#Illuminated Bathroom Cabinets

[bathroomforless]

Discover premium non-illuminated mirror cabinets at Bathroom4Less, offering style and functionality in one. Crafted from durable materials, our cabinets provide ample storage to keep your bathroom organized. Choose from a variety of designs to match your aesthetic. With easy installation and low maintenance, they're perfect for any space. Upgrade your bathroom with our own branded range of non illuminated mirror cabinets today! Fast delivery ensures you enjoy your new bathroom cabinet sooner. Explore our collection now for the ultimate bathroom transformation.

[tapronlimited]

Bathroom Storage Space

The Tapron blog post offers innovative bathroom storage solutions to maximize space and minimize clutter, focusing on mirror cabinets, LED demister, and shaver socket cabinets, along with wall-mounted options. These strategies are aimed at enhancing the bathroom's functionality and aesthetic appeal by smartly utilizing available space and incorporating modern technology. For detailed storage tips and product recommendations, you can read the full article here.

[factcheckingthefords]

Contemporary Bathroom An illustration of a compact, modern corner shower with 3/4-inch brown and porcelain tiles, flat-panel cabinets, a one-piece toilet, brown walls, a vessel sink, quartz countertops, and beige cabinets.

[reidmania]

weight of the world | spencer reid

summary; reader struggles to accept not being where or who you thought you’d be, and spencer loves every version of you, even the one yet to exist.

warnings; established relationship, early seasons spence, (s2-4) self doubt, fem reader, struggles with not reaching expectations, insecurities, self reflection, hurt x comfort, comparing achievements, comparing to SPENCERS achievements, self deprecation, uni student reader, stressed reader, reader cleans as a distraction, she is a lil mean for a moment but shes stressed and spencer loves her.

an; be kind to yourself. its okay not to be who you thought you would be.

this is not at all proof read in any way shape or form and it will not be. i am just a girl. let me live w my bad grammar and spelling mistakes. imma guess 2k words but idk man

You had made yourself a home on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, your focus had been drawn away from the cabinets you had been wiping down, instead to the numerous other thoughts that took up an abundance of empty space in your mind.

The microfibre cloth you had been using laid still in the palm of your hand, the antiseptic spray bottle discarded next to you — long forgotten about, you didn’t notice the fact that the last time you had sprayed the cabinet door was now nearing ten minutes ago, and was left dripping down the frame — un-wiped. Leaving small puddles on the floor near where your knees laid.

Maybe it was guilt that had distracted you and led you to zoning out, guilt that you had decided to take a break from the essay due at midnight to clean. Such a mundane task yet it filled you with such guilt. Why were you sitting here cleaning bathroom cabinets that didn’t need to be cleaned rather than finishing the essay?

After sitting in the same position, legs crossed on the bed staring at the computer screen for hours that had begin to accumulate too fast, your mind needed a break, your legs needed to move and your hands were cramping. So you chose to clean. You ignored the fact that it was most likely because of your need to feel like you were doing something of worth.

Yet, you were instead sitting on your knees on the bathroom floor, mind somewhere else between the cleaning and the laptop sitting open on your bed with the half written essay still illuminating in the dark space you had hidden yourself in beforehand. Your mind was instead filled with questions, questions you desperately tried to find any sort of answer too — expect the more you thought the further from an answer you got.

In your state, you missed the sound of the front door opening and closing, you missed the sound of your lovely boyfriend calling out that he was home, and you missed the footsteps heading towards the bathroom. It wasn’t until he turned the light on and off that your attention was pulled away from your mind and to the man leaning against the door frame, eyebrow raised, a knowing questioning look of concern covering his features.

You blinked, you weren’t sure when you had last done that. Your eyes went to him, and then to the cabinet, then back to him. Oh.

“Are you okay?” He asked, he took the steps towards you, kneeling down against the floor to meet your height. Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to figure out an answer to his question, but you nodded anyways.

“I got distracted” You mumbled, turning your gaze back to the door that had the liquid dripping down it, now basically dry and left with wet stained, you cursed in your mind as you absentmindedly reached out for the bottle, respraying the cabinet and wiping it down. You let out a heavy breath you weren’t aware you were holding in. “How was work?” You asked Spencer.

Spencer hummed, acknowledging your question. He shuffled slightly — obviously uncomfortable in the kneeling position he was in against the hard tiled floor. “Fine, normal. How are you going on that essay?” He asked, his hand came gently to your back to rub gentle circles over the fabric of your t-shirt.

Your mind blanked at his question, the realisation and remembrance of the essay you were supposed to have finished. You wanted to cry as the feeling of pure overwhelming stress filled every bone in your body. Your hand paused its movements against the door, head turning to face him as shame washed over your cheeks. “I haven’t finished it.”

He shrugged, “Thats okay, You still have a few hours. Do you want help?” He offered so sweetly and you were sure you could cry.

Your head shook, “No- I just- Im procrastinating.” You huffed, looking back at the cabinet as you finished wiping it down. You could feel the headache growing again at just the idea of having to return to the essay that had been kicking your ass for days.

He stood up, offering you his hand to help pull you up. “You’re taking a break. You’re allowed to do that.” He reassured, yet it didn’t do a lot to ease your mind as you took his hand, letting him help pull you to stand. You let out a humourless chuckle.

“Sure, and then I become more of a failure.”

You shouldn’t have said it, you could already hear his response without him having to say it. It was one of those things where the thoughts of your mind took over the weight of your tongue, slipping out without any real thought of the response they would get from Spencer, nor the concern.

“You aren’t a failure. Struggling to write an essay doesn’t make you a failure. We talked about this.” He mumbled out, shaking his head dismissively. Spencer hated when you drowned yourself to the point of pure self depreciation normally streaming from the stress you endured.

You hummed, not responding further than that because you really didn’t want to talk about this again, knowing the last time ended with Spencer making you stand in the mirror and say positive affirmations. You walked out of the bathroom, leaving the spray and cloth on the counter as you made your way back to the bedroom, Spencer followed and flicked the light on as he entered behind you.

You sat on the bed, pulling the laptop back on your lap as you read over the last line of what you had written, mind blanking in response to what next add. Your headache growing. Spencer frowned as he pulled his tie off. “Im serious, struggling to write an essay doesn’t make you a failure. You aren’t a failure. You can ask for an extension, you are a good student — They’d give you it” He said.

You shook your head, eyes staying focused on the screen and less to his words, or the fact he was changing which normally would have all your attention. “I don’t want to ask for an extension.” You stated. That was embarrassing, you wanted to be able to do it like everybody else, on time, without any help.

Spencer had changed into pyjamas, coming to sit next to you on the bed, his hand reached out for the laptop. “I know you don’t want to, but you can.” He mumbled, your hand stopping his from closing the screen. You knew he didn’t want to stress yourself out about this, and you couldn’t help but want to tell him its too late.

“Stop. I need to finish this” You mumbled, disregarding his previous comment, your mind both focused and in a million different places all at once.

He sighed, hand letting go and instead reaching out to hold onto one of yours. If he hadn’t talked before you could argue that you needed your hand to type, you would have pulled it away from his grasp. Not because you didn’t want to hold his hand, but because you needed to get this done. “You are not a failure, sweet girl. Its one essay”

“It’s not about the essay.” It wasn’t, sure the essay played apart in your current spiral of self deprecation but it was more than that. It was your entire life. It was where you were, or more-so where you weren’t. You pulled your hands away from the screen to rub your eyes, still not meeting Spencers gaze.

His frown deepened as his hand moved to rest against your back, “Whats it about then? Stop thinking about this.. Talk to me” He mumbled as he took advantage of your current distraction and the fact that your hands were busy to pull the laptop away from your lap, leaving it open but towards the edge of the bed.

You would’ve paid more attention to the movement if your mind wasn’t drawn in a different direction by his question. How were you suppose to explain to a 25 year old, genius FBI profiler who flew through high school and college, with three phd’s that you were simply just sick of trying and failing to reach the expectations you had set for yourself? Simple basic expectations.

“Everything- I really don’t want to talk about this with you” You didn’t mean for it to come across so rude and personal, you truly didn’t. You knew it was rude to invalidate his struggles all because he was smart, it wasn’t your intention to do so, but how were you suppose to tell your genius boyfriend that you simply didn’t like the person you were becoming, or the place you were currently in life.

He frowned, like really genuinely frowned and regret flooded into your chest, you opened your mouth to apologise but he spoke first, “You don’t have to, but Im not going to judge you, no matter what it is thats bothering you.” his hand slipping under your shirt to press against your bare skin in smoothing motion.

“Spence” You frowned as you tilted your head looking at him.

He shook his head, “Don’t apologise. You’re allowed to not want to tell me things, that doesn’t mean I don’t want to know or don’t care.” He said gently.

You could cry as your head spun. “Its just— This isn’t where I thought I’d be right now.” You mumbled out, you weren’t sure if it was loud enough for Spencer to hear or completely comprehend but you assumed so, since his movements paused on your back for a second.

Then he nodded, “I can understand that. Where did you think you’d be?” He asked.

You mulled over his question for a moment because there wasn’t a specific straight answer, it was more so that you just expected more out of yourself, you just expected better. “I don’t know.. I just feel like— For example you are nearly 26 and you are a genius, you work in the FBI, and I’m sitting here struggling to write an essay.” You compared.

He sighed, shaking his head again. “Thats an unfair comparison, thats an unrealistic standard to set for yourself. You are smart, you are so smart and so amazing and you are doing the best that you possibly can.” He said, looking up at you as he spoke so gently. You wanted to drown yourself in the sound of his voice.

You huffed, knowing he was right, because Spencer was a genius, he just was. His brain was extraordinary. “I know.. I mean— I know, but its more then that, like people doing the same essay would have already had it done and handed in, they wouldn’t be sitting here being grumpy with their boyfriends all because they are disappointed in themselves”

He shrugged, “Our brains work in funny ways. When you are stressed or even overwhelmed your brain triggers the first response it can think of because it is struggling to take anything more. It’s not your fault, it’s normal to take your emotions out on your surroundings.” He said, speaking so factually it didn’t exactly help your struggle with compassion but there was some comfort to be found in the midst of his ramble.

“You don’t deserve it though.” You mumbled out.

He nodded, “Neither do you. You’re being too hard on yourself. It’s okay to have high expectations but it’s not okay to beat yourself up for not constantly meeting those expectations, especially when you tend to create unrealistic expectations.”

You frowned at his words, despite them hitting an emotional nerve they were sweet enough to sooth the space of your mind a little more. You really wished it was that simple to quiet your mind. “It’s- Yeah. I know you’re right.. But even just me as a person.. I’m just not who I thought I’d be.. I feel like im constantly picking apart everything I’ve ever done trying to figure out if maybe I did one thing differently.. I’d be.. different— Maybe if I picked a different course I wouldn’t be struggling so much” You thought aloud.

He let out a soft breath, his hand continuing its gentle movements on your back, his head coming to press his lips against your forehead before pulling back a little bit. “Is this course what you want to be doing?” He asked, voice gentle and soft.

You nodded. It was.

“Then it’s worth it, and it will be worth it. Theres so many ways we can work out if you’re finding it too difficult right now, that doesn’t make you a failure or any less good of a student nor a person than it does anyone else. You would never be this mean to somebody going through the same issue, give yourself a break” He spoke softly.

You pondered his words, head dropping down slightly too look at your hands, he hardly allowed you a chance to think before he was speaking again, his head tilting a little as his free hand came to tuck under your chin, encouraging your face back up so your gaze was focused on his.

“And, you can’t beat yourself up for things that happened in the past, yes maybe if you did something differently then you’d be different. So would I, and anybody else, thats not a bad thing, but focusing on all those things on the past doesn’t change that they happened. You can’t hate what you have been through or you will never ever like yourself. You have your entire life to become whoever you want, just focus on being who you need to be, right now.” He spoke, gaze holding yours.

You didn’t say anything, instead just keeping your focus on him and everything he was saying. Letting the sweet comfort of his words quiet the loud voices in your head.

“I love you, and I love who you were before, i love who you are now, and I love whoever you end up becoming.” He said gently, a whisper held in the air between the two of you.

