘real man’ should treat a woman.

Leon knows a lot about you. He knows too much information - where you live, your college, and where you work. Not in a creep-like way, no-no. You were the one asking him to drive you there. Maybe your youth is the only problem to blame on - you were a chatting box endlessly and easily sharing anything with him, maybe things you should not have to. Somewhat, this only attached him to you.

There are always some subtle hints and hidden alarms, no one usually gives a shit about. Also, understandable, to ask anyone who knows him - hard to find someone with a bad opinion of Leon.

“He is okay”

“A hero. Not everyone is capable of saving the president’s daughter” or a simple shrug.

Outside his work, Leon is… just a guy most of the time. Yes, of course, not the luckiest one with the ladies, but it is unlikely someone would describe him as the type to kidnap a girl. No one understands how middle age crisis is going to be hard to handle, he is pushing 40, surely enough it is already waiting for him at the edge of the doorstep - and Leon had enough of bullshit in his life, a pretty and young woman is the panacea for this. The godsend pill to erase his problems.

And finally.

Finally, the tremendous loneliness will disappear, leaving it behind him like a bad dream. The feeling that everybody in the world is doing something without Leon. He can’t stand this ever-consuming loneliness to spread anymore, today IS the day.

He can let himself be selfish just once. Right?

To reach his goal, there is a small step though, a sacrifice to make. That’s why he set a date, in a good and expensive restaurant too.

And today is the day. This shouldn’t be forgotten. The biggest day. The most important one. No, doesn’t do the justice. The absolutely, positively biggest day, may be the right choice of words for Leon.

On the spot already, waiting for you. This time he isn’t late. That bad habit since 1998, but for once he didn’t struggle with his punctuality - too petulant about what will happen, checking clocks every second. Almost like a goddamn teenager, shifting the weight from one foot to the other on the spot. Nothing can go wrong, he tries to calm himself, there are so many ways to cover your disappearance. Perks of the job.

He didn’t notice how you arrived here too until your perfume brought him to senses. Your face is soft, your eyelashes flutter and you are so untainted. Your younger frame reminds him of himself your age. 21 years old, 1998. When he was at your age he had already witnessed horrors, you don’t realize they still exist. Leon shakes his head, that memory never brings anything good, but today his mood is not ruined and the memory has only strengthened the urge to keep you close.

Leon needs you, untouched by horrors and he knows much better how life can be terrifying.

“You ready?” He flashes a smile, his mood is more upturned than it has ever been - you can’t help yourself, a grin spread across your face too. It is infectious.

“Mmm, I am” you nod, curling your hand around his elbow, to keep yourself closer to him. And he is ready too, god, he has never been so fucking ready in his life.

“Not late this time,” His heart clenches at your words, and he looks into your eyes with a cocked eyebrow - awaiting whatever you came up with. “not like you at all, should I expect a surprise?”

“Maybe, maybe not” He brushes off with a shrug, a smile is still on his lips as you get closer to the car, but he can feel your excitement.

“A ring maybe?” You giggle. He opens the car door for you to get in, you don’t want to let go of his arm.

“A ring? Already?” He says and shakes his head. No, not a ring, but a different surprise. He kisses your lips in a chaste way, hoping you will not try to harp on this topic. “Patience is a virtue, sweetheart, wait for it”

…

After dinner was different. A drop of temperatures and an easy flow of the air, dull lights of the street lamp illuminating your figures, inhaling the air in your lungs for the last time. The street is empty; no drivers, no smell of cigarettes, just you and him. And… silence fell upon you both.

Until his hand presses a tissue around your nose. It is suffocating; your nails dig into the arm, trying to worm out.

“Shhh, sweetheart, easy there” His voice brushes against your ear, soothing and intimate. The one he used when he fucked you. “Don’t make it worse for yourself...”

The warm body pressed against your back and kept you close until your body became pliant in Leon’s embrace on the silent night.

Tied up and unconscious. He is considerate enough to not let you experience the narrow space of the car trunk. With heaviness in his chest and like a scaredy cat, driving to his apartment - guilt shifts to euphoria in no time. You wanted this, no? Why would you stay with him after all? It doesn’t matter anymore. He was successful, finally. It worked. Today is his luckiest day, it should be highlighted on the calendar.

While this is the uncomfortable memory of your last date.

…

Every time you are alone, there are little things to do - you could have done some projects for college, maybe talk to friends and go to clubs. To catch a pretty guy, to have sex in the bathroom of the said club. Or fall in love with a guy of your age. It fills you with love and excitement like your hypothetical phone is going to ring as if you aren’t forced to be in Leon’s apartment.

Leon says you are a doll. Not those plastic bimbo dolls you see on social media with plastic acrylics that are longer than their eyelashes. Those reeks of cheapness by trying to be expensive, Leon has explained the difference to you. You are not Barbie or Bratz, those are ones you’d probably played with in your childhood, for Leon, you are another kind of a doll.

He is the one controlling you, making those dumb rules you’ve never memorized and you aren’t really going to. His grip around you is tight and your skin blooms with darker colors after playing with you.

Pretty, that word lives rent-free in his mind, almost becoming the most used of his. Favorite word. Your presence urges him to dress you up. A glance into the closet, most of it contains dresses and other items he has bought you. To take care of you, Leon almost emptied his wallet entirely for you a lot after getting you. It excites him. Admiring outfits he put you in and the same night, he is the one raising the fabric of your dress - two fingers or a dick inside you are enough to make you busy with moans and squirm.

