#the abyss is -- swallowed up by the abyss in that way

[n1ght0f-nyx]

It would be sooo cool if you wrote about a sailor making offerings to the sea, and the sea helping him back during a privateer attack. The sea being a sea monster (properly monstrous, properly grotesque) who has been waiting to return the sailors kindness.

(I suggested a privateer attack, not pirates, since I feel like a sea monster would have plenty of reason to hate the empires who poisoned their waters)

Your choice if you make the monster more human-minded and create a monster fuck scenario, or if you wish to keep it platonic and protecting only. Or a secret third option of course.

love this so much. water deity x reader. warnings/tags- god worship, monster fucking

word count- 961 words.

The sea is a cruel thing, or so your shipmates always say. The sea takes more than it gives, steals men from their homes, swallows ships whole. But you have never believed that.

You’ve sailed these waters for years, and you know the sea watches. It listens. And sometimes, in ways small and strange, it answers.

he first time you made an offering to the sea, it was nothing but a simple ritual. A bit of salted bread, a silver trinket, and a whispered prayer cast into the waves. A habit picked up from your grandmother, who swore by the old ways, though no one else on your crew paid the ocean much mind beyond cursing it. But you had seen the way the waters turned calm after a gift, how the storms held their breath when you spoke softly to the waves.

You had no way of knowing he was listening.

He—if such a thing could be called a man—was old. Older than the charts, older than the empires that had carved their borders across the seas. His body was the deep, vast and unknowable, his limbs were long things of shifting shadow and sinew, slick with brine and lined with ridges like the belly of a great fish. When he swam beneath your ship, the waters grew dark, as though the sky itself had plunged into the sea. His eyes were like pits, the color of the abyss, but within them burned something unmistakably alive.

And he had watched you.

Watched you kneel at the ship’s edge, murmuring your prayers, your offerings set adrift on the current. Watched you work, tireless and steady, the only one aboard who did not spit into the sea or demand from it. You were different. You were kind. And in all the years he had endured—watching men slaughter whales, pour filth into his waters, carve their wars into his depths—you were the first to show him reverence without fear.

So when the privateers came, he rose.

The attack came swift and merciless. Your ship, a modest merchant vessel, was never meant to withstand the wrath of empire-sanctioned cutthroats. Cannon fire split the hull, sending shouts and splinters into the air. You fought, though you were no soldier. You were thrown to the deck, the scent of salt and blood thick in your nose, your hands bound as you watched your crewmates slaughtered. The privateers laughed as they kicked you onto your knees. You had nothing left but a prayer.

And this time, the sea answered.

A shadow unfurled beneath the waves, vast and slow, the water itself recoiling. The first to notice it was a privateer standing too close to the edge—he barely had time to scream before something yanked him under. The others turned just in time to see the waves boil over with darkness, tentacles slick with salt and spined like the deep-sea beasts of nightmare, a body rising from the depths, twisting, shifting, too large to be real. A maw opened in the water, lined with jagged, bioluminescent teeth, its throat glowing like the lantern-lit caves beneath the tides.

The sea had come to claim its due.

The privateers fell into chaos, some leaping overboard only to be dragged under, others frozen in terror as the creature moved through them with deliberate, inevitable force. He did not fight like a beast—he fought like a god, ancient and wrathful. A tentacle curled around you, slick but gentle, lifting you from the deck as the ship beneath you was torn apart. He cradled you in the crook of an armored limb, his touch lingering, careful. You did not struggle. You knew, somehow, that you would not be harmed.

And when the wreckage sank, when the last screams faded into the quiet hush of the waves, he finally spoke.

“Mine.”

His voice was the grind of shifting tides, the hum of the current against the hull of a ship, the rasp of sand against stone. You shuddered, not in fear, but in the weight of knowing. You had always known the sea could be cruel. You had not known it could be devoted.

He carried you to a place far beyond the reach of men—a cavern where the walls gleamed with mother-of-pearl, where the tide pooled in bioluminescent blue, where the air was thick with salt and the echoes of something ancient. He placed you upon the smooth, sea-worn rock and did not let go, curling around you like the tide itself.

“You gave to me,” he murmured, voice like the whisper of waves against a forgotten shore. His great, abyssal eyes peered down at you, hunger and adoration twining together. “No man has ever given to me.”

You swallowed hard. Your pulse thundered, but not in terror. The way he looked at you, the way he touched you—it was possessive, but not unkind. It was as if you had called to him all those years, and he had finally come to answer.

“…And now you return the favor,” you said, your voice quiet, testing.

His mouth curled, something like a smile but far too sharp. “Yes.”

You reached out, hesitant, your fingers brushing the slick, scaled ridge of his arm. He trembled beneath you. Something deep in his chest thrummed, like the rolling echo of waves against a cliffside. He leaned in, impossibly vast and terrifyingly gentle.

“Mine,” he rumbled again, but this time, it was a plea.

You could have denied him. You could have fought, could have feared, could have rejected the devotion of something so monstrous, so inhuman. But you had spent your whole life at sea, and you knew better than to deny the tide.

“…Yours,” you whispered.

The cavern filled with the sound of the ocean’s joy.

[himbo-kuto]

spoilers! this is based of caleb’s story line in abyssal chaos, some dialogue from the game is included.

wavering heart - love and deepspace (if you go into the lads soundtrack playlist, every song after wavering heart also hurts while reading this! :D)

“cut the shit caleb.”

the inkling suspicions that you’ve been having this whole mission have finally bubbled over as you watched him meticulously tap away at the control room’s computer. his expression remained calm as he continued to pull up a bunch of files. 

“are you here as caleb? or as the farspace fleet colonel who must carry out a mission?”

“what do you mean?” he responded, turning his attention toward you. you squinted your eyes in disbelief. there was no way he was trying to play innocent with you right now.

“what do i mean? do you want me to list off every single weird instance that’s happened today?” his expression was neutral, but you could tell that his jaw was clenched. you held up your hand, holding your pinky to begin counting them off.

“first off, that badge you had when you searched the closet that you said you “put there yourself–”

“i wasn’t lying to you–”

“that’s not the fucking point, caleb!” he immediately shut his mouth, surprised by how you were speaking to him. your jaw clenched as you attempted to take in a deep breath to calm down. this man who you claimed to know your whole life felt like a complete stranger inthis moment…maybe you never really knew him at all. 

“you 'luckily' found this elevator down to this basement, you led me into this control room and had the key to it.” you started to spiral. all the thoughts that you pushed aside were now coming to the forefront, and they were all screaming at you. he didn’t join you on this mission as a friend who was worried about you, he joined you as colonel caleb. he knew that you were going on this mission and did his research beforehand. the layout, the offices, the keys, the guard– he was already 10 steps ahead of you and he just played along with your antics. 

you felt your throat beginning to close and the tears stinging the corners of your eyes as the confusion began to take over. you opened your mouth to speak but the words refused to come out. caleb was watching you the whole time and while yes, this was his agenda the whole time, he never took into account that you would find out. he reached out to you but you backed away from him, lightly knocking his arm away.

“please caleb…” your words could barely be heard over the whirring of the computers in the room. he wanted to be swallowed whole. he’s seen you look at other people this way, but never at him. a look of pure confusion and hurt, all on his part. he put out his arms with caution, trying to explain himself.

“my goal has always been the same as yours: to bring peace to this place.”

“yes caleb, but at what expense? going behind my back? lying to me and telling me that you were worried about me–”

“i've never lied about being worried about you.” he was firm in this statement. it may have seemed like something he said in the moment, but caleb was always genuinely worried about you and your safety. 

“caleb.” you took a step towards him, lightly taking his hands. you felt defeated.

“i’m a hunter. this is my job, this is what i do for a living. i choose to do this, willingly.” he got dangerously close to your face as he looked you right in the eye with a solemn expression.

“and it kills me everyday knowing that you did.” you felt your heart sink to your stomach as he backed away from you. he placed his hands on the desk with his head down, trying to control his erratic breathing.

“i can’t protect you like i promised.” 

it’s like the ground was falling from underneath you. caleb was perpetually proud of you and your accomplishments, but it all made sense now. he was always apprehensive about you becoming a hunter, but he pushed it down knowing that’s what you wanted to do with your life. whenever he saw you in your hunter uniform, there was always a tinge of something in his eye that you couldn’t put your finger on. now you know that tinge was his anguish. 

“...and what if i don’t need protection anymore?” a single laugh choked out of caleb’s lips. he felt crazy. he was confident that he was someone that you could rely on and if he didn’t have that, then what did he have? he couldn’t look at you, knowing that you had that expression on your face, but he wanted to see you– he always did. he turned to you, leaning his weight on the desk as he didn’t trust his legs to move. 

“then there was no point in me coming back.” 

[2pndr]

Update + Sneak Peak For a Winter Wonderland

So that smut is in development hell. And not coming out anytime soon.

Instead have a little look at "Secret In a Winter Wonderland" which is now my primary focus.

It just sits there. Menacingly.

A reflective abyss on your bedside table, pulling your gaze in, swallowing it whole. Its surface is dark, still, resolute, offering up nothing but your own tired reflection.

Your elbows press into your knees, fingers interlocked, chin resting lightly as you watch. A restless sort of stillness settles over you, like a held breath, stretched thin. You tell yourself it’s ridiculous—this quiet expectation, this fixation on a single moment. And yet, here you are, transfixed, as if sheer willpower could make the inevitable happen just a little faster.

You stare into the abyss, and the abyss stares back.

Time slows. Your mind stills. You achieve a brief, bastardised nirvana—one born not of inner peace, but sheer unrelenting anticipation. 

Your heightened state of awareness sharpens every detail around you: the distant hum of the heater battling the cold, the way the floor creaks when you shift your weight, the faint ticking of a clock you don’t remember ever buying. You can even smell your own existence—morning breath, yesterday’s worn clothes, and the distant, ghostly trace of whatever your neighbor was cooking at fuck-it-O’clock.

Not that any of it matters. The world outside could be crumbling, sucked up into the sky and you’d still be here, watching. Waiting.

Then—a familiar tune, handpicked by you. A tremor, shivering through the table. You see it. You feel it.

The abyss stirs to life, and you’re met with what you’ve been waiting so anxiously fo—

Hyoon is live: glorp

“OH COME THE FUCK ON!”

You groan, flopping backward onto your bed, phone still clutched in your hand as Hyoon’s stupid little ‘glorp’ notification mocks you from the screen. The worst part? You don’t even remember following Hyoon. Was this some algorithmic curse? Some divine punishment for the hubris of hope?

You glare at the abyss. The abyss sneers back.

And you swear to god it’s flipping you off.

With a sigh, you swipe the notification away, telling yourself it’s fine. It’s not like you were waiting for a message from Minjeong or anything. 

….Okay, you totally were.

She was probably just busy, right?. Or sleeping in. Or—God forbid—had actually forgotten.

A childish concern to be sure. But one that torments you anyway.

You shake your head, trying to push it down. It’s not like you’re entitled to a text. You’re not even dating. You’re just… close. Close enough that the silence this morning feels off. Close enough that your past five mornings have come to revolve around this one, singular moment.

So, you do the only reasonable thing: bury yourself beneath the covers and pretend none of this is happening.

For a minute, it almost works. The warmth of your blankets, the lingering sleepiness clinging to your limbs—it all lulls you into a state of half-consciousness, where the world is soft and Minjeong exists only in vague, glowing, adorable impressions. The sound of her laugh, the way she hides her face when she’s flustered, the warmth in her eyes when she—

Ding-dong.

The fucking doorbell.

You groan, dragging yourself out of bed with all the enthusiasm of a man heading to the gallows. Who the hell even—

Knock knock knock.

Followed by a pause. And then—

Knock knock knock knock knock knock knock.

You grit your teeth. Whoever it is, I swear to God—

“I’m coming!” you snap, voice sharper than intended. The knocking stops immediately. But just as you reach the door, you swear you hear a faint giggle on the other side.

The door swings open, and—

“Surprise!”

Minjeong.

She stands there, cheeks flushed from the cold, snowflakes clinging to her white hair. Her navy coat is buttoned up to her chin, and her scarf makes her look impossibly cozy. Her smile is wide, bright, her voice honey-smooth with that teasing lilt.

You blink. Your brain takes a moment to process.

She wasn’t ignoring you. She was here.

And then she lunges.

Before you can react, she wraps her arms around you, her face burying into you. It’s abrupt—too quick for someone as shy as Minjeong usually is—but her grip is firm, almost desperate. Like she’s been holding onto this impulse for days and finally gets to give in.

You hesitate for half a second before your arms come up to reciprocate. Maybe it's just your imagination. Or maybe absence really does make the heart grow fonder, because she’s warm. Too warm for someone who was just trudging about in the snow.