You offered him a soft smile, “I love you” You replied, deciding against adding the ‘too’ because it felt unnecessary, another unnecessary comparison that you would drown yourself in. You loved him, and he loved you. That was enough.

“Let me help you?” He asked, basically pleading.

and this time you agreed.

[tacticoal]

「scowls to smiles」 : ̗̀➛ you drive them crazier in love...

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ sfw, gn reader (mentions of makeup [kyle]), unedited, mdni !!

john price

"you're definitely the only person i would do this for..."

john grumbles, his arms crossed and his body slumped in the seat. you roll your eyes at him, snatching the remote next to him from behind the couch to change the television channel. the boisterous cheers get cut off, switching from your boyfriend's weekly football channel to the horror documentaries you oh-so love. you walk around to slide next to john, leaning into the arm he reaches out to you. it wraps around you out of instinct, pulling you in closer.

"you promised me we could watch tonight's episode," you remind him, pressing a kiss to his cheek, "besides, you know kyle's recording it for you tomorrow.."

a deep sigh (closer to a groan, really) escapes his lips, knowing garrick and the other two are out together watching the game at their local pub. still, he settles in, pressing a kiss to your temple, trying to ignore the spam of texts he's getting from the others about who scored what.

simon riley

the bedframe creaks aggressively at the way you're shaking simon's burly body, echoing throughout your shared loft. he's usually so good at waking up without a second thought back at base -- his body sensing the slightest movement meters away. but now? now his body's facing away from you, snoring loudly, almost as if he's mocking you.

oh, bring it on.

you are so going to get noise complaints for the wrong ideas, but you don't care at the moment. you're wide awake, and he's not.

it's so pretty outside, you nearly fell out of bed once you saw the slightest bit of golden light peeking into the room, glowing on the walls. looking past the curtains, the sky is painted in soft lavenders and ceruleans -- the sun just barely peeping out from behind the layers of old buildings.

"simon- wake up!! the sunrise is so pretty today, and the whole city's all pretty and there's no people out and its nice 'n cool so we can go out and get coffee and tea and breakfast-!!"

you yelp as he rolls over, nearly knocking you back. he's now laying on his back, eyes still shut, hair poking out and around in tufts, one big hand lazily grasping onto yours.

"y'know what else is pretty, love? sleep."

he tugs you slightly towards him, you legs knocking into the mattress. you let out a loud huff.

"no way, si'. i want a cute morning date with you, and if you're not up in the next 5 seconds i'm so going by mysel-"

a loud groan interrupts you, the bear of a man beneath you slowly rising to sit, rubbing at his eyes before sending a teasing glare your way.

"go grab my hoodie."

kyle garrick

kyle wakes up with a groan, stretching his stiff limbs out from the couch. the sun was still beaming through the cracks of the shades, illuminating the living room. he remembers falling asleep while waiting for you to finish your digital meeting in the other room, your muffled voice luring him into sleep. swinging his legs over the cushion to stand, he lets out a satisfied hum as his knees pop, before heading to the bathroom.

just before he could make it to the toilet, his head snaps back to the mirror. your giggles echo from behind kyle, as he tiredly rubs a hand down his face.

his perfectly contoured, flushed, powder-set face.

"really, love?"

"i dunno, kyle, this is a reallllly good look on you..."

you peek over his shoulder, a wide grin stretching your face. his eyes (outlined and enamored in glittery eyeshadow, keep in mind) glared at you through the mirror, letting out a deep sigh as you walk past him to take out the hidden cosmetics from the cabinet, showing them off to him. you rambled about how hard to was to find his exact shade so you bought 5 different foundations just in case (with his money...), that he kept twitching his eyes and messing up the eyeliner, how he almost woke up because the tutorial video blasted an ad midway through-

"you're so annoying, good god... i love you so much, c'mere-"

he was quick to turn around and cup your face with both hands, cutting off your squeals with a sticky kiss. one on the mouth, then the apples of your cheeks, then your chin, until your entire face was covered in cherry red silhouettes of his lips.

you wore his marks with beaming pride for the rest of the day.

john mactavish

johnny comes out of the kitchen with his eyebrows knit together and a frown creasing his lips. he swore up and down he saw it in the cabinets last, maybe it was in his bag? the bedroom? hell, he even checked the pockets of his jeans sitting in the laundry.

he rounds the corner of the hallway to where you were. you probably knew best, always the one to reorganize the shelves and put away the groceries. he grins as he sees you, lazing on the couch, watching the television,

"birdie, where's mah-"

and apparently snacking on the chocolate bar he's been searching for.

"...chocolate."

you two stare at each other, the voiceover from the luminous screen taking up the silence. johnny watches you chew very slowly, as if he wouldn't notice so long as you did it carefully enough. you look so cute like this, he thinks, looking up at him so innocently, seeming so happy with your treat. a perfectly disguised criminal he would've dismissed without a second thought. with an agonizingly slow swallow, you cleared your throat before speaking up,

"sorry, babe.."

oh, how could he ever be mad at you?

he lets out an amused huff, pushing himself off the wall to walk over to you. expecting some sort of punishment, you squeeze your eyes shut.

instead, you feel a firm kiss press on your chocolate-stained lips. with a surprised gasp, you invite him in to prod his tongue past your teeth. and after an awfully messy few seconds, he peels back, a satisfied smirk on his lips. another peck is delivered to your lips, before he settles into the couch beside you.

you may be a wanted criminal, but he's already had his heart stolen by you. and he's too damn smitten to turn you in.

@ tacticoal do not repost !!

[ukbathroomshoponline]

Here at bathroom shop UK, we stock the full range of HiB Illuminated and Non Illuminated Mirrors, Illuminated and Non Illuminated Mirror Cabinets, lights, and more. Choose from Square, round, oval, large mirrors or small, there really is a mirror to suit every bathroom.

[mirage-aera]

•°. *࿐ My wife

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : Intro (Infected) - Sickick

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

Synopsis: Simon’s wife gets taken hostage by enemies. They use you for ransom. Simon is not impressed. He’s willing to cooperate as long as they leave you unharmed. But they don’t, and Simon is out for blood.

Word count: 2.869

Masterlist

Down on my knees for protective Simon… anyway

Simon enjoys the moments when he can return to your open, welcoming arms. Where he can turn the Ghost part of him off and be Simon Riley. The person that you deserve. Every time he comes home he makes sure that Ghost is in the back of his mind. He doesn’t want to bring that part of him back home to you. A calculated, ruthless, and cold killer. He refuses to show you that part of him as much as possible. No, he only shows you the softer side of him. The side that’s capable of treating you right, the way that you deserve. He’s driving home from base. He touched down a couple of hours ago and sat through a long boring debriefing. He couldn’t help but be unattentive during the debriefing. All he had in his mind was you, his perfect little wife who was waiting for her husband to come home. He has one hand on the steering wheel and the other is leaning out of the window. His sleeves rolled up, exposing his tattoo sleeve to other drivers who care to look. He taps the wheel on the beat of the music playing quietly in the background. He’s driving over the speed limit but he can’t be bothered. The sooner he gets home to you, the better.

Soon he pulls up into your driveway. He notices that the lights are off both inside and outside the house. He arches an eyebrow. Usually, you’d leave the light outside on. In case he comes home when you’re already asleep. It’s your way of welcoming him home when you can’t do it in person. He thinks nothing of it. Maybe you have forgotten it this time. You’re human after all. He marches his way up the front porch and pulls out his key to open the front door. He immediately notices something is wrong. The front door is slightly ajar. Barely noticeable. He pulls out his combat knife from his vest and holds it up as he opens the door slowly. He stalks his way inside. He stays alert with his eyes peeled. The moonlight illuminates the house just enough that he can traverse his way through the house. But dark enough that he can stay in the shadows, like a ghost. He walks by the living room. Coming to an abrupt stop when he notices a bloody handprint on the doorframe. His heart sinks. He knows it’s yours. He can clearly tell that it’s yours, he doesn’t even need to take a closer look. He checks everywhere for you. The bedroom, the bathroom, the kitchen, but no sign of you. He grows more restless. He looks for any clues of where you could’ve gone.

He clears the house and sighs in frustration. He takes off his mask and puts it down on the dinner table. He ruffles his hair and runs a hand down his face. He walks towards the kitchen to grab a drink so that he can clear his head. While he walks to the cabinet to grab a glass he notices a note on the kitchen counter. His attention switches to the note and he roughly grabs it off the counter. His heart sinks even further as he reads the note. He tightens his grip on the counter while he reads. They want a ransom out of you. He can feel his anger grow. They’re asking for a hefty sum but he can’t seem to care. He doesn’t care about the money. He cares about the fact that someone took his wife right under his nose. Someone laid their hands on you. His eyes harden. He will make them pay.

He wastes no time. Within an hour he withdraws the money and shoves it into a duffel bag. He slings it over his shoulder and walks over to his car with big strides. He throws it onto the passenger seat and slams the door shut. He walks around to the driver's seat and gets in. He puts the key into the ignition and starts the engine. The car roars to life and not a minute later he speeds off back to the base. He’s not stupid. He won’t go there defenseless. If shit goes down he needs to be able to keep you safe. If it takes a couple of bullets in between several pairs of eyes then so be it. He doesn’t care. They fuck with his family, they’ll feel his wrath. He steps onto the gas. When he gets stuck at red lights he’ll tap the steering wheel impatiently, occasionally slapping it in frustration.

When he arrives at the base. He hastily steps out of the car and marches his way through the base. Not giving two shits about the noise he’s making at midnight. He walks by Price’s office and sticks his head out at the commotion going on outside his office door. “Ghost?” He asks in confusion. Simon doesn’t look at him but stops briefly, acknowledging him. “Where are you going?” Simon breathes heavily. He does not need to be interrogated right now. Not when you need him. “They took my wife.” He spits out in anger. He storms off to the gear room. Price in pursuit. “What do you mean they took your wife?” Simon ignores him. He doesn’t have time for this clownery. If anything, he walks faster. Wanting to get back to you as soon as possible. He swings open the door violently. He walks over to his gear and gets ready. He splays out his weapons on the table. He angrily puts his vest on. He reaches for his mask before he growls. He forgot his mask at home, it’s still on the dinner table. He grabs the spare one from his locker and slips it on.

Simon Riley is no more, he’s been replaced by Ghost. Price puts a hand on his shoulder. “Ghost, talk to me.” He says with an authoritative tone. Ghost turns to face him. He has a deadly look in his eyes. One that seeks bloodshed. “They took my wife for ransom.” He explains calmly. Price arches an eyebrow. “What do they want?” He asks. Ghost averts his gaze back to his gear on the table. He blurts out the amount of money they asked, as if it isn’t a big deal to him. Price is astounded. That’s a hefty sum for one man to pay off. Ghost tucks a few hidden knives in his vest and his boot. Holstering his pistol on his leg and concealing it. Price looks at him sternly. “You don’t have the authority to carry this out.” He warns him. Ghost turns to him and glowers at him behind the mask. “Respectively, Captain. I do not give a damn. I’ll do it off the books.” Price narrows his eyes at him. “Simon, think this through.” Ghost scoffs, “Simon won’t save her. Ghost will.” He says coldly. Price sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. He closes his eyes. “The money.” He points out. Ghost growls. “I have it.” Price looks at him shocked. “It’s a lot-“ he begins before getting interrupted. “John. Quite frankly. I am not emotional about the money.” He gets closer to Price and glares at him. “But I am emotional about the fact that someone laid their hands on my wife.” He feels the anger coursing through his veins. He slams his palm down on the table. “MY WIFE!” Price doesn’t flinch in response. He expects this kind of outburst from Ghost. He is a man who holds a lot of patience. But that same patience will fly out of the window once his loved ones are involved. Ghost breathes heavily through strained breaths. “I want a pound of flesh.” He mutters coldly. Price nods. He steps away from Ghost. He looks at him sternly. “Off the books.” He gives him a pointed look. Ghost nods and leaves the room quickly. He has wasted enough time already.