He loves it, oh, he adores it. And your pussy is the best. It calms him, centers him - being someone’s center of the world is delightful, the only one time of the day in which he doesn’t feel insane. You make him feel sane, on the days when your mouth doesn’t run free.

From your point of view, he looks like he is trying to play house with you. In a wrong way. Playing house didn’t include tears or forced silence. Or forced participation. It should be fun, usually, it had been, at least in your childhood. Leon acts like this is normal like he didn’t just kidnap you during your date and force you to be here. He is still sweet, still spending his money on you (even though he doesn’t care about your preferences now), there is food on the table too. During the dinner, the silence is filled with stories from his work - names of people you don’t know. They don’t know you either, you aren’t the most famous captive girl on the planet after all. This is the bare minimum.

What’s more to ask for? Freedom, you are full of his shit actually, you would have preferred ignorance to be bliss cause his farce makes you feel insane. More unanswered questions flood your mind, they stick to your mind like a leech on the skin after a fresh swim on the summer day. You need to wash away this feeling, the only way is to question him. Right. First, you played nicely, still pitying him and holding him dear to your heart.

“What are you talking about, sweetie?” And a confused expression was his answer. He doesn’t even process what you said, just moves on. This didn’t work. Nothing fucking works here.

Now you prefer to poke those facts at him - like a harsh whiplash, a cold water against his face to bring him back to reality. You shouldn’t live like this alone.

Under your flesh there is a hidden hole filled with turbulent waters, almost tearing you apart - suffocating you with confusion. You wish hatred was the only reason to keep you sane, but the deep affection towards him still emerges like a bad dream. His tired eyes with loving and sweet nothing words come from his mouth, peppering your body and face with kisses when everything is right. The memories of nights with him flash in your mind: he is nice enough not to break you, while your body reacts in natural ways. You get wet, you feel pleasure, and his fingers know just the right spot to make your back arch.

This tears you apart, it confuses you too. Maybe there is something you don’t catch on, something missing. Conditioning? You aren’t a mindless idiot, nor a Pavlovian dog, but your body reacts like one. Maybe that’s a lie to reassure yourself. Still, you can’t drive yourself close to orgasm when he is not home. Your fingers aren’t enough anymore, almost with tears trying to get yourself off. To feel like your own person without him.

But something. Is. Always. Missing. You are incomplete.

…

It is already late, really late. Leon is a busy man, at least his job seems to be really important - so important, that he has always refused to tell you, avoiding the topic like the plague and switching to that honeyed tone, talking to you like a dumb puppy. Maybe it is some government shit job, something dirty - suitable for him.

But when he is late, many hopeful scenarios emerge, the most common is his car crushing to death. Good girls get gifts, their wishes get accomplished also, and they end up in heaven too - Leon told you that and to him, you are a good girl. Corny shit. Could he be right though? What if your wish was heard finally? Then remained trouble in your life would be to get out.

And the same dreams are crushed every time the sound of the car engine goes off, the jiggle of keys reaches your ears. You know it too well, you can recognize these little details and they fill you with dread. The sound of his steps, they are so different from others. The sound of his car doesn’t sound like those outside his house. Maybe you are insane, but everything he does is so recognizable it makes you sick.

And Leon is back.

His face is the only one you see, even in your dreams. There is nothing changeable in it. Light stubble, but still him. Shaved and it is still him. Different cologne. And still him. Leon sickens you, this little play often pushes your buttons, urging you to break this act and get yourself into trouble. Maybe the remains of hope are to blame, maybe Leon would change his mind and stop this.

He plops down on the couch, drawing your attention to him - impossible to ignore, if you did, you wouldn’t stop hearing the end of his complaints. His black shirt strains across his muscular body, the fabric is not shy to outline his big chest. Black suits him, but Leon looks good in everything forcing more dread stir in your chest.

“Finally, home” Leon sighs, his hand creeping up to pull you into his lap, acting unbothered. Your legs straddle his hips, facing him. Don’t forget, you are captive. And this is the part of the routine. He is going to watch those old movies from his childhood, or work silently(maybe he will nudge his cock inside you, to keep himself warm) and then he will fuck you. A tearful routine.

“…yay..!” You try to smile, forcing it to please him. Ignoring conflicting feelings in your body, anticipation to feel his dick mixed with dread. A yearning for change. Leon kisses your forehead.

His blue eyes feel heavy on your face, making you feel so little. “I missed you” Leon cooed with a honeyed tone, pulling you even closer. That light smell of beer coming from him forces your skin to crawl. His fingers pinch your cheek, tugging it briefly too. “My doll felt lonely today, right? Without me?”

Again, that mocking sweetness. The one you’d use for puppies. You nod with a hum “Mmm”

“I had a bad bad day today, those reports dried my eyes, god” he groans, his head tipped back, rubbing his eyes as to emphasize his words. But still gripping your waist. You don’t have the mood to be nice to him, his smile and relaxed expression stir dread and hate towards him. And yourself.

“You look like you had a bad day and not me” Leon comments, raising an eyebrow before his thumb tugs on the corner of your lips - smile. You had a bad day forever, your day can’t be compared to whatever he had today. His voice is sweet, but condescending, like he knows what is better for you. Leon doesn’t know shit.

