#I hate not knowing what not being in pain feels like!

[pathologicalreid]

what goes bump in the night | s.r.

in which Spencer's struggling with violent nightmares after prison, and you find yourself on the receiving end of his tossing and turning

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: reader gets whapped in the face. don't like don't read, please. blood, prison arc, black eye, a lot of guilt. therapy. word count: 1.89k a/n: (this wasn't a request but shout out to the anon who told me i had to repost this after i deleted it) this is some dark shit but i have to admit i do think about the possibility a lot. take care while reading my loves.

Several years in the BAU had inadvertently trained you to wake up at any slight movement or noise. While some might call it paranoia, you considered it to be a finely tuned skill.

Spencer didn’t sleep talk before prison, and even now, he only mumbled in his sleep when he was having a nightmare. Normally, he didn’t move, he just tossed his head around and begged for whoever he was seeing in his nightmare to just hold on. Tonight was different, he sounded like he was pleading for someone to leave him alone, and he was thrashing more than usual.

You knew there was a risk of waking him, but you reached out and gently shook his shoulder anyway. “Spence,” you whispered, not wanting to hurtle him out of his darkened dreamscape.

There was no response. No sign of him coming even close to waking up.

His thrashing became worse, and his mumbling became even less intelligible like something was covering his mouth in his dream. Reaching out from your side of the bed, you tried to grab his hand, hoping it would be something that he could use to ground himself. Gripping his hand, you said his name again, more forcefully this time.

The pain didn’t even register at first. The first thing you recognized was the sensation of having something stuck in your eye, a small twinge in the outer corner that sent your hands flying to the side of your face.

Oh.

With your uninjured eye, you looked up to see Spencer, awake. Breathing heavy, sure, but awake. Very slowly, his breathing slowed, but he had seemingly forgotten that he was sharing a bed with you until you felt liquid trickling from your nose and scrambled to the bathroom before you got blood all over the sheets.

His wide eyes followed your shadow through the bedroom, putting the convoluted puzzle pieces together as he came out from under his nightmare-induced fugue state only to find a different type of panic. You faintly heard him curse and rustle the sheets as you shut the bathroom door harder than you intended.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, your right eye was tearing up as a result of the impact, and your nose was trickling blood down your face. Grabbing a wad of tissues from the box on the counter, you pressed them to your nose, blinking the tears from your eyes to the sound of your heart beating through your chest.

Spencer knocked on the bathroom door, followed by a larger thud that you assumed was him leaning his head against the door. “Can I come in?”

You tried not to sniff, hating the sensation of your nose being covered, you responded, “It’s your bathroom.” Your tone was far too blasé, and Spencer was going to see through it immediately.

“That’s not what I asked,” he told you, a slight tone of desperation ringing through. You knew what he wanted to know; he was asking if you were comfortable with him being in the same room as you – if you’d feel safe with him in the same room as you.

Leaning your head back, you took as deep of a breath as your body would physically allow you before you answered, “Yeah, you can come in.”

Before you had even finished speaking, Spencer had opened the door to the bathroom, letting the light stream into the bedroom, “Fuck,” he murmured when he saw you, “Hey, don’t lean your head back. You don’t want the blood to run down your throat.”

“Okay,” your voice quavered, watching him lift his hands like he wanted to guide your head down until he realized he didn’t know what to do with his hands – he couldn’t bring himself to touch you. Leaning over the sink, you let coagulated blood fall from your mouth, watching it go down the drain before you looked up at Spencer, who watched on in horror at the mess he had created. “Can you grab more tissues?” You asked him, giving him a job to busy his idle hands.

Instantly, Spencer grabbed a handful of tissues and held them out for you, within your range of motion. Still leaning over the sink, you took the new tissues and held them to your nose, haphazardly dropping the soiled tissue in the basin beneath you. “I don’t… What-“

Cutting him off, you spoke, “Do you still have those ice packs? The first aid ones from last year,” you made a new request, giving him a job to perform so that he wouldn’t apologize to you. He’d apologize until he was blue in the face, but you still wouldn’t know how to respond.

He nodded, crouching in front of one of the cabinets and filtering through a first aid kit, hoping to produce a disposable ice pack for you to place near your eye. With the timidness of a newborn foal, Spencer set the plastic on the counter next to you.

Your boyfriend watched as you carefully peeled the tissues from your face, checking to see if the bleeding had stopped, only to quickly replace the tissue when you noticed a trickle of fresh blood making its way down your philtrum. “Aren’t you supposed to pinch it or something?”

“Yes, you can pinch the bridge of your nose to staunch the bleeding,” Spencer said, grabbing your discarded Kleenex and putting them in the garbage bin. He watched intently as you reached up your free hand to pinch your nose, “Does… does it hurt?”

Giving him a quick shake of the head, you met his eyes through the mirror, “I don’t think it’s broken,” you told him, avoiding answering most of his question.

He loosed a sigh of relief, “Thank god,” he murmured, keeping an eye on you as you wondered how terrified he must have been to invoke the name of a deity he didn’t believe in.

Once you were finally able to drop the last of the tissues in the sink, you were faced with an even worse reality. There was no way of escaping the black eye that you already had forming, the tender skin would be further marred with time. “I think it looks worse than it actually is,” you offered meekly, reaching to your side and grabbing the ice pack off of the counter. You popped the center of it before wrapping it in a towel that Spencer had set out for you.

Holding in a hiss as the towel touched your face, you allowed your eyes to wander across the rest of your body. Your shirt had drips of blood on it, but the larger issue was red encrusted all over your face. With the urgency of a sloth, Spencer took a different towel from the drawer and ran it under the tap, wringing it out before holding it up, “May I?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, thankful for your newly cleared airway as you extended your neck, giving him the access he needed to wipe the blood from your chin and neck. “Spence-“

“I’m so sorry,” he interjected, his movements faltering as he let his hand drop to your shoulder.

You shook your head, crinkling the icepack in your hand, you blinked rapidly, hoping to clear your vision. “It’s okay, I shouldn’t have grabbed you,” you told him, it was the truth. He had obviously been having a violent nightmare, and you grabbing him had likely triggered a fight or flight response.

Spencer sighed dejectedly, “I burst a blood vessel in your eye. I’m so…” his voice trailed off in the middle of his sentence, leaving you unsure whether he was going to apologize again or go off on a self-deprecating tirade. “I hit you,” he breathed, abruptly yanking his hands away from you, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have touched you.” Setting the washcloth on the counter, he put his hands up in surrender and stepped away from you.  

Leaning against the bathroom counter, you wished for an inkling – anything you could say to him that would prevent his auto-villainization. “I wish you wouldn’t say it like that. Saying you hit me sounds so…”

“Wrong? That’s because it is,” he said harshly, and you could almost see the storm of self-loathing that was brewing in his mind.

Shaking your head, you adjusted your grip on the icepack before looking up at him, “but it makes it sound like it was intentional. You didn’t hit me, you… thwapped me.”

Spencer loosed a shaky sigh, “I’m not so sure that’s better.”

“Would you prefer bonked?” You proposed, looking at him and hoping for a small smile, but being disappointed when you were met with the same haunted expression. “It was an accident,” you insisted, reaching out your unoccupied hand and taking his hand in yours, “I am fine.”

He scoffed dismissively, “I should have had a better handle on myself.”

You frowned, “You were asleep, Spence. You couldn’t have had a better handle on yourself. It wasn’t on purpose, and you’re taking care of me now,” you told him softly.

“But you’re scared of it happening again,” he challenged you.

When he had come home, you knew he had been changed. Not necessarily for the better or for worse, but he was most certainly changed. You had heard everything in bits and pieces, what had happened in Millburn, what had happened with Cat, but nothing had prepared you for the harshness of your new reality. He was capable of harming others, but that didn’t mean you thought he’d hurt you again. “You’re disappointed in yourself, but you don’t believe you get to feel that way. You’re projecting onto me,” you told him, taking your hand back.

Spencer flinched back, “Don’t profile me.”

“You, Spencer Reid, would never knowingly lay a hand on me,” you insisted, you believed it. You believed it even if he didn’t believe it himself.

The two of you sat in an angst-filled silence before he stood up straight, gently starting to usher you into the bedroom. Handing you a t-shirt from your drawer to change into, you could see his internal struggle as he grabbed a pillow from the bed and made his way toward the door.

Despondently, your shoulders slumped forward, “Where are you going?” You asked softly, hating to watch him leave your shared bedroom over this.

“I’m sleeping on the couch. I’m gonna… I’ll try to set up a meeting with my therapist in the morning. I just…” his voice trailed off as he looked at you with wide, sad eyes, “You’re okay?”

Your heart ached at his voice as you nodded, opening your arms for him and letting out a sigh of relief when he returned to you for a hug. Reaching your free hand behind him, you rubbed his back comfortingly, “We’re going to make it through this, mark my words.”

He nodded in affirmation as he pulled away, “For my own peace of mind, I’ll sleep on the couch for a while.”

You accepted it, knowing that he needed to deal with this in his own way, he closed the door behind him, effectively leaving you alone. Laying back on the pillows with your icepack still clutched to your face, you sighed, wondering how long it had been since your boyfriend felt any semblance of peace of mind.

[yutarot]

RIDE OR DIE [l.jn smau]

genres; f1driver!jeno, fake dating, college au, humor, romance, enemies to lovers

synopsis; you knew very little of jeno lee, but who did? he scared most people and hated the rest. so what happens when you accidentally walk in on him removing his race jacket, identifying him as the famous, faceless f1 driver you and everyone else know under the name samo. do you run around the college telling everyone of his secret? or do you take the opportunity to strike a deal with him, a deal which changes both of your lives, forever. a fake relationship.

TAGLIST; OPEN!

STATUS; starting soon. ??.10.24 - ????

warnings; language, mentions of alcohol/ being drunk, mentions of sex, jenos dad is strict af, blackmailing, lots of jealousy on jenos behalf, major character betrayal (again sorry guys lmaooo), lots of lying (again), the usual cliffhangers and painful suspense (again)

disclaimer; all portrayals of people are fake and from my imagination, in no way am i claiming that they act like this irl

MASTERLIST

profiles 01 — profiles 02

[001]

more tba..

replies, likes and reblogs are all greatly appreciated! feel free to send thoughts in my asks!