He rushes towards his car. He gets in once again and glances at the duffel bag. He doesn’t care. He just hopes they won’t renege on their promise. In exchange for the money, they’ll let you go. He starts the car and speeds off to the warehouse they’re keeping you. His mind races while he drives. The bloody handprint on the doorframe. They hurt you. You bled. Your battered and bruised figure is going through his mind. He growls in anger. He slams his fist onto the steering wheel. “Damn it.” He scowls. The first mistake was coming after you. They’ve laid their hands on his wife. That’s the second mistake. He can only hope that you’re mostly unharmed. For their sake. If not? All hell will break loose.

When he reaches the warehouse he puts the car into park sloppily and grabs the duffel bag. He steps out of the car and slings the bag over his shoulder. He checks his gear once more, checking whether his pistol and knives are still concealed. Once he’s satisfied he stalks his way inside. He pushes the door open. Immediately all guns are pointed at him. He throws one hand up lazily, showing them he won’t harm them. At least, not yet. He slowly shrugs off the duffel bag and puts it down on the floor. He straightens up again and throws both hands up. He analyses all of them. It would be unfortunate if he had to fight through them to get you. There’s quite a lot of them. He lets out a deep breath.

“You have the money. Let her go.” He speaks up warily. He doesn’t trust them with those guns. Especially when they’re all standing very close to you. The burliest man scoffs. He turns to a scrawny-looking guy. He waves the pistol towards the bag. “Check it.” He looks at Ghost and narrows his eyes at him. “Every pound better be in there,” he points the gun at you. “Or I shoot a hole through her for every missing pound.” You whimper in fear when he points the gun at you. He can see out of the corner of his eye that the scrawny guy is counting the money. He keeps his eyes trained on you and the man pointing the gun at you. He glares at him. “Point that gun away from her.” The man smirks. “I don’t think you’re in the position to negotiate here.” He turns to you and trails the gun down your neck. “She won’t get hurt if you have the money.” He says coldly to Ghost. Ghost grits his teeth. “The money is there, I assure you. Point the gun away from my wife.” He snarls out. The man rolls his eyes but lowers his gun from you. Ghost’s posture relaxes slightly. He keeps his eyes on you. He’s trying to reassure you that everything will be fine with his eyes. The guy finishes counting the money and turns towards the man. “Everything is accounted for.” This pleases the man. He pulls out a pocket knife. Holding it in between his index finger and thumb and raising his hand. Showing Ghost he won’t hurt you. He cuts your binds and lifts you by your arm. He throws you in the direction of Ghost. “Now scram.” He orders Ghost. He didn’t need to be told twice. He wants to get you out of here as soon as possible.

While you stumble toward Simon he catches you. He checks you over quickly. He notices various cuts in your arms and legs. Bruises littering your body. He can only imagine what else they’ve done to you that is covered up by your clothes. He stands up wordlessly. He would princess carry you. But he wants to make sure he has at least a hand available to pull out his pistol in case they try anything while he takes you out of here. Instead, he whispers to you to wrap an arm around him and lean on him. Let him carry your weight. You do just that. He quickly gets you out of the warehouse and ushers you into the car. He opens the door to the passenger seat and gently sets you down. When he’s sure that you’ll be alright in the car. He pats your leg comfortingly. “I’ll be right back, lovie.” He says softly. As if he’s talking to a wounded animal. You look at him with worry. You reach a hand out to his gloved one. He laces his fingers with yours. “Where are you going?” You ask quietly. Not wanting for him to leave you. He shushes you, “I’ll be right back. I need to take care of something.” He says vaguely. You know exactly what he means, but you let his hand go. Knowing he won’t be content until he knows that those men have been taken care of. “Be careful.” You tell him. He nods. He rolls up his mask so his mouth is revealed. He plants a kiss on your forehead. “You know I am, princess.” He leans away from you and rolls his mask back down.

He leaves you behind and walks back to the warehouse. He saw the power box at the side of the building before he entered the building. He makes his way to it and cuts the power. The lights immediately get shut off. He sticks to the shadows as the moonlight illuminates his path. When he gets inside, chaos ensues. Multiple shouts could be heard. All centered around one man, Ghost.

“Where is skull face?!”

“Find him!”

“Someone turn the power back on!”

“Spread out!”

He smirks. Big mistake. It makes his job so much easier. He makes quick work of them. Emerging from the shadows. Killing them quickly before stepping back into the cover of darkness. He deals with everyone, except for one man. The one that pointed the gun at you. The man growls, realizing that all of his lackeys got taken out when they stopped answering him. Ghost stalks him. “Goddamnit! Where is that son of a bitch?!” The man yells out in frustration. Ghost points his pistol at the man’s leg and shoots. Pain crashes over the man. He clutches his leg in pain and crumbles to the floor. He looks around in a panic. Ghost has concealed himself again in the shadows. “I’m right here.” He says menacingly. The man hears him and whips his head in his direction and points the gun at him. He was about to shoot before he realized. There’s nothing there. Ghost shoots his arm. Making him drop his gun. The man cries out in agony. Ghost emerges from the shadows once more. Revealing himself to the man. The man scrambles with his other arm for the gun. Ghost steps on his hand and kicks the gun away from him. Ghost leans down towards his face. The moonlight framed his mask. Showing the true terrifying notion of wrath. He glares down at him. “It’s one thing to take my wife. It’s another to use her for ransom. I couldn’t give a damn about the money. But it was a mistake to lay your filthy fucking hands on her.” He snarls at the man. He whimpers in fear. Ghost is livid, rightfully so. Ghost narrows his eyes. “Not talking? That’s alright, I’ll make you beg for your life.” He stands up to his full height. Crushing the man’s hand in the process. He drags the man by the collar and drags him to an isolated room in the warehouse. No one will come to his rescue. No one will know what transpired here. After all, it’s off the books. The man’s screams echo through the warehouse before it eventually dies down. Blood splatters onto Ghost’s mask.

***

A couple of minutes later you see Simon walking towards you. With his mask in his hand, he looks a lot calmer now. He pulls his gloves off his hands and holds them with the other hand. He throws them in the back of the car and gets into the driver’s seat. He sits down and lets out a deep exhale. He starts the car and turns to you. He abruptly pulls you into his embrace. He breathes your scent in. He clutches you tighter. “Bloody hell, lovie. You scared me.” He says softly. He pauses before continuing. “When I came home and saw you weren’t there. My heart sank.” You wrap your arms around his torso, trying to show him you’re alright. If not, only a little shaken up. “You came for me.” You say in a small voice. He pulls away from you. He looks you in your eyes and caresses your cheek. “I’ll always come for you. Never doubt that.” You nod. After today, you definitely won’t doubt it ever again. He gives you a small smile and sets the car into gear. “Let’s go home, get you all fixed up yeah?” You smile slightly. “That sounds perfect.” You say softly. He nods and drives off. You have some cleaning up to do but that’s alright. He has you back now and can drop the mask. He can be Simon Riley again.

[mattsslvtt]

Tea.

Warnings; none that I can think of (let me know if there is something)

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

"God fucking dammit!!" Chris shouts for the fourth time in the last hour, he slams his headset down and spins around in his chair to face you "you ok baby?" You ask quietly, getting up from the bed and wlaking over to him.

"I keep fucking dying" he mumbles angrily, tossing his head back for a second and taking a deep breath "it's ok" you whisper, standing in front of him, you take his face in your hands and gently bring your lips to his forehead.

He sighs quietly, looking up at you "i love you.. s'much'" he breathed, putting his hand on top of yours and rubbing his thumb against your knuckles "you want some tea or something? To calm you down" you suggest.

"Mhm, yes please, thank you" he answered, taking your hand off his face and pressing a light kiss to your palm "Ok baby, ill be back" you walk out of his room and down the hall to the kitchen.

You grab the tea kettle and fill it with water, after, you place it on the stove and set the temperature, while waiting for the water to boil you grab a tea bag from the cabinet along with a mug, you rip open the tea bag and put it in the cup.

You feel two hands grab your waist and you gasp quietly "its just me ma" Chris whispers in your ear, his chin resting on your shoulder lazily "you scared me" you whisper back, putting your hands on top of his.

"Are you off the stream?" You ask softly, leaning back against him a little "no, I told them I was going to the bathroom" he exhales quietly, wrapping his arms farther around your waist "oh alright" you mutter to him.

The tea kettle beeps loudly, signifying it's done, you grab it off the stove and set it on the counter next to the mug "go back to your stream love, ill bring you your tea when it's done" you murmured turning around and kissing his forehead "Ok ma, thank you" Chris thanked quietly, tucking some of your hair behind your ear before turning and walking back too his room.

You turn back around and grab the kettle, pouring the hot water into the mug and grabing spoon from the silverware drawer, you place the spoon on top of the tea bag to hold it under the water, you stand there watching the cup as the water slowly turns brown.

You stride over to the other side of the kitchen and grab a small bottle of honey off the counter, you walk back over to the cup of tea and take the spoon out, you pour some of the honey into the spoon slowly and put it back into the cup, watching the brown liquid turn more of a golden color.

You space out for a few minutes staring at the cup of tea, the liquid slowly getting darker with every passing minute, the ac turning on snaps you out of your thoughts your eyes wander around the counter for a second before you grab the spoon from the cup, you stir the tea for a few seconds before bringing the spoon over to the sink, after you grab the tea bag and throw it in the trash, you walk over to the fridge and grab the creamer chris uses for his coffee, you pour a little into the tea and put it back in the fridge.

You pick up the cup and start walking down the hall to Chris's room, you slowly open the door and your eyes meet his beautiful face, illuminated by the light from his computer screen, you smile gently and place the tea on his desk, his gaze drifts up and meets yours "thank you Baby" he mouths, putting his hand on top of yours for a second before finding it's way to the handle of the cup and moving the mug to his mouth, he takes a sip and places it back down, he looks at you again and nods, he mutes his mic and grabs your hand "thank you beautiful, I love you so much" he mumbles.

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

[amsznn]

FOOLISH - c. sturniolo

part 2 — part 1 here part 3 here

warnings: slight cursing, toxic relationship

-

chris 🚫

hey

your phone illuminated with a text sent by the one person part of you unfortunately still loved and part of you actually despised.

you didn’t bother to answer, even though you really wanted to. you couldn’t be pulled back into the same cycle once again. it’s happened one too many times so you knew his scheme all too well.

this was the thing with chris. you’d catch him cheating, you put on a strong act for a while, then he texts, and you get roped in once again. he knew you too well. he knew how to get you back. but maybe not this time.

you laid flat on your stomach, attempting to get some sleep, before you heard a knock on your door. you groaned while laying there for a moment, hoping whoever it was would go away.

the knocks only got louder and more obnoxious. you swung your legs off the side of your bed and made your way to the front door. you unlocked it to reveal your other best friend.

nick.

“what are you doing here?”

“well hello to you too.” nick said while making his way inside. you watched as he kicked his shoes off, then your eyes traveled to the huge duffel bag he was carrying. slightly amused you crossed your arms against your chest.

“nick what are you doing here?”

nick huffed before dropping his duffel bag on the floor. “my two brothers are being fucking idiots as always,” he started before making his way to the kitchen, you followed to hear the rest of his rant. “so me, being the smart person that i am, thought ‘why not just have a sleepover with my best friend?’”

he opened one of your cabinets and pulled out a bag of chips. “hence, why ive graced you with my presence.” you could only laugh at nick, knowing full and well his brothers had to be really pissing him off for him to uber all the way here.

“better for me, i couldn’t sleep anyways.” you said while making your way towards him, to also stuff your face with sole chips.

“great, ‘cus i wanna watch a dance moms marathon.”

-

you and nick spent the whole night watching shows, making tiktoks, and eating a lot of snacks. in the end you both ended up crashing on your bed, completely exhausted.

now the sun was shining through your curtains. causing you to awake from your slumber. nick on the other hand was still knocked out so you decided not to disturb him.

you were busy doing your skin care when you heard what sounded like nick waking up from his sleep.

“y/n, i think im gonna make matt pick me up,” nick paused for a moment before yelling again. “we have a video to film.”