“I don’t think you have reasons to be upset, huh? Your life is easy, baby” He snaps his fingers. Like an order. “pretty smile for me, no one likes grumpy girls”

“You are fucking sick… you know that?” Words spill out quickly and mindlessly, ignoring his distorted expression - you just want him to be in pain. Like you are. There is a hint of fear in your voice, subconsciously aware of what is going to happen after your words. “… you KIDNAPPED ME and you want me to play along with this act?…” A bittersweet pause. Adrenaline rushes through your blood, like after a good shot of vodka. “That’s fucking smart… asshole”

A hard swallow, trying to ignore the growing lump in your throat. Anxiety. This time, your voice is much quieter, you feel so small. Involuntarily shrinking away to shield yourself from what is coming. “I hate you”

There is an uncomfortable silence and his face is not blurry anymore - it is the only thing you can see right now. There is no slap, which is worse, silence is much scarier than a reaction cause you need to know what is going on in his head. You should have stayed silent instead, maybe Leon was right - you can’t stop but back talk and try to get yourself into trouble. You got yourself into this, not him.

Maybe an apology… wouldn’t it be late? Would it save? God, you MESSED this up. There is no way back.

His eyebrows furrowed, looking down at you with a clear discontent painting on his face, his fingers digging into the flesh of your cheeks - uncomfortably keeping you still. This time being pretty and batting your eyelashes like a dumb doll is not going to save you.

“You are so spoiled. No one likes ungrateful bitches like you” Leon shakes his head, not giving a space to you to talk back again. “I buy you pretty things, I spend my time and money on you… and you repay me like that?”

He tilts your head, the grip is bruising, almost. Leon doesn’t give you flowers, but bruises look like them quite enough. His words hit you like a slap, making you feel like there is something tremendously wrong with you, not with him.

“Is it so hard to play nice and stay pretty for me?” He adds with a raised eyebrow. His thumb caresses your lower lip, playing and tugging it down, before pushing the digit past your soft and tender lips.

“And quiet.” He tsked, feeling warm saliva clinging to his thumb as it pressed down onto your tongue. Lucky for Leon, one of his wishes is accomplished - you can’t really talk, only muffled words, while your mouth is occupied with his digit. He keeps the grip on your jaw, before replacing it with two fingers. Pointer and middle finger. You are so pretty when you keep your mouth shut or around his fingers. Or dick. The latter is much preferable.

Your mouth is always warm, inviting, and wet. Hard to hide how such act affects you, your breathing catches in your chest, as his fingers keep rubbing the front of your tongue - messy and slick, not wetter than your cunt right now. Your mouth can not be compared to your pussy though, it has much more pros than disadvantages, the only con is the lack of wetness sometimes. Not something unfixable at the end of the day, a spit or lube (if he is in a good mood) can fix anything.

Your eyes are closed, feeling his other hand keeping your head pointed up where he can see you. To be honest, you don’t really know if you are just trying to illude yourself and hide from the truth - both options are useless, they bring you back to him. Every time his fingers are in your mouth, keeping you quiet and forcing you to suck on them - your pussy gets wet quickly like it is connected to your throat. His fingers delve deeper, moving in and out slowly. You can’t help yourself. Your clit throbs uncomfortably, urging you to do something about this, and your inner walls flutter around nothing - your mind reminds you of how good his dick feels. You probably look so pitiful to him, your eyes reflect well what your body begs for while drooling around his fingers.

Your thighs try to snap close, to rub them together and get that sweet-sweet stimulation, but they end up straddling his hips tighter - feeling the outline of his hard cock press against the damp and thin material of your underwear. It isn’t a big obstacle right now, the burning heat can be felt easily. A choked whine escapes from your mouth, realizing that his pants are still on him.

“Uh-huh, you want my attention?” Leon asks, not trying to be subtle with his tone, laced with mocking sweetness. His fingers leave your mouth with a wet pop, leaving a trail of droll connecting you both. It is so empty without him filling your senses. His eyebrows curl up, glaring down on you like at kicked puppy. He mocks you, another squirming heat crawls in your cunt. Embarrassingly wet, dripping, and staining his jeans with your slick. God, you ARE getting off when he is being patronizing with you. “You ruined my day, baby. Do you really think you deserve anything right now?”

Your mind is screaming at you to do something, you need that relief. His cock. Anything that will fill the emptiness inside you with pleasure. You shiver when his fingers brush across the hem of your underwear, clearly amused by how wet you are. They push aside the fabric, already wet by your saliva - slowly stroking your drenching folds. So warm and puffy, even the light touch of his fingers on your clit makes your body jolt like you are in pain.

“Leon…” Your voice sounds cloying, it goes straight to his hard dick, as you look under your eyelashes at his face - it makes you feel dumb. Any sentences or words are thrown away into the bin under his glare, he doesn’t even try hard to make you feel like that, there is no need cause you are dumb. And you ache for his cock, ignoring alarms in your head. You are just a dumb, aching doll.

And his. He told you that.

“What?” Leon pressed, already withdrew his fingers from your cunt, wanting to see you more desperate. Your hips try to grind against his hard cock, to get a light stimulation. You stay silent, words aren’t enough to formulate what swirls in your mind. Somewhat, his presence and words are always tied to that deep feeling of owing him something. What? Not clear, but it is still here, even if his cock empties your mind.

You are still his after the dramatics you pulled, right?

You swallow hard, the sight of his unmoving hand on the belt makes your cunt painfully ache, ignoring your mind screaming at you to hit him. You don’t deserve this, it whispers. The guilty part of your brain won a long time ago, it overwhelms that soothing reminder - canceling it completely - you need to hurry up him. You are at fault, it whispers. “…Please…” Forgive me, I need you.