NOTES; ahh here it is!!! absolutely cannot wait to start this!! i’ll begin posting once i finish with in perfect sync but pls let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist, just send a reply or ask and ill add u! hope ur looking forward to this as much as i am !!

[hiraethwrote]

cw gn!reader but written with f!reader in mind, angst, no comfort, breakup, pining, minor clubbing wc: <1k an i'm on my period which is making me a little emotional, which resulted in this

ex!suguru will never truly be over you, convinced you’re the one that got away.

the breakup was “mutual”, emphasis on the quotation marks — it only meant you guys ended on good terms. it was a very quiet and tender scene. he holds your hands in his, slowly his thumb strokes across your knuckles, never letting his eyes leave your tear stained face.

ex!suguru who, despite disagreeing wholeheartedly with the decision, sees it’s for the best. he will forever hate himself for being unable to see it coming, unable to stop it — one day he suddenly notices how staying in the relationship brought you more turmoil than joy, and he didn't have the heart to hold onto you even though he so desperately wanted to. but he would ruin himself million times over for you

“it’ll be okay,” he says softly, letting himself indulge in the small acts that come so naturally to him one last time before he has to let go, hand reaching up to dry your tears and cupping your cheek. “i’ll be okay.”

with the quiet promise, he feels the stress leave your body and you rest against his touch, a sad smile painting your lips — you’re so beautiful, he thinks.

ex!suguru who lies because he knows it's what you need to hear. you had already stayed longer than you wanted because you didn’t want to hurt him. he wasn’t surprised. you were just so considerate, through and through. he had always thought the relationship was too good to be true anyways, never truly feeling worthy of you

ex!suguru who doesn’t cry, but that is because he feels numb. he can’t remember feeling a pain as intense as this one.

when your tears have stopped, only shy sniffles escaping you, he comes with one last confession. “i’m always going to love you.” he waits, hoping you would say it in return. it isn’t because you don’t love him anymore that you can’t keep going, it’s just because it isn’t working.

“i know,” you say quietly and his heart shatters.

ex!suguru who has his friends fooled because they think he is over the relationship already. he acts the same, eats the same and goes about his business the same — but that’s because it doesn’t concern anyone other than the two of you.

first weekend as a single man, gojo forces him to go out clubbing with him. he really doesn’t want to, but he can’t give his friend any excuses he will accept.

he hates every moment of it, rudely shutting down anyone that approaches him. no matter how attractive, no matter how charismatic, no matter how willing — they’re not you so what’s the point?

ex!suguru who hates the universe a little more than usual. despite his best efforts, he can’t seem to escape you entirely. and he swears he tries, but you somehow just appear every now and then.

he spots you in the grocery store, doing your daily shopping. he spots you in the line of the coffeehouse, ordering your usual drink (one he knows by heart). he sees you on every feed, posting pictures and updates of your life — you seem happy.

his heart screams for him to surrender to his desires, to approach you and hear your voice again. but he knows better, so after torturing himself by admiring you for a few seconds, he simply turns on his heel and leaves.

ex!suguru who after years still thinks about you as much as the day you left. he has tried to move on, but it feels like a betrayal, even after all this time.

has he healed? sure, a little. life goes on after all. with time he has been reunited with some sense of happiness. however it could never compare to the period of his life where he was so fortunate to be with you.

ex!suguru runs into you after nine years. and not like all the times he has simply noticed you down the street — no, you fully crash into his chest one day while walking out of a bakery.

to say he is surprised is an understatement. he has memorised all the places you used to visit so this exact scenario wouldn’t happen, and this had never been a chain you had set foot in before. but a lot changes in nine years.

“suguru, hi.” your voice is light, a rhythm in it that was not present at the end of your relationship. “wow, crazy running into you. how have you been?”

“good,” he croaks, eyes glued to your face. he still finds you as ethereal as the day you left. he wants to say more, but he is a little unsettled by how at peace you seem to be despite not being with him. “and you?”

it doesn’t go unnoticed how you present yourself as genuinely content with where you are in life. however, suguru goes through the entire heartbreak all over again — he has missed so much of your life. he used to think he would be along side you for every single moment of it. instead he is stood in front of you and feeling as if the walls are closing in on him.

his breath catches when you stretch out your hand to grab his forearm. “it was really great seeing you again,” you muse. it’s probably just wishful thinking, but he believes he hears a sadness in your voice that comes from missing him.

“you too,” he whispers, and you’re gone again.

ex!suguru who eventually comes to terms with just being alone again. before you, he always imagined this was how it would end, not the person made to share his life with someone.

you had obviously made him believe otherwise. with you by his side, waking up next to someone and sharing your meals didn’t seem so silly anymore.

but it turns out he only wanted those things if it was with you.

tags @sad-darksoul ﾉ @madaqueue ﾉ @toadtoru ﾉ @hiraethwa ﾉ @harperluvgojo

©hiraethwrote 2024 . all rights reserved. reposting, translating and otherwise plagarisim is prohibited

[ghostsangel]

“oh, wouldn't that be lovely? you would torture me. whisper me the reasons that you hated me. say it in the way that makes my knees go weak, and let me dangle from you like a piece of meat.”

simon “ghost” riley x fem!reader

tags/warnings: mdni, enemies to somewhat lovers, simon legit hates us, shooting/bullet wounds, filthy ass smut, hatefucking, choking, squirting, meaaaan simon

The mission was starting off great.

First, Price had paired you with Ghost. That pissed you off more than anything considering the fact that Price knows you and Ghost don’t get along. The large, silent man doesn’t trust you on missions because you’re the newest member of the 141. He doesn’t listen to your input, just outlines the plan himself and expects you to follow.

The mission was pretty simple. Navigate through a series of warehouses and find the tiny USB drive that held intel the 141 needed. That all went to shit when Ghost didn’t listen to you and you ended up getting shot.

You throw your head back against the wall, groaning in pain as you clutch your arm. Ghost pushed you into an abandoned room, and you sink to the ground, eyes shut.

The wound isn’t bad—through and through, upper arm. You exhale shakily through the pain, glancing up at Ghost who is standing there looking down at you.

“Are you gonna stand there all fucking day or are you gonna help me wrap this?” You hiss at him, dragging your pack toward you to look for alcohol wipes and bandages.

Ghost says nothing, but he crouches down next to you, gun by his side. He grips your arm and assesses the wound, tilting his head as his eyes take in every detail.

“Through and through,” he grunts, taking the alcohol wipe from you. He tears it open and runs it along the wound, cleaning the blood and you shut your eyes.

“Fuck,” you groan, head tilting back as he works.

“Sorry,” he grumbles. That surprises you—he never apologizes.

You don’t respond, just let him spread antibiotic ointment over the wound before packing and wrapping it. You swallow down the pained groan in your throat and stand up, placing your pack back on your back.

You’re silent, not wanting to talk to him. You’re too pissed off. He got you shot, and all you want to do is go back to base and debrief with Price. You draw your gun and open the door, Ghost moving behind you.

He takes the lead as you move through the warehouse, taking down target after target. Eventually, you find the USB with the intel, and you and Ghost silently leave the warehouse and head to the rendezvous point.

You don’t even react when you get onto the heli, Ghost sitting across from you. Your arm aches and your head is pounding, and all you wanna do is deck Ghost in the fucking face.

Before the debrief, you head to the med bay where they stitch up your wound. It’s painful, but it eventually feels much better after being stitched up. Sighing, you head to Price’s office, finding Ghost already inside.

Price’s eyes flick to your arm. “Lieutenant Riley was just explaining what happened.”

“Yeah? He explained that he got me shot?” You ask, narrowing your eyes at Ghost.

“I didn’t get you shot.” His voice is gruff and blunt, eyes flicking to yours behind the mask.

“The fuck you didn’t.” Rage boils beneath your skin, and your nostrils flare. “You didn’t listen to me when I warned you, and it ended with me having a bullet shot through my arm.”

Price holds up his hands, silencing you and Ghost. “Look, you two can work this shit out another time. Lieutenant, did you get the intel?”

You pull the USB from your vest pocket. “I got it.”

Price takes it from you and nods. “You two are dismissed.”

You nod, saluting him before glaring daggers at Ghost and walking to your quarters. You’re sweaty and gross and desperately need to shower.

You shower quickly, rinsing off the dirt and grime from the day, thinking about Ghost. That man annoys the shit out of you, but you admit that he’s attractive in a weird, masked sort of way. The annoyance and hate outweigh the fleeting feeling, though, and you grumble to yourself as you get out of the shower and dress.

You head to the canteen, absolutely starving, running right into Ghost. You take a step back from his large frame, his head tilting down to look at you.

“How’s the arm?” He asks, his gaze flicking to the freshly wrapped bandage.

“Fine.” You look up at him, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “Thanks for today, really. Absolutely adore getting shot.”

“That wasn’t my fault,” he says, and you swear he laughs.

“Okay, Ghost. Sure. Believe what you want.”

Ghost’s eyes narrow and you find yourself suddenly backed up against your door, his forearm pressed against your throat.

“Anyone ever told you that you act like a twat sometimes?” He asks. His eyes bore into yours, and you look back at him unflinchingly.

“Anyone ever told you that?” You retort, a small smirk playing on your lips.

Ghost chuckles and tugs his mask up. Your breath hitches in your throat as he leans in, lips brushing your ear.

“You’re stubborn, don’t follow orders, boss me around…” His teeth graze your earlobe and a shiver runs up your spine. “Your attitude pisses me off and I fuckin’ hate how you act.”

You gasp quietly as you feel a hardness pressed against your stomach, and you push his head back so you can look into his eyes.

“So why are you so hard, then?” You ask, your voice dropping to a whisper. “Hm? You get so worked up just being around me?”

Ghost growls, forearm leaving your throat. Your body is pushed through your now open door, Ghost slamming it shut behind him. He grips your throat, tugging you to him.

“I’m hard ‘cause I think about fuckin’ you till you learn how to not be such a stubborn, bossy insubordinate.” He squeezes the sides of your throat, drawing a soft moan from your lips.