“okay, ill be out in a sec!” you yelled back. quickly washing your cleanser off. you made your way out of your bathroom and went to the kitchen where you found nick.

“want me to make breakfast?” you asked while looking through your fridge, looking for something to make.

“sure, but im gonna go shower.” nick rose from his seat on the kitchen island then treaded towards the bathroom.

you decided on just making acai bowls for the both of you. while chopping up some bananas you heard a knock on the door, you figured it was matt so you wiped your hands and made your way to the entrance.

cracking the door open slightly you could see matt’s figure. “hey, matt.” you smiled upon seeing your other friend. “hey y/n, is nick ready?”

you shook your head as you could hear the shower still running. “nope, he’s still in the shower.” matt sighed while checking his phone for the time.

“why don’t you come in though , i could make you breakfast too.” matt smiled at your offer and walked inside.

suddenly your eyes landed on another figure you did not know was standing there the whole time.

‘you have got to be kidding me.’ you thought. there stood chris, hands fidgeting with his phone. he was the first to speak up.

“hey, what’s up?”

you scoffed, he always did this. pretending like nothing ever happened. “are you fucking kidding me, chris?” you whisper-shouted so matt wouldn’t hear your dispute. you weren’t sure if they knew what was going on, heck you didn’t know if chris even told them you used to date. probably not since chris wanted to keep your situation ‘private.’

chris sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “lets not do this here, y/n”

“do what here?” you and chris’s attention shifted to nick who was standing in front of you two, wondering what all the whispering was about.

“nothing, are you coming in?” you quickly shifted the topic and your attention back to chris, inviting him inside. chris nodded and stepped inside.

the three of you made your way to matt who seated at the kitchen island, eating one of the acai bowls you made. you didn’t mind though, since your appetite was basically gone.

you sat on the opposite end of nick, leaving chris to sit beside matt. you caught up with 2/3 of the boys. chris was in his own world, but his eyes lingered on you whenever you spoke, which made it somewhat difficult for you to remember your train of thought as your eyes met his.

once the boys were finished, nick grabbed his duffle bag and gave you a hug as goodbye. “i’ll see you this weekend?” he asked while making sure to thank you as well. you nodded and waved goodbye to both him and matt.

“i’ll be out in a sec.” chris called out to his brothers, to which they both nodded. this only made you roll your eyes in irritation, seeing as he wasnt letting up.

chris moved forward to where you were standing, wrapping his arms around your waist. you stood there frozen, knowing if you reciprocated his action, you’d be back to being wrapped around his finger.

chris frowned at this and moved back to meet his eyes with yours. “are you really gonna stay mad at me, baby?” his voice just above a whisper as his hand caressed your face.

“i saw you chris. i saw you with that girl, i saw everything.” you said trying to keep your tears at bay, not wanting to crumble in front of him.

chris gently wrapped one arm around you, while bringing one hand to softly push your head down on his shoulder. you couldn’t help it anymore, tears started streaming down your eyes in frustration with both him, and yourself. chris listened to your sniffles and occasionally hiccups as he swayed you side to side.

“m’ sorry, baby.”

“it was a mistake.”

he pressed a kiss on the top of your head, while resting his own there. “i’ll be better for you, okay?” he pushed you back and cupped both sides of your face with his hands.

“i promise.”

you knew this was all bullshit. you knew in a matter of time he would just be with another girl, in another bed. forgetting about you. if you knew all this, then why? why was it hard for you to push him away?

chris smiled as you nodded your head, accepting his apology. he closed the gap between you two, gently planting his lips onto yours, bringing you closer with each movement of his lips.

that was when you knew,

how foolish you were.

-

A/N: sorry guys, i thought i’d be done with this earlier today but i was super busy today. hope you enjoyed this part. part 3 soon, not a set date yet tho!

[drvirgus]

Protecting (my heart)

Idol! Minji X bodyguard! Reader

Description: getting a new job as NewJeans bodyguard isn't really something Y/n thought would happen to her. What exactly happens when she suddenly felt attracted to one of the NewJeans members? Can Y/n stay professional or are her feelings for Minji too much to handle?

Warnings: stalking; harassment; kys jokes; suggestive language; death threats; mention of abuse; mention of murder;

Chapter: She´s in my bed (Fully Written)

Masterlist

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rain was pounding like crazy on the gray asphalt. Lightning flashed in the sky, and thunder roared through the entire neighborhood. My lungs burned, and my legs ached, but I just kept running. My eyes widened as I slipped and slammed my chin against the asphalt. Tears filled my eyes as pain coursed through my entire body. "Watch out!" I heard someone yell behind me.

I glanced briefly at the man in a suit I had apparently knocked to the ground. His brow was furrowed, and his fist was raised. With a quick movement, I managed to stand up and kept running. My breath was fast, and my clothes were soaked from the rain. My hands were clenched into fists as I pushed myself to run even faster.

When I arrived at my apartment complex, I immediately looked around. My mouth was open as I desperately tried to catch my breath. The rain was relentlessly pouring down on me. My eyes narrowed as I noticed a car on the other side of the street, but before I could make out any details, the car's tires squealed as it sped away in a panic.

My hands were on my knees as I bent over slightly. My knees were trembling, and my lungs still burned. I took a deep breath before heading to my front door. My eyes widened when I saw a shivering, wet Minji sitting by my door. She was rubbing her hands together, clearly trying to stay awake.

Her eyes were fixed on my shoes until she slowly lifted her head to look at me. The motion sensor finally turned on, illuminating both Minji and me. Still breathing heavily, I looked at my drunk ex-girlfriend. A smile spread across her face as her eyes closed. "You came," she slurred, letting out a small laugh.

My jaw visibly tightened. No matter how cute Minji looked right now. No matter how much I wanted to just hold her and tell her I loved her. No matter how much my heart raced as I looked at her. Minji had never done anything this crazy... at least not until she met me...

I swallowed hard as I crouched down to be at eye level with her. Minji was still smiling sweetly and innocently. "We should go inside. It doesn't seem like the rain will stop," I sighed, getting only a nod from the younger woman. I sighed again as I immediately opened the door and let Minji in.

Together, we took the elevator to the floor where my apartment was. I kept my eyes away from the drunk woman, who was leaning against the elevator wall. Neither of us said a word. My thoughts were racing, while hers seemed to have stopped...

We quietly entered my apartment. Minji clumsily took off her shoes, nearly falling over if she hadn't caught herself on my shoe cabinet. A sigh escaped my throat as I took her arm and led her to the bathroom. I turned on the warm water in the bathtub. "You should take a bath," I said as I turned to the wet woman.

Minji was visibly swaying from all the alcohol and just nodded absentmindedly. Her hands immediately went to her top as she started to lift it, stumbling backward. I panicked and quickly grabbed her, pulling her to me. Minji's eyes widened, but she soon started laughing. "Oops."

Sighing, I bit my lip. "Can you manage to undress yourself?" I asked more quietly, her laughter echoing through the bathroom. Her laughter softened as she just smiled at me, seemingly not having heard me. Blushing, I repeated myself.

"No."

Nervously, I bit my lip and nodded. "Arms up," I said softly, which Minji immediately did. Gently and somewhat slowly, I pulled her wet top over her head. My hands trembled as I moved to her pants, trying to unbutton them. My face turned red as I tried with all my might not to look at her chest.

My heart was pounding faster in my chest, and my breathing quickened. The air in the bathroom, thick with steam from the hot bathwater, made it even harder for me to breathe and stay calm. I found it increasingly difficult to think clearly.

Minji, now standing in front of me in just her underwear, looked at me. Her eyes were half-open, and her lips were parted. "You can handle the rest on your own," I said, taking a small step back, but her hands grabbed my collar and pulled me back to her.

"You're wet too."

My eyes widened as her lips met mine. Her tongue slipped into my mouth, and I could feel it entwine with mine. My shoulders tensed as she gripped my collar tightly, afraid I might pull away. My shoulders relaxed as she deepened the kiss, tilting her head slightly and stepping closer to me.

Her almost naked body pressed against my wet, probably cold clothes. My hands were on her hips as I pulled her closer, returning the kiss. My eyes closed, and my nose pressed against her cheek as I focused solely on the kiss.

I noticed Minji slowly releasing my collar and placing her hands on my hips, lifting my hoodie. Panicking, my eyes widened, and I broke the kiss.

What the hell am I doing?

My eyes narrowed as I looked at the drunk woman, who just stared at me with her mouth slightly open. "W-What's wrong?" she slurred, trying to put her hand back on my hip. I quickly looked away from her, trying to avoid her.

"Get undressed and warm up," I said before abruptly leaving the bathroom. I quickly closed the door behind me and leaned against it. My lips pressed together as I couldn't believe I had kissed her back.

But I couldn't help it...

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Nervously, I sat on my bed. The door was wide open, allowing me to see straight from my room to the bathroom. I had already changed my clothes. My hands rested on my thighs, rubbing them repeatedly. The bathroom door opened, and I immediately jumped up from my bed.

My eyes widened as a naked Minji stood before me. My mouth opened in shock as I stood speechless before the taller woman. Minji’s eyes were almost fully closed, and her lips parted slightly. “You…” I stammered, then quickly, perhaps a bit too roughly, opened my wardrobe and grabbed some clothes, pressing them against her chest.

My pants felt uncomfortably tight as the sight of her naturally turned me on. My heart pounded wildly in my chest as I desperately tried not to focus on her bare skin. Minji tiredly dragged herself to my bed and collapsed onto it, scattering the clothes on the floor.

“Minji! You… you need to get dressed,” I said loudly, but the drunk woman just mumbled something incomprehensible. My breathing quickened as I picked up the underwear from the floor. Luckily, I had recently bought a box of boxer shorts...

Swallowing, I grabbed one of her ankles and slipped it into one leg of the underwear, then did the same with the other. With my head raised and eyes tightly shut, I pulled the fresh boxers up her legs, which was quite difficult since she wasn’t helping and had already fallen asleep.

Sighing, I grabbed a T-shirt, one I had stolen from Minji a few weeks ago, and gently pulled it over her head. My movements were slow and careful so as not to wake the younger woman. Once she was dressed, I looked at the sleeping woman on my bed.

I automatically bit my lip and shook my head wildly to banish the dirty thoughts from my mind. Huffing, I threw the blanket over the drunk woman and left my room.

My thoughts were racing as I noticed my phone vibrating in my pocket. I quickly fished it out and saw a message from Haerin. I responded immediately so she wouldn’t worry about Minji anymore. The conversation ended quickly, as I could hardly concentrate.

Sighing, I sat down on the couch. My hair was still wet from the rain, which was pounding wildly against the window, enveloping everything around me in a soothing silence. My eyes drifted to my lap, where the bulge in my pants was quite noticeable. My jaw tightened as I quickly looked away.

What exactly should I do now?

Minji was sleeping in my bed… wearing my clothes… drunk...

My beautiful ex-girlfriend, whom I still loved deeply, was sleeping in my bed…

My ex-girlfriend who thought I broke up with her because of the sex...

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @itzzyyyyyyydaaaa @acegaydar @alexxeey @sixflame438

[rebelfell]

yeah, so i'm cranky and pouty and I feel like I just need to be fucked until I cry. cw: rough-ish piv sex 18+, MDNI

Man, oh man, were you in a mood tonight.

Since you walked in the door, it had been nothing but huffy sighs, grunts and groans of annoyance, bitter words being muttered under your breath as you stomped around. You had barely said "hello" when you got home, just jumped right into a whirlwind of frenzied cleaning.

A sure sign of distress if there ever was one.

Eddie finally poked his head out of the office at a particularly loud slam of a cabinet door that came from the en-suite in your bedroom.

"Everything okay in there?" he asked, pretty sure he knew the answer.

"Yes."

You hissed back at him in that overly petulant tone and it made his spine go rigid, prickling with excitement, like when he was was watching some thriller at the multiplex and the killer was about to be revealed. Feeling not unlike he was taking his life in his own hands, he walked in the bathroom just as you were wiping down the mirror.

"You sure about that?" he asked with a wry smile. "Cos it sounds to me like you had a shitty day and you're taking it out on the cabinets."