You gasp as in rasp motion he changes your position, shoving you and you end up with your back pressed down flatly on the soft material of the couch, while Leon hovers over you. And he kisses your forehead, with the same tenderness and affection he has given you before - like a couple, married couple on honeymoon. Your mind misses the bullseye with this conclusion, but whatever helps, right? The spot burns hot, as a reminder that you have to please him.

Clink-clink! It snaps you out of your thoughts. The sound of his belt makes your skin crawl, and more slick pools in between your thighs like at the unvoiced command. You try to buck your hips up, only to end up restrained by his hand - it grips tightly your flesh, in a bruising hold, and the signs will bloom into another purplish collection in the morning. His hand pins your hips down, - silently denying the control over your pleasure. Couldn’t be even wetter at this point.

It isn’t really visible, but his breathless sigh signaled you that his hand is, probably, wrapped around his cock. You squirm, to prop yourself to look down and maybe get comfier - again, he pushes you down with a head shake.

Your legs shake when his cock presses up in between your drenching folds, the slick clings to the skin, and his cock head nudges against your aching clit. And this hits so good too, his hard cock slides across your cunt. You can’t help but let your hips buck up back, again - to get your own control on the pleasure. Tsk. Your attempt gets easily interrupted again, as his hand pushes your hips down. His cock gets harder after every slow and agonizing rut, the wet sounds of your slick pressing and smearing his cock is like music to his ears. No wonder it is so easy to get lost, thank god your attempts to worm out of his grip snap him out of that pleasure.

You are so impatient. But for Leon, sex is so much simpler, cause he is a simple man. With age many things change, they get uncomplicated. Of course, Leon likes good stuff; tasty good, keeping you pretty, watching how your tits bounce with every thrust and feeling your flesh under his hands, how you react to him. But the sex isn’t the lovemaking or a way to satisfy you, for him, it would be useless to keep you here then. There is a deep desire to hold onto his past, on the part he is so close to lose touch with after every birthday date. And you are perfect for this. Life goes on and without him, but yours can’t go on without him now. Every time he sees you so confused, depending on him - he can’t lie, it makes his cock jolt. He wants to see every little expression on your face, - desperation, affection, confusion, misery, everything - to etch the sight into his memory.

“Baby, you don’t know what’s good for you..” Leon says, there is no answer from you and he doesn’t really need one. His eyes are focused on his cock nudging your hole before slowly pressing in - now watching your spasming and drenching hole swallows his cock. And you gasp.

Without fingers, without any preparation, but wet as hell, you still feel tight as sin. It is easier to get through though. The velvet softness of your fluttering cunt is addicting as your walls clench around him in a vice grip with every inch pushed inside.

It is dizzying how your mind empties together with your body, any remains of conflict regarding this situation is gone. Focusing on how his cock stretches your walls, leaving you breathless and trembling at the slow-filling sensation in your cunt. Your hands creep to rest on his shoulders to keep yourself steady.

His cock pushes through, until its tip presses against your cervix - he is deep inside, his hips nestled right against your ass - and your pussy is so overwhelmingly full, for a moment you forgot how to breathe.

“That’s okay” Leon cooed again. His hand brushes across the skin of your collarbone, caressing it. Burns and you are hot, to the point his touch felt cold. You shiver, his hand is always pleasant to feel, but at the same, the feeling of it is accompanied by something else, you can’t ever catch it. It is brief but always gives you awareness.

Your chest rises up and down unsteadily, looking probably pathetic right now as his hips start moving. Already overwhelmed without a way out.

“Awww, you are just a dumb thing, not knowing anything better” Leon drawls with an amused smirk.

The pace is set, rhythmically rocking against you, using your cunt like a toy. You want to roll your own hips back, to do something but today isn’t your day. You already forgot about your earlier lash-out, as the only sounds reaching your ears are flesh-hitting ones mixed with your moans. His lips are parted on a soft stream of pants.

“N-no..” This attempt of protest slips out easily from your mouth, without giving too much thought into what may happen. Your nails dig into the flesh of his shoulders. His hand creeps higher, to rest on your neck in a loose grip, a silent warning perhaps. Pretty faces don’t need to do anything other than being pretty, but tonight you let your mouth slip out too often.

The hand on your hip pushes it down again, the grip hurts actually. Feels like there are already bruises forming and he is clearly not pleased with you. He isn’t at all, your comments ruin his fun. They distract him from your tight pussy, how hot it is, and engulf him, begging him to thrust ruthlessly and fill you.

Unspoken rule, you should be silent and let him use your cunt without other noises than incoherent moans.

“Oh, no-no” Leon mocks you, a sharp, unexpected thrust, his cock head grinds against your cervix. To punctuate his words his grip on your throat tightens. Or you are imagining this? Another thrust, snapping you out of your thoughts. His hips start dragging his cock out of you, then he pushes it back deep inside. “I know what’s better for you.”

Every deep thrust into your spasming cunt, your thighs shake, and muscles in your body flex every time your hips connect. And his hand squeezes your throat, you can clearly feel the outlines of his fingers on the skin of your throat. God, is the grip getting tighter? Is he trying to cut the air? This fills your body with panic; it writhes even more, ignoring the painful grip on your hip and becoming more aware of the one that’s getting tighter around your neck.

Yeah, he is angry at you.