You can’t help it—it’s hot. The throbbing between your legs attests to that. Heat flutters in your belly, and your hands run down his shirt and underneath, digging your nails into his flesh and scratching down his stomach.

He lets out a groan, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. You grin, teeth and all, nails still digging into the skin of his belly.

“Go on, then. See if you can try.” Your words are dangerous, but you want him.

Ghost tugs the mask up and off his face, and you barely have time to admire his scarred skin before his lips are on yours, hungry and angry. The kiss isn’t sweet—far from it. Teeth clash together, tongues sliding against one another. His hand grips your throat as he keeps you pressed against him, other hand snaking its way down to your ass.

You twist your fingers into his hair, giving it a sharp tug. Ghost lets out a groan as his head tilts back, and you graze his neck with your teeth, nipping at the skin harshly.

“Fuck,” he grunts, hands moving to grip your hips.

“You like pain, don’t you?” You mutter into his neck, sinking your teeth into the skin.

Ghost responds by pressing his hips against yours, his cock twitching in his pants. You grin against his neck, and he shoves you back until your legs hit the bed. You fall backward, Ghost working at your clothes. His eyes graze over your naked body, tongue flicking out to wet his lower lip.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters, hands running up your thighs. He spreads your legs, his middle and ring fingers spreading your arousal up your slit until he gets to your clit.

You lean your head back, moaning softly at the feeling of his rough fingers on your clit. You jolt as a sharp slap stings your sensitive nub, head snapping back up to look at Ghost.

“Eyes on me.”

You roll your eyes, shaking your head. “Sure, Lieutenant.”

Ghost growls softly, one hand moving to your neck as he hovers over you. His two fingers push inside you, relentless and unforgiving. He stares into your eyes as he fingers you, curling them up to hit the spongy spot inside you that sends an electric jolt down your spine.

“Such a fuckin’ brat,” he mutters, gripping your neck tightly.

Your heart flutters, and you gasp as he stretches out your tight cunt. It’s been so long since anyone’s touched you this way—you’re already falling apart. Ghost smirks at you, and your eyes rake down his face, admiring each scar that litters his skin.

“Ghost,” you whine, bucking your hips up. You feel lightheaded, no doubt from his grip on your throat. “Gonna come—fuck!”

He nods, his fingers pulsing against that sweet spot over and over, his hand moving from your neck to press on your lower stomach.

“Gonna come already?” He asks, his tone slightly mocking. “Fuckin’ pathetic. Barely even touched you.”

You whine, your hand moving to grip his neck. His eyes flutter shut for a moment, a moan slipping past his lips. You grin for a split second before your mouth opens and you groan, back arching.

“Go on, little brat. Feel you clenchin’ so tight around me. Gimme what I want.” His voice is gruff and rough, his fingers relentless as they find a home inside your gummy walls.

You cry out as you come, juices squirting onto his hand and down his wrist. He chuckles as you throb around him, eyes never leaving your face. His fingers slow, eventually pulling out of you with a little pop, and he brings them to his mouth, licking them clean and groaning at the taste.

Ghost stands, and you watch him as you pant, legs trembling from your orgasm. He strips, his cock hanging heavy when he pulls down his underwear. He pulls you to the end of the bed, gripping your hair and guiding you onto the floor until your knees thud against it.

“Open,” he says, forcing you to look up at him.

You obey—how can you not? Ghost strokes his cock before sliding it inside your warm, wet mouth. You take him eagerly, sucking and licking his shaft. He lets out a soft moan at the feeling, forcing your head down until your nose brushes his pelvis. You swallow around him, tears pricking your eyes as he just holds you there.

“Swallowin’ my cock like such a good little whore,” he says, looking down at you. His hips thrust forward, pushing him further down your throat and you thank God you don’t have a gag reflex.

He face fucks you slowly at first—lazy thrusts that have you moaning around his cock. Then, he picks up speed, and it’s not long before tears are mixing with the drool running down your chin. Ghost’s moans are heavenly, and the look in his half-lidded eyes make you squeeze your thighs together.

He pulls his cock out after a few minutes, tugging you up by your hair. He wipes his thumb under your eyes and uses his discarded shirt to wipe your mouth before he kisses you, picking you up and holding you against him.

His fat cock runs against your dripping cunt, and you whine into his mouth and grind down against him. He chuckles against your lips, breaking the kiss and opening his eyes.

“Needy little whore,” he whispers, and then he’s sliding his cock inside you.

The stretch is intense, and you let out a garbled whine as he sinks into you. Your back hits the bed, Ghost holding your thighs to your chest as he watches his length disappear inside your warm, inviting cunt.

“Fuck me, you’re tight,” he groans, head hanging forward as he pushes his entire length inside you, tip nestled snugly against your cervix. “Feels so fuckin’ good.”

“Ghost, move,” you whine, bucking your hips up. “Need you to fuck me.”

“Oh, you wanna be good for me now?” He asks, drawing his hips back before slamming back inside you. “Gonna listen and be a good girl?”

You nod, and Ghost grins before beginning to fuck you hard and fast. His fat cock splits you open, leaky mushroom tip slamming against your cervix in the most deliciously painful way. He leans down, teeth biting into your neck as his hips move.

You feel like you can’t even breathe, your pussy clenching around him as his tip grazes your g-spot with each thrust. His teeth work at your neck, sucking and biting harshly, nails digging into your thighs.

“Good fuckin’ girl, takin’ my cock so well,” he whispers in your ear. “Gonna fill this cunt up, do you want that? Hm? Wanna be my little barrack’s bunny I get to breed?”

His words rip a moan from your throat, and you nod, nails dragging down his back. “Fuck, please. Please, Ghost, need it so bad. Gonna fucking come all over your cock, please let me come!”

His teeth nip and suck on the other side of your neck, his cock twitching inside of you. “Go on, bunny. Come for me.”

Your whole body trembles as you come, nails digging into his back so hard they draw blood. Ghost lets out a groan, face buried in your neck as his hips stutter and his cock throbs, emptying his load into your needy cunt. Your pussy throbs around him, milking him of every single drop of his cum.

He pants softly, warm breath hitting your sweaty skin. Blood drips down his back, and he plants soft kisses up your neck until he gets to your lips. The kiss is soft, unlike the ones before. He pulls back, forehead pressed against yours.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmurs. “My good bunny.”

[leilohsstupidgaystuff]

You know what I would have loved in Days of Future Past? Hank snapping and yelling at Erik, about what Charles went through in the past 10 years.

Erik: You sacrificed your powers so you could walk?

Hank *putting on autopilot and storming out of the cockpit* You fucking asshole! So what if he did? What do you care? Shouldn't you be glad? Aren't you happy you don't have to put on your stupid helmet again? Shutting him out again? Breaking his heart even more? You made him already feel guilty about having his powers, do you really have to make him feel guilty about not having them? You have no right to talk about his legs like that. You shot him and then pulled out the bullet, I mean how little common sense do you have, to do such shit?

Charles: Hank, it's alright...

Hank: No. Nothing is alright. Don't you dare say that anything is alright, not after the last fucking ten years. *turning to Erik again* Do you have any idea of what you did? Not only put you on that stupid helmet and killed Shawn, which Charles felt by the way. -Oh you didn't know? Strange, and I thought you two were so damm good in talking about your feelings- Not only did you shot a bullet exactly at his spine and pulled it out again. No you had to take Raven with you. His only family left. The only nice person there was, in his fucked up childhood. You took her with you and left him alone, in pain and with the feeling that his powers were something wrong, the only mutation you shouln't be proud of. So yeah, excuse him for not only taking the opportunity of being able to walk again, but to shut his so damm hated power down. And don't even get me started on your fucked up relationship. Do you honestly think, we belived that you two were just really great friends? What do you think happens, when you break the heart of someone, who loved you so deeply, in such a cruel way? Not just someone, but a telepath, with a range of emotions we can't even grasp to understand. That they stay as cold as you? That they just keep going?So again; excuse him, excuse him for having emotions, for falling into a depression and for getting addicted to drugs and alcohol. Now would you do us all the favour of having a little bit of emotional intelligence or shutting the fuck up, asshole?

Logan: *grinning* I just rememberd why I like you.

[dropsnectar]

When The Dragon Saves You from the Prince

Dragon x gn!reader

NSFW

So it looks like this turned into something a little longer than a drabble. I was going to wait a week until my poll finished but got impatient. So! Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy!

You knew as one of noble birth, the child of a Duke, that you would eventually be married off to the highest bidder. That's just how marriage was for the nobility. However, you hadn’t expected your loving parents to set up an engagement with an infamously rakish and daft prince. 

You hated the man. Whatever was supposed to be going on between his ears, was judged by that thing between his legs. When he had first met you, he had leveled with you that his reputation was true, and that expecting him to be faithful would be like asking water not to be wet.

Happy to have an excuse not to touch him, you basically ignored the man up until a week to the wedding. One afternoon his father the King had decided the two of you needed to look chummier, so he sent you off on a joint hunting trip with a few nobles. Of course, what you didn’t know was that these nobles were friends of his royal dumbass. 

They spent the whole time mocking your dukedom, and making salacious comments about your body and wedding night. Of course, your idiotic fiance only laughed at your expense, making comments of his own. 

To your own credit, you had handled their buffoonery with grace and wit. At one point, one of your barbed replies had actually struck a chord with one of the nobles, realization dawning on his face. He came off his horse and smacked you with all of his might. Too weak a man for a punch, he had gotten a solid hit on you, and you felt your eye heat and swell. Not good. The atmosphere had gone from snide joy, to predatory. 

The Prince himself got off his horse and stalked forward and pulled you by the hair down to the ground in front of his friends. They demanded to be repaid for the hurt done to them.

“I’m sure your pretty little mouth can be put to better use.” The Prince laughed, and he and his friends started to undress themselves.

That's when a loud, earsplitting screech hurtled through the air. A loud thumping and suddenly a large green dragon with large spikes started stampeding towards the group. He bucked aside the nobles, sending them and their horses running. Your fiance tried his best to pull up his pants, as you reached for his sword, but was unable to do either successfully. The dragon had stopped and stood tall before him, nostrils flaring. A pair of molten eyes stared him down, as if to challenge him. Of course, faced between defending you and running, he chose the latter. 