"Well done, Sherlock," you snapped. "Any other bombs you wanna drop? Explain some more of my feelings to me?"

"Easy," he warned, his voice dropping into that lower register you knew far too well. You blinked back at him with rounding eyes and paused. As always, you felt your body's immediate reaction to that particular tone in the way you instantly began to throb between your legs.

It made you want to drop to your knees right there on the freshly mopped tiles. But maybe even moreso...it made you want to see if you could get him to do it again.

He had you stripped in no time—your cleaning supplies abandoned, your legs spreading wide as he seated you in his lap, determined to fuck this bad mood out of you. Or at the very least, fuck you into admitting you were in a bad mood.

"You ready to talk yet?"

He grunted out the question between the sharp punches of his cock deep inside of you, dragging against your walls with his tip pressing that place he could always, always find; the weak spot that would bring your walls tumbling down if he could only bully it just right…just long enough.

"N-n—no."

The word came out in a desperate pant as you squirmed in his lap, still trying to maintain your impassive mask even as he felt the truth in your trembling fingers as they clung to the sweat-dampened curls at the nape of his neck.

A devious, bordering on evil, smile spread across his lips, illuminating his dark eyes as he wrapped his arms around you tighter.

"You sure?" he asked. "You sure there's nothing you wanna tell me instead of doing all this?"

"No," you repeated. A little sharper, a little more barbed. "Just fuck me like you mean it, already."

"Oh, baby."

Eddie tutted at you, his gaze lighting up with satisfaction as he halted his thrusts. It made you whine all high and pitiful, keening into him as your bouncing on his cock suddenly ceased. Chest still rising and falling with your heaving breaths, you glared back at him meanly.

"You're gonna regret that," he growled.

In a flash, he had hauled you off his lap and flipped you over onto your stomach. You tried to scramble onto your hands and knees only to feel the force of his hands jerking up your hips. Your face fell into the mattress and he held you tight, gripping you so you couldn't do a thing but lay there and take what he gave you.

He leaned far forward, making your back bend almost in half, his hips beginning in a punishing thrust. It wasn't even pleasure he was fucking you for now, he was just wearing you down, pushing you past the point of exhaustion so you’d drop that ugly veneer of detachment.

And when you broke, you really broke.

"I'm s-so overwhelmed," you sobbed, your entire body shuddering from the release of it along with your orgasm. "T-they just keep putting more and more stuff on my plate and I tell them I n-need h-help...but there's no-no one to help me. I juss-st I just have to t-take it..."

Tears sting your eyes, collecting at your lashline until they leak out and trickle down into your ear canals. The sobs are wracking through your body now, rolling out of you after being pushed down and buried and submerged for weeks.

You hated yourself for letting it get to this point, for letting it fill you with so much bitterness until you were taking it out on him—just being mean because you wouldn’t let yourself cry.

“And I—I try so hard not to feel all this that I stop feeling anything. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m—”

“I know that, baby…I know.”

His voice and his hand on the back of your neck, kneading the muscles there in a gentle massage, brings some relief, but not near as much as finally getting to cry; finally satisfying that ache in your chest and that pinch in your nose you fought back one too many times.

You buried your face in his sweaty chest, clinging to him, letting your tears land in splotches on his tattoos and the patch of his sparse chest hair.

He inhales deeply over and over, his whole body rising and falling with each, silently coaxing you to match his breath. Your heart rate finally slows and you feel the hot salty streaks relent.

When he feels like you’re back, like you’ve safely returned to your body after being possessed by those evil thoughts, he pulls away to look at you. The small smile on your lips makes him smile back, pushing stray hairs from your face.

You can almost hear his thought as he thinks it.

There you are.

“Good?” he asks gently, his brow lifting.

“Yes,” you answer on an exhale. The steadiest breath you’ve taken all night.

“Good,” he groans all deep and gravely.

Arm tightening around you and maneuvering you onto your back, his deep breathing turns to huffs, all through his nose like he’s a bull getting ready to charge. You quiver as you look down between you, seeing how his hand grips and strokes his cock as he realigns with your entrance.

Your eyes darted up to meet his, greeted by the harsh glint there and that snarl of a smile.

“Now, I’m gonna fuck you like I mean it.”

[seancekitsch]

Can’t Stand Me Now; a modern Aegon x Stark! reader fic

CHAPTER ONE: The Party's Crashing Us

series masterlist here

warnings for the series: smut, smoking, drinking, friends to strangers to lovers, angst, fluff, vomit, more to come as needed

It’s not that one dance club you like that Sara brings you to, but this one just might be better. It’s a theme bar, a little too influencer friendly in its decor, but it’s endearing. The whole thing is themed like a house from your grandsires’s day and age. Floral couches with ugly plastic covering line the walls as people sit and chatter or flirt, the bathroom has sickeningly pink tile and floral wallpaper, the bar is legitimately a gutted vintage kitchen with bottles stored in cabinets and a vintage stove and formica drink counter. The DJ booth is a second gutted bathroom with the walls knocked out, with the DJ standing on a platform that looks like a huge teal toilet and partitioned away with a cheap shower curtain with a weird squiggly pattern on it. There’s even a little kneeler and altar to the Seven stashed in the corner that people like to take ironic photos at while they take shots. Sara brought you here because it’s synth pop night, her absolute favorite genre, and she does not miss a chance to dance to this over club beats. You don’t mind that this isn’t a wild club, mostly because of the cheap cover fee and eclectic vibe of the whole place. Sara also was considerate enough to tell you to dress the part before you got on the train, congratulating you on a night out sans stilettos with a guarantee of letting absolutely loose.

“Cregan would hate this place,” Sara snorts, bringing you a cup of something that absolutely doesn’t look like the whiskey sour you asked her to get you on this round. She hands it to you, and the smell of rum hits you. You don’t drink rum, you don’t get along with rum.

“As if we could drag him off Dragonstone with his little boytoy,” you shout over the music, and point at the drink, “Didn’t have Whiskey?”

She just shrugs.

“This is what the guy gave me!” she shouts back and you don’t argue further, instead interlocking your arm with hers and knocking the drink back with her in unison. 

The moment the rim of the cup leaves your lips, youre dragging her to the tiny dance floor, ready to mingle into the crowd with the beat. 

“Someone’s eager,” she teases, her face close to yours so youre not screaming. You dance close, a habit you’ve still not broken, made out of a big sister need to protect her when she became of age right as you were graduating from University. You tried to shield her if at all possible from scuzzy men when out drinking with her. Men like… well, not unlike yours and Aegon’s group of school friends. KLU doesn’t have fraternities, but tight knit groups of men still formed on their own; Aegon, Arryk, Erryk, Martyn, Leon, Eddard all fell within that category. You’d perfected the evasion of walking in on their countless hookups, and knowing exactly how to navigate a party with the men that even they didn’t trust. Even though Sara is grown in her own right, and towers over you, you always protect her as your baby sister. 

“Hard day,” you respond, not at all wanting to explain yourself further, but as if on cue your phone illuminates in your claw-like grasp in the same hand as your cup to expose you. You switch hands to drink the remainder of your drink while you scroll, and Sara being Sara, of course snoops. 

“Aegon?” she practically shouts, and yes, there’s at least three more messages from Aegon on your instagram. Fuck. You throw your head back dramatically after you fully read everything. 

Message:

@ eggtarg: im soz

@ eggtarg: i do miss u

@ eggtarg: can i call ?

(1) missed voice call from @ eggtarg

You break away from Sara, not even telling her, but you’re going to buy the next round. In fact, you’re buying double right now. You shove a bunch of bills towards the bartender, a little guilty but too anxious to actually care that the gesture was rude. Four more of the cups of the strong rum drink, which you learn is a theme drink for the night with an annoying name, and you maneuver them in your hands back to the dance floor with minimal spillage. She doesnt thank you, but she doesn’t have to. You cover each other, or convince men to buy you drinks on these nights. There’s no one party paying more or less, no reason to get anyone back. The two of you dance, and drink, and dance, and drink. Two rounds becomes three. For a moment, Aegon is actually forgotten. 

Sara, at any point in time, has your free hand in hers; the two of you twirl each other like you did when you were girls, like you did when Cregan refused his middle child duties to play pretend with you. You take her photo sitting backwards at the kneeler, knowing she’ll make a snarky caption about nothing honoring the Old Gods like this in the city, you fix each other’s lipstick in the bathroom. 

It’s the fourth round that has you a little unwise. 

Rum is something you avoid for a reason. In college, there was always a point where you felt almost trapped within yourself with rum. You acted on an accord completely disconnected from your mind, the whole time your thoughts shouting on you to do or say something different. For that reason, for the fact that it usually made you upset, Aegon banned rum at any gathering. No tiki drinks in the summer, all because of your comfort and preferences. 

You push off from Sara, a brief check in that she’ll be okay (she will be, she’s decided to talk the bartender’s ear off), and go outside with the intent of a smoke break. 

As you walk down steps, you feel your stomach turn. Nothing a cigarette cannot fix, a tried and true trick for you. 

The bouncer helps open the heavy door, a big smile on your face as you thank him and step out into the brisk air. It feels lovely, compared to the stale and sticky air and vape clouds of the bar. You move to sit on a chair from the little coffee shop that operates there during the day, fishing your pack and your lighter out from the tiny trendy purse you had shoved your ID and money in before you left your flat tonight. 

Sighing, you immediately give in to temptation, finding Aegon’s messages to read and read and read them over. He misses you, he’s said as much twice now. But does he?

You click on his profile, and scroll back down to that picture of you. It looks practically deep-fried, the way that Instagram as a platform has changed so much since you were in University.  You light the cigarette and take a hefty drag of it before you start a dissection, zooming in and pulling and prodding at the image.

In the photo, you’re half hanging off of Aegon’s lap, sat on his dorm bed. His parents, Viserys and Alicent, insisted he always live on campus in dry dorms to attempt to curbs the habits they did not approve of, but also ensured he got an entire dorm to himself for space. Despite this, it never stopped his room from being where you all met up before you headed out, or being the spot where you crashed at the end of the night. Your mouth is wide open, clearly mid laugh as your hair cascades down across both of you, Aegon’s arms holding you tightly against him. And although the camera is on both of you, Aegon’s eyes are on you, his wide smile and gaze trained directly on the side of your face. In the picture, you’re even in his clothes, his favorite emerald green sweatshirt embroidered with his family crest in gold thread. Falling off his shoulders is the blanket your mother had made for you as a child, crocheted with your own family crest in it, your most prized possession.

From the picture alone, if you didn’t know the people in it, you’d assume they’d be married by now. The two people on the screen look so happy, so care free, so in love. You were still only friends at that point, had never even kissed.

Bile rises in your throat, and you pull harder on the cigarette. 

Both drunk and sober, clear headed and uninhibited, you go back to the message and press the little call button next to his contact. 

Aegon picks up immediately, as if he was waiting for it.

“Stark!” he breathes on the other end, like a sigh of relief, as if this is a raft in the open ocean. 

“Targ,” you greet, very much less enthusiastic, but you cannot deny it that hearing his voice ignites something familiar and comfortable in your bones as if your being had been missing him. 

“I- I- I’m so sorry, really, I have so much to-“

“S’been five years,” you slur, not hiding the indigence or disgust in your voice, “Y’too late.”

“Your accent is stronger, are you drinking?” He asks, and it burns you how he still remembers your tells. 

“What’s it matter?” You ask, because it doesn’t. Although, you think for a moment, he doesn’t sound drunk. 

“Where are you?” 

Genuine concern laces his voice, and despite your better judgement, you tell him exactly where you are. The moment the words leave your mouth, you know you should not have said them.

“I’ll be there in twenty,” he says, and hangs up the phone. 

By the time he arrives, you’ve grabbed another drink, this time with enough sense to order a pint of cider instead of rum and you’ve already lit and half smoked another cigarette. You slink down into the chair as the black car pulls up, one that you instantly recognize as one of the family cars. Aegon had a car when you knew him, but he only ever drove it on his birthday, taking the train or getting a driver any other time. You pull the lipstick stained cigarette from your lips to take a hefty gulp from the glass, your eyes immediately settling into a glare as the car door opens.