It takes you a moment to realize she’s not letting go. Not immediately. Not like a casual greeting. Instead, she lingers—like staying here, just like this, feels right in a way neither of you want to break just yet.

“I missed you,” She mumbles into your chest.

And you missed her. But you just hold her tighter, letting your arms say it for you.

She lingers. Long enough that you feel her breathing even out, long enough that the cold on her coat fades, long enough that when she finally pulls back, it’s slow, reluctant—she dosen’t quite want to let go.

Her hands hesitate at your sides, fingers curling like she might change her mind and stay just a little longer. But then she exhales, a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh, and steps back, tucking a stray strand of white hair behind her ear.

Minjeong looks up at you, her expression unreadable for a moment—something between embarrassment and contentment. Then, like a switch flipping, she schools her face into something more familiar: light, teasing, joyful.

“Now,” she begins, the corners of her lips curling as if nothing had happened, “are you ready for today, or do you need a few minutes to stop looking like you just rolled out of bed?”

*

See you with the rest soon!

[lilacxquartz]

CHASING HUMANITY • kenjaku x fem!reader

ao3 • masterlist • < previous chapter • next chapter > • chapter directory

summary: troubled by the continued visions, kenjaku finally got to the bottom of the root cause.

content warnings: partial smut, injury, blood

Chapter 9. Broken Glass

As the two of you walked further into the city, Kenjaku found himself overwhelmed with a deep headache that bored into his skull. At first, he could easily ignore it, but the more he continued forward, the sharper it grew.

The whole world around him dimmed again, too, with each passing step pulling him further into the depths just over the horizon. None of it made any sense though. He was certain that it was less than three in the afternoon—so why was this happening? He tried to push past it, but kept falling deeper into the abyss—everything soon swallowed away by the call of the void—including the sound of your voice.

Come to think of it. Where even were you?

Kenjaku swayed slightly in his stride, his footsteps slowing to a halt as it all caught up to him. Suddenly, the air felt thicker, and more condensed, like something foreboding was going to happen any second now. He screwed his eyes shut in an attempt to ground himself for a moment, trying to forcefully will himself out of this episode, but the harder he tried to swim up, the quicker he felt like was drowning instead.

Shit. You had been walking right at his side before, right? You even gave him that strawberry drink that he pestered you for, supposedly. He didn’t remember all too much from what he did before, if at all. Not currently. It was frustrating because he actually wanted to experience it, too, wanting nothing more than to grow closer to that strange person he almost buried alive.

And yet, you were reduced to a mere afterthought in the background; blurred out by his spiraling thoughts.

Kenjaku stopped walking as the unease finally hit him all at once. A dizzying hum entered his hearing; the faint bustle of the city playing into his ears, droning away in the distance and then it slowed. By the time he was thrown back into sense of anything that had resembled lucidity, he realised that he was holding onto something, feeling slightly out of breath.

He blinked again.

Skin. He was holding onto skin.

Instinctively, he clawed at the flesh, trying to determine what he was doing to bring himself back down to earth, only to feel a surge of arousal spike in between his legs. He was on top of someone—grinding, sweating—brutally rutting himself into a wet center, into the core of someone as their body took a heavy hit into the mattress.

“A bit slower,” he heard you say.

Immediately, he slowed down, reducing himself to delivering slower, more impactful thrusts, though at a much more forgiving pace. His eyes blurred into focus too, focusing on your body which now made up his vision, a strangely warm feeling washing over his body as he made the connection. Kenjaku glanced up, taking in the time written on the clock that hung over the wall. It was six in the evening. That was the whole afternoon that he lost out on, not even knowing how the meeting from before led to you in bed with him. Not that he minded. This was just how it was between you two now—right?

His eyes rolled back all the same, feeling himself get closer to reaching his peak. In a way, it was disappointing though, because he wanted to remember more of what just happened. It seemed to be fun, too, given the heated look on your face. With his body moving on autopilot, he picked up the pace ever so slightly, driving himself into your cunt with rising fervour as he tried to milk the last remnants of pleasure that still remained, letting out a deep, guttural moan as soon as he found his release.

Kenjaku sighed as he found his orgasm; falling forward into you, feeling that all too familiar post lustful haze begin to envelop him. Your arms relaxed from being wrapped around him and your legs untangled from him, too. It was only just a brief moment after, but his eyes drooped shut, hoping to recover from the sudden intensity he was plunged back into, only to wake up in the dark, alone, with the smell of bleach wafting through the air.

The headache he had before surged again, too, feeling sharper than ever before. His skull felt like it was surely going to split open as it persisted, like jagged glass pushing against his cranium. His fingers shot up to his temples to soothe the ache, only to feel something odd.

His fingertips were wet.

Slowly withdrawing his hand, he blinked down at his hand, the world spinning out of focus as the moonlight from just outside bleakly highlighted a crimson gleam. Blood coated his skin. Blood. Was it yours? Dried patches of blackened maroon clung against his skin like peeling paint, taunting him, mocking him for not understanding how anything progressed at all.

There was the meeting. There was the moment you both had sex, and then, there was the blood on his hands.

What was worse when you were nowhere to be found at all.

Kenjaku weighed out his options, trying to determine something in his mind. He was still in the apartment, so where were you? You couldn’t have gone far. Lucid or not, he wouldn’t let you stray away just like that. He tried to assess exactly what he was working with, only to be left with more questions than answers. The entire apartment was turned over, with various bits of glass smashed and the furniture flipped, hinting at a struggle. With who? You? That didn’t seem right.

He dipped his hand into his pocket, fishing out his phone to try and get a hold of you, but each time that he dialled the number, it claimed to be out of service.

Shit. This wasn’t looking good at all.

Especially as he noticed the time on his phone.

Ten. It had been four hours since he was with you last.

The walls started to close in from around him as the smell of copper mixing with bleach started to overwhelm him. This had never happened before. What a strange feeling! His stomach twisted and churned, with knots forming in his core as he considered being the one responsible for something potentially irreversible. His eyes widened, too, as he noticed that thin red scratches were decorating his wrists, like claw marks.

The thought of him doing this to you wasn’t a pleasant one, especially since he hadn’t been in his right mind for a while now. The feeling was so tilting, so jarring, that the sheer intensity of what he was feeling made his knees just about almost give out, forcing him to stumble as a result. His head hit the wall on impact, landing with enough force to make his vision blur again, but not enough to knock some sense back into him.

But then, one memory in particular crept back into his senses. It was brief. A flicker of something that he almost had just let go of, but not quite. His eyebrows furrowed as it all came to light, reeling the information back in at full speed.

Naoya Zen’in’s face surfaced through the once-muddied blur, sharp and knowing. The faint figure of him passing you both by, something that he had remnants of you confirming it later on. Kenjaku remembered the surge of anger he felt as soon as he made the connection, never once having this sort of reaction for anything else before, and, just as the feelings started to make sense, the derealisation, at last, started to fade away, too.

It was all coming back to him now. Right as you both finished up in bed, Kenjaku fell asleep on you, to which you woke him up by repeatedly poking at him, demanding that you should be let up so you can go find something to eat. He remembered more and more of it. How he reluctantly got dressed again, following you out of the studio and deeper into the city once more, as if you had some sort of nose for finding the one street vendor that would empty his pockets the fastest.

Kenjaku staggered forward as a result, gripping the legs of an overturned coffee table, and landing hard on his knees once more. He started to understand what might have gone down and what exactly had happened to you. If Naoya was closer to you than you had both anticipated, then he very likely helped you stage a disappearance, fabricating a struggle to take place that the police would later find. You must have been instructed to go hide away elsewhere for now. If anything, he figured that he likely had the plan to take the guy out, to drop him from the face of the earth—probably doing the world a favour in doing so—the one good thing he’d ever do.

It all felt so right that the brain fog began to lift entirely. He scoffed as he then exhaled a breath of relief, understanding what might have actually happened. Curse his mind for doing this to him though, having an idea as to why he was being tortured by himself, not liking what that meant at all.

All that he had left to do now was to remember where you were.

His breath hitched as a result, before steadying, bringing himself back up to his feet. He patted around his body, searching for a clue—anything at all—knowing that he likely planted something on his person, finding a folded-up note with a phone number hastily scribbled out on it. His fingers went back to his phone, quickly dotting in the number and then holding it close to his ear, feeling like he was finally getting somewhere when it actually rang.

The line then picked up and for a moment nothing was said, save for some faint breathing on the other end.

And then he froze.

“Bait and hook,” a male voice finally pushed through, “thought I’d never figure you out, huh?”

Kenjaku listened intently, tightening the grip on his phone as he realised who he was potentially talking to. His lips parted for a moment, considering a response, but he kept quiet. He knew better than to interact with a cop, no matter how corrupt this one was. He was going to let Naoya Zen’in talk and spill his position, taking the moment to study him for every word he had to say.

“The two of you aren’t as subtle as you both thought,” Naoya predictably continued, sounding so sure of himself. Kenjaku bit back a scoff as he listened, already picturing the shit-eating grin that bastard wore. “I’ll give you credit where it’s due though,” the man continued, “you’ve led me on a long, long fucking chase, that’s for sure.”

Kenjaku stayed calm as he let him talk all the while, already getting a good idea of the man’s personality. He was volatile and arrogant, but not in the calm and measured way he perceived himself as. This was a man who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, completely confident that he could get away with everything just because he wore a badge, claiming to be in control. How wrong he was.

“She put up a good fight, you know,” Naoya added, letting the implication hang heavy in the air, as if trying to gauge a reaction out of him, “tell me, did you ever have to incapacitate her? Because I’m half tempted. Never did like it when women had the gall to talk back…” he trailed off before starting up again, “I take it you haven’t, because she’s a bit mouthier than I remember her. What a shame.”

Kenjaku didn’t reply again, narrowing his eyes as he listened to the other man talk. So this was who you had to deal with on a regular basis? No wonder you were taking questionable walks in the middle of the night. Had he been in your shoes, he would have fed him a brick to the face long, long ago.

Naoya scoffed on the other end of the line as he didn’t get a single bite back. “There’s an old abandoned rental car lot just outside of—” he explained, detailing him the exact whereabouts, “meet me out there tonight and we can work something out that benefits us both.”

Kenjaku mentally logged the address, hanging up the line before tapping it out onto his phone before it all slipped away from him again, although, he had an inkling that this wouldn’t happen again. He finally got it. He finally understood why this had been happening to him.

He finally had something—someone—worth losing.

If Naoya wanted to go down that road and play this game, then so be it. He had dealt with worse before. Hell, he’d even have fun. In fact, he’s going to get you to join in. What better moment than to do something together, being exactly who you both are, if it meant getting rid of the person who once hurt you more than he ever could?

No. He was going to enjoy breaking him down.

You, however? You were going to get the final hit on him.