You couldn’t see the Dragon above you well, on account of the swelling in your eye and the hard pulsing headache that had started to vibrate through your head. The Dragon didn’t move, just stared at you as you blacked out.

***

When you came to you were warm. You opened your eyes to find yourself in a small room seemingly carved out of stone. There was a doorway with no door, that when you traveled through, brought you to a large cavern with high ceilings. You were surprised to find furniture, shelves filled with books, a large wooden desk filled with parchment and ink. 

“You are awake.”

You were startled to find yourself facing a being. He looked somewhat human, but the angles of his jaw, elbows and fingers were inhumanly sharp. His arms were covered in green scales, as well as his webbed ears, giving him away. When he spoke again you could see his sharp canines. He asked about the pain in your head. You admitted to feeling fine and he nodded. You had apparently gotten a concussion. 

The Dragon, who revealed his name to be Reix, explained that he had been exploring his new territory when he had felt evil and human pain radiating from where you had been staying. The land had recently been gifted to him by the king in exchange for his help in finding a cure for an elf and human disease that had run rampant for the last decade. He had taken it as his summer home, and was happy to find your health well.

You were surprised by his poised and friendly demeanor. You had heard that dragons were wild beasts, who occasionally took human form to steal treasure. You thanked him for his help, even if it was for not. You explained that the man had been the prince, and your fiance at that. You would not be able to escape him, even with your influence as a duke's child. 

“If you have nowhere to stay, you may stay here. It may not compare to an ornate palace, but I can assure you it will be better than what you would have to go home to.” 

Choose between a roaring evil monster and a kind, thoughtful being? Of course you were going with the dragon.

As the days went on you learned more about Reix, his character and his interest. He was the quiet studious type who prized his books over anything else. He even kept ancient first editions of many popular novels, some even with signatures. He also had some antique memorabilia, some keys from a printing press from his mothers favorite publishing company, a bookmark from a late saintess who he had befriended long ago. He showed you all his favorite books, nonfiction and fiction. You were even surprised to find that he enjoyed the occasional romance. 

“Why, Sir Dragon, are you perhaps a romantic?” You teased. He looked at you with pursed lips and a faint blush.

“I am not so cold that I can’t be moved by a good story. After all, most people experience it once or twice in their life. Love that is.”

The two of you had been fast friends, bonding over shared interests. You spent weeks, months like this. He would hunt or go out to town for your meals. He taught you how to cook. You were terrible at it at first, but he eventually learned to trust you to make omelets, and the famous everything soup. He was an incredible cook too, and he seemed to enjoy sharing recipes and meals with you. You couldn’t help but notice the occasional fond glances he’d send your way. 

You had to admit, you weren’t unaffected by his presence either. You noticed how strong the muscles of his arms were as he reached up to retrieve a book from the top shelf for you. His glowing hazel eyes always looked at you with respect and reverence. No one had ever looked at you like that before. And you had to admit you had never met a kinder person than him. You loved his smile,how his teeth tended to stick out as he spoke to you.

You were the one to make the first move. Reix had been sitting on the couch, reading in his usual way, when you cuddled right up next to him. You leaned your head against his shoulder and covered your lap and feet with a blanket, as if to nap. He was stiff at first but eventually relaxed into you. You started to do this at every opportunity and you would notice that he would now forgo his study chair for the couch. Neither of you ever said anything about it, but you two never missed an afternoon cuddle.

One day, Reix sat you down, his limbs twitchy and expression solemn. 

“I will be straight with you. My species goes through something called a heat a few times every year. Mine is nearing, so I will be traveling to my home up north for a week.” He bit his lip before continuing. “But do not worry, I will stock the pantry and make sure you are as comfortable as possible while I’m… gone.”

A heat? You had read enough smutty novels to know what that was. The thought made your heart beat hard in your chest and a warmness pool in your gut. Well. Right now was as good of a time as any.

“What if I wanted you to stay?” You enunciated slowly. Reix frowned at you.

“You do not understand, I will not be myself. I will be like an animal. I won't be able to control my instincts.” He stared at you with big watery eyes.

You walked towards his chair and knelt at his feet, taking his hands into yours. 

“I will take all of you, if you let me.” You then pulled his hands up to your cheeks, forcing him to cradle your face. The two of you held each other's gaze for a long time, the tension palpable. 

When he kissed you, it didn’t taste sweet, like his words always were. His breath was fire, after all. The two of you burned up together.

***

You were wretched out of sleep by the feeling of rubbing on your ass. Strong arms gripped your waist, and you felt his ragged breath in your ear, moans sputtered from his lips, whispers of,”I’m sorry.” More groaning, “You feel so good…ahh!” And he came all over your nightgown. 

But this didn’t seem to sate him at all, as he continued to rub himself into the curve of your asscheeks, slick of him coating you and dripping down to your entrance. He seemed to realize you were awake because his voice increased in volume.

“Please. You promised…” He moaned out as he went from fucking your ass to plunging himself in between the plush of your thighs. The change in texture seemed to get him going as his speed started to increase. Much to his annoyance you turned around. He hated having to go even a second without his dick touching you, and you pulled him into a hot passionate kiss.

His mouth devoured you hungrily, arms now roaming the lines of your body. His eyes were glazed over in lust as he reached his head down to suck on your nipples, trying to get you sufficiently worked up. When he was close again, he brought dick up to your entrance, pushing in just the tip as he came. His hot cum slid into you, prepping you for what was to come next. You clenched around nothing, and started grinding on his dick, needing to take more of his length. 

He took you in one harsh thrust. You hadn’t seen what he had looked like before, but you could tell that his dic must have been an unusual shape. The ridges of his dick dragged deliciously against your walls, making you drool. He was so big it was a painful stretch. But you were nobility, and nobility took the long and hard things in life and made it work for them.

You reached your hand down and felt the part of him that wasn’t inside you and slowly started pumping, enjoying the soft, yet firm texture of him. He slowed his thrusting, suddenly overcome by how you were making him feel. The duality of your hands on him and being inside you made him want to scream out. His good little noble felt divine. He was having a spiritual awakening right there in your bedroom, as he got closer and closer to release. 

Eventually you had gotten used to the feeling of him and started rocking your hips in time with his strokes. The delectable friction he was giving you was building up inside you, a hot fiery pit about to explode. Your Reix’s gaze was full of devotion and need, but the way one of his gently came up to cup your cheeks made you burn. Even now, when he was ravaging you like the wild beast everyone assumed he was, he still treasured you.

You came hard around his girth, crying out as white hot pleasure pushed its way from your core to your fingertips. Reix soon followed after, unleashing another impossibly large load of his wetness within you. He slowed his minstrations and pulled out, going back to fucking your thighs until you were properly recovered enough to take him again. And take him you did, all through the night and the following day. 

When his heat had cooled, he brought you fruits, cheeses and bread, taking small bites and feeding it to you, as you were too exhausted to do so yourself. He seemed to take great joy in this as his normal small smile was blinding as he cared for you. He pulled you up and the two of you took a bath. He made sure to wipe you down first, every swipe of his rag gentle as he worshiped you with his glowing eyes. When he was done, he added more heat to the water and joined you, settling you down between his legs as he held your back to his chest.

You rested in silence for awhile, enjoying the warmth of the water and each others skin. 

“We should do something about that fiance of yours. Mind if I eat him?” He was playing with the damp curls of your hair, relishing in the texture. You smiled up at him.

“You don’t know where he's been. You could catch something. But I do have an idea. If you are up for it that is.” 

“For you, I would do anything.”

You smiled. Your father was next in line for the throne after the prince. Reix was a gentle giant most of the time, but you couldn’t help but think what a dashing and benevolent prince he would make.

[buckybarnesandmarvel]

𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥

pairings: bucky x reader

summary: bucky hates his scars, he hates how he got them, he hates how they look and somehow he’s convinced himself that you hate them too. obviously, that’s not true

warnings: scars, self-hatred, some angst, sad!bucky, cursing, fluffy ending

a/n: sticking to a schedule?? who is she?! just a little blurb today, though :)

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He hated them. Every time he took in his reflection in the steamy bathroom mirror, his eyes were immediately drawn to the jagged lines that marred his skin. They were all over his body, reminders of the pain and torture he had to endure with HYDRA, but the worst were the ones that connected metal to skin. He still gets flashes, memories, nightmares, of clawing at his skin, his nails drawing blood at his shoulder as he tries to pry his body away from the filthy weapon they had given him.

His eyes pricked with tears of frustration as he shoved on one of his many long-sleeve Henleys, that clung to his biceps, hiding the horrendous marks that corrupted his skin.

You smiled as he left the bathroom, coming to your shared bed, not noticing the masked look on his face.

“Hey, handsome.“

Bucky could almost scoff at your words. In his mind, he was anything but. Shitty thoughts invaded his brain, how could you love him when he looked like that? How could you not recoil every time you saw the scarred flesh? How could you still look at him, with so much love and adoration in your eyes when he looked like he did? Like a monster. How, how, how?!

You reached out for him, setting your book down, a smile on your face. The both of you had been busy today, barely having time to see each other. You reached out for him, your hands curling around his, pulling him down onto the bed.

Bucky swallowed as he took in your attire, a small, skimpy, sating nightdress, that barely reached mid-thigh. He knew were this was going, he knew what you wanted, he just had to come up with a way to stop it before you finally realised you were better than him.

Part of him knew he was being irrational, the two of you had had sex countless times in the past. Part of him knew you loved him just the way he was, you loved him for him. Part of him knew you didn’t care about the lightning shaped clusters of damaged skin that littered his body, but the thoughts kept plaguing him. It was like a leaking pipe in a small room, dripping slowly until it drowned him. You would realise your worth, you were better than him, better than his past, better than his nightmares, better that his disfigured body and once you realised that, you would leave. And that was a thought Bucky couldn’t bear.

He lay in bed, but pulled the covers tightly over you, shutting the lights so he wouldn’t have to endure the disappointed expression on your face. He closed his eyes, still silent and tried to focus on his breathing, when he felt your soft hands snake under his shirt against his toned torso. He tenses, his eyes screwing shut tighter as he tried not to give in to your touch.

“Bucky...”