Aegon looks exactly the same as he did the day he left, his hair still the same length, the light dusting of a mustache. He’s got himself wrapped in both a hoodie and a cardigan, completely unable to cope with any cooler shift in the weather. You always joked that he’d die if he ever came home to Winterfell with you. 

“There you are,” he says, his tone incredibly and unfairly soft as he grabs another one of the chairs and pulls it up next to you.

“If I grab something do you promise not to run?” he asks, and you nod if not begrudgingly. You called him here, you should at least let him get a drink out of the ordeal. 

You swallow thickly, staring at the toe of your boots and the absent patterns of the concrete. If you focus hard enough, you could trick your brain into thinking there was some divine structure there. 

He returns quickly, but your eyes don’t peel away from the absent patterns; They can’t. 

“I know it’s shit how I reached out to you,” he starts, and from your peripherals you watch him take a big gulp from his own pint. You stick the cigarette into your mouth and fumble to pass him the pack, your body working on autopilot and muscle memory long since past. His fingers brush yours as the transfer or the carton occurs, a traitorous warmth blooming in its wake. You will not ask for the pack returned. 

“You’re hard to find these days,” He mentions, as if that was not your goal.

“I don’t meddle where I’m not wanted, Aegon,” you mumble, cigarette bobbing between your lips and threatening to fall.

“That’s not…” Aegon almost growls in frustration, and slams the rest of his drink back, “It was never me not wanting you. I meant it.”

If you were to look up, you don’t know what you’d see. Would he have tears in his eyes? Would they be dark with anger? Is he mocking you?

Instead of a response, your body jerks forward, bile threatening. You pull the cigarette from your lips as he swears and pulls out his phone. 

“Don’t say shit like that,” You laugh, but there’s no real humor in your voice. 

“I still mean it,” he assures you, and then begins a conversation with the person on the other line. 

You stand, taking another small sip of the cider before placing what’s left on the ledge, allowing yourself to take the loss for whatever money that half a cider cost. 

“What a fucking joke,” you mumble, more to yourself than anything. 

You try to hide the lurching jerk of your body as bile rises again in your throat. You will not puke, you will not hurl; Especially not in front of Aegon. 

You have so many things you want to say: questions you’ve had for half a decade, insults that you’ve held onto like a poison in a wound, weeping confessions that would make you weak and pathetic. 

“Cole, can you please send someone,” Aegon asks, a hushed tone while he presses the phone to his ear, “Yeah, yeah I’m fine, I need to make sure a friend gets home safe.”

A friend. You bark out a laugh. 

Only thats not the right move at the moment, and you spill your last two drinks on the curb, enough sense in you to miss your shoes. Immediately you feel better, both physically and mentally. Clearly, much like Aegon, rum is not your friend despite its sudden reappearance in your night. 

“Oh, holy shit!” Aegon swears, immediately fussing over you and trying to pull a tissue out of his pocket, trying to press it to the corner of your lip as you shove him away. In the distance, you can see the train stop. This particular line goes directly back to your stop and if you can make a run for it, you can escape him. Only you don’t move, as if you’re rooted to the pavement, your boots stuck in the concrete as the person you’ve been trying to evade in this city closes in on you. You push away every attempt for him to fret over and help you, refusing to let him help push your hair back, refusing the cup of water he requests from the bouncer, your hands shooing away every attempt of his to help. 

Eventually the car pulls up, and to your own surprise you let Aegon lead you into the car and close the door for you. He slides in the other side,  and urges the driver to head home. His home. Aegon’s home. You don’t protest, you don’t scream, you don’t open the door and tuck and roll even though you think it would be an effective way to escape if not at least a little funny. Despite in your mind feeling incredibly sober, you freeze up, absolutely letting all of it happen. Despite your mind screaming at you, despite the urge to cry, you relax into the leather of the car seat. You instead text Sara that you’re heading home, and to text you when she decides to do the same. 

“Why now?” you ask, cutting through the uncomfortable silence as the car turns the block. 

“Now?” Aegon parrots, as if he doesn’t understand the question.

“Why now when I’m just this? Why come back after all this time?” You choke back a sob, wanting to refuse to let Aegon see weakness.

He sighs, and wipes his hand down his face. Now that you look at him closely, he looks exhausted, even in the dark. Aegon looks like a man who hasn’t slept in a week. 

“It’s complicated,” he says, barely above a whisper. Like fuck it is. 

Either way, you remain quiet, anger growing as you watch the traffic lights go by, as you traverse neighborhoods. The car is headed south, and eventually stops not far from your stop at Fleabottom. If you were to flee, you’re only four stops away from home. But just like before, maybe its morbid curiosity, you don’t bail as the car parks and Aegon hops out, half jogging to the other side of the car to open the door for you. He holds out a hand, a hand that you refuse as you push yourself up and out of the car seat. If the driver knows you, if the driver knows what’s going on, they don’t say. The driver doesn’t even look back before driving off. 

When he lets you into his flat, he immediately heads to the fridge. Sunfyre runs up to you, greeting you as if no time had passed. The big orange fur ball is all purring as he rubs up against you, and you bend down to scratch behind his ears where he loves it most. This is, easily, the most heartbreaking part of all of this. 

“Aww, Sunfyre, did you miss her?” he coos, and then looks at you, “Thats amazing, he remembered you. He always ran from Lar-"

He stops himself before he finishes that sentence, but the damage is done. You were wrong, that right there was the worst part. 

He hands you a glass of water, and you don’t deny it this time, eagerly gulping it down and placing it on the kitchen counter the moment you’re done. 

“Right, so what did you expect?” you ask, shrugging at him.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he responds, and reaches forward. He cringes as you flinch away from his touch.

“Bullshit,” you exclaim, and then start to walk towards his couch, bigger and more plush than the campus apartment you’d last know him having.

“Guess I’m sleeping here?” you ask, pointing at it.

Aegon agrees, although you can tell there’s words that die in his mouth. His mouth opens and shuts, lips purse contemplatively. Good, you don’t want to hear those thoughts right now, even though you’ve needed them for half a decade. He grabs a pillow and blankets from a hall closet, and sets them like a bed for you. You half expected him to just dump everything on the couch, but then again, sleepovers with Aegon used to mean sharing a bed and you’ve never seen how he would do this.

“Do you need clothes?” he asks, already half turned and surely ready to grab some sweats from a drawer.

You shake your head no, and then start to get yourself settled under the blankets. It feels like the more of you covered, the safer from all of the anxiety bubbling under your skin you are. The more a physical barrier from Aegon exists, the more you can pretend this is a drunken nightmare, and tomorrow you can just sweat it out at dance class.

He leaves the room, and you only shake off your boots and jacket onto the floor next to your discarded purse, opting to keep your phone under your pillow and your person bundled up despite the fact that his apartment is warm.

When he returns he’s in that green sweatshirt from the picture, and a pair of grey sweatpants. He turns his head towards you, but ultimately decides against trying again, instead going to the fridge to pull out two water bottles. Even in the dark of the apartment, you don’t miss the fact that he also pulls out a bottle and takes two shots before walking away from the area. Your eyes feel heavy, wet, as you try in vain to blink away the emotions rising to the surface. Here, there is no concrete to focus on, here, you’re surrounded by Aegon in the dark. You opt to shut your eyes all together.

He traverses the main room, around the island to the living room, his bare feet against the flooring; depositing one of the water bottles on the coffee table directly in front of the couch you’re on. You keep your eyes closed, not daring look at him. However, you don’t miss the warmth of his hand ghosting over the blankets, almost touching, almost that reassuring weight of his hand that had gotten you through so much.

“Why wasn’t I enough when we were friends?” you ask, not hiding the watery tone of someone failing to conceal crying, still not daring to look at him. Your voice sounds so small to your ears, so vulnerable.

“You were,” he tells you, his voice betraying similar emotion. Aegon is probably crying, you realize, or at least close to it.

But before you can open your eyes, you hear him walk away, and you feel like any moment of honesty is over now. The sliding door to his balcony opens, and the clinking of a bottle signifies he’s staying up.

He keeps the door open, a silent invitation that you feel like you can’t accept. Many a night you’d stayed up talking and drinking with Aegon; a bottle, two glasses, and a heart to heart were common. But that seems wrong now, tainted what has transpired. Now it's silence as you hear the bottle clink against a glass, and then again a few minutes later.

Sleep is slow to find you, the space between the two of you both cavernous and claustrophobic, and the blanket smells like him.

[nanamikentoseyebags]

I know i'm home

for everyone the scars on his body showed that for all his immense power, he was still human. for him they were an agonizing reminder that he would never let it happen again.

pairing: satoru gojo x gn!reader

content: just his little inner satoru finally finds peace, warmth and home, hurt/comfort, fluff

a/n: i've been thinking a whole lot about little satoru lately, here's the result of my reflections lol, hope you enjoy <3

The quiet, velvety night slowly descended to the earth, spreading out an endless blanket of dark sky, sprinkled with a myriad of shimmering stars, inviting the full pale moon to slumber upon it until daybreak. A light summer breeze penetrated into your shared bedroom through the slightly open window, filling every corner of it with a pleasant freshness while gently, as if by the hand of a lover, brushing the loose strands away from your face. The barely audible murmur of the leaves, intertwined with the lulling buzzing of night insects and the occasional trill of birds, produced melodies that any composer would have envied. You stood there barefoot, in his oversized T-shirt that reached your knees, leaning your arms on the windowsill and curiously observing the nature, engulfed in a captivity of a tranquil slumber. It was miraculous how, in this hectic and violent world, there were still such peaceful nights, reserved for the two of you.

You pulled away from the window, gently adjusting the thin floral curtain he'd hung so eagerly, almost on the verge of falling, a few days ago. Listening to the tinkling sound of running water, you tiptoed toward the bathroom, the door of which was slightly ajar. The moments of simple domestic intimacy were so rare yet so precious that his five-minute absence felt like hours of unbearable torture, while the desire to peek through that little gap and catch a glimpse of the dearest silhouette grew with each passing second. You reached the door gingerly, and, squinting slightly in hopes that you wouldn't make a loud noise, you pulled it toward you, widening the viewing angle and quietly peeking in.

Your face met the pleasant warm humidity. The lamps glimmered brightly, illuminating the white tiled walls, little pearl-like droplets still dripping down as if chasing one another in an unspoken game. Satoru was standing with his back turned to you, exposing his broad shoulders and strong back with his birthmarks scattered all across it as if he was a canvas and they were the drops of paint, placed there by the hand of a great master. His snow-white hair, sparkling in the light, shimmered in an array of colors, creating a subtle glow all around him. The misted surface of the mirror revealed the imprints of his large palm, which had rid of the unwanted shroud a few minutes ago, giving him a glimpse of his reflection. His left hand rested on the edge of the basin while the other firmly gripped the razor, moving expertly across his porcelain, now covered in a layer of shaving foam, skin.

Satoru remained concentrated, turning his head deftly and delicately wielding his razor blade. His celestial blue eyes were fixed on his own reflection, while his thoughts were elsewhere. Surrounded by an unusual silence, punctuated only by the gentle whisper of flowing water, he still heard far more than any human ear could. For Satoru, the quietest night, so silent and soundless to everyone, turned into a cacophony of noisy daytime sounds.

He diligently tried to keep the annoying thoughts and noises away from him, striving to mentally return to the pleasant moments of complete tranquility with you. He put all the unnecessary shaving items into the cabinet and bent down, rinsing off the rest of the foam and sending it down the drain along with his dark thoughts. Then he straightened, taking a quick glance at his face reflected in the smooth surface of the mirror and reached for the towel, as his gaze, surprisingly even for him, lingered a little longer on the scar, hidden behind the damp snowy strands that fell on his forehead, and then slowly moved to his neck, eyes flickering worryingly under the blinding light of the bright lamps. He cautiously, as if he were afraid of himself, brought his hand to his neck, tracing the damaged skin with his fingertips and swallowing heavily. He reluctantly lowered his gaze to his chest, staring with revulsion at the vertical scar that so distinctly marked his pale skin.