He’d make sure of it.

~~~

[Earlier]

As soon as you locked your eyes on Naoya amidst the crowd, you hoped that you were hallucinating, but you couldn’t mistake that gaze for anyone else. As soon as it all registered, your whole world came crashing down on you, leaving you unable to think clearly.

In the spur of your irrationality, you whipped right around and slipped off into a nearby alley, hiding yourself away from the exposing glow of the streetlights. Your back slammed against the rough brick wall as you tried to erase as much of your presence as possible, hoping that he hadn’t seen you. Your pounding heartbeat threatened to consume you and your breathing felt suffocating—a panic attack was imminent and you couldn’t bring yourself to calm down.

After all, he couldn’t have been here so soon unless he knew more than he let on. He couldn’t have been in this exact area, where you resided, unless he had been following you from the start.

Just as your thoughts continued to overwhelm you—to consume you—a familiar voice cut through the spiraling tension like a knife.

“…What are you doing?” Kenjaku asked, catching up to you at last.

You flinched and blinked up at him, taking in the way his dark eyes focused on you with genuine fascination. His hands were tucked into the sleeves of his robe with a relaxed posture, indeed much like a monk, though his features were fixed into a tense expression, as though partially agitated.

You opened up your mouth to force an answer, yet no such words came. You considered feeding him an excuse to bide time to process your own issue, but this wasn’t the sort of situation where you could ignore anything at all. You were equally as much of a criminal as he was now, even if your role wasn’t as devastating as his.

Kenjaku, too, became increasingly impatient. Every passing second of time was wasted time. and despite his cool demeanour, he had his limits too. “Well?” he asked once more, not too big a fan of your prolonged silence.

Finally, you spat it out. “He’s here.”

“Who?” he pressed.

“Y-you know, my um, ex, or I guess… former fiancé,” you replied in a beat, unsure how to properly express who the man was to you at this point. “I saw him.”

Kenjaku stilled as a brief glimmer of anger flashed across his features before schooling uis expression into something better measured, although not calmer. “Ah, so that’s who that was…” he simply managed.

It was difficult for you to gauge exactly what he might have been thinking, but it was clear that he wasn’t too pleased at the information at all. There were subtle hints that pointed to such a revelation that you had picked up on after living with him for a while now; things like the subtle clench of his jaw or the twitch of his fingers that pointed towards the direction of lapsing composure.

Just before you could say anything else, though, he grabbed your wrist in a sudden tug, yanking you away with him in a start, your breath barely catching up as he snaked you through many turns of the alleyway you were caught up in, navigating you towards the refuge of a quieter, less illuminated street.

He backed you up right against the wall, clamping his palms against your shoulders in an attempt to get you to focus on him.

“You’re going to listen to me,” he spoke, his words firm, “and you’re going to do exactly as I say, got it?”

You nodded your head in silence as he studied you for a moment, before continuing to drag you all the way back to the studio in complete silence. From the moment you both returned, he didn’t reveal anything else to you either, immediately instead diving towards rummaging through every cabinet and drawer within the space instead. Doors and hinges flew past, as he turned the apartment inside out while looking for something in particular and upon finally finding it, he took a step forward.

Feeling just a little put off by his crazed demeanour, you took a step back, stilling as he patted down your sides before taking out your phone and breaking it apart. You stared, blinking with wide eyes as he then fitted what appeared to be a prepaid sim into a new phone, handing it over to you.

Next, he dipped into his own pocket, bringing out a knife, raising his hand and then pausing mid-air.

“Hold out your hand,” he demanded, toying with the handle.

Your stomach just about dropped. “W-what?”

“The easiest way to get someone into the status of presumably dead or otherwise gone entirely is to hint at a struggle with evidence and a sloppy cleaning job,” he explained, “I’ll butcher someone else, maybe multiple people—or Mahito will—-it could be assumed that you would have been a part of a group slaughter, or similar,” he brainstormed, “but if he’s sniffing around, then I’m going to have him believe you actually died,” he explained at last, “so I’m going to need your hand, but don’t worry, it’ll just be a flesh wound.”

“But that’ll hurt so much—”

Kenjaku rolled his eyes at you, grabbing your wrist mid-protest. He squeezed around it just hard enough to get you to bare his pak at him and then slashed a sharp line clean across. In retaliation, you involuntarily scratched at his arm in complaint, dragging his skin apart as your nails pulled against his flesh.

He gritted his teeth, taking it on. “Fair enough,” he allowed, before continuing forward, “next, you’re going to spend the next couple of days elsewhere.”

“Where?” you asked, reluctantly letting your hand drip blood over the floor.

“With the people you met before,” he explained as he took out his own phone, bringing it to his ear upon having dialled a number, “not for too long, I promise.”

You warily nodded along although you were also thoroughly confused. You had no idea why he was suddenly so willing to go through what seemed like insane lengths to keep the guy away from you. You had even partially accepted your death when he brought out the knife, thinking that you had become too much dead weight to carry around, but that wasn’t the case at all. For the sake of your own survival, you chose not to argue this turn of events, instead going along with what he thought was best for the time being, even if you didn’t understand his motivations.

“Your pick-up is in five, go down when I tell you to,” Kenjaku concluded after a while, “you’ll be fine if you stick close to Hanami, maybe Dagon. Try to stay away from Mahito, he’s a bit…” he trailed off, a momentary shudder passing through him, “Jogo is fifty-fifty, it depends on how much he can tolerate you.”

“Which ones are those again?” you asked, the instructions were a little overwhelming and you didn’t remember much about their names, let alone their appearances.

“I’ll send you a debriefing over text,” he decided, “familiarise yourself in the car, alright?”

“I’ll try,” you nodded, trying to hide your antsy, fidgeting state, disguising your pulling of the sleeves as a means of wanting to cover up the wound, rather than the fact that you were growing increasingly anxious at the idea of being separated, having grown partially dependent on him.

In the meantime, he orchestrated a struggle in the apartment, shards of broken glass flying over the floor as he selectively destroyed what he thought was right. You watched on as he wrapped his fists in cloth, dipping into the droplets of blood from the floor, punching into the walls to spread the evidence of a staged crime scene.

Your mind raced with all sorts of thoughts as the minutes ticked by, and just as soon as his phone rang again. you couldn’t help but jolt at both the call as well as his voice telling you it was time to go.

“You’ll be fine,” he reminded you, guiding you towards the front door, but just as you left, you didn’t miss the hint of something new colouring his voice.

What did it sound like again?

(Was it… uncertainty?)

[thedailyvio]

Day 246

[elegyofthemoon]

me rewatching fena is half ooo daydream inspo and half "i want the ph reboot so bad" its giving me vidual ideas of how id like ph to be but itll never happen so i have to sit in a corner and cry instead

[dromaeotrash]

.

[marxism-lelouchism]

honestly i really loved the concept of the pale in disco elysium. there’s a two millimeter hole in reality, the nothingness it produced swallowed most of the earth and is still expanding, prolonged exposure to it makes people lose their minds…to me it is an excellent metaphor for how it feels trying to properly grasp the full scale of the depravity of the modern capitalist world

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Part 2/2

By the time Stanley had realized he wasn't as alone as he believed himself to be entrapped in this ravenous abyss; he had honestly begun to suspect that he was finally starting to properly lose his mind.

In all the ceaseless miles that Stanley had journeyed during his apparent permanent residence within the dark devouring void, not once had he encountered another conscious, walking, talking being similar to himself. Every other formerly living creature that he had crossed paths with had been so... silent. Empty. Dead, in every sense of the word. It was as though the very essence of life itself had been sucked out of their bodies with a straw, their forms slowly falling apart piece by piece under the vicious gluttony of the darkness that surrounded them. They looked like they actually were supposed to be there, unmoving and comatose, unlike him.

So, when Stanley first began to encounter the twins, all of a sudden, he wasn't the only one in the dark.

When meeting the first pair of them, he found himself standing in a lake.

He hadn't even noticed the changes at first. It felt as though he had been walking for weeks on end, his body moving purely on autopilot and his aching legs leading him towards a destination only it knew. A thick fog of forgetfulness and flickering memories had descended upon his brain like a heavy blanket of numbing static as he had traveled. In this absentminded state, he hadn't even realized that the ever-present undulating, buzzing darkness surrounding him had begun to gradually shift and morph to form a horizon line; stretching into tall looming cliffsides that almost seemed to close in on him. Once the nonexistent floor beneath his soles abruptly began to ripple and warp, like the disturbed surface of a shallow puddle; only then did he finally notice his transformed environment.

The transition was seamless, almost dream-like. One moment, he was still surrounded by that filthy, overwhelming abyss; and the next, his boots were suddenly plunged deep into the cold, dark lake water.

The silence didn't leave, however. It still choked and stuffed its way into Stanley's ears to clog up his mind with thick cotton; the eerie quiet not quite matching the calm, almost serene scenery the void seemed to have abruptly transformed itself into. Like a movie with its sound cut off; leaving only the unsettling hum of the projector to fill the empty air.

It was odd. The lake was surely incredibly deep. He could obviously tell from how thin and pathetically small the shores appeared all the way from where he now unceremoniously stood in the middle of the lake. Stan could look down and see the darkness below his feet swallow what meager light that managed to break through the murky waters. The overwhelming black almost seemed to beckon him, gaping and haunting; a bottomless underwater pit of pitch black that never seemed to end.

And yet, he didn't sink. Stanley remained perfectly level, the almost ink like waters stopping just at ankle level, as though he were held up just above the surface by some invisible force. Even the writhing waves seemed small and low, as though the waters were shy to climb up his legs further than that. It was odd, so very odd.

However, it wasn't nowhere near as odd as the sight that greeted him when he finally lifted his eyes from the waters.

Stanley had crossed paths with truly unbelievable sights in this strange somewhere; from bursting, collapsing stars; to the imploding heat death of entire universes, but none of them seemed to hold the candle to what he saw then when he lifted his eyes:

Children.

Two, to be exact. Two, nearly identical looking children stood motionless before him; completely soaked through to the bone as though they had taken a plunge into the frigid water that pooled around their ankles. It was a girl and a boy, both adorned with twin expressions utterly devoid of emotion, their wide eyed stare seeming to burn holes into his thin jacket. Their drenched clothes sagged off of their scrawny frames; thin rivulets of water dirpping off of them and disturbing the glassy surface of the water at their feet. The little girl's hair had messily stuck to her face in thin sodden strands, her cheeks still full and round with youth just like the boy's. They looked young. Too young to be in a place such as this.

Oh, but their eyes; their eyes.

They burned with such anger; such injustice, brighter than any dying star or galaxies he had ever seen. Anger towards the world, to fate, to whatever cruel deity that had deemed them fit to be sent to this wretched place so prematurely. They were too young to be here; to be entrapped like he was amongst this hungry darkness. And yet, here they were, sheer denial against their own untimely deaths being the only thing keeping them awake and conscious amongst the dead and rotting. A show of juvenile defiance to nature itself so vehement even the all-consumign darkness seemed hesitant to devour them whole just yet.

It saddened him. It saddened him to know that they belonged there, that they were supposed to be there. He could see it, he could feel it; they were dead. No amount of determination could deny that universal fact.

When they spoke, Stanley could hear anger:

Stan chuckled in a futile attempt to lighten the suddenly heavy atmosphere that threatened to crush him whole. "A lake monster? You kids and your imagination," he teased, hoping to somehow rid the poor kids of the haunted look that seemed to whirl in their glares. No child should have been burdened with such a knowing look; such eyes that looked like they had seen everything there was to see about the world, the horrid and the good.

Clearly, it had been the wrong thing to say, and Stanley's faux pas was rewarded with a scowl from the little boy. A world's worth of sour contempt etched into every contorted groove that his grimace seemed to dig into his much too young face. Stan suddenly felt guilt squeeze at his weary bones for having caused that.

"That's what they all said," the boy spat out, eyes shining with a sheen of wetness Stan wasn't sure he was prepared to deal with.

Stan left that first interaction with the twins with the feeling of guilt and sorrow still clining to him.

He couldn't have known, at the time. He couldn't have known that this wouldn't be anywhere near the last time that he would meet the pair. He hadn't realised just how many of them there were. After that first pair, his endless journeying within the Abyss was hardly be spent alone anymore. Countless more times, he came face to face with the exact same two young and impossibly worn faces; forced to meet one pair of beaten and bruised kids after another.

Not one pair had died the same death as another. Some had gotten lost, prey to whatever threat that had snatched them up out in the open; some had fallen from high up; some had been crushed under an incredible weight; some had burned; some eaten alive; some zombified. Some didn't even seem physically harmed at all, body perfectly intact, and yet that same faraway, distrubed look in their eyes remained.

He thought the worst ones were the ones he found alone. A little girl or a little boy, left all lonesome without their other half there. Twins, he remembered a pair of them telling him once.

Once, he had come across a town full of silent, stone statues. It was a rustic, shabby, almost nostalgic looking town- odd and strangely familiar. The sight of it had tugged at an aged memory that had long since wasted away in the back of his mind. It was serene, almost deceptively so. The sun shone; the air smelled crisp and fresh; numerous waterfalls continued to crash down from the tall cliffsides; and a soft nonexistent breeze whistled through the thicket of pine trees that blanketed the outskirts of the town. None of it seemed to match the gruesome scene of the hundred wailing statues that littered every inch of the town.