“Doll, you brought this… on yourself” Leon whispers breathlessly, watching your expression twist with a mix of pleasure and fear. Your hands travel from his shoulders to his wrist, nails dig into its flesh. “don’t resist”

His hand angles your hip better, losing the rhythm of the pace as his cock pounds into you in quick and deep thrusts. It hits your g-spot too, but the lack of air is the biggest of your worries right now. Your cunt flutters, getting tighter with the less air incoming, and more tingly wave of sensation rides over your body. The tips of your fingers feel weird, and your entire body starts to drown in numbness. It is weirdly pleasant but at the same time scary. Deep down you like it, not realizing it.

“Come on,” Leon grunts, his grip on your neck doesn’t lessen, and you try to focus on something else other than the possibility of passing out. Your walls clench around his dick tighter, and your mouth opens uselessly as a dumb fish trying to speak, but the only sound coming out is a muffled one.

“If you are so smart… fuck…” He moans, you feel so good, your walls clenched tight around his dragging cock and your body is so easily letting him use your pussy. He can get drunk on it. “…use your big mouth”

His grip tightens, and another choked moan tries to drawl out of your mouth. Nothing comes out other than a quiet, pathetic mewl. It feels like you are going to die.

“Use your filthy and smart mouth” He taunts again, the corner of his mouth curls into a smirk. His hips thrust into you in rough and hard movements. It feels like just his presence is overfilling you. Maybe the lack of oxygen is to blame. “or you can only use it for my dick.. huh? Like a whore, not a doll”

“A…m, S-s” I am sorry. You try your best, but it is hard to do multitasking when your head is so lightheaded and his dick inside you feels so good. Your body feels numb like it doesn’t belong to you anymore, writhing and squirming every time his cockhead hit your cervix - a pang of tingling mixture, something so new and pleasurable, but at the same time foreign, with the hint of pain. But it is a delicious kind of hurt, toe-curling one.

You are going to pass out, trying to swallow down the saliva pooling in your mouth and your nails dig into the skin of his bicep - begging, unawarely your eyes sprinkle with tears. “S-..sor-r—” This is your best attempt.

Orgasm has always been different with him, it is warm, still keeping your turmoil. This time it is crushing, but feels shorter than it was actually. It hits your body unexpectedly, filling to the brim with the feeling of his cock spouting cum inside you, while every patch of your skin is numb and burning hot.

Confusing your mind more when his hand slipped away, so close to pass out and the quick rush of air fills your lungs almost choking you, overwhelming the pleasure of your own orgasm. You are so sensitive, at the brink of tears - not having any strength to keep them in, they easily well in your eyes, blurring even more the vision before rolling down. It doesn’t hit like it should cause you are too focused on the fading numbness and shaking while inhaling the air - unreasonably afraid(to Leon) that he is going to take it away again. Breathing feels much better than sex, right now at least.

He pulls out his dick, and his cum slowly oozes out of your hole, while you are still recovering. Not hiding where his gaze is directed. It is hypnotizing, urging him to shove it back into you with his fingers and keep his cum inside you for a little bit longer. You snap him out of this trance with your sobbing and incoherent words.

“I am so—sorry!” You sob, tugging onto the fabric of his black shirt to pull him closer to you. Seeking comfort in him, you don’t have any other options. He can’t deny this to you, his arm wraps around your shoulders. And even if you had other choices, still you would crawl back to Leon. “I was mistaken… I am so-so sorry. It was a mistake!”

God, you shake like a leaf right now. He huffs as if your words were the most obvious thing. Like the sky is blue or two plus two is four. It is hard to push you away, the trembling and teared-up mess. Leon enjoys that.

“There you are, baby. I got it” Leon sighs, the crease in between his eyebrows deepens. His hand brushes away your hair from your face, to get a better glance of your state. Mistake. Everything is a mistake here - your presence, getting off only of him, texting him first, and letting him take you on dates. Leon can’t help, but chuckle. “Of course. Indeed a mistake, doll”

[imrllytootiredforthis]

The ‘bad’ kind of desire

pairing: soobin x reader

synopsis: you can't touch him, because he's too innocent, too sweet. but god you wish you could.

warnings: implied fem reader (can't remember if it's outright said), dom reader, sub soobin, masturbation, fingering, lowkey corruption kink, mentioned mommy kink, think that's really it

a/n: the first portion of this fic has been in my drafts since roughly july last year and was in my notes app for a few months - at least - longer than that so don't even ask me how old this really is, but at least it's out!!😭

“Am I bad person?”

Beomgyu scoffs, looking at you with eyebrows raised. He nearly laughs at the ridiculous statement coming from your mouth.

"What?"

And that makes him lose it, unable to even hold it back as he barks out a laugh, looking at you as if you've grown a second head. 

It’s a hard thing to fathom coming from you given that you’ve definitely never had any qualms about your morality when it comes to this kind of stuff. “Really? You’re asking me that?”

His best friend sits across the room, oblivious to the conversation, his headphones pulled over his ears, the game he’s playing flashing on the computer screen in front of him.

Soobin.

Sweet sweet Soobin, messy blonde hair left unbrushed, pajamas still on, not bothering to change as this was all he was planning to do all day.

Sweet Soobin who you can’t help but want to play with. 

Who you can’t help but imagine how pretty he’d look with tears in his eyes.

"I'm not fucking around Gyu-am I a bad person?"

You groan and flop over on the couch, rolling over to rest your head in Beomgyu’s lap, looking up at him with a comically-in his opinion-concerned expression. 

He gives you nothing but an exaggerated eye-roll. "Don't even start."

“But aren’t I?” You look again at the boy across the room, wondering why, why he had to be so stupidly adorable. His lips were twisted into a small pout and why it was so fucking cute.