He shook his head a few times, as if driving away the ghosts of his past, and nestled his head into the soft cloth of the terry towel, gently removing the residue of water from his face. Finally, he lifted his head and flinched slightly, meeting your gaze in the reflection.

"Spying on me?" he immediately turned around, in a moment replacing his startled grimace with his usual wide grin.

"Me? Never," you smiled sheepishly, not expecting to be caught red-handed, and opened the door wider, taking a couple of timid steps in his direction.

"I thought you were already in bed, you little liar," Satoru smirked boyishly, holding out his arms and inviting you into his warm embrace.

"I couldn't sleep without you, so I thought I'd see what you were doing here without me," you teased, wrapping your arms around his strong body and gently stroking his back.

"Don't worry, sweetheart, nothing to make you feel neglected," he joked, sounding as confident as possible, but his eyes brimmed with all the colors of unrestrained sadness.

You slapped his back playfully, bursting into hearty laughter and burying your nose into his naked chest. His strong arms encircled your waist, pulling you even tighter against him as his lips left a light kiss on your head. Your palm slowly caressed his silky skin, tracing intricate patterns with your fingertips, feeling the hundreds of goosebumps running all over his body. You smiled, your index finger now drawing a small heart just where his heart was beating beneath it. Satoru shook his head, laughing softly and rolling his eyes, "You're so cheesy," but you could still feel his slender, long fingers leaving little hearts on every millimeter of your skin for several minutes now. You smiled blissfully, allowing yourself to melt into his tender embrace, forgetting time and plans, feeling only the comfort of his warmth enveloping you from head to toe and his heart beating right under your cheek.

You gently touched his deep scar, like a scorched mark resting on his flawless, soft-white skin. Satoru's breath hitched as he shuddered at the sudden sensation.

"Does it hurt?" a soft whisper, coming from your lips and fanning his chest with your hot breath, reached his ears.

"Of course not, silly, it has long since healed," he looked at you perplexedly, his eyebrows drawn into a thin line.

"No, does it hurt?" you stressed the last word, lifting your head and gazing into his wide-open hypnotic orbits, hoping that he would understand what you implied in that question.

His lips quivered, and his eyes flickered frantically over your face, trying to figure out if he should voice what had been languishing inside for so long. Small but obvious wrinkles appeared on his forehead, giving his face an even more baffled expression.

"Yeah...' he forcefully uttered the answer that was stuck in his throat, 'sometimes I feel his knife going through me all over again…,' his hand slowly covered yours, stroking your knuckles.

"Right...," you whispered, intertwining your fingers with his and squeezing his hand lightly, in hopes of showing that you could understand him.

"Sometimes I feel like I'm a kid again and I relive all this stuff over and over again, isn't that silly?" he chuckled sadly, hiding his eyes, in which you could notice snippets of the suffering he had seen throughout his life. It seemed as if, as he uttered these words, he indeed turned into a little boy, only the mischievous smile that everyone around him was so used to seeing had now faded, and his eyes no longer burned with such a vibrant light.

"It's not stupid at all," you lovingly brushed his hair away from his forehead, gently stroking his cheekbone, "I wish I was there to protect you from everything," you admitted sincerely.

"You know I would have done anything to prevent that," Satoru gently took your hand, leaving an appreciative kiss on your palm.

You nodded, knowing it was useless to argue with him, just hugged him a little tighter, while gently caressing his tense back muscles. You knew how hard he was trying not to reveal his true emotions to you, to keep cool, but it was his hands that were nervously rubbing the fabric of yours, or rather his T-shirt, and the ragged breathing that caused his chest heave so anxiously that made it all abundantly clear.

"I often wonder what that little boy I once used to be would have said to me after knowing how much pain and death those eyes had seen, what he would have thought when he saw that with every step I took there were bloody footprints on the ground, stretching endlessly behind me, how he would have felt when he noticed those scars, evidence that I had let it happen to him" he continued after a pause, burying his nose in your hair.

"He would have been proud of you," you uttered quietly, "after finding out what you had learned and what else those magic eyes could do, he would have admired seeing what your body, now adorned with a pair of battle marks, was capable of, he would have thanked you when he realized how many people you had saved. And he thanks you now for the way you protect him, because he still lives in you."

Satoru fell silent, holding his breath, heeding every single word that he felt was healing his wounds, kissing all the pain away. He closed his eyes, trying to hold back the tears that welled up in his eyes, and exhaled softly.

You caressed his side reassuringly, leaving a kiss on his shoulder, "I just know little Satoru feels safe now."

"Yeah, with you, little Satoru feels at home.”

***

The silent, dark night was replaced by a bright morning, filled with the peals of the birds, causing the sleeping moon to give way to the brilliant sun, illuminating the soft features of Satoru, who had fell asleep on your chest, with its gentle golden rays. The warm blanket he had so carefully wrapped you in before you went to sleep almost slid to the floor, his arm lazily wrapped around your waist while your legs were entwined, preventing you from moving. You smiled earnestly, fingertips stroking his soft skin and once again covering his body with little hearts, while your lips were leaving little kisses here and there. Your heart was full, realizing with its every beat that your whole world was encased in this one person. You lay there quietly, staring at his slightly fluttering white lashes and hoping that in one of the parallel universes you had somehow met sooner, and both little Satoru and little you knew no worries, faithfully carrying your love through life, holding tightly to each other with your intertwined pinkies.

thank you for reading, reblogs and comments are very much appreciated! &lt;3

art and dividers are not mine &lt;3

tags: @shamelessperfectionhideout @afortoru @keiskyutie @vagabond-umlaut @4sat0ruu @softsatoru @mitsuyeaah @playgrl0 @moonsinfonia @a-nuisance-called-sam @gojoshooter

[haddonfieldwhore]

tonight - adam faulkner-stanheight

adam faulkner-stanheight x gn!reader

summary: you get evicted and have nowhere to go but your ex boyfriends apartment.

warnings: HUGE plot hole tbh… you just have to come up with how adam got out of the trap on your own, language, angst, blood mentioned gender neutral but reader is mentioned to be wearing eyeliner, i did not edit this 🫢

word count: 1.5k

you wrapped your arms around yourself as you shoved clothes in a bag, the heat having been shut off to your apartment days ago. you were three months behind on rent, and your landlord had never been a patient man. the second he found someone who was willing to give a deposit, he had taped the eviction notice to your door; that was this morning. you had discovered it upon returning home from work, leaving you only 6 hours to pack up your entire life and get the fuck out.

it was a pitiful apartment; it was drafty and the faucet squeaked, and the shower had next to no water pressure- and you still could barely afford it. you didn’t have many belongings to move out, and considering you did have the time or money to hire movers, you supposed you would be leaving your furniture here; it wasn’t worth anything anyway.

you stuffed the last of your clothes into your backpack and grabbed the essentials from your bathroom cabinet, leaving behind anything you could bare to part with.

you honestly weren’t too considered with your belongings at the moment - not that any of the things you were abandoning were prized possessions. you were more concerned with where you would sleep; where you would live.

you considered calling your one coworker that you tolerated, but you knew she had family in town and didn’t want to add on the the workload she already had of hosting multiple guests.

which only left you with one option.

adam.

adam who at this time last year, would have thought nothing of you sleeping at his apartment - you practically lived there. but things went south between you and your ex boyfriend, and your relationship had more or less imploded. you hadn’t talked to him since the night you had screamed at him that you never wanted to see him again, and now here you were, outside his door at 1 am, soaking wet and near freezing from the pouring rain. you would have called, but in the whirlwind of getting kicked out of your home, your cell had died and you were pretty sure you’d left the charger behind.

you mind ran through every possible reaction adam could have to you showing up at his apartment, and you weren’t sure you liked any of them.

somehow you didn’t consider him not answering the door at all. you knew he wasn’t asleep, he never was at this time. it was possible he was in his dark room, headphones on blaring some moody rock song you’d always pretended to hate. you kicked at the weathered carpet of the dirty hallway, hoping none of his neighbours came out to see what the noise was.

adam’s apartment building was barely better than yours, and you’d prefer not to encounter any of the locals if you could help it.

you knocked one more time, not really having another option, but again there was no answer. you fiddled anxiously with your lanyard of keys that jingled around your neck, and then your hand landed on one you hadn’t used in a while.

after one last unanswered tap on the door, you inserted the key into the lock and twisted it with a click, and turned the knob.

you hoped it wasn’t considered breaking and entering if you had a key.

there were no lights on, which wasn’t entirely unusual for adam, and you had grown to be able to maneuver around blindly through the apartment, and you found he hadn’t moved anything as you walked the same route to the lamp in the living room as you had a thousand time. the dusty lamp next to the couch illuminated the room only slightly, but enough to show you that adam’s keys and shoes weren’t by the door, telling you that he wasn’t home.

you were alone.

everything began to sink in all at once, and you took a deep breath, the familiar scent of adams cologne lingering in the filling your nose.

rather than sink down onto the couch in your dripping wet clothes, you opted for a quick shower, the hot water mixing with a few tears that trailed in black streaks of eyeline down your face, smudging beneath your eyes.

adam would always wipe it off with his thumbs with a smile and ask ask why you hadn’t taken it off before getting in.

you wrapped a towel from the hall closet around your body and grabbed some clothes from your bag, throwing on a t shirt and some shorts before curling up on the worn out couch in the (barely big enough to be a) living room. you had almost officially moved in with adam before things ended, and you wondered what your life might look like now if you had.

at one point you thought you and adam might be married by now. he had thought about it too; hell, he had even looked at rings once or twice, but couldn’t afford one.

but that was before, and this was now.

now, was reality setting in that you were homeless, and sitting in someone else’s apartment, waiting for them to get home from who knows where, with no idea how he would react. things had ended ugly between you and adam, but deep down you realized that even after months apart, you missed him. you were both young, and life got stressful and you pushed eachother away. it wasn’t that either of you had royally fucked anything up, things just bubbled over until you both had taken it out on eachother.

your found yourself shivering from the change in temperature from the steamy bathroom to the more open living room, you pulled a blanket off the arm of the couch and draped it over yourself, fighting to stay awake.

you lost the battle, comforted by the familiar sounds and smells of adam’s apartment, and drifted off to sleep.

adam was in such a panicked state when he arrived back at his apartment, he hadn’t noticed the soft light coming from under the door. he hadn’t noticed that it was unlocked either, thinking nothing of it as he stumbled inside, though he made sure as hell to lock it behind him. he was so out of it, he didnt even notice the extra pair of sneakers next to him as he kicked off his shoes, his keys nearly landing in them as he let them slip out of his hands.

adam took a deep breath, running his hands over his face as he tried to wrap his head around what had happened.

that room….

the blood…

it didn’t matter. he had escaped.

he had won.

that’s what mattered.

he walked straight past you with no notice and went to the kitchen, scrubbing his hands under the sink with nearly half the bottle of dish soap before he felt even remotely clean. he splashed cold water onto his face, before wiping his eyes, letting them adjust to the light again for a second before his eyebrows scrunched together in confusion at the sight of your sleeping form on the couch.

was he dreaming? was he still chained up in that bathroom, hallucinating that he’d escaped and that you were here?

he walked forwards cautiously, as if the floor would collapse beneath him if he stepped to hard, but reached the couch with no difficulty. you stirred awake at the sound of the floor creaking, and your eyes fluttered open to look up at adam.

“hey.. fuck, i’m really sorry, i had no where else to go and i still had your key and-“ you stopped with a soft grunt as he sat down next to you and threw his arms around you, holding you so tight you could barely breathe.

adam buried his head in the crook of your neck, and you hummed in content as you wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, pulling him against you as you leaned against the armrest of the couch.

“it’s okay. i’m actually really fucking glad you’re here,” he mumbled.

“adam are you okay? you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” you looked down at his white t-shirt that was stained with dirt and… ”is that blood?”

“i - maybe. i don’t know. it’s not mine i don’t think,” he stuttered, sitting up slightly to look at you. “some fucking psycho kidnapped me and -“ he sighed “it doesn’t matter. just… don’t let me go okay? i’m really happy to see you.”

your fingers laced through the back of his hair and tucked him into your shoulder again, a worried look on your face.