He had found the boy's statue on the other side of town, deep within the green forest and toppled over the gnarled roots of a towering tree. Like the rest of the townsfolk, he too, was frozen mid-shriek; his stone face twisted and contorted into a mock impression of a silent scream as his body lay paused in a writhing struggle. He made sure to be gentle when he carried the boy's statue over to place it beside the girl's, whose statue stood far deeper into the forest, sporting the same rictus grimace of terror as her brother's. It somehow felt wrong for them to have been so far apart from one another, even in death.

He had come to dread meeting of the twins. He hated every second he had to confront yet another pair of dead children that did not belong here, but fate had decided they did. He despised having to listen to their tales of woe as they wept about the injustice of the world, of having died young; he despised himself for being unable to do more than weep with them.

"We don't belong here, Grunkle Stan," he would listen to the little girl weep, calling him a title he didn't recognize. He never remembered if they had ever told him their name, but they all seem to know his, without a fail. "If we're dead, then what about you? What about Grunkle Ford? Mom? Dad? What about them? We can't be dead, we can't be," they would say, confusion and frustration written all over their faces. They didn't understand. They didn't understand why they had come to the darkness so early, so unfairly.

He never knew what to say, he'd never been good with words.

All he could do was kneel down to their levels and engulf them in his arms, hoping he could somehow squeeze the pain straight out of their bodies in his embrace. He hugged them, because what else could he do?

[boypied]

the taste of him

[an old friend] eugene allerton x male reader

summary: you haven't seen each other since you were both teenagers, but then you ran into each other while in a bar. you both forgot how badly you lusted for one another back in the day and how desperate you both were to get the taste of each other back after all these years.

wc: 1.2k

notes: MDNI, FDNI, oral sex (r!giving), swearing, cum swallowing, nipple play.

The ding of the bell is something you haven't heard in such a long time. It's been years since you came back here, which is strange considering you and your friend group used to come here every day. You've lost touch with the majority of them now, but you don't mind at all cause at least they're all happy with what they're doing and aren't being held back by some sort of nostalgia that has pulled you back here. Your eyes scatter around the room, hoping to see someone from your past yet no luck, and you feel that pit in your stomach grow larger and larger until you hear the bell that rings when the door opens and then someone call out your name, you slowly turn around and Eugene's gorgeous face becomes clearer and clearer. Your eyes wander across his face, admiring him and his chiselled jawline, "E-Eugene?" You mumble out in a low tone as a small smile creeps up on your face. "Long time, no see." Eugene says in his low voice and the accent that you love so much. You both stare at each other for a moment with a dark hungrt behind his eyes before Eugene finally speaks again. "Let me buy you a drink." He says as he flashes you a smile, causing your cheeks to flush a lustful shade of red. You walk across the bar and take a seat at a table in the corner of the room. You sit there waiting for Eugene to come over with your double drinks that you're dying for.

You take the beer bottle from his grasp, and you take a sip, letting it linger on your tongue for a moment before swallowing the bitter taste. The silence at your table was comforting, even though you weren't speaking Eugene, and you both felt safe in each other's company. The conversation began flowing, and once it started, it didn't stop. It was like a can of worms had been opened up, yours and Eugene's laughter echoed throughout the bar. You were both so lost in each other that you hadn't even noticed that the sun had set and majority of the people in the bar had left other than the alcoholics who practically live here, "wow." You mumble out as you look around, and Eugene just chuckles. "So, do you want to come back to my place... or hotel, I should say." He chuckles out nervously as he fixes his mistake, "Yeah... let's carry this conversation on." You mumble out once more but this time the look on your face was different, almost like you knew that this conversation wasn't going to continue and Eugene inviting you back to his place was a clear invitation to some sort of sex and let's just say you aren't complaining. Eugene pushes his hotel key into the lock, and he turns it to hear the click, and then he pushes the door open, revealing the dark abyss of his hotel room until it is lit up by the light once he flip the switch. You walk inside following his lead, and you gently push the door shut, making sure to hear the click so that you know it had automatically locked, "So, what do you wanna-" you begin talking until you are cut off by Eugene's hands cupping your soft cheeks in a gentle way and pressing his lips against yours, your eyes flutter shut and you accept it while his tongue slips into your mouth.

"M-Mhm!" You whimper out in pleasure as you feel his hands run across your clothed body as he slowly but seductively pulls your clothes off, revealing your body to him. You both don't break the kiss your tongues intertwined with each other as your hands swiftly begin to unbutton his classy shirt that was clinging to his muscular body. Eugene pulls out, creating a string of spit from your lips to his. Your face is all flushed from the feeling of his tongue exploring every crevice of your mouth. You and Eugene stare at each other for a moment, admiring each other's bare bodies until they lock eyes and begin to slowly unbutton their trousers, pulling them down, revealing each other's underwear that perfectly cups their bulges. "Eugene...woah." You mumble out, but he just chuckles as he grips the hem of his boxer briefs and slowly pulls them down revealing his lengthy semi-hard cock causing you to let out a sharp gasp. Your eyes flicker up and down between his growing cock and his piercing eyes, Eugene sits down on the end of the bed laying down on it as his hard cock springs up and you crawl over to him sitting down on your knees between his legs running your hands up and down his thighs. You lean forward and lick a wet strip up his large heavy balls that are so full of cum, "been a while?" You grunt out as you take his balls into your mouth.

Eugene's eyes flutter back, and his toes curl as your tongue flicks back and forth against his balls. "It's been m-months." He whimpers out, feeling his balls get sucked on feeling your warm cheeks close in. You pull away from his balls with a pop sound causing you to chuckle slightly, "fuck.." You groan out and lean up on your knees and take his pre-cum soaked tip into your mouth tracing your tongue along his slit tasting all his pre-cum, "f-fuck!" Eugene whimpers out feeling his cock enter your warm mouth being coated in your spit. You take more and more of him into your warm your eyes fluttering back every time his tip hits the back of your throat causing a sultry moan to be let out from you, creating vibrations giving Eugene ultimate pleasure. Your hands travel up his perfect body and one hand grips his pec, ever so slightly pinching his nipple causing his body to jolt and his cock to twitch in your mouth "M-MHM!" Eugene groans out, his fingers running through your hair gripping onto it and using your mouth as a fleshlight. Eugene's cock begins to slide in and out of your mouth at a faster pace once he has control of you.

Your eyes water feeling his cock hit the back of your throat at a piston like pace, but you don't complain, you enjoy every moment as you listen to his sultry moans grow louder and louder as his cock's twitches become more frequent and his cock is now as hard as a rock. "Eu- mhm, Euge! Mhm." You try to call out to him, but the sound of your wet mouth is too loud to be heard over anything else. You continue tweaking his nipples causing his moans to increase and echo throughout his hotel room. He was so loud that even his neighbours could hear him and know exactly what was going on in this room. "N-Ngh! Y/N!" Eugene whimpers louder until his back arches, causing his hips to buck up into your mouth as he holds your head down keeping his cock buried in your throat as he shoots his load deep inside your throat as you feel it run down as you swallow every last drop. Eugene's head hit against the bed as he continues to sloppily buck his hips into your warm cum filled mouth. You climb up onto the bed and lay down next to him for a moment until you feel his arms wrap around you and pull your body closer to his embracing his warmth.

taglist ~ @starboye @mailmango @ghostking4m @kingchaospostsstuff @crispysoup318 @inhumanshadows @its-ares @gayaristocrat @cronasluvr @irlsamcarpenter @lucerothings1 @gaefaeyae @dqrkhold @sluttyhusband @sleep-0-deprived

[yurilvr4]

mr scarlettela thirst drabble ! ⁀ .°୨ৎ

cw for confinement and obsession on his part, gn!reader, yandere!scarletella ꒰ᐢ. ̫ .ᐢ꒱ (reader is not mc!) [MDNI.]

it all began when you decided to give him your name. a small gesture of exchanging words yet the man who asked for it grovelled before you absolutely infatuated.

it was odd at first, you remember scrunching your nose at his actions. he says you two belong together, a twisted fate tangled in a web of whatever depiction he had for love.

you still regret giving in to his whims so easily, bending at every form of affection he gives you and you swallow it like water.

apart from his overbearing nature..he's actually pretty sweet to you. grovelling at your feet and begging you to stay when all you want to do is leave. he would grip your knees and rest his chin on your lap, staring at you with those abyssal eyes of his with desire.

"come...here." mr scarletella shifts himself to grab your hips, completely disregarding his umbrella and laying you down on the bed.

a little hum, sort of like a giggle releases from his mouth when he nuzzles his face into your neck. his legs dangle off the bed, though he makes sure to swipe a knee in between your thighs.

his knee digs slightly into your crotch as he nuzzles his hair into your skin. you sigh disgruntled and let him use your body like a damn pillow.

"love...love..you." he says, voice deep into your ear. he nips your ear, large hand grazing over your abdomen and groping your chest.

you place your own hand over his and you squeeze in warning, "scarletella, no."

he smile would falter a little and his grip would tighten. "say.. love me..back." he would demand, visibly irritated at your lack of affection.

while you were busy plotting of a way to escape this damn prison of a room, you were so obscured by your thoughts of freedom that you didn't notice scarletella snaking a hand up your shirt.

"woah! hey-!" startled you grip his wrist. he doesn't budge one bit and leant close to your face, inches apart that he could very easily kiss you if he wanted.

"you...love me." he says, pressing himself against you, gripping your sides possessively as he nuzzles into your chest.

"love me. love me. ....only me." he repeats over and over, his 9 ft body over yours and you roll your eyes at his absolute delusions.

wow, you've ever heard him say anything else other than the word "love", it started to irk you.

but...you did feel bad. you haven't met anyone this clingy since ...ever. he was the only one that came to you when you needed protection, all you had to do was reciprocate.

you furrow your brows in thought, your hand subconsciously petting his head softly.

"hey. me..uh..sorry." you apologize, carding your fingers through his red hair and his eyes meet yours instantly.

dark momo eyes stare right into yours, his mouth slightly parted until it stretches into a huge, manic grin. your fingers flinch from his instantaneous reaction and he hugs your form tight and secure around his lanky arms.

"me....glad. you, me..together." he says, finally closing the distance between your lips.

he kisses you for a while, long fingers wander into your hair as he practically salivates into your mouth. a trail of saliva dripping down the sides of your lips and you slap a hand over his chest to push him away.

his hard-on presses against your thigh and you pull away forcibly from his mouth, only to see him twitching with desire that you could practically see hearts in his eyes.

"scarletella...?"

his irises snap to yours when he hears his name, his smile never faltering. "mine....mine, mine, mine."

he grips your thighs and spreads your legs apart, a startled gasp leaves you. "wait- please-" his hands held the back of your knees and bends your legs near your face so your clothed ass is exposed to his lovesick eyes.

"...mine."

[foxy-eva]

Damaged Goods

Summary: The belief that they were both undeserving of love led Spencer and Reader into each other's arms. If they can’t find love, they can at least soothe their need for physical affection, right?

“You kiss me with your mouth wide open like you’re not afraid of swallowing poison. I taste the good and bad in you and want them both. We call this bravery.” - Anita Ofokansi

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader 

Category: Smut, Angst with a hopeful ending

Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) negative self-talk and self-deprecation (both Reader and Spencer, also in the context of sex!), implied past trauma (nothing explicit), some dark/cynical humor, loneliness, crying (also during sex), showering together, oral (fem receiving), unprotected penetrative sex

Author’s Note: I hope you guys are ready for some smangst! This is my entry for @imagining-in-the-margins Friends with Benefits challenge! 

Word count: 4.3k

Masterlist

It was as if Spencer had expected you when he opened his door, a sympathetic smile spread over his face and the first buttons of his shirt already undone. As if he had known that you weren’t planning on wasting any time to get him undressed once you stepped inside his apartment. 

“He stood you up, huh?” Spencer concluded after reading your expression. 

A defeated sigh escaped your lips. “I don't even know why I still try with those stupid dating apps.”

“Probably because you don't want to end up old and alone like me,” he chuckled, his tone laced with cynicism. 

“You're not old,” you countered as you stepped closer to him. “And right now you’re not alone either.”

“Technically correct.”

You came to a halt not even an arm’s length away from him. His sight wandered over your face, obviously trying to interpret your current state of mind. It was rare that Spencer made the first step in your encounters. It was important to him to make sure you were the one in control. 

“I need you, Spencer,” you finally confessed. 

There was a certain desperation audible in your voice but it was nothing Spencer hadn’t heard before. He stepped towards you to close the distance between your bodies. 

“Come here,” he whispered as he placed his hands on your waist. 

What Spencer had to offer was the next best thing to love you could get. So you didn’t hesitate to give into the temptation of feeling his body pressed against yours for the umpteenth time in those past few weeks. 

Unlike the men before him, Spencer was not scared to get close to you even after telling him the secrets from your past. He didn't budge when you tried to push him away, well aware of the darkness he’d face once he stepped closer. He wasn’t afraid that you could suck him into the void that captured the place in your chest where your heart once was. 