Your hands massaged his waist and abs, roaming over the hard muscles and the climbed higher and higher. Just as he felt your fingers brush against the scars on his shoulder, he took your wrists in his hands and shoved them out of his Henley. Your eyes widened slightly in shock and as you started to try again, you were stopped again but his larger hands.

“Stop it, doll. I’m not in the mood, today.”

“Buck-”

“I said no.”

His tone was cold, curt, final. You couldn’t help but feel a little hurt, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. It had been like this for days and you didn't know why. Bucky wouldn't let you touch him or love him like you wanted to, and honestly, it was driving you a bit mad. You let out a small, almost inaudible sigh and roll over, facing away from Bucky as you tried to stop the tears from falling.

Bucky's supersoldier hearing picks up on your small, dejected sigh and it tugs at his heartstrings. His jaw clenches and, as much as his self-hatred is at an all time high, he hated seeing you upset more. He hesitate before sitting up and turning on the bedside lamp again, looking over your curled up form.

"Doll..."

You don't reply and he sighs, rolling you over easily and then taking your cheek in his palm. He saw how your beautiful eyes didn't meet his and he tried not to cry and take you into his arms.

"Doll, look at me... please."

His words are a whisper as he tilts your head a little up, but the pleading tone is barely concealed. Your walls crumble and you look up at him and he takes in your watery eyes, the sight killing him.

"I'm so sorry, sweeth-"

"Is it me?"

Bucky's eyes widen, he wasn't expecting you to say that.

"Is what you, doll?"

"Why you won't let me touch you. Is it me? Did I do something-"

You sit up, now properly facing Bucky, his hand no longer cupping your cheek.

"-because it's almost it been a week and I can't help thinking if I've done something by accident o-or-?"

Bucky can practically feel his heart break at your insecure tone.

"No, doll, don't say that, please, never-" he takes a deep breath, pushing down the lump in his throat. He whispers, "I'm a monster, doll, a monster. I'm hideous, my scars, my arm, my flesh. Every day I look in the mirror and I can't seem to think why your want to be with me. I'm... broken. I'm broken, doll and it shouldn't be on you to fix, it's my problem, not yours, but I don't want you to touch me, to see the... ugliness... I don't want you to leave me."

His voice breaks, sounding exactly how he feels on the inside. Broken, defeated, small. He can't bear to meet your eyes, dreading to find a single shred of disgust or disappointment or whatever may ring his stupid fucking brain could conjure up.

You, on the other hand, let the tears fall, looking at Bucky, the man you thought was the most handsome in the world, no, the universe, or, even better yet, any of the multiverses talk about himself in such a way. Without hesitation, you slide into his lap, your legs on either side of his thick thighs. You look into his oceanic eyes, seeing the self loathing in them. You repeated your earlier actions and slid your fingers under his shirt again. You felt him tense once again but this time, he didn't stop you. You pulled the shirt over his head and discarded it on the floor before taking his cheek and turning his face to face you.

"You're gorgeous. And this isn't some 'you're my girlfriend, you have to say that-thing', you are drop dead, jaw dropping handsome, my love. And I know you can't see that now, but I swear to you, Buck, I will spend eternity proving it to you if I have to."

His eyes fill with tears as your fingers trace over the lines on his shoulder.

"These scars don't make you ugly, they make you brave, they make you strong, they make you unique, you, they make you you."

You place a kiss on the border between metal and flesh.

"These scars are a part of you, whether you like it or not. They're a part of you, but that also just means I love them as equally as I love you, Bucky. It will only be you. It will only ever be you. No one else, not in a million years, not in any universe. I want, my scarred, handsome supersoldier, but only if he promises to try and learn to love himself as much as I do. For me."

Words are caught in his throat, his heart bursting with love for you. He lets the tears fall as he sobs against you, holding you like a lifeline. But between his broken, child-like cries, you feel a subtly nod and a couple seconds later, his muffled speech.

"I promise."

************************************************************************

okay, so a little longer than a blurb

************************************************************************

[reidmania]

soon, you’ll get better | s. reid

summary; when spencer decides to get help for his addiction, you are right by his side the entire time, even when you are both more scared than you’ll admit.

warnings; fem!reader, early seasons spencer (s2) mentions of addiction, withdrawals, getting help, hurt x comfort, its kinda really fluffy though, mentions of tobias hankel, references possible overdosing, (nobody overdoses, reader is just afraid of it happening) this is comfort, pure spencer comfort tbh.

an; heart BROKEN guys. this one hurt. remember you are not alone.

‘I'll paint the kitchen neon, I'll brighten up the sky, I know I'll never get it, there's not a day that I won't try. And I'll say to you, soon you'll get better, soon you'll get better, you'll get better soon, 'cause you have to. And I hate to make this all about me but who am i supposed to talk to? What am i supposed to do, if theres no you?’

You sit beside him, your hand resting gently on his, feeling the tension pulsing through his skin. Spencer's fingers twitch, as though his body is having a silent argument with itself—one part of him wants to hold on to you, to feel your comfort, and the other part is restless, needing something more than your touch can provide. You know what that something is. It’s been between the two of you for weeks now, an unspoken weight that has grown heavier with each passing day.

The hospital waiting room is quiet, but inside your head, it feels deafening. Your eyes flicker to the clock on the wall. The seconds drag on, and you know he feels every single one of them. You squeeze his hand lightly, drawing his attention back to you. His eyes meet yours, wide and anxious, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths. You see it all—the fear, the shame, the self-loathing. But beyond that, buried underneath, you still see the man you love.

"You're doing the right thing," you whisper, your voice soft, barely louder than the ticking clock.

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His lips part, but no words come out. You don’t push him. You’ve learned that sometimes, silence is safer for him. His mind is always moving, always analyzing, always thinking ten steps ahead, but right now, he’s fragile. His brilliance can’t help him here. And that’s what scares him the most.

You lean in, pressing your forehead against his, grounding him in the moment. “I’m so proud of you,” you say, and you feel him exhale, just slightly. The warmth of his breath touches your lips, and for a brief second, you feel that connection again—the one that always makes you believe everything will be okay, as long as you're together.

It was difficult, sitting here and pretending like you weren’t scared. You were, you wondered if you had a right to be scared. Spencer was the love of your life, you had never once questioned that — and seeing him like this, well it wasn’t easy. Being here, wasn’t easy.

Spencer closes his eyes, a shudder running through his body. He grips your hand tighter, the pressure almost painful, but you don’t pull away. You want him to know you’re here, that you’re not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever.

A nurse walks by, and Spencer's eyes snap open, his body stiffening. You can feel his heart rate spike, the anxiety flaring up again.

“I can’t,” he mutters, shaking his head. His voice is tight, strangled, like he’s holding back something that threatens to choke him.

“Yes, you can,” you reply gently, running your thumb over his knuckles in slow, soothing circles. “Please.”

It was a plea, a genuine plea. You tried to be strong for his sake, he needed someone. You were his person, you would always be. But he was also your person — and the idea that if he didn’t get help you could lose him one way or another terrified you. It caused a genuine ache in your chest at just the thought of him not being him, or not being around at all. You couldn’t lose him, not at the hands of tobias hankel.

He stares at you, searching your face for something—maybe reassurance, maybe strength. You aren’t sure if he finds it, but he nods, his breath coming out in shaky bursts.

The doctor calls his name. The sound makes him flinch, and for a moment, you think he might bolt. You can see it in his posture, the way his muscles tense, his body preparing to flee. But then your hand tightens around his, and he looks at you again. And you know he’s staying because of you.

Together, you stand, and you walk beside him as he follows the doctor into the office. His steps are slow, reluctant, but each one is a small victory. When you sit down in the small room, the doctor’s eyes flicker between the two of you—taking in Spencer’s pale, trembling form and the way you hold onto him as if he might disappear.

The doctor speaks softly, his voice calm and measured. You hear him explain the treatment plan, the options for managing withdrawal, the therapy that Spencer will need. It all sounds clinical, distant, like the words are coming from a place Spencer can’t quite reach.

You glance at him, watching the way his jaw clenches and unclenches, the way his eyes dart around the room, not settling on anything for too long. His mind is miles away, you can tell. But you’re here, anchored in this moment for both of you.

“Spence,” you say softly, turning to face him. He doesn’t respond at first, lost in the cacophony of his own thoughts. So, you reach out, brushing your fingers against his cheek. His eyes snap back to you, and you see the vulnerability in them, the sheer weight of everything he’s been carrying.

“We’ll take it one step at a time,” you remind him. “We’ll get through this. Together.”

His lower lip trembles, and for a second, you think he might cry. But he doesn’t. Spencer’s never been one to break easily, even when he should. You wish he would sometimes, just so he wouldn’t have to hold it all inside.

The doctor gives you both a moment, stepping out of the room to let the words sink in. Spencer drops his head into his hands, his shoulders slumping as though the world is pressing down on him with all its weight.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers, his voice barely audible.

You scoot closer, pulling him into your arms, cradling his head against your chest. His body relaxes, just a little, as if the touch of your skin can quiet the chaos in his mind.

“You deserve everything good in this world,” you tell him, stroking his hair gently. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m broken,” he breathes, the words thick with self-reproach.

You shake your head, holding him tighter. “You’re not broken, Spence. You’re just…hurting. And that’s okay. You’ll get better. You have to.”

Maybe it was a plea, maybe reassurance, you weren’t even sure. Spencer was single handedly the strongest person you knew, he didn’t deserve what had happened to him — nobody did. The signs had been there for a while, you noticed the change instantly and you tried to brush it off as him coping, but when it got to the point where you knew there was more, without a doubt — you had the conversation.

It took some convincing, and a few weeks before he even approached the idea — he denied for a while. You let him. You could only help him as much as he allowed you to, but then when he nudged you gently in bed one night and broke down — he wanted help, and you were happy to provide him with as much as you could, which also meant getting more help.

His arms wrap around your waist, clinging to you as though you’re his lifeline. And in a way, you are. But you know he’s yours too. You’ve never loved anyone the way you love Spencer—so deeply, so completely. He’s flawed, yes. But so are you.

When the doctor returns, you help Spencer sit up, though he keeps one hand resting on your knee, as if needing to stay tethered to you. You listen carefully as the doctor outlines the next steps, and this time, Spencer listens too. He’s scared, you can tell, but he’s fighting. For himself. For you. For what you both have.