Why? You wondered, feeling like this was all you were doing nowadays.

Beomgyu resists the urge to roll his eyes at you for the second time in a row, now at the way that you look at his best friend like some kind of lovesick fool, especially considering that all you really wanted was get into his pants. It didn’t really make sense, but hey, who was he to judge? 

“Why? Just because you want to rock his shit? Step on him and make him cry? That makes you question your morality? Out of everything that you've done?”

You gasp, slapping his chest. “He’s right there.” You hiss, not exactly denying the words.

He ignores that, shoving you off of him. He knows as well as you do that those headphones are the expensive noise cancelling ones that he'd gotten from you last Christmas. He barely hear himself yelling at his online teammates much less your hushed conversation.

You look at him as if you want to take him out on a nice picnic date and let him lay his head in your lap while playing with his hair pointing at clouds. Which Beomgyu couldn’t really see in any world, you were never really the type. 

But who knows? Maybe you were really just that eager for his dick at this point-or the more probable scenario-have him on your dick, that it broke something inside you.

“Why’re you so concerned now? Not like you had any issues with Yeonjun or Taehyun. Hell, you kept up everyone else in the dorms,” His voice goes higher as he attempts to poorly mock his roommates. “‘Y/N, more~’ ‘please, I need it-need y-‘“

“Shut the hell up.” You spit, quickly covering his mouth with your hand while your eyes flicker once more to him, still staring intently at his game.

Really, why were you so concerned now? 

Beomgyu was right. You’d had no problem doing the same to them, to Tae and Yeonjun, but they were different-he was different. 

Soobin was different than any of them. They were the product of having fun with someone you knew like the back of your hand and vice versa. Simply satisfying-albeit unimportant-a matter of getting your rocks off with people you knew could find your clit and would let you hit it from the back.

Soobin was Soobin though. The sweet boy who looked at you with the most innocent smile. 

Who got all blushy and embarrassed when you so much as lightly and non-vulgarly flirted with him.

He’d squeak and duck his head away when you called him bunny - again, non-vulgarly, trying to hide the fact that he was blushing and it turned him on-just a little bit.

In other words, painfully obviously, it was clear.

“He’s a virgin!” You hiss, hand still clamped over his mouth despite his garbled reply. You know just as well as Beomgyu knows how bitchless his friend is. Despite the fact that offers for him were nearly endless he was too shy, too awkward to accept said advances. “-I can’t take that away from him, it needs to be special, it needs-“

Your hand, still over his mouth is touched by something warm and wet and you shriek, pulling away quickly with a look of disgusted horror. “Are you serious right now?”

“Fight me bitch, I will not hesitate.” He growls, looking triumphant with the fact that you’ve now backed up to the edge of the couch.

You roll your eyes at him, looking once again at Soobin.

Fuck, why does he have to be so adorably innocent?

Beomgyu rolls his eyes, wiping at his mouth. "Just trust me, he'd be happy to be used by you. He might be a virgin, but he's nowhere near innocent."

"And what do you mean by that?" You sit against the arm of the couch, wiping Beomgyu's saliva onto the cushions.

He lets out a dry laugh, glancing back at Soobin before reaching for the previously forgotten remote control. "It means he wouldn't be as freaked as you think he would be if he found your sex toy collection."

—-

You suppose Soobin had always been special in some sort of way.

Always there over the span of time that you'd known all of them. Sitting off to the side while you hung out with the others. In his own room while you were fucking around with his other roommates. Playing his game while you were hanging out with Gyu.

He'd caught your eye more than once or twice, or three times over the years.

He was hot. You'd never discount that. Hot in the loser-y, adorable, cute, corruptible kind of way.

But then again, that kind of was your type if you thought about it.

You'd never been particularly close with him like you'd been with the others. He'd never made much effort to hang out with you but he was there when all the others were, if not one-on-one.

And he got really, really embarrassed when you tried to flirt with him like you did the others.

You didn't mind much, you'd just come under the impression that he was kind of scared of women. Which was also kind of cute.

But Beomgyu was right when he'd said that you'd never cared much about morals in the first place.

It didn't matter how close of friends or if they were a virgin or whatever other silly things that made things like that 'trivial'.

Life was too short to pretend you didn't feel things and besides. Sometimes, you really, just...didn't care.

And it wasn't personal, when you wanted someone, you would pursue it and if there was now friend groups you'd single handedly broken up, well they'd clearly made it personal themselves because you always made it very clear that there was no feelings involved.

Besides the raw, hot tension that made your skin tingle like your nerves were livewire.

Soobin was different though, special.

You felt bad for wanting him. For wanting to dirty him up.

He was something pure, something beyond and above you, perhaps and that was something you weren't willing to ruin, no matter what Beomgyu told you.

—-

"Fuck," he panted, "please,"

The room was dark, the light of his laptop being the only thing illuminating his face.

"Please,"

Sounds filled his ears through the crappy pair he'd owned for years, refusing to get wireless ones.

"Please."

"Bet you fucking like that, don't you?" The voice, only a few octaves higher than your own, still sent shivers down his spine.

Close enough.

"You're a such a dirty slut, you know?"

He whined into his sleeve, a sweater paw pressed over his mouth to keep the moans at bay. "I'm sorry, no, no please I'm sorry~" It wasn't doing a very good job muffling his voice though.

"I need it~"

The video seemed to respond to his desperate pleas. "If you need it so fucking bad then you'll be a good boy and wait for mommy's permission. You hear me?"