What he saw when he looked into the abyss that was your soul felt familiar, almost comforting. It reminded him of the demons that possessed his own soul. It broke his heart to see you hurting. However, as morbid as it was, it also made him feel less lonely in his own suffering. 

One particularly lonely night a few weeks ago led you into his arms for the first time – and subsequently into his bed – to at least soothe the yearning for physical affection.

There was no romantic attraction to be found between the two of you. You came to an agreement that you were both too marred to even speak of romance hypothetically. Too large was the risk of  potential self-destruction that could follow a union of two such damaged hearts. 

This was a purely physical thing – a way to pretend that your love lives weren’t completely doomed. Sleeping with Spencer was like committing to a symbiosis, a mutual agreement to use the other’s body to appease this pain that wouldn’t go away. 

You reminded yourself of that when his lips made contact with yours that night. He kissed you like a starving man, never quite able to satiate the burning hunger of his soul. What you had to offer was good enough for now, though. 

As he walked you into his bedroom, it almost felt like following a routine the two of you had adopted. Just a few skilled movements were enough to stand completely bare in front of each other, greedy hands groping whatever flesh was in reach. 

When you finally lay down on the mattress, Spencer’s lips chased every curve and dip of your body, almost as if he was determined to find the secret remedy to finally end your suffering. 

Only there was none. 

The inner turmoil never went away but during those hours you were able to tune it out. It was nothing but a distant memory once Spencer laid down between your legs. He collected your honeyed wetness on his tongue until you were squirming underneath him, desperate to find relief. 

“Not yet,” he breathed as he sat up between your legs. 

He leaned over you, sharing your own taste with you as he kissed you again. At the same moment his tongue entered your mouth, you could feel his hardness pressing into your entrance. There was no need to be reluctant, no moment of questioning if what you were doing would taint the other one. His mouth left your lips to bite into your neck instead, unafraid that his venom could ever hurt you. 

Everything I touch starts rotting, Spencer once chuckled when you tried to save one of his house plants. Cynical as ever, he had said it with a grin on his face but you knew that there was more meaning behind his words than he would ever admit.

It was different with you, though. The damage had already been done by the hands of other people. There was no innocence that could have been defiled. There was nothing Spencer could do to wound you worse than them, no matter how little he thought of himself. 

Maybe that was the real reason it was so easy for him to lose himself inside your embrace. You could see it in his eyes as he entered you. He was allowed to be himself with you, to feel lust and affection despite his hardship, despite the lack of true love. 

Those sensations were a mutual experience, too. With Spencer you were never worried about being rejected. Together you had created your own safe space, a bright pink bubble within the darkness where you could truly be yourselves with one another. 

In perfect unity you began moving with each other, each thrust of hips answered by your body grinding against him. Together you chased the feeling of sweet release, the moment of pure bliss. 

“Fuck,” Spencer muttered against your lips, announcing that it wouldn’t be much longer now. 

You slowed down your movements, desperately trying to prolong this moment, to indulge some more in this short reprieve of the mess that was your life. 

“Please, hold on,” you begged him as you felt tears pricking in the corners of your eyes. 

Suddenly and without a warning Spencer stopped moving to kiss away the tears from your cheeks instead. He tasted the saline on your skin and imagined that it had been kissed by the ocean instead of the cruel reality.

“Are you okay?” He cooed when he found your eyes.

“No,” you breathed. “But when am I ever?” 

“Do you want to stop?” He offered, obviously concerned with you. 

You shook your head as you pushed against his shoulders to urge him to lie down beside you. Climbing into his lap, you found your place on top of him while Spencer’s hands grabbed your hips. 

“Is that okay?” You wanted to make sure before continuing. 

“Yes,” he confirmed. “You know very well that I need this just as much as you do.” 

With your hand wrapped around his length you guided him into your body once more. Spencer threw his head back into the pillow as you started moving at a slow, almost torturous pace. Not much time passed until the both of you danced along the edge of euphoria again. 

It only took a few skilled motions until you finally fell over the edge, taking Spencer right with you. The high subsided a lot quicker than you would have liked and with that the bright pink bubble you had created burst again.

Spencer held you for the rest of the night, even after the both of you had long fallen asleep. Only when morning came did he dare to let go of your body as he got out of bed. When you heard him turn on the shower, your entire body began tingling as the longing to bask in the warmth his skin radiated became overwhelming. 

With quiet steps you approached the bathroom and opened the door. 

“Do you need something?” You heard Spencer’s voice from behind the shower curtain. 

You stepped closer to the shower before asking, “Can I join you?” 

“Of course.” He pulled back the curtain to let you step in, offering a hand so you wouldn’t slip. 

It was only a little awkward to stand in front of Spencer completely naked in bright daylight. He didn’t hesitate to pull you into his arms, sharing both the warm water and the heat his body provided with you. You weren’t sure what it was exactly that you were looking for when you joined him in his morning shower, but it was nice to just be close to him. 

You stepped back to find his eyes and he noticed your ambivalence. Before he had a chance to ask, you giggled, “I’m trying to decide whether I want to get clean or dirty.”

Spencer joined you with his own laughter. “Well,” he chuckled as he grabbed the shampoo bottle, “let’s start by getting you clean.” 

He began shampooing your hair as if it was the most natural thing in the world to him. This act of innocent affection shocked your entire system. Suddenly you were unable to form a coherent sentence, the only thing that mattered in that moment was the sensation of Spencer running his fingertips over your scalp. A part of you wanted to fight this experience of being taken care of but a much bigger, much more desperate part simply indulged in the sensation. 

When you couldn’t get much cleaner, you reciprocated this pure act. Spencer didn’t resist, instead his body became pliable under your touch as you helped him wash his hair and skin. It almost felt like a sacred act to rid him of the remaining soap. Your sight followed the bubbles as they ran down his legs and disappeared in the drain. 

You couldn’t quite explain it but somehow this shower felt more intimate than any sexual act you had shared in the past. It wasn’t your intention but it felt like something between the two of you had shifted as you stepped out of the bathroom and got dressed. 

It felt like the safest option to lighten the mood with your usual playful banter. 

“My therapist said something stupid the other day,” you finally broke the silence. 

“Did she say that you should stop sleeping with me? Because then I might need to have a serious conversation with her,” Spencer joked. 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Dr. Reid. I never mention you in therapy,” you lied. 

He saw right through you but let it go anyway. “Right,” he said instead. 

Spencer walked right behind you as you made your way over to his kitchen to make some coffee. 

“She said that I need to start learning to love myself before someone else can fall in love with me.” The coffee maker made a hissing noise right as the last word left your lips. 

“Yikes,” Spencer deadpanned. “Good luck with that.”

“I know, right? I’ll probably end up old and alone like you,” you snickered.  

Spencer laughed at your words. “I was talking about the coffee maker but I deserved that.” 

The ringing of your phone distracted you from your mission to make coffee. When you got it out of your purse, you saw a message from the guy who stood you up last night. 

“The guy from last night is asking for another date. Apparently he didn’t show up because of some work emergency,” you explained with your eyes still glued to the screen. 

Spencer huffed in response. “You're not seriously considering it?” 

“What choice do I have? It’s not like people are lining up to finally date me.”

He rolled his eyes as he poured some coffee in a mug. “He’s not the right person for you. You should say no,” was his final advice. 

“That's the thing with damaged goods though, isn’t it? People can sense that we are not worthy of their time, that they can do better. So we have no choice than to settle for something, or rather someone not quite perfect.”

Months ago you had come to an agreement to stop cheering each other up when it came to your love lives. There was a mutual understanding that telling the other one they would for sure get their happily-ever-after soon didn't help at all. It was sort of comforting to be able to talk about the unadorned truth with one another. 

“There's a difference between not quite perfect and absolute dipshit though,” Spencer retorted.

His choice of words made you laugh. It was rare that Spencer used crude language but he never minced matters when talking about your Tinder chronicles.  

He found your eyes and added, “You deserve better than that.”

Half jokingly, half seriously you asked, “Do I really?” 

A smirk formed on his face when he teased, “Well…” 

You playfully punched his arm and laughed, “Don't be a dick, Spencer! Now I’m going to go on this date out of spite!”

Spencer had seen the worst of you and he was aware that you’d probably fall back into old habits quickly, even if that guy was decent. That poor man didn't stand a chance to fight through all those walls you had so carefully built to protect your heart.

There was another, unspoken reason why the two of you had stopped cheering each other up so long ago. In the unlikely case that you would actually finally find your soulmate, what would that mean for Spencer? That he had been more broken than you all along?

It’s not that he didn't want you to find happiness. But the thought that he might be left behind was devastating. Ending up old and alone was only a tolerable thought if he could have you by his side. 

So Spencer did what he knew best and started pushing you away.

Several days passed without hearing a word from him. It wasn’t the first time this had happened and it was nothing you could hold against him – you had done the same thing before. It couldn't have been a coincidence that right when you were supposed to leave for your date, you found yourself standing in front of Spencer’s apartment door instead. 

Three firm knocks announced your presence. You heard some shuffling on the other side of the door but he didn't open. It was to be expected. You got his spare key out from your purse to enter his place uninvited. 

It was the couch where you found him, his arms wrapped around his knees, making him appear so much smaller than he really was. He was wearing an old Caltech shirt and sweatpants and his hair looked even more unruly than usual. The redness around his eyes revealed that he had been crying.

Instead of greeting you, he groaned, “I shouldn't have given you my key.”

“Well,” you shrugged as you sat down beside him. “Too late.”

“I mean it, you shouldn't be here.”

“Nice try,” you quipped. “You should know by now that you can't scare me off that easily.” 

The truth was that he didn't want you to leave, even when the words that left his mouth claimed the opposite. You had proven to him over and over again that no matter how many of his scars he let you see, you stayed.

Old habits die hard, though. So he still tried walking away, even if he wouldn't get far. You watched as he disappeared in the bedroom and threw the door shut behind him. The sound didn't even make you flinch. 

Slowly you counted to ten before you got up to follow him. He knew you better than that but he still had a surprised expression on his face when he saw you walking through his bedroom door. A part of him still believed that there would come a point where all this darkness became too overwhelming even for you. 

“I won’t leave,” you reminded him, a loving softness laced over your voice. 

You sat down beside him on the bed when he started crying again. To your surprise he didn’t wince when you reached for his hand. 

“Talk to me,” you finally offered.

“You don't understand,” Spencer whimpered. “I feel so alone.”

Right as the words left his lips, he looked up at you, tears still running down his cheeks. He looked at you and remembered that what he said was wrong. 

Because you did understand. 

And he knew that very well. 

That was when he remembered that it wasn’t his apartment you should be at right now. He took a deep breath before wiping away his tears. 

“You're gonna be late for your date,” he stated, his eyes glued to the floor. 

Your words were genuine when you countered, “You're so much more important than a stupid date, Spencer.”

After hearing those words, he leaned over to catch your lips with his without a warning. The fervor he displayed knocked the air out of your lungs. He kissed you greedily, his hands grabbing your waist to push you against his body. 

His tongue begged for entrance and you granted it, melting into him with this kiss that tasted more salty than you would have liked. How easy it would have been to fall back into your old routine, to lose yourself inside his arms as you both chased a quick solution to a problem that couldn't be fixed. 

His hands started searching for the softness your body had to offer, calloused fingertips brushing over the velvet of the skin he found underneath your shirt. It was not like you didn't yearn for it too, for this make-believe game you liked to play. More than anything did you crave the sensation of his touch, this moment that briefly let you forget all the marks past lovers had left on your body. 

It didn't feel right, though. Not anymore. 

Spencer instantly sensed your hesitance and pulled back to find your eyes. Never before had he looked more vulnerable than in that moment. 

“I don't think it’s a good idea,” you breathed as your hands found his face to wipe his tears away. 

Spencer pulled away from you, denying you the access to his skin. 

“So it's okay if you cry during sex, but when I do it, that's where you draw the line?” He huffed. 

The harshness of his words shocked you but you could see the regret in his eyes instantly.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn't have said that.”

You reached for his hand as you softly spoke, “It’s okay. You're upset, I get it.” 

Several moments of silence passed. Seconds of contemplating how to proceed until you decided to offer him the comfort he craved anyway. 

You leaned in for another kiss. It was a lot softer and slower than before but Spencer took what he could get. When you got ahold of the hem of his shirt to take it off, he pulled back. 

“Wait, I’m not sure about this,” he stuttered. “I don't want you to feel like–”

“Spencer,” you interrupted him. “Do you trust me?”

A quiet breath fell from his lips before he nodded. “More than I ever thought possible.”

With that there was no more resistance to be found when you continued undressing him. He moved with you until only underwear was covering your bodies. 

“Lie down,” you cooed and he did as you said. 