And when you leave the office, walking back through the waiting room, you feel a shift. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but it’s there. Spencer’s steps are still hesitant, still burdened, but there’s a determination now. He’s facing it. He’s facing himself. And you’re right there beside him, as you always will be.

As you step out into the crisp evening air, Spencer pauses. He turns to you, his eyes soft, vulnerable, but this time, there’s a flicker of hope.

“I love you,” he says quietly, the words shaky but sincere.

You smile, your heart swelling. “I love you too.”

And in that moment, with the world quiet around you, “You will get better Spence.”

[youryanderedaddy]

Oleander

Summary: Nine months ago you killed a man. Now you're sharing a drink with his brother. Life works in mysterious ways. tw: female reader, implied murder, captivity, dub - con, hate fucking, degradation, cruel reader

Sometimes you wonder if you’re a good person. It’s nice, almost, to lose yourself in meaningless philosophical battles in your own mind - it reminds you of high school, of balding teachers making you read Kant and Plato, raving on and on about dead men that will never come back to agree or disagree with the countless pages they made you write about them. It’s easier now, though - easy to lose yourself in semantics, to water down hundred years of morals and ethics into a simple question. Am I, the way I am, the way I’ve always been, good? 

These thoughts always come back when the liquor hits your system. You can’t believe Devan let you drink with him tonight. He must be getting lonely, you realize. Your hands are too shaky and slippery to hold the glass, and you end up spilling half of it over your chest anyways. Your shirt soaks the liquor quickly, and the sharp smell of sanitizer makes you feel as if you’re running through a cold hospital corridor. If you squint, you can almost imagine the needle poking at your vein to draw fresh blood. 

Devan watches you with odd fascination - as if you’re a child learning how to walk, and takes a sip straight off the bottle. Were you any less drunk, you’d be disgusted, yet now all you think about is how he’s drinking more and more of the bitter medicine, leaving less for you. And you need it. God knows you need it.

“Messy, murderous slut.” He mumbles under his breath, reaching out to you with a disoriented shake of his hand. “You ruined my fucking life, you know?” He manages to take a hold of your elbow. You flinch impulsively but his hold, in all its drunken angst, is unrelenting.

“You ruined your own life.” You intend your answer to be playful, but it comes out venomous. Maybe you both need some sleep - too bad the bottle is still half full. You pour yourself some more. “You’re 27 with no education, job or any support network. Even your parents don’t call you anymore, because, well… what even are you without him?” You let yourself get closer to the man - so close you can see his eyes illuminate in fear. His skin is warm like concrete melting under the sun. Tonight you are cruel. Tonight you are free - even as the tears fall down your freezing cheeks. “Admit it.” You inhale so quietly you barely feel your lungs. “You fucking love it.”

Even as his hand connects to your cheek in an audible slap, you can’t help running your mouth off. You are absolutely intoxicated - and the sting feels like a kiss to your lonely, untouched face. How long has it been since someone held you?

“You fucking love that your brother died, deep down. I mean, it’s the perfect excuse, isn’t it? You finally have a reason to be this fucking miserable.” Your smirk, filling up with glee - just like a child torturing a helpless ladybug on the ground, it’s so wrong yet feels so right. ”Besides being a lousy loser, of course.”

“How fucking dare you!” Devin flips you over with ease, throwing you on the ground. There is a raw, animalistic sadness in his big black orbs bleeding into his rage, and it makes it impossible to be scared. Even as his thick fist wraps itself around your throat, it’s hard not to burst into laughter. All the good hazy feelings take over logic and now the bleak feels like a big joke of nature. “Joe was… He… He was…” Everything, he tries to say, but his voice breaks into a pained howl and his breathing shallows before the word can roll off his colorless tongue. For a passing moment everything stills.

“It’s all your fault.” Your captor hisses weakly, his hand trembling around your warm inviting flesh. “I should have killed you that first day… that first night.” His fingers dance around your throat, carefully avoiding your jugular. “It would have been so easy. You do have a beautiful neck.” His voice lowers. “It wouldn’t be hard to–” He squeezes again - tight, tighter, and you see stars. “Maybe then I’ll finally be at peace.” He’s staring at you, intently, but it’s himself he’s talking to. 

“Oh, please.” You roll your eyes. You can feel a certain fullness in your sides and a dull pain tugging at your collarbone from suffocation - but your mind can’t wrap itself around a single coherent thought other than to hurt him. It’s like the more you hurt him, the more it hurts inside you. “You can’t kill me.” There is no sass in your tone, no mischief - just plain cold acceptance.

Devin stops in his tracks to stare you down as if you’ve lost your goddamn mind. Then he laughs. He laughs so much his hand slips off your throat and you can finally breathe again.

“And what makes you so sure?” He finally collects himself enough to ask, leaning towards you. If anyone were to see you now, they would think you’re two lovers about to elope. “Because…” You avert your face away from his watchful eyes - there’s something about them, a wild flame that makes you sober up quicker than you’d like. “I’m the only person you hate more than yourself. If you kill me, the game is over.” You give him a sad smile. “And you’re all alone again.”

The man grabs your chin, forcing your lips to pucker up like a doll’s. “Like I need a fucked up bitch to keep me company.” He says, yet he keeps moving your head up and down as if he’s inspecting you for damage. As if he cares if you’re bruised, as if his fingers want to feel you for just a second longer. “Then let me go.” You bite back, and you watch his face go dark like a night sky. “No.” The boy - man shrieks, holding onto your arm for dear life. It hurts… but it’s also warm and tight - like an embrace, but not quite. “You deserve to suffer.” He quickly adds, pulling you closer to him. “Then torture me.” You add more fuel. “Do something. Anything.” You sink your teeth into his knees. “For once in your shitty miserable life do so–”

He kisses you. 

You don’t know how to describe the kiss. It’s neither passionate, nor aggressive. It’s desperate, yet it lacks strength. It’s a rushed thing. It’s a memory reminiscent of summer - in a quiet village, after an atom bomb. His lips are the flowers that eventually bloom before they’re stomped by soldier boots. You’re the half - lit match that turns it all to ashes. Your bodies are meant for destruction, and that’s why they fit together perfectly. 

“Let me have you.” He almost pleads once you separate, breathless, on the brink of insanity - as if he isn’t already there. His hands are on both sides of your waist, squeezing so hard it hurts, unstable fingers ready to grab and grope at any shape malleable enough. 

“No.” You wince, but your eyes remain cold and challenging. “Fuck you.” Devin replies, roughly spreading your thighs apart. “Fuck you.” He repeats as he rips into your throat, dragging his teeth against your sweet spot, making you really feel the sharp points tearing into your soft vulnerable skin. The thought of leaving his mark on you makes his stomach turn - and it terrifies him. You try not to look down, but you hear his belt hit the ground and soon his pants follow suit - and then you sense it right against your entrance. Sticky slick whiteness coats your white panties as it drips from the purpling tip so full it might burst by the friction alone.

His hard length rubs along your wet slit and with clenched teeth you anticipate the burn of the stretch, the way he’ll rip your underwear from you, your last protective shield - but it never comes. Yet you see it move in and out, in and out of you rhythmically. You can feel his warm breath on the back of your neck, his rasp groans into your ear, his hands moving your torso back and forth like a carousel. You finally look down. 

He’s fucking your thighs - through your panties, no less. 

“Hold your legs together.” The man barks at you, but his voice is so needy you can’t help giggling even as he manhandles you around like a ragdoll. “T-tighter.” You squeeze your thighs snuggly against his cock - and you hope it hurts him more than it hurts you. You throw your head back, leaning on his shoulder as you jeer gutturally, letting it all out in systematic bursts of laughter that sound more like black cigarette coughs. Or puffs. “God, you’re so pathetic.” You lazily stroke his shaft as it peeks down your stomach, oozing with pre - cum. “I bet your brother would have fucked me like a real man.”

He moves your head to the side with a brute slap, kissing you sloppily anywhere but your mouth - but it still does the trick of shutting you up. “Too bad he’s dead.” He leaves a trail of wet pecks down your throat. Your stomach is sticky. You feel disgusting. “Guess you’re mine now.”

You roll your eyes.

“Dream on.”

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Some of @render-me-usless' Fav Fics!

If you want to make me a list let me know in IM. You can do whatever you want, fave fics, fav tropes or even check out the pending asks page and fill one of those.

Where to Search for Snow by suburbanmotel

(1/1 I 8,954 I Mature I Sterek)

Stiles and his Gigantic Repressed Feelings accidentally affect the weather. A lot. Like. A lot.

//

  “It’s snowing, Stiles,” says Derek.

Stiles looks up. He nods. “Yeah. Yeah it is.”

Derek looks at him. “It’s snowing, Stiles. In your bedroom.”

Stiles and the Seven Wolves by SylvieW

(1/1 I 10,421 I Teen I Sterek)

Stiles is Snow White, Kate is the Evil Queen, and when Chris the Huntsman doesn't kill him, he runs off to live with seven werewolves.

Somewhere to Start by Lissadiane

(1/1 I 33,552 I Teen I Sterek)

Stiles has always known that he isn't quite human - the plant life that tends to sprout around him whenever he gets upset or excited gives it away. He's never really fit in among the regular people in Beacon Hills and is determined to wait it out, go to college, and find somewhere to belong. He's forced to abandon those plans, however, after he desperately agrees to enter into an arranged marriage to save his father's life.

An arranged marriage with an angry, sometimes furry dude with trust issues. It's all very Beauty and the Beast, without the singing candlesticks.

Waiting by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

(2/2 I 81,018 I Teen I Sterek)

Not wanting to think on it too much, Stiles took a step forward and passed his hand between the bars, moving the bleeding side closer to Derek’s mouth.

“Not too close, he bites.”

Stiles snatched his hand away just as Derek had been about to lick at it. The snarl he got in response was not comforting.

“He what?” Stiles asked nervously, turning to Deaton.

The man looked a little amused. “Don’t worry, only if he doesn’t like you.”

“Well, he probably hates me, now!” Stiles insisted, turning back to Derek.

He looked extremely displeased.