Or maybe he'd just watched this video so many times he'd memorized all of the male counterpart's lines. "Yes mommy," he panted, "I'll be good, I-I'll wait for your permission!"

He wouldn't. He knew he wouldn't.

He couldn't, as much as he prided himself on being a good boy. This time he knew he wouldn't even make it through the seven minute and thirty-two second video.

Not with you in the next room.

He couldn't tell if you were with Yeonjun or Taehyun. It didn't really matter either way.

Because he would only focus on you.

You weren't loud, having endured enough of Beomgyu's teasing and gripes about your sexual habits. He decided he hated Beomgyu for that.

But he could hear your pants through the paper-thin walls, heavy and followed by your quiet praises. "Sweet boy," you cooed, just as the porn on his laptop continued, "Naughty boy, such a messy little-" He ripped the earbuds out mid-sentence.

He wanted to hear you.

Not some substitute for the real thing.

He could imagine if you walked it on him right now.

Laying spread out on his bed, pants not even all the way off-just messily pulled below his hips, just enough for his dick to breathe properly and for his hand to easily slide up and down with the amount of pre-cum leaking from the tip.

"Fucking please." He moaned, quiet and needy.

You'd see him a mess, his soaked through sleeves catching the drool from his lips, teeth biting into the soft fabric to keep from crying out too loud.

You'd see him shamelessly fucking up into his fist, calling out pleas with no one there to hear him.

"C'mon baby, you can take it, take it all for me." Your voice was accompanied by the wet sounds of what, Soobin wasn't completely sure but his mind quickly conjured a few different theories. "That's it, a little more~"

Fuck him, he wished you were speaking to him.

Cockwarming him, your pussy wrapped around his dick, warm and wet and squeezing around him so good. Fluttering kisses over his face and throat as you teased along the length of him, slowly lifting up just to agonizingly sink back down onto him, clenching tight while he moaned into a kiss.

Or stroking him to another orgasm, making him cum again and again until his body was shaking and tears streaming down his cheeks. Telling him he could take more, do it one more time, for you. Because whatever pain you'd inflict would be worth it, after all it was your hands doing the damage.

"Fuck you look so pretty like this, just makes me wanna fucking wreck you. Turn you into a mindless whore on my dick."

Fuck, so that was what it was.

His mind managed to come up with one more picture through the haze.

You'd have his wrists pinned over his head with one hand, over him, keeping him down with a surprising amount of strength.

God, he could imagine the way you'd look at him. Maybe you'd be kind and gentle, sweet words and a sweet hand, fulfilling every one of his fantasies while calling him your sweet little bunny.

Like you were with whoever you were with on the other side of that wall.

But he doubted it. Or, he hoped not at least.

In his head you'd be meaner, crueler. Look at him with dark, hungry eyes and watch in a sadistic sort of glee when he cried, when he whined, when he begged and pleaded for more.

You'd thrust into him, hard and punishing, slowing down just to make sure that he wasn't crying from serious pain before you'd slam your hips against his, driving the tip of the toy dead into his prostate.

He'd beg you, plead you to slow down, to be nicer to him.

You'd tell him no. Tell him to be a good boy, voice patronizing and low, tell him only good boys get rewards.

God, that’s what he needed right now.

Needed you.

Your words, your touch, your scent, your presence even. You eyes on him, watching as he fell apart.

Not you fucking someone else in a different room.

Liquid heat flowed through his body, scorching and consuming every coherent thought.

"More."

He imagined it was you. Your hands all over him, pressing up against his throat, fondling his balls, purposely, maliciously ignoring where he needed to be touched most while you drove into him over and over and over until he was screaming in ecstasy.

It wasn’t enough, not nearly 

"You just love my cock, don't you angel? Love being fucked by me into a mindless whore?"

He silently cracked the lube open, lathering his fingers in it before letting them drift lower.

He'd done this before, but it had been awhile and the stretch was beyond overwhelming with your words ringing through the wall.

“You’re just a little angel, aren’t you, bunny?” And he pressed a finger inside, thrusting shallowly, breath picking up as you got louder.

"No, you're not an angel. You're a fucking whore, taking it like you were made for it, huh?" A second finger, following the first, scissoring himself open with a quiet gasp.

"Yeah? Fuck, is that it?" You laugh and he swears it's right in his ear, ringing through his head. "'m gonna make you scream for me baby,"

He whines in frustration, his fingers not deep enough - you not deep enough inside of him. No, he needs it deeper, harder.

More.

"Get on top of me baby, ride me," you mutter, so far but so close.

He can imagine, as he settles on his knees, that the pillow he straddles is you. That his legs are around your hips. That his fingers, positioning on the bed under him is your dick and your hands are pressing against his hips, holding him in place.

"You're mine, you hear that? Mine. My perfect little slut, taking my cock like a pretty little slut." His body trembles, eyes rolling back as he slowly sinks down onto three fingers.

"Your's." He moans in reply.

And finally, finally, he reaches his prostate, hitting it head on with his fingers.

Stars burst behind his eyelids as they slip shut, back arching into the intrusion. He could cry, he thinks distantly that he maybe is.

But it doesn't matter.

Because your hands are on his hips, controlling his movements, leading him the way you want him to ride your cock.

Up,

"Slut." You whisper.

and down,

"Whore." You lean up, teeth nipping at his neck but not hard enough to leave marks.

over,

"Baby," Breathing over the shell of his ear.

and over,

"Good boy~" Teasingly biting at his earlobe.

harder,

"Bunny," Kissing along his jaw.

faster,

"Mine." Across his cheek.

deeper.