Unlike your previous encounters, it was apparent that what the both of you craved was not sex this time. You laid down beside him to pull him into your arms, no distance allowed between the two of you. His skin was pressed against yours, so much so that it became impossible to tell where your body ended and his began. 

He left featherlight kisses on your neck before resting his head against your shoulder. You held him as close as you could, not daring to loosen the grip you had around his body. 

With his arms and legs all bent and folded to fit inside your embrace, there was no more trace of the tall man he usually was. He seemed small, almost fragile. Even more so when another fit of sobs shot through his body. 

Spencer trembled inside your arms and you held him. You held him until he had successfully cried himself to sleep.

At least that was what you thought. The harbingers of your own slumber had already begun numbing your senses when you suddenly felt his lips brushing over your cheek. 

“I think I’m in love with you,” he whispered almost inaudibly. 

I know, you thought but were already too far gone to answer him. 

When you opened your eyes the next morning, you found Spencer already awake, looking at you. His eyes were still a bit swollen but his facial features looked soft, almost content. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you whined as you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. 

“Like what?” He mumbled. 

“Like a lovesick fool!” 

Spencer didn't seem surprised at your words. It seemed like he was aware that you had heard what he said to you last night. 

“What if I am?” He asked, a smirk spread over his face. 

Now was not the time for your usual sarcastic banter. Not when everything you had with him was about to implode. 

You sat up in the bed and warned him, “Stop it, Spencer.”

He shook his head, “I can’t keep pretending. It’s the truth.”

You got up to get dressed while you huffed, “How can it be true after you have seen the worst of me.”

“I have seen the worst of you and I still love you.”

You started pacing up and down his bedroom, trying to come up with something to say to that. Spencer got up too and put his clothes on. You came to a halt about an arm’s length away from him before you said, “This is not what love should feel like.”

“How would you know?” He countered. 

His words seemed cruel but they were true. You didn't know what love actually felt like. There was this image you had in your head of an innocent, saccharine kind of love that probably only existed in fiction.  

Spencer didn't let it go just yet. There was a certain insecurity audible in his voice when he practically begged you, “Look at me and tell me that you don’t feel the same way ” 

Instead of looking at him, your sight fell to the floor. “What I feel is the urge to leave.”

It was to be expected that this would be your reaction. Spencer knew you well enough to be aware of the risk he took by confessing his feelings. He suspected that you reciprocated them but were still too afraid to admit it. 

He stepped out of your way and gestured towards the door. “I’m not gonna stop you.”

To your own surprise, you hesitated.  

“What are we doing, Spencer?”

A very timid smile appeared on his face when he realized that you didn't follow your instincts to leave. Maybe there was hope after all. 

“I’m not sure,” Spencer answered. “…but I’m willing to find out.”

It wasn’t like this thought had never crossed your mind. In fact, there was a part of your brain that sometimes overpowered anything else and let you fantasize about a potential future with him. 

However, you were very familiar with the demons Spencer had to fight every day. And you were even more aware of your own darkness. You were afraid that the combination of those things might become a poisonous mixture that had the potential to destroy the both of you. 

So it was only logical to voice your concerns. “I don’t think I can make you happy.” 

“It’s not your job to make me happy,” he sighed. “But maybe there is a chance that we could find happiness together. In little those moments, just like before, when we woke up together. Or when we took a shower the other day. Maybe those little things add up one day to something bigger. To something better. Something worth taking the risk.” 

You looked at the door once more but decided to sit down at his bedside instead of leaving. 

You found his eyes and breathed, “Okay.” 

Spencer sat down beside you. “Okay?”

What you had with him was imperfect and not at all what you had imagined. Some might think what you were about to do was stupid, maybe even reckless. It was only a matter of time until one of you got hurt, got caught in the crossfire of the intensity of your emotions. But maybe it was worth giving it a chance. 

Yes, some might call it reckless. But in that moment you thought of it as bravery. 

“Yes.” You confirmed. “Let’s give it a try.” 

A split second after you said those words, you felt Spencer’s lips on yours. The kiss felt different than the ones before. There was no desperation or insatiable hunger noticeable in his actions. This kiss was sweet, almost innocent. It was a way to melt into one another with no hurry, no need to compensate for something you’d never truly experience. 

Soon you were both shedding each layer of clothing before lying down on the bed to continue the kiss without any barrier between you. His chest was firmly pressed against yours and you could feel his heart thumping against your skin, almost as if it was looking for its counterpart inside your ribcage. 

You could feel your heart calling out to him. For the first time you didn't want to be with him to shield your heart from the rest of the world, no. This time you wanted to open up, to give Spencer a chance to feel your affection.

“I love you,” you whispered between kisses. 

He leaned back to smile at you and you could feel how his love entered your body, how it was on a mission to bring light to even the darkest corners of your soul.

“I love you, too.”

Please like, reblog and leave a comment! I need your lovely words to stay motivated to write more stories.

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[ilium-ilia]

All Yours

Paring: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Reader

Synopsis: Your friends always tease you for being a virgin, so you decide to go home with someone they point out in the pub. Kyle seems kind enough, but he isn't very keen on letting you go.

Tags: smut, oral sex, PIV sex, virginity loss, hymen breaking, alcohol, possessiveness, implied break in, a hint of non-con touching at the end, Kyle is a little barmy but we can look past that, i did not edit a single word in this i had an idea and the energy to write it and that's it.

Liquor coats your tongue the same way it always does—alluring and biting. It sinks its teeth into the wet muscle and burrows down your esophagus until its created a lovely hibernaculum in which to rest in while it festers in your bloodstream. 

Pain, and comfort. 

That’s what tonight seems to be comprised of. As are most of your nights, these days. Bored fingers tap along the bartop as your friends indulge one another with debauched stories of their sex lives all while you smile and nod as if you understand the feelings they describe or the frustrations of laying in bed with someone who fucks like a cactus in a wind storm. 

Their gazes aren’t lost on you. It’s only natural for their eyes to wander over to the only virgin at the table. They look at you adoringly, as if you’re some mythical creature they often don’t happen across—something to be gawked at. Mortification joins the alcohol in your stomach as you tell yourself to ignore their gentle cooing and playful taunts. 

It’s not that deep. 

But it feels deep. It’s an abyss that swallows you whole—this idea of sex. They tell you it’s infinitesimal yet every time you attempt to wade through the waters you find your fingers clawing through the air as you attempt to keep yourself from drowning. You’d like to toss away your virginity just so it no longer hangs over your head like some thunder cloud ready to dump rain on your body, but you can’t quite get yourself to brave the blood that would follow after you cut it free from your body. 

What about him? He looks like a good lay. 

They point towards a man on the other side of the pub. He’s made himself comfortable at a table meant for two as his fingers choke the bottom of his pint. Short cropped hair lies close to his skull in thick curls while earthy brown eyes focus on the football game roaring on the television on the wall above him. His skin looks velvety smooth even with the faint scar on his cheek, and his face looks kind beneath the glow of the monitor. 

It would be a lie to say he wasn’t attractive. Between his broad shoulders and chiseled hands, he’s the poster boy for the models they used to plaster pictures of in the magazines meant for teen girls you used to read as a kid. 

He looks lonely. 

You echo the sentiment when you approach his table with pursed lips, already awaiting your rejection. He looks up at you and his lips pull into a wide smile over pearly white teeth—you don’t notice how sharpy they are through the sheer beauty that beams before you. 

“I might be,” he says, indulging your poor attempt at a pickup. His eyes flicker to the seat across from him for a short moment before he nods at you. “Gonna fix that for me, love?” 

His name is Kyle. You feared that the moment you sat down with him and he opened his mouth, he would do something to make you regret wandering over here in the first place, but he doesn’t. Each syllable that rolls off of his tongue is silky smooth with a voice with just enough vocal fry to haunt your dreams. He buys you another drink when you’re finished with your first one, and you find yourself giggling with him more than you ever do with your friends (though, it remains to be seen if it’s because of him, or your intoxication). 

Wanna get out of here? 

His apartment is quaint. Various video game consoles lie in perfect organization beneath his TV stand, and a few of the controllers rest on the coffee table next to the remote. Each counter glistens beneath the stove light, save for a few crumbs from a sandwich he had eaten for lunch earlier that day. There is a faint aroma of bleach, sandalwood and—

—iron? 

Kyle does not give you much time to mull over the state of his apartment before he’s got you buried in the duvet on his bed. Like a rocking boat in the ocean, you follow his whims as he strips you bare before him, body on display in the pallid light of his bedroom. Anticipation rears its head as your stomach churns. You’ve seen the films. You know how this is supposed to go. 

Still, you are pleasantly surprised when you find Kyle’s head between your thighs. He curiously thumbs over your clit a few times just to watch your body jolt, and he grins as you throw your head back into his pillows. When his mouth replaces his thumb, you feel your desire pound against your chest, ready to burst free into the cold air around you. 

His tongue swipes over you, not even bothering to temper you into the pure pleasure he plunges you into. All his efforts are focused onto one spot, the very spot that pulses with needy want as your hips twitch and buck against him. He chuckles, then hums lowly as his hands grip your hips to roll you along the flat of his tongue. Desperate fingers push at the back of his head. None of your friends described sex like this—wet and lewd. None of them ever talked about dancing on the tongue of their lovers like you are now. 

“Kyle, that- that feels so good,” you croon. 

He groans when you say his name. It bleeds between your lips like a hushed confession—a secret between you and God. His tongue quickens along your clit and the hinge of your jaw begins to tighten. He does not say anything to you when you begin to babble further. Kyle continues to devour—to eat—to consume—

Something snaps within you. Parichord frays then slices, leaving behind nothing but searing marks across your skin as endorphins numb your brain and sizzle throughout your legs. When your thighs close around Kyle's head, he does not push them aside for breath, but rather he allows you to ride this wave until your muscles melt around him and his tongue ceases to move. 

“You taste so sweet. Like tangerine and blood,” he murmurs as he pulls away. His comparison makes your head spin—and blood—but you push it out of your mind as you witness him sit back on his haunches and remove his shirt in one slick, practiced motion. Soft abs roll and swell with his breathing as his fingers begin to prod along your pussy. “You look so pretty like this. Nothing but a mess for me, aren’t you? Yeah, there-” 

You witness in real time as something ensnares Kyle's brain into silence. Eyes widening, his fingers hardly press into your entrance before they meet resistance. Pulling away from you, he puts his hands on the underside of your knees before he pushes your legs apart. 

“Hold your legs out for me. Yeah, just like that, love,” he orders. Trembling fingers hook underneath your thighs as you hold yourself apart for him. You stare up at him from between your knees with curious eyes. “Is that… fuck…” 

Slender fingers prod at your pussy once more, and you feel the cold air rush to meet the wetness on your skin as he inspects your cunt. You watch the soft brown of his eyes morph from wet autumn leaves into a dark void as he prods against some thin membrane just at your entrance. 

“You’re a virgin?” he asks. 

Embarrassment cuts through you like a dull blade. “You can tell?” 

“Your hymen is still intact.” Kyle doesn’t look at you. Instead, he continues to spread you apart, eyes locked onto your pussy. “You sure you want me to take this, love? To take you?” 

Your hips shift. Gathering as much spare courage as you’re able to find, you nod. “Please, Kyle.” 

It doesn’t take long for him to fish his cock from his trousers. Something whispers at you to ask him about a condom, but your mind is thrown into silence the moment he slaps himself against your clit. He’s thick—uncut and desperately leaking, he rubs himself over your cunt before he pushes himself into you. 

The burn is faint at first, but it progresses from flickering embers into a roaring fire. Kyle watches with dilated eyes as his cock splits and tears your hymen. The thin tissue weeps with trace amounts of blood, and he finds his throat growing tight as your cunt begins to constrict around him. 

“Kyle, that-” 

“I know,” he interrupts. “But fuck look at that. Never seen anything like that. Like you. You’re taking it so well, love, I just… there.” He bottoms out with a sharp thrust that has your nails digging into the back of your thighs. Dropping your legs, you slap your hands over your mouth to hold back a wail. Kyle falls forward, draping your body with his as he begins to shallowly thrust into you. “I’m not gonna be able to get enough of this.” 

The foreign sensation ripples through you, stunning you into silence as Kyle’s cock pistons through your cunt. You feel the very ridge of his cockhead, the swell of his balls against your rump, even the trimmed hair on his pubic bone rubbing against your clit. The very world begins to fall away beneath you, and your arms wrap around his neck to steady yourself. You feel the curve of his lips as he grins against your throat. 

“All mine. All fucking mine,” he repeats as his teeth nip beneath your jaw. A tense thumb makes its way to your clit once more just as you feel his hips begin to stutter and jolt. “Say it. All fucking mine, aren’t you love?” 

“Yes!” you wail. “All yours, Kyle. Please, please let me come!” 

He greedily times his orgasm with yours, and it isn’t long before you’re constricting around him and he’s spilling his cum into you with several throbbing pulses of his cock. Eyes rolling into the back of your head, your muscles go slack as he continues to shallowly thrust into you, grunting each time he bottoms out, refusing to waste a single drop. 