Three Marks by sanam

(8/8 I 113,736 I Mature I Sterek)

"And then there was pain again, but this time it was in only three places—his arm, below his clavicle, and next to his heart, all on the left side. It felt like the skin was being sliced apart, ripped open, flayed off— And suddenly it was done. Derek looked across the room and saw the boy on the floor, looking about as bad as Derek felt."

Derek and Stiles learn that bonding is probably best done with ridiculous amounts of video games and maybe a little bit of time.

A Desperate Arrangement by mikkimouse

(25/25 I 115,506 I Explicit I Sterek)

"I'm sorry, I believe there's something wrong with my hearing," Stiles said. "Because I could have sworn you just told me you set up a betrothal agreement with the Hales. A betrothal agreement involving me. Me."

Scott smiled his easygoing smile and nodded, which told Stiles no, he hadn't misheard a damn thing.

After seven years of lengthy negotiations, the treaty between the Hales and the Argents has fallen apart and the two countries fell into war.

Months later, there's an uneasy truce, thanks to the intervention of King Scott McCall, but it won't last. In a desperate attempt to maintain the peace, the Hales sign a treaty with the McCalls to marry Prince Derek to Prince Stiles Stilinski, King Scott's brother.

In the history of the world, there have been many better ideas.

Black and Blue by charlotteinlace

(50/50 I 209,549 I Explicit I Sterek)

Stiles knows what he should be doing, finding a good Dom and seeing a few dozen therapists. But that shit can wait, right now he's got a gang to infiltrate and a murderer to find. A murderer who killed his father.

[thomas-jefferson-miku-binder]

I hate Mel Medarda discourse because she’s an insanely well-written character with a lot of depth, but people almost always have only two things to say about her: 1) evil girlboss or 2) never did anything wrong. both make me want to krill myself 🦐

In front of you, there’s a female character born of war who rejects the physical brutality of her family’s name and the regime she was born under. except said violence never really goes away because if it ever does leave, nothing else would remain

This character can and will reproduce the hatred she has always known, just in more palpable ways, ways where she’s allowed to look away — or even better, ways where she’s so distanced from the action itself that where she “looks” doesn’t even matter

It’s also so interesting to think that maybe Mel doesn’t dislike physical violence because it’s “bad” but simply because she does not excel at it The thought that if Mel was maybe stronger or a more skilled fighter, she would be just like her mother tickles my brain. yaaaas Although, to me, that's a more "what-if" scenario than the actual characterization Arcane deceipts

By the way, I do not think Mel is a monster. She clearly does try to be what she considers a "good" person, but the violence she’s always known sometimes escapes (just like in the Viktor scene above — she does not like to be disagreed with).

Sooo insane that she’s a diplomat/politician because yes. what other job in the world would allow her to exercise that repressed violence while also giving her the sense of duty—of goodness.

Mel is stuck at the scene of the execution form her childhood. All she does is repeat the same scenario in her head with different outcomes: sometimes one where she saves the prisoner, another where she doesn’t hesitate (that being the keyword here) to kill her

This reverberation of the violence she suffered is just her manner of coping with that traumatic scene. a way of lessening the pain without actually confronting its cause.

I feel like I need to clarify that no, I do not think Mel is “evil”. I don’t even think she is intentionally manipulative (most of the time), I think she handles people the only way she knows how to, which is probably one of the only reasons she survived Noxus at all (as, to how I see it, there's only a certain extent your House will guarantee your protection in Noxus).

I know the fandom talks a lot about Viktor and Jayce being idealistic, but I rarely see people mention how Mel is just as romantic. Jesus- that’s literally a huge source of conflict with her mother: Ambessa thinks Mel is naive, which to her means weakness, which to her is unacceptable.

I hate that Mel Medarda is forced to be subjected to fandom spaces, because, no, she is not a small bean. no, she’s not an evil girlboss.

Do I believe she is a good person? I think she tries to be (even if her notion of goodness is so heavily aligned with honor, too), and that tells me a lot more about her character than how successful she is at it

[wrennyfics]

sub!snape headcanons :)

{part one}

im working on some sub!snape fics rn (ur requests), but in the mean time... have this

im high. so i apologize if thiss is a mess. pls ignore the grammar or whatever

warnings: NSFW, explicit, smutty (MINORS DNI OR I STG)

alright here we go (virgin, inexperienced, sub!snape)

My headcanons about...

Kissing: I honestly, this is kinda sad, but i imagine that sev was always really scared to be kissed because he thought it would be a prank. The first time you kiss him would have to be somewhere private, for this reason and the fact he hates pda, and you'd have to ask him. (i mean obviously, consent is important folks) but i mean, like literally verbally, "Severus, can I kiss you?" And i think at first his face is just blank, like hes trying to figure out if you're serious, amd he gets all flustered, and blushing and like "i, uh, you want.. are u sure? i.." or he is literally speechless and just nods

Kissing Cont. As the kissing gets more intimate i feel like hed be breathing pretty heavily. we know this man is skilled at occulemency and can control his emotions sooo well.. but when it comes to this... i think that man lets it go and is just a shaky, panting, flustered mess

Teasing: Especially in the beginning, he doesn't like to tease you or make moves. One, he's impatient. Two, he doesn't really know what to do and is scared of doing the wrong thing and messing up. But the second you start kissing on his neck... Running your hands down his body...

Preferences: sub!snape i think def prefers gentle!dom. i don't think he'd be totally against pain or stuff like that... but especially at first and for the most part, imo he would prefer to be taken care of. like lets bffr, his entire life he was neglected, touch starved and forced to always be in control. I think he would crave giving in, letting someone else control him

Prefrences Cont. He keeps his clothes on, especially at first. prob the trauma, mixed with insecurity, mixed with a bunch of other fun stuff. But at first, he is nearly fully clothed.

Kinks: Praise. 100%. And if you asked him before you guys had had sex about praise he probably would've scoffed. But the second you're on top of him the first time, moaning his name, saying how good hes making you feel, how well he's going... I think hes like o h. also slight degredation

Kinks cont. I don't think he'd like to be tied up tbh. as pretty as that'd be.. i think he'd need to touch you, feel you, his hands roaming everywhere. being pinned down by your wrists is different tho

Fav positions: when he's sub! he def likes you riding him, pinning his wrists down, taking what you need from him. he gets to see your whole body.. and relax for once and be a lil selfish in his own pleasure

Oral: sub!snape def prefers to give as opposed to recieving, i think this about dom!snape too, but especially about sub!snape. especially when you ride his face, when he gets to look up at you, watch your face contort in pleasure... especially when you grind down on him, but giving sub!snape head is like, a religious experience fam. on jah, on your jaw, dun dun tiss. yea that man is a shaking, whimpering mess, his hands clawing at the sheets, panting, cursing, begging. yep

His first time: lets be honest guys. he aint lasting long. but i think he would be like THIS? is what its like? and then proceed to overexhaust himself by going ten times because how in the world had he never felt this before.

misc.

he never used to touch himself much, insecurity and yk depression, but since you... whenever you're gone... he fucks his pillows yep i said it.

he def likes to edged, and having to beg for it. idk why, but i'd die on this hill.

he blushes so easy. like so easy. the man is so pale, one compliment or small kiss and his face is red

he's relatively quiet. he's verbal, but doesn't moan very loud. more so whispers, begs, quietly.. especially at first when he's more shy. but when he starts to get desperate, maybe after a lil bit of edging... he whimpers when he cums and thats just the truth

but if you compliment those whimpers.. tell him how much it turns you on.. he'll let them out even more

building on that, he wants to please you. be good for you. know that he's doing it right. in a horny way and also in a kinda emotional like.. she really does want me look at how shes reacting kinda way

loves to watch your face when he's making you cum

the first time you pull his hair hes like oh....

needs a lil extra aftercare after being sub! cause its a very vulnerable thing for him.. but his fav is just to lie there, cuddle you, bonus points if you praise him and tell him how proud you are of him

this was shameless.

cheerio xx

[gay-dorito-dust]

you’ve got a great writing style! I was wondering if you could write Ford x Reader where reader finds him mid flashback/panic attack because of his history with Bill, and has to comfort him, but having no clue about his past so just really struggling 😭

sorry if this is too specific or niche so no pressure!

You had been looking for Ford for what felt like forever now, even going as far as to ask the twins whether or not they have seen their Grunkle, only for the two to share a look of concern before telling you that they saw him bolt off into his room with a look of pure panic upon his face.

‘He looked like he remembered something that he didn’t want to remember.’ Dipper said and you thanked him before heading towards Ford’s room, where you noticed the door was open and the man you were looking for all day was huddled in the corner of his room with a haunted, yet terrified, look upon his face as his breathing came out raged.

‘Ford?’ You whispered.

No response.

‘Ford.’ You spoke louder this time, beginning to become worried as you stepped into his room, closing the door softly behind you, all the while keeping your eyes on the man who looked as though he had saw a ghost of his past.

Taking a deep breath you cautiously walked towards Ford, all the while also keeping a good deal of distance between you both for his benefit as you knelt on the floor across from him. It wasn’t until you were close to Ford to notice the tears glistening within his eyes, or how his lower lip was being bitten to absolute death to the point of bleeding, or the way his fingers gripped and clawed his own arms. It hurt you to see Ford like this as it pained your heart to not know what he was going through, especially when all you wanted to do was help him however you could.

‘Ford you’re hurting yourself.’ You said lowly as you gently took both of his hands in yours, allowing him to squeeze them as tightly as he wanted, ignoring your own pain at his grip as you rubbed your thumbs against the back of them soothingly. ‘No one is going to hurt you Ford, I don’t know what’s got you like this but you’re safe, you’re safe with me.’ You promised as you felt Ford squeeze your hands in what felt like morse code; something you and Ford had both used when neither of you felt comfortable speaking upon your feelings in public spaces, so you both agreed to resort to morse code instead.

‘You’re safe.’ You repeat as you squeezed his hands back. ‘Stan is safe, Dipper, Mabel, Soos, Fiddelford, Wendy and myself are here if you ever need us Ford, please I just want to know if you’re okay.’ You pleaded as you felt hopeless in trying to comfort Ford and you hated it as all you wanted to do was make him happy, safe and loved, but how could you do that when he was seemingly frozen in fear of something you weren’t privy to.