Just barely there, ghosting across his lips-

"-Cum for me baby,"

And he does. With his mouth hung open, drool covered sleeve long forgotten over. With his eyebrows furrowed and body curled into itself, fingers pressed against his prostate.

Ropes of cum covering his chest, and his face. Some reaching his lips and his chin, staining his skin and landing in his open mouth.

"Fuck,"

And on the other side of the wall, "Good boy,"

a/n: i was thinking about making a part two but honestly if it took me a year to find the inspiration to finish this one, i'm not sure a second one will ever come out😭

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC prompt ~ Honor to Us All ~ Gotham as one true the most haunted city edition

~~~~~

Instead of a welcoming banner in front of a city was an old column, so familiar to a boy, with a warning inscription:

"To outsiders mad enough to attack Gotham: You will be forced to understand that dead soldiers will also go into battle. And having risen to protect, they will be ready to perish all again, So no one of the living would die near them."

Danny smiled with love. 'I’m home, Mother.' Ghost whispered into the void. And Gotham answered.

~~~~

Danny: My Lady, I brought you the crown of Pariah Dark. And The Ring of Rage. They’re gifts to honor the Gotham family. Lady Gotham: The greatest gift and honor is having you on my side, child.

~~~~~

Danny Fenton was born in Gotham and lived here until his parents decided to move. The city didn’t accept them.

'When I die, I want to be one of the Gotham Knights.' Little Danny with pride and eagerly reported to his parents after visiting the Battle Glory of Gotham Museum on a school trip. This evening, Danny learned that not all his plans should be told to his parents.

Danny know his parents are crazy about ghosts. and that all ghosts are "bad". But obviously, the ghosts they talk about, and his, or rather Gotham's, ghosts are completely different creatures. The spirits of the defenders are those who, even in the darkest of times, make the shadows of the Gotham a protection to the citizens.

But that knowledge is his little secret for now. Because if he starts arguing he’ll be punished and he won’t be able to run off to the roof where he’s arranged to meet Robin. Robin’s cool! He works with one of the 'still-living' knights. And he knows more about the city than anyone. Danny doesn’t want to offend his friend.

~~~~~

Mr Lancer doesn’t understand why the lecturer about ghosts, Constantine, after seeing Danny, said something about the bloody gothamites and their inability to stay underground. It wasn’t nice at all. Mr Lancer doesn’t blame Mr Fenton for smiling at the man a little aggressive and viciously. Poor boy probably didn’t know how to respond to his behavior. Danny moved to Amity Park a long time ago and did not stand out at all. So what was this man’s problem?

Danny only half dies because Lady Gotham blessed him when he was a child. So when Danny sees snow-white hair and glowing green eyes in the mirror, he is not frightened but surprised that the Lady protected him even though he is not living in Gotham now.

~~~~~

Danny knows gothamites don’t consider that Gotham is a part of the USA. Even their Metropolis neighbors are just pathetic cowards, unable to withstand the hardships of life. No, really. Why the hell would they be patriots of the country that thinks they’re its dirty secret? This opinion is shared by old ones and children, rich ones and residents of Crime Alley, heroes and villains.

Danny loves Gotham. And he likes local jokes about how if one of their supervillains ever took power enough to threaten the government, he would be obliged to release them from that citizenship. Otherwise, he would be shamed and ridiculed by the inhabitants.

Phantom is not a villain. But for Gotham? For their common purpose? He is ready to pretend to be.

~ A ghost can bring his city ~ Great honor in one way ~

Gothamites remember that the child of mad scientists was the only person Boy Wonder was willing to call a friend. They remember how boys' laughter was heard from rooftops and from alleys on particularly dark nights. And they know whose restless spirit has returned to mourn the death of the second Robin.

The boy’s parents must be fools. Many outsiders are. They call their blessing a curse. People die in Gotham. And not all of them come back. Residents know that these ones are chosen by Lady Gotham herself.

The public enemy of Amity Park number 1? What nonsense. He is not theirs anything! In Gotham they will accept the Phantom as a guard, as a silent shadow, as a villain or a hero. In any kind. Because he belongs here. He should be part of their dance between life and death. He should be amidst dark alleys and acid rains, gliding between fear and laughter in the air.

Even local villains experience strange yearning. Like something’s wrong. Like a piece of a puzzle that’s lost. Therefore, the local abandoned observatory is empty, and none of them is in a hurry to call it their territory. Because it will be in demand, it will be loved and needed. It’s only a matter of time.

Let the spirit of Gotham guide you home, child. Dead gothamite is still gothamite. Which means there will always be a place for you.

~~~~~

When Danny first enters his favorite cafe in his Phantom form and with a wound on his leg, he doesn’t expect a cleaning lady to yell at him immediately for the blood on the floor. With a mop in his hands and with already bandaged leg, Danny feels as if all his worries had gone. They are not afraid of him. Of course. No one in Gotham would avoid him because of glowing eyes and sharp teeth. And that’s nice.

The waitress throws a tray of food on a table next to him: Welcome dinner for the wandering son of the alley. Red Hood said it's your usual order. He’ll be waiting for you on the gargoyle. You should know which one.

~~~~

If parents listened to his childhood stories about good ghosts, they would know that the Phantom is not special. He is not an anomaly of ghost nature and not a mistake. He is one of many who always were and will be defenders of the city. Danny stands in front of the costume that he admired years ago. He's ready to take another shift at work. The remains of his colleagues can rest quietly this night. Lady will wake them only when in dire need.