“All mine.”

Kyle’s mantra only repeats in your mind for a little while after that night. He had tenderly cleaned you up in the shower before lovingly taking you to work the next morning—then, you vanished. Into thin air. Dissipated into nothing more than a tricky zephyr between his fingers. 

The two of you were nothing more than a fling. 

That’s what you thought. 

When your confidence grows enough to take another stranger home from the bar with you, you shouldn’t be surprised to find Kyle already waiting in your apartment when the two of you arrive, but you are. He sits comfortably on your sofa with narrowed eyes as the door swings open, and your jaw goes slack at the sight of him. 

Baby, who’s this? 

Your one-night-stand rushes out of the door behind you, muttering something about being the other man, leaving you to stand in front of Kyle, trembling as if you’re out in the cold. 

“Kyle? What the hell are you doing here?” you ask. “Did you-? How did you even know I lived here? Seriously, what the fuck?” 

“Did you not mean it?” Kyle’s eyes are severe as he stands. He stalks forward with raised brows until your back is pressed against the door and his arms are on either side of your head. “When you said you were all mine, did you not mean it?” 

Shaking your head, your bottom lip begins to tremble. “I don’t understand.” 

His hands snake down until he’s palming at you through your pants. Gasping at the pressure, your eyes squeeze shut as his teeth nip at the side of your cheek, and you wince. 

“You let me take this. Your virginity. It’s mine now. You’re mine now.” His lips brush away the pain on your cheek with a chaste kiss. “Say it to me, love.” 

Fear pierces through your heart at the deep growl of authority in his tone. He has you trapped, caged in his arms like you’re nothing more than an animal. Knowing you have no other choice, your throat bobs as you swallow. 

“I… I’m all yours, Kyle.” 

[heliosunny]

do you think you could add blade to your lucky egg list of characters you plan on writing for?

He's my very first 5-star character so he MUST be on the list.

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Blade x Reader

The first moment you saw him, he emerged from the cracked egg like a specter from a forgotten legend. His dark hair spilled over his shoulders, crimson eyes catching the dim light like embers in the abyss. He said nothing at first, just stared at you, as if measuring your worth.

You swallowed. "...How did a person come out of an egg? No—scratch that, how did you come out of an egg?"

He didn't answer. His gaze lingered on you a moment longer before he turned away, uninterested.

"At least tell me your name..."

"Blade."

From then on, he remained eerily silent, always watching, studying you in ways that made the hair on the back of your neck rise. He didn't sleep the first few nights, at least, not peacefully. The moment he shut his eyes, his breath would grow ragged, his body tense. When night fell, nightmares clawed at him relentlessly.

One night, you caught him gripping his own wrist so tightly it might bruise.

"Blade." You hesitated before reaching out. "Do you want me to—"

Without thinking, you took his hand. His fingers twitched, but he didn't pull away. After a moment, his grip tightened, as if grounding himself in your warmth. He never thanked you, never even acknowledged it the next morning, but the nightmares were a little quieter that night.

Another evening, you caught him staring blankly at the ceiling, exhaustion creeping into his sharp features. Wordlessly, you handed him a cup of warm milk.

He frowned at it. "...What is this?"

"Something to help you sleep. Just drink it."

He scoffed but took a cautious sip. The warmth spread through his fingers as he held the cup, his expression unreadable.

Over time, small gestures like these eased him, though he never admitted it outright. Some nights, he would let you sit beside him until he dozed off. Once or twice, you even woke up to find that, at some point during the night, he had shifted closer, seeking out your presence in his sleep.

But it wasn’t enough. You could tell the nightmares still haunted him. So you decided to seek out an expert in this field, someone who could truly help him.

When you told Blade, he barely reacted. "A waste of time."

"Just try it," you insisted. "It might help."

The expert used hypnosis, peeling back the layers of his trauma. Blade spoke little of what surfaced, but the session left him visibly disturbed. Later, the expert took you aside and explained what to do next.

"He trusts you more than he lets on" they said. "You need to be patient. Keep grounding him in the present. Make him feel that he belongs somewhere."

That night, Blade sat beside you, his usual cold demeanor slightly cracked. "What did they tell you?"

You hesitated before answering. "That you’re not beyond saving."

He scoffed, but for once, there was no bite to it. Just quiet resignation.

You met his gaze. "I want you to stay, Blade. Not just physically, but really stay."

His fingers twitched again, like that first night. But this time, when you reached out, he met you halfway.

Blade had always been silent, a looming shadow in your life since the day he hatched from the egg. At first, he simply observed, his piercing red eyes following your every move. He rarely spoke unless necessary, making it difficult to gauge what went on in his mind. But as the nights passed, the walls between you and him thinned.

One day, you decided to take him out, to a park, somewhere peaceful. It was just by chance that you ran into some old acquaintances. They greeted you with excitement, asking about your companion.

“Oh, this is Blade” you introduced casually, glancing at him to see his reaction. As expected, his expression remained neutral, but you could feel his presence sharpen as he analyzed the strangers.

One of the women in the group, perhaps trying to be friendly, chuckled. “Blade? That sounds so serious. What if we call you Bladie?”

The atmosphere shifted in an instant. Blade’s eyes darkened, and for a moment, the air felt unnervingly still. He said nothing, merely staring at her in a way that made her uneasy. You noticed the tension and quickly diffused it with a light laugh.

“I don’t think he likes that” you remarked. Then, playfully, you turned to Blade. “But if I called you that, would it be okay?”

Blade didn’t answer immediately. His gaze softened only slightly when looking at you. “...Do as you wish” he murmured, as if the answer was obvious.

Your friends found it amusing, teasing you lightly before parting ways. You glanced at Blade, whose expression remained unreadable, though you could sense the displeasure still lingering within him.

Later, financial reasons led you to enter a dungeon. Knowing its dangers, you told Blade to stay behind. At first, he obeyed, watching you leave without protest. But unbeknownst to you, he silently followed, keeping a close distance.

As you ventured deeper into the dungeon, Blade carefully observed your every movement. He studied how dungeons worked, how enemies moved, and how rewards were obtained. Then, at some point, he disappeared from your sight not because he was gone, but because he had started taking his own steps in this world.

Without your knowledge, Blade began sneaking out to complete dungeon tasks. He learned how to wield weapons with deadly efficiency, acquiring items to strengthen himself. It was a quiet preparation, one he never spoke of. If he was to stay by your side, he wouldn’t remain a mere observer. He would carve his own path, one that ensured he would never be powerless to protect you.

The night air was heavy with an eerie silence as Blade sat motionless by the window, eyes unfocused as he stared into the void beyond the glass. You sat beside him, watching the tension coil in his shoulders. He had been like this for a while—silent, withdrawn, but always alert, as if something unseen lurked at the edge of his vision.

"Blade?" you called softly.

He didn’t respond at first. The nightmares had worsened since he entered the dungeon. At first, you assumed he was just tired, but then you started waking up in the middle of the night to find him gripping his sword, breathing heavily as if he had just fought something unseen. His usual cold demeanor cracked in those moments, and you saw it, the weariness, the torment he never spoke of.

One night, as he shuddered awake, you reached out instinctively, taking his hand in yours. He tensed, but didn’t pull away.

"You're not alone, you can tell me if you want to.." you whispered.

He stared at you for a long time before his grip tightened, just slightly. But this wasn’t enough. He needed more than fleeting comfort, he needed a way to break free from whatever haunted him.

You knew what you had to do.

The plan was simple: form a temporary team, retrieve the artifact you heard could cure nightmares, and return safely. Blade, much to your surprise, had obeyed when you asked him to stay behind. But you should have known better. He was never one to sit idly by when it concerned you.

You noticed his presence before you saw him, an oppressive aura that made the weaker adventurers in your party uneasy. He emerged from the shadows, his crimson eyes locking onto yours with a quiet intensity.

"You followed me" you said, exasperated but not surprised.

"You shouldn't be here alone" he replied simply.

The others shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, and you sighed. There was no point in arguing. Blade wasn’t leaving.

As you delved deeper into the dungeon, he moved with effortless precision, cutting through enemies with an eerie calm. He had been watching, learning.

And so, you pressed forward, deeper into the dungeon. The artifact glowed faintly in your hands, its surface pulsing with an otherworldly light. The moment you secured it, a chilling realization hit you, Blade was missing.

"Where is he?" you demanded, scanning the dimly lit ruins of the dungeon. Your temporary teammates exchanged uneasy glances.

"He was right behind us a moment ago... but then he just—"

You didn't wait for them to finish. You bolted in the direction you'd last seen him, your heart hammering against your ribs. The dungeon’s air felt heavier, oppressive, as if reacting to Blade’s presence. Your gut twisted in unease.

You found him deeper inside, standing amidst the wreckage of slaughtered monsters. His sword dripped with dark ichor, but it wasn’t just the carnage that made your breath hitch, it was his expression. His red eyes were unfocused, lost in a storm of something dark, something terrifying.

“Blade” you called out softly, stepping closer. He didn’t react.

You inched forward, feeling the weight of his aura pressing down on you. The air itself trembled with the intensity of his presence. His grip on his sword tightened, his body rigid like a coiled spring about to snap.

You knew you had only seconds before he lost himself completely.

With a swift motion, you reached into your pouch and pulled out the artifact. You pressed it against his chest.

A jolt of energy surged between you two. Blade’s body stiffened as his eyes widened in shock. Then, as if the weight of a thousand battles suddenly collapsed onto him, he staggered, his breathing ragged. His knees gave out, and you barely caught him in time before he crumpled to the ground.

Your teammate rushed in, helping you lift his unconscious form. “Damn, he’s heavy..” they muttered, shifting Blade’s weight onto their shoulder. “We need to get out of here before more monsters show up.”

You nodded, but your gaze remained on his face, peaceful for the first time in what felt like ages.

You had stayed by his side, tending to him as he slept. The nightmares that once wracked his body seemed to have subsided, and when he finally opened his eyes, they were no longer clouded with torment.

He didn’t say a word, but the moment you moved to leave his bedside, a firm grip caught your wrist. You looked down at him, surprised.

“…Don’t go” he murmured, voice rough with exhaustion.

You exhaled softly, sitting back down. He still wouldn’t release your wrist, his hold lingering, not painful, but firm. As the days passed, you noticed subtle changes in him. He didn’t speak much, but his actions spoke louder than words.

He followed you everywhere, lingering close like a silent shadow. If you reached for something, he’d hand it to you before you could. If someone dared to get too close, his crimson gaze alone was enough to make them back off. If you so much as sighed, he would silently set down a cup of warm tea in front of you.

It was almost… endearing. Like a loyal puppy, albeit one with the capacity to cut down anything that dared threaten you.

One evening, as you adjusted your blanket, you felt a weight settle at the edge of your bed. Turning, you found Blade sitting there, eyes downcast.

“You stayed” he finally said.

You smiled faintly. “Of course, I did.”

A pause. Then, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it

“…Thank you.”

And though he still rarely spoke, his actions never stopped saying everything he couldn’t.

After escaping the dungeon and successfully ridding Blade of his nightmares, you decided it was time to unwind. It had been far too long since you let yourself relax, and after everything Blade had been through, he could use a break too.

You led him to a nearby game center, the neon lights reflecting off his sharp features. His cold, intimidating aura made a few children scurry away, but Blade remained unfazed. Despite his eerie presence, he had an uncanny talent for the games. One by one, he dominated each machine—precision in shooting games and an almost unnatural skill in racing games.

You watched in both amusement and mild disbelief as he racked up a ridiculous number of coins. When it came time to exchange them for prizes, you settled on something you thought would be fitting- an oversized teddy bear.

“For what purpose?” Blade asked, eyeing the stuffed creature as you handed it to him.

“So you have something to hug while you sleep” you replied with a teasing smile. “Since you don’t exactly seem like the type to buy one yourself.”

He stared at the bear, silent. His fingers flexed slightly against the plush fabric before he turned his crimson gaze toward you. “…Tch.” He looked away, but didn’t let go of the bear.

That night, you expected things to return to normal, maybe even have a peaceful sleep without worry. But as you lay in bed, something felt off.

You shifted slightly, only to realize Blade had positioned himself closer than usual. His breathing was steady, but his grip on the teddy bear was loose, his arm, however, rested just inches from yours.

Even as he slept, his presence loomed over you, quiet but inescapable. The way his fingers twitched, as if reaching out. The way his body angled ever so slightly toward yours.

He wasn’t just seeking comfort. He was claiming proximity.

And the moment you so much as moved away, his eyes snapped open, not with drowsiness, but with awareness. His gaze locked onto you, sharp yet unreadable.

“…Go to sleep” he murmured, voice low.

You hesitated, but eventually settled back down. His eyes remained on you for a moment longer before closing again.

You had given him a teddy bear to hold. But in truth, the only thing he wanted to keep close, was you.

[lilacwants]

gibson girl.

18+ notes: ethel cain is one of my favourite artists ever and this song really reminds me of homelander and how a relationship with him would actually be. summary: caught in the web of Homelander's intense charm and power, you find yourself swept up in a dark, consuming love. warnings: themes of manipulation, obsession, and dark romance. word count: 1.4k

part 1. part 2.

You’d always been a small-town girl, living in the shadow of towering skyscrapers and the omnipresent gaze of Vought International’s superheroes. Homelander was a distant figure, a god among men, his blue eyes and perfect smile plastered on every screen. You never imagined you’d catch his eye.