Ford blinked his teary eyes as they finally acknowledged you and you swore you could hear him take a deep sigh of relief, seemingly having came out of his own head, before pulling you in his arms where he held you tight as he buried his head into your shoulder.

‘You’re okay.’ He whispered. ‘You’re all okay, he didn’t win, he didn’t get to any of you.’

You didn’t know who this ‘he’ was but it was obvious that Ford feared him more than anything, and while the mystery about this character that seemingly haunted Ford unnerved you, you could only hope that your hug would reassure him that you were real and not imaginary.

‘I’m here Ford, I’m right here.’ You reassured him. ‘Nothing is going to take me away from you, nothing.’

[vidalswife]

Imagine:

Rio's just popped out of the ground on the witches road, the coven is making their way to their sleeping quarters in order to get a head start on the journey.. turns out, no one else has room for another person except for Agatha. One thing leads to another, and then..

Let me know if you want to see a full one shot written!

Rio's body was pressed against Agatha's back, her head was close enough to the back of her neck that the older woman could feel every warm breath she took. It was tense, and neither of them dared to speak. It had been years since they slept in the same bed together, if you could even call what they did, 'sleeping'.

Agatha closed her eyes, potently trying to fall asleep. She knew how Rio was, and knew where things were going to go if she didn't black out soon. Rio was comfortable in the fact that Agatha hadn't moved her body away, and she could tell that even behind the intense nature of the situation, both of them felt comfortable.

Rio moved her hand to the brunette's side before fully wrapping her arm around Agatha's waist. She could hear the shakiness in her breathing, and it encouraged a slight smirk to crawl onto her lips.

Agatha debated internally whether she should move or say something, but she couldn't find the words nor did she really want to move.

But this changed, as Rio planted a warm kiss on the back of her neck. Agatha's eyes fluttered open, and she felt Rio's hand interlock with her own.

Agatha felt that if she let this go on she would regret it.. but the way it felt to be touched by the green witch, after all these years.. she couldn't bear to say no or retract. In her mind, she hoped it would just be meaningless kisses; maybe a few whispers of nothing important, but she was wrong. For all her years of knowing Rio Vidal, she should have known that she wouldn't just plant a kiss on her body for no reason.

Rio used her teeth to pull back the sweater that Agatha's top half was covered by, revealing just enough of her shoulder. The woman's lips left sweet kisses along her shoulder, and Rio's fingers unlocked.

She began to guide Agatha's hand with her own, bringing it to the opening of her pajama shorts. Her head tilted so as though to get closer to the older woman's ear, and she whispered, "I want to feel you.."

Agatha's heart was racing, and her mind went fuzzy as Rio guided her hand down her bottoms. She wanted to say no, to tell her to fuck off and that she hated her, but with each inch lower that their hands retreated, and each new kiss that was pressed against her skin, Agatha found herself humming in pleasure to the sensations.

Only Rio had ever done this to her, turned her into a disheveled mess. Agatha knew she would do anything for Rio, and Rio knew she would too.

As their hands reached the green witch's destination, she bit into Agatha's pale skin. She didn't bite with mercy, it was a harsh, piercing penetration to her shoulder.

Agatha's back arched, and she yelped in pain. For the two women, pleasure and pain were interchangeable, and one equaled the other.

Rio released her hold on Agatha's skin and licked the fresh bite wound she had just created. It felt like heaven to see her marks on her ex lover's body.

Rio let out a chuckle, saying in a raspy voice, "Do you like that, Aggie?.."

Agatha moaned quietly in response to her nickname, it increased the pooling wetness between her thighs, something Rio was definitely aware of.

Rio's fingers started to move Agatha's, forcing them to circle her clit slowly. Rio felt herself getting angry, she didn't like to be ignored, and she wanted to hear Agatha say it.

"I said, do you fucking like that, slut.."

Rio's fingers started to move quicker on top of Agatha's, and Rio bit into her shoulder again; this time harder, puncturing the skin easily.

Agatha moaned, gripping at the sheets which overlaid the bed as she was being stimulated in too many different ways. She knew if she was hesitant to answer again, Rio would probably fling her into the wall, force her down on her knees, and make her apologize for not being good, so she made a pointed effort to reply.

"Yes, fuck, yes Rio.." she moaned as the younger woman's fingers began to slip below Agatha's. She was no longer guiding hers, but Agatha was too scared to stop circling her clit.

Rio's teeth released Agatha's shoulder and she chuckled in that seductive tone she knew how to play.

"Do you love me.?"

The words left Rio as more of a demand, and Agatha, although she knew she would regret it, couldn't think straight in the moment. Her reply slipped from her lips in seconds, a simple yes, that brought a smile to Rio's face.

"I'm going to fuck your worthless cunt until you hate me, baby."

[yurmomsawh0r]

“Youu’reee trembliinng.” He sung in such a sinister melodic voice. He couldn’t help but smirk at your smaller form. So tiny. So tiny that all he had to do was grip you by the hair and you’d be putty in his hands.

His foot still sat on your back as he held you in place on his palace floor, you could feel the weight of him as he crushed you. Enough pressure to scare you. Hurt you. Enough to spook you into obedience but not enough pressure kill you. No, he wanted you to fear him. He wanted to feel it course through his blood.

He relished in your fear. In your undying loyalty that he forced you to swear to him and only him.

As he pressed harder, you whimpered from the strain.

It was so cold that your nipples hardened from the marble flooring, but the trembling that sprouted throughout your body was from your fear of being killed by your master.

A blush saturated your face. Remembering the way he strode into his courtroom, demanding your presence. He gripped your arm tightly before throwing you to the floor and placing his foot at your back. Your dress lifted just above your ass, giving him the perfect view of what was hidden underneath.

“You got a lot of nerve little mouse.” Lord Sukuna spat. He was angry. Unpredictable, and you were unprepared to face his wrath.

“I-I apologize my lord! Ah! -“

“Silence wench!” His weight started to get heavier the more he bared down. You were unsure of what you did. As you thought before, he was unpredictable.

You always made sure to never be in his way but it seems things were impossible and out of your hands.

“You like flirting with peasant boys little mouse?”

Huh?

You didn’t understand. You never flirted with anyone. Too scared it would bring unwanted attention like it was now.

“Don’t act as if you don’t know.” His foot was removed and thankfully you were able to gulp down lungfuls of air.

Warm giant hands caressed up and down your legs. Surprisingly gentle, yet still possessive in his touch.

“You know I hate sharing my things little mouse and yet, I find you flaunting this piece of meat -“ A yelp leaves from you as his large hand smacks one of your voluptuous globes.

“Like it doesn’t belong to me.”

“Do you know how many men I had to kill today so that none may speak on ever getting to take a peek at you?”

He chuckles as the memories fill him. Their screams and cries of pain. Throwing his head back in a full blow cackle.

“Too many to count sweetheart!”

Sukuna tsk. “Skinny dipping in a lake without making sure anyone wasn’t there is a bad thing little mouse.” Your eyes widened. Forgetting all about the pain in your lower back and realizing how foolish you had been. A new found fear rising in you.

You could hear the rustling of his pants, smell his musk as he pulled himself out. Feel him dripping on your thighs.

You knew you’d be ruined. You knew he wouldn’t give you mercy. He never did. All you could do is take.

“How about my little mouse come and make me feel better and just maybe I might take it easy on you. . .”

𝐈𝐝𝐤 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐝 ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[rkivees]

Seo Hyesook, Cristina Yang, Ellis Grey and the pressure placed by society on women to become mothers

In last week's episode, Love Next Door brought a serious discussion to the forefront of the drama. In a society where women are increasingly pressured to have children due to South Korea having the lowest birth rate in the world, giving a character the space to be honest about how she feels about her place in marriage, motherhood and society was a bold and much appreciated choice so I wanted to talk a bit about it.

Does she love her husband and her son? Yes, not only does she say this in this scene, but she also says it in future scenes, but none of this makes her pain any less real or any less valid. She resented her husband, her marriage life and her son all the same because she was happy as a Diplomat and she wanted to keep that life but now she is a mother and the world is not kind to working mothers. There was this kdrama once who had doctors multiple times say they didn't like hiring women because they soon get married and become mothers and rarely come back to work. I wonder why. Even if you wanted to go back, would you go back to a hostile environment?

Women are told from an early age that they should find a good man, get married and have children. This is their role in society and if they dare to try to break out of it, they are judged and shamed.

That's why this scene made me think so much about Cristina and Ellis, two equally strong and talented characters who are faced with the decision of whether or not to have children. Cristina finishes her act in the show by not having any and she states that she doesn't hate kids, she respects them and wishes them to have parents that want them. She loves her career more and she feels complete like that.

Ellis, on the other hand, had not only one, but two daughters. One was lucky enough to have an adopted family that loved her very much. And then we have Meredith, who was well aware she was not wanted. Below we have a quote of her coming forward in Cristina's defense.

Do you know what will happen to Cristina if she has a kid that she doesn't want? It will almost kill her. Trying to pretend that she loves a kid as much as she loves surgery will almost kill her, and it'll almost kill your kid. Do you know what it's like to be raised by someone who didn't want you? I do. To know you stood in the way of your mother's career? I do. I was raised by a Cristina. My mother was a Cristina. And as the child she didn't want, I am telling you, don't do this to her because she's kind and she cares and she won't make it. The guilt of resenting her own kid will eat her alive.

We get to see Cristina's future if she had children and it's much like Seo Hyesook. They try to overcompensate (they love their kid after all) that resentment while being eaten alive by it or we get women like Ellis, a woman unhappy in her motherhood, that traumatized her daughter to a point she didn't want to be alive.

Ellis never tried to hide her unhappiness and I am not, of course, exempting her for the bad mother she was but I want you to understand that if she wasn't put in this position to begin with, we would not have a traumatized child. Society cannot be absolved of the blame for creating unfit mothers that didn't want to be mothers and children who suffer from that unfitness.

I think it's a discussion that needs to be had, especially since we're going through a time worldwide where women are losing their right to choose and we get told more and more that there's a certain place for us, barefoot in the kitchen tending to our husbands and children.

We have to talk about it, about our choices or the lack of and how our place is wherever we want to be so we won't end up in a position where we resent our lives.