It started with a simple act of bravery. A bank robbery gone wrong, and you, a mere bystander, had thrown yourself into the chaos to save a child. Homelander had arrived in a blaze of glory, dispatching the criminals with effortless precision. When he looked at you, cradling the child in your arms, there was something in his gaze—a flicker of interest.

“You were very brave,” he’d said, his voice smooth and commanding. “Not many people would have done what you did.”

From that moment, your life changed. Homelander began to visit you, always unannounced, always when you were alone. His presence was overwhelming, his charm intoxicating. He made you feel special, and chosen, like you were the only person who truly mattered in his world.

“You’re different,” he’d whisper, his breath warm against your ear. “You’re not like the others.”

The more time you spent with him, the more you realized how dangerous he was. His love was all-consuming, a dark abyss that threatened to swallow you whole. He’d appear at your doorstep with gifts, flowers, anything to make you smile. But there was always a possessiveness in his gaze, a hunger that could never be sated.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, you found yourself alone with him in your small apartment. However, solitude was now a foreign concept, as it didn’t take too long for Homelander to come and see his dearest.

“I could take you away from all this,” Homelander said, his eyes burning with intensity. “We could be together, always.”

“But what about your responsibilities?” you asked, your voice trembling. “The world needs you.”

“The world can fucking wait,” he replied, cupping your face in his hands. “I need you.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine. You knew he was dangerous, that being with him meant walking a razor’s edge. But the way he looked at you like you were his salvation, made it impossible to resist.

You leaned into his touch, your lips brushing against his. “I’m yours,” you whispered, sealing your fate.

From that moment, you were caught in his web. Homelander’s love was a prison, gilded and beautiful, but a prison nonetheless. He watched over you, and protected you, but his protection came at a cost. You were his, completely and utterly, your life entwined with his in a twisted dance of obsession and desire.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. Homelander's visits became the highlight of your life, a mix of excitement and dread. He would arrive unannounced, his presence filling your small apartment with an electric energy. He brought you gifts, each one more extravagant than the last. Jewellery that sparkled like his eyes, dresses that hugged your curves just right, and once, even a small, fluffy puppy that he said reminded him of you.

But with each gift came a reminder of his power. He would tell you stories of his exploits, the people he saved, and the enemies he destroyed. There was a darkness in his tales, a ruthless efficiency that sent chills down your spine. You knew he was capable of great violence, and that knowledge made his affection both thrilling and terrifying.

“You’re my hero,” he would say, his voice a soft purr as he held you close. “You saved that child, and you saved me. You’re the only one who understands me.”

You tried to maintain a semblance of normalcy, going to work, and seeing friends, but it was difficult. Homelander's presence loomed over every aspect of your life. You stopped going out as much, afraid of missing his visits. Your friends noticed the change, and you could see the concern in their eyes, but what could you tell them? That you were in a relationship with the most powerful man in the world? That he loved you, but his love was suffocating?

One night, you decided to confront him. It was late, and he had just appeared at your door, a bouquet of roses in hand. You let him in, and as he placed the flowers on your table, you took a deep breath.

“We need to talk,” you said, your voice trembling slightly.

He turned to you, his blue eyes narrowing. “About what?”

“About us,” you replied. “About what this is.”

He took a step towards you, his expression unreadable. “What do you mean?”

“This… relationship,” you said, struggling to find the right words. “It’s… it’s too much. I feel like I’m losing myself.”

His eyes darkened, and for a moment, you feared you had made a terrible mistake. But then he sighed and took your hand in his, his touch surprisingly gentle.

“I know it’s overwhelming,” he said softly. “But I love you. I need you. You’re the only thing that keeps me grounded.”

“I love you too,” you said, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “But I need space. I need to feel like I still have control over my life.”

He studied you for a long moment, his expression thoughtful. “Alright,” he said finally. “I can give you space. But don’t ever doubt how much you mean to me.”

You nodded, relief flooding through you. “Thank you.”

True to his word, Homelander gave you more space. His visits became less frequent, and you began to reclaim some of your independence. You started going out with friends again, picking up hobbies you had neglected, and for a while, things seemed to be getting better.

But even with the space, he was never far from your thoughts. You found yourself looking over your shoulder, wondering if he was watching. Sometimes, you would catch a glimpse of his figure in the distance, a reminder that he was always nearby, always watching over you.

One evening, as you were walking home from work, you felt a familiar presence. You turned to see Homelander standing a few feet away, his expression intense.

“I missed you,” he said simply.

You smiled, your heart fluttering. “I missed you too.”

He closed the distance between you in an instant, pulling you into his arms. His kiss was passionate, filled with all the emotions he struggled to express. You melted into him, your fears and doubts momentarily forgotten.

As the weeks passed, you found a new rhythm. Homelander still visited, but he respected your need for space. You began to understand him better, seeing the vulnerable man beneath the powerful exterior. He confided in you, sharing his fears and insecurities, and you realized that his love for you was genuine, if not a bit overwhelming.

But there were still moments of darkness. Times when his possessiveness would surface, and you would see the flicker of something dangerous in his eyes. You learned to navigate these moments, soothing his fears and reassuring him of your love.

You became adept at reading his moods, knowing when to give him space and when to draw him close. It was a delicate balance, but one you managed to maintain. You realized that being with Homelander meant accepting all parts of him—the hero, the lover, and the monster.

And despite everything, you loved him. You loved him with a fierceness that surprised even you. He was your hero, your protector, and the man who had stolen your heart.

In time, you found a strange kind of happiness. Your life was far from normal, but it was your life. You were no longer just a small-town girl living in the shadow of superheroes. You were Homelander’s girl, and that meant something.

It meant danger, and it meant love. It meant walking a razor’s edge every day, but you were willing to do it. Because in the end, you had made your choice.

And as you stood by Homelander’s side, his arm around your waist, you knew that you had become an actual Gibson girl—beautiful, desired, and forever trapped in the arms of a man who could destroy the world with a single thought.

[girl-lostconnection]

We are doing slow and steady because it feels right for me but frankly, if someone wants to talk about the au or has any thoughts of their own…hit me up, I’m dying to talk about this thing while it stews

Unsweetened Lemonade AU (part 3)

Warnings: bullying, food as coping mechanism, Punk!Ghost x Nerd!Reader, trauma bonding (in a way ig), harassment

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 4

Being bullied is a lot like constantly being in the spotlight. A bad kind of spotlight, one you never sure how to fully evade.

There are days when you think you mastered it and you can keep going with your life but it’s never lasts long.

People on average are very frustrated with the lack of response they get from you, sometimes it feels like it pushes them to be even harsher on you when you don’t cry.

You don’t understand why — relatives and older cousins often brush it off, advice to just “don’t pay attention to them and it will go away” or “don’t give them a reaction and they will get bored”.

It never works.

The more distant you are — the worse people get, the more vicious and dangerous their attempts to get a rise out of you become.

It hurts and it hurts and it hurts and it hurts.

Gets a little easier when you eat something — anything really, but sugar works the fastest and warm food soothes the best.

You are a big fan of potatoes actually, meals with them always feel a little warmer. A little better.

As if life can be not just tolerable but enjoyable.

The feeling never lasts, because a different one takes its place as soon as you are done with your food.

It opens up abyss in your chest, cold slimy feeling of it spreading under your skin like someone opened a can of worms inside of you and let them roam freely.

It makes you feel stuffed and on the verge of gagging, like you ate too much (you know you ate too much, it always happens, you just can never seem to stop in time — too hungry for comfort, too hungry for happiness, too hungry for love)

You hate this feeling.

You don’t know what it means but its not better than how school makes you shake and makes you feel lightheaded, sounds suddenly too sharp, everything too much, heart pounding like it wants to ram through your ribs.

You are scared and upset and you are so mad it makes you want to scream and rage, so maybe someone finally hears what feels like meltdown you’ve been having inside of your head.

Like screaming in the middle of the room, when you are on entirely different wavelength — people simply do not hear you.

Like the article you read about the whale who vocalised too high for others of his kind to hear — forever silent, forever lonely. The odd one.

Sore thumb of its family.

The thought makes you cry about the damn whale a little more than you should, but maybe that’s these bits of mourning you allow yourself for both of you.

Ghost isn’t sure he understands you for the most part because well…he never really wanted to — opposite sides of the loser spectrum, remember?

But there is something in the way you always brace for impact, in the way you know exactly how to stay under the radar, in the way you never cry in front of anyone no matter how badly it gets.

You start sitting with him during lunch, huddled closer to the wall so your back is covered. Every time you make your way to the spot across from Simon you give him something.

An apple, an orange, energy bar, half bag of candies, sandwich, juice box, a nice pencil (technically not a gift, you were supposed to just lend it to him but it looks like Simon Riley was raised in the damn forest and he doesn’t give it back. Should’ve known better)

And at this point it all feels a lot less like charity and a lot more like a bribe? An offering? (Can he consider himself a very vengeful god? Or a very moody spirit? Or (ha-ha) a really unpredictable ghost whose pill you sweeten up every time so he swallows it without chomping your bloody hand off).

Simon isn’t sure what to make of it.

Ghost just takes it, always stuffing it in his backpack quickly, like part of him expects you to snatch it away and laugh in his face. (Nice things aren’t for him but you keep bringing him stuff and he’s never gonna say no to free food or something nice. It’s his now, you already gave it to him and he almost gobbled it down, hiding it in his cheek like a chipmunk)

Realistically it’s not that anyone could laugh in his face and walk away unscathed because perpetually brooding and always ready to bite Ghost never pulls his punches. But still.

“What if”, you know?

Ghost doesn’t talk to you because he doesn’t know how to. What would you two even talk about?

But he makes one unfortunate comment about your appearances and gets a glare so scorching it makes fine hairs at the nape of his neck raise in something very akin to trepidation.

You hiss that it’s rich coming from him and his fucked up mug and suddenly Simon can’t help but snort, sound shocking both him and you — his cheekbones flashing red as he turns away.

A bone-deep part of him likes to see you flare up, likes to see the lights turn on in the haunted house you call your head.

He likes to see you biting, something in him finally content to hear the imaginary growl of your wounded animal.

This type of pain he understands. This is the anger he gets well.

His cup of tea, that’s for sure.

Ghost sits with you during lunches and other than that your paths don’t cross because well…why would they? You are not friends and he’s not your bloody knight in shining armour.

But there is a slight change, almost unnoticeable— like torturously slow shift of tectonic plates, like watching a pine tree grow, like cracks in years-old iceberg.

Ghost doesn’t seek you out but he notices ones that a different bully now (the first one is still nursing fractured nose, he hopes, fucking wanker) causes you trouble in the library — stands too close, lets his hands wander too loosely, offers to go “someplace quiet”.

Simon feels like a bucket of ice was just dumped on him.

Ghost cracks his neck and slings backpack over the shoulder, striding in the library like he’s one ominous icebreaker. Would suit him well, he’s used to ramming through problems with nothing but his body.

Ghost growls that library IS quiet and that the damn rubbish of a person should fuck off right now if they don’t want to know how it feels to have a broken nose.

Like the one their friends has, happy coincidence, eh? Surely that’s something they can have a little chat about.

Ghost drawls “chat” like it’s an insult and barely holds back the urge to snap his jaws in the face of the person who harassed you in the broad bloody daylight.

Simon herds you away deeper in the library, eyes scanning the space, finding a table in the corner and he just jerks his head — there. If you feel like reading your bloody books in a public space guess he will need to sit himself down too.

After all, your offerings?bribes?gifts? shouldn’t be in vain. Ghost despises charity and doesn’t need anyone’s fucking pity, much less yours.

But if it can be mutually beneficial arrangement…well, surely you can bring him two apples instead of one.

You look at him a little too long for his comfort but you frankly do not give a toss right this second. It’s absolutely insane and you never would have thought that in the past but you are actually relieved to see him.

Everyone knows that Simon “Ghost” Riley is aggressive cunt with chip on his shoulder and heavy paw of a hand.

But maybe it’s a good thing if you want people to leave you alone.

Maybe it’s a good thing that you don’t extend your hand and he doesn’t bite.

Maybe it’s a good thing that you stay silent — he guards your back while you do homework, you bring him food and don’t stare when he practically inhales it — his hunger palpable and dripping from the tips of his overbite.

You know the desperate raw intensity that makes people like you two crave the most basic of comforts.

Anything to fill the slimy void in your chest and his belly.

You find that you don’t mind. You aren’t sure if you care either (but something inside you clenches when he breathes out in relief and gobbles up container of baked potatoes you sneak in for him).

Simon isn’t sure how to feel about it either. It’s nice and he doesn’t do nice.

But maybe there can be some exceptions. Small ones. Nothing too big, yeah? You are not friends after all.

And he’s not your bloody knight in shining armour

Taglist: @figthoughts @pastelbabygirl19 @haven-1307 @viennakarma @itsmadamehydra