“i missed you, adam,” you admitted, and you meant it.

“god, i missed you too.”

in that moment adam needed you more than anything; a familiar face, someone that he felt safe with.

you didn’t know what he’d been through, and you would let him tell you when he was ready, but for now, you held him close as he clung to your body like a life raft.

and you would be there as long as he needed you.

because you needed him too.

[arachine]

. . . tender wounds & soft kisses (won't you stay?) ; i. midoriya

── ˚₊✩‧₊ synopsis :: trouble comes knocking on your doorstep seeking salvation. the question is, do you answer it?

── ˚₊✩‧₊ general tags :: pro!hero au, angst, fluff

── ˚₊✩‧₊ content warnings :: fem!reader, mentions of blood + death but nothing explicit, reader patches his wounds, intense feelings, making out, 3k words

── ˚₊✩‧₊ notes :: part one of two (?) of a future mini series :3 next part will include filth pinky promise !

it doesn’t matter how many times he shows up at your door like this—battered and bruised, that is. you’ll never get used to it. you want to turn him away, to tell him he’d have better luck going to a hospital—but—it’s half past midnight, and it’s cold, and it’s raining, and…he doesn’t know where else to go. 

he knows you’re tired. can see it in the way you lean your head against the door frame, and the way you blink up at him with indifference, as if your eyes are telling him “come in now or i’ll leave you out in the cold”.  

with an appreciative smile, he enters through the door and brushes past you. takes his heavy, muddy boots off, one by one, and leaves them to sit in the foyer where they contrast starkly against your pristine-perfect ones. 

it’s a sight that’s starting to become all too familiar to you. sometimes it looks like there’s another person living here, like there’s someone to share the space with, but you know his presence is only ephemeral. you’d wish it weren’t, though. especially since he already knew the floor plan of your apartment like the back of his hand. 

even in the pitch-black dark, his steps are confident. calculated. familiar. he dredges down the corridor with impressive precision, and yields absolutely no qualms of bumping into your many awkwardly placed pieces of furniture. doesn’t even trip over the new coffee table you recently purchased. because instead of him doing the bumping and tripping, you do.

izuku comes to a sudden standstill in the middle of the living room, and you walk right into his back, knocking him forward a bit from the force.

“what’s wrong?” you question, trying not to let yourself sound too concerned, but it comes out more tender than anything. he breathes out a quick nothing, and continues the trek to your bathroom, wincing through gritted teeth while clutching his side. 

if he’s in pain, he won’t say it. which is another reason why you’ve come to resent his spontaneous fix-me-up visits. impatiently, you side step by him and rush to the bathroom. turn on the light and stand at the door frame with your arms crossed over your chest, like you were practically urging him to quicken his pace so he could be out of here faster.

but he takes his time. because despite the sharp-ache in his ribs, and the sting above his brow, he gets to see you. izuku midoriya gets to be touched by you. to be cleaned by you. patched up by you. sinewy muscles and bruised flesh, all taken care of by—you. 

so, yeah. he takes his sweet time getting to the bathroom—even if he’s five steps from getting there. he’ll make it ten. anything to make this last longer. 

“come on, i’m tired,” you say, turning on your heels to open the cabinet. “i’d like to get back into my comfy bed as soon as possible.” 

when you take a look inside the cabinet, you frown at the shortage of supplies you’re met with. which, honestly, shouldn’t even really surprise you—considering he was the one responsible for its barren state. 

regardless, you pluck what you can of what’s left, then set them down on the counter in the order of which you’ll use them: clean rag, soap, ointment, steri-strips, and gauze (in case there’s a bigger wound somewhere under his tattered clothes). 

from your peripheral, you can see his silhouette appear from out of the darkness, and you watch intently through the mirror as his now fully-illuminated body trudges behind you. god, he looks worse than he did standing under the light of your front porch. 

well, that’s what you think. prior, a good portion of his face had been enshrouded by night, so you couldn’t really make out anything worth noting—even if you wanted to, at least.

but now you bear witness to the hues of red that dance across his face; both from the inflamed capillaries underneath his skin, and the blood ribboning down the gash above his brow. 

“you know the drill.” your gaze is pointed, and you eye him through the mirror while dousing the rag under the warm running water. 

he comes to a halt in front of the toilet, grimacing once, then clutches his side protectively before bending down to sit. you note that too. 

“so…” a beat. “you gonna need help taking that off? or—“

“i’ve got it,” the green haired boy quips, moving to retract his arm from his side. 

you throw your hands up in defeat, and reposition yourself to lean against the sink’s ledge. your eyes trace every movement, and you watch amusedly as he pathetically struggles to remove his gloves, but eventually achieves. 

next, he attempts to tackle his zipper. a grimace. then, he attempts it again, only to withdraw in pain. 

“let me do it,” impatience on the tip of your tongue. you lunge forward to unzip the damn thing yourself because you can’t bear to watch any longer, small hand swatting his much larger one away. 

dropping to your knees, you sit between his legs and zip it down until the entirety of his torso is revealed. a solemn frown settles on your lips, and it takes everything in you to not shed a tear. 

gathering your wits, you continue undressing him, gently pulling each arm from its consecutive sleeve, before moving to unclasp the mask tugged down his neck.

“i hate when you do that,” your voice speaks up, replacing the unpleasant silence. there’s evident irritation laced in it, and he can’t help but to wince from the way it pulls his heart strings. 

“when i do what?” you take a brief moment before answering him. busy yourself with the loose thread hanging on the side of his leg pant, tug on it until you snap it off. “when you pretend you’re not in pain.” 

izuku sighs through his nose, something long and heavy. “i’m sorry,” he attempts at an apology, though he knows he’d have better luck convincing someone else who wasn’t accustomed to seeing him like this. 

“no you’re not, otherwise you’d stop waking me up in the middle of the night to tend to your wounds.” there it is. that venomous tongue of yours, the one that doesn’t hold back in telling him what he needs to hear. he can’t even counter it—so he takes it. leans back into the cool porcelain of the tank, and watches as you walk away to the sink, only to return with a stool and rag in tow. 

for a minute, you mull over which area of skin to tackle first, until you decide on prioritizing his torso. you take the damp rag and run it along the perimeter of his wound where there’s a culmination of dried blood and fresh red. his abs flex in response to the sensation, a sharp intake of breath.

“sorry,” you mutter without looking at him, eyes focused and hands working diligently between swipes. 

“nope, ‘m fine.”

“liar.”

“yeah,” he breathes. 

“how’d you get this one, huh? oh, wait, let me guess. off doing god knows what, at god knows where, chasing after some guy you’re not even authorized to be chasing.” 

you rise up from your seat to dispose of the rag, grabbing the remaining items on the counter. “did i get any of that right?”

izuku laughs, a small admittance. “i don’t think i’m at liberty to say.” 

scoffing, you plop back down in front of him, and carefully, begin cleaning the inside of the wound with a damp piece of gauze. every now and then, you check his face to gauge for any pain, but his relaxed expression is unfaltering. because he’s looking down at you with so much warmth it’s scalding.

his gaze feels like a thousand little pricks, makes you shiver from the intensity, and you silently pray he doesn’t catch it. though, it’s really wishful thinking on your part. he noticed most things, was just in his nature.

“what are you looking at?” all bite. his eyes shift from your face to the tiled floor. suddenly, the grout was starting too look interesting, in fact, when’s the last time you touched it u—

“n-nothing,” he stutters, warmth spreading across his face to the tips of his ears. 

“so weird…” your eyes flit up once, before refocusing on covering the wound in clean, dry gauze. 

in juxtaposition to your jagged edged words, you’re so gentle. delicate in everything you do, but especially so, when you’re handling him. it’s something that he’s come to find massively endearing, and he hates that the only time he’s a recipient of your attentiveness, is when he shows up at your door all bloodied and bruised. 

“shit, uh, can you hold this in place for a second? gonna get some tape.” 

izuku nods in compliance. follows with trained eyes as your frame disappears into the dark. then, the sound of a flicker follows suit shortly after, and the light—from what he presumes to be your room—illuminates the rest of the hallway. 

in the distance, he can hear the soft thud of feet padding back and forth between rooms, and can just about isolate the cacophonous sound of drawers opening and closing, along with muttered obscenities. 

the impending sound of footsteps announces your return, and you take your seat between his legs, this time with a roll of tape in tow. 

“and,” you drawl, “done. now let me look at that nasty gash on your face.” 

he scoots closer to the edge to give you a better look, and the pair of your knees knock together. neither of you acknowledge it, nor do you make an effort to move. the proximity has him reeling, but you seemingly remain indifferent. 

reaching up, you take hold of his chin and maneuver him intermittently as you prod and poke at the open flesh. suddenly, a feeling of sadness washes over you upon the realization that one day he might not even make it to your doorstep. that maybe this will be the last time you hold his beautiful face in your hands. that this will be the last time those kind, green eyes look up at you. the reality of the situation is that every day may very well be his last. 

when you stop your ministrations, he knows something’s up. “what is it? what’s wrong?” the intonation in his voice rising, displaying the sincerity of his concern. a calloused hand finds solace on the side of your cheek, and you careen into its warmth. 

“i don’t…i don’t know how many times i can keep seeing you like this,” you admit, voice straining at the effort it takes to quell your tears. 

izuku brings a second hand up to your face, cradles it in his calloused palms. swipes his thumbs soothingly over the apples of your cheeks and shushes you before a sob can erupt from your throat. 

“nonono, don’t get yourself all upset over me.”

“how can i not ‘zu?!”

“‘cause ‘m not worth it,” he spits, and it almost scares you how much he believes in the veracity of his statement. 

“‘not worth it’…” you repeat, “if you weren’t worth it, i wouldn’t let you keep coming back into my house. i wouldn’t patch you up…wouldn’t let you keep making me feel like this.”

“i’m sor—“

“don’t you fucking dare say sorry,” you get up abruptly, releasing yourself from his grasp. “god, you make me—you make me fucking crazy! can’t you see?” your hands go to reach the ledge of the sink, and you rock back and forth on anxious heels. 

forgetting the ache in his side, the pro-hero rises to his feet. he lets his weakened legs drag him to where you stand. your head is down, and your arms are out-stretched to support your weight. he can’t see your face, but he hears the beginnings of a sob. 

thoughts race through his mind a mile a minute. what should i do? he thinks. how can he console you? should he touch you? hold you? but what if you don’t want to be touched? he racks his brain for an answer, to no avail.  

for a while, he just stands there—because in the short distance he traveled, he didn’t really think of a plan. just acted on impulse. but then he sees a big cartoonish teardrop land on the counter and he loses it. 

unthinking, the greenette takes you into his hold. slots himself behind you like a puzzle piece and wraps you up, one arm across your chest, and the other over your middle. the sudden contact surprises you, but you make no contests. instead, you find yourself relaxing into his grip, and he takes that as a silent confirmation to squeeze you further into his embrace. 

“don’t cry,” izuku whispers into the interstice of your neck, “can’t bear it. don’t like it.” you raise your head to lay against his chest, and wrap your fingers around his forearm. his body radiates a warmth that you find wildly comforting. it’s intoxicating, almost. and now that you’ve had a taste of it, you’re not quite sure you’d be able to let go. 

but while the feeling is nice, it’s also equal parts scary and debilitating. because you weren’t a couple. you weren’t temporary lovers. you weren’t…anything, and yet—you fit like one. and that was scary. terrifying. 

it scared you how much space this person took up in your life; how little he gave in return, and how much of your heart belonged to him. and the worst part of it all? how scared he was to trust you with a scintilla of his. of all the years you’ve known izuku midoriya, this is the coldest you’ve known him to be. 

“alright, i’m better now. you can let go,” you speak, though the words that escape your lips directly conflict with what you really feel. 

don’t let go. don’t let go. hold me a little longer, please. 

reluctantly, the bigger man releases you from his firm grasp. he holds your gaze through the mirror, waits for you to start the conversation—which your eyes seem to have already started, because he swears that right now, they’re singing a song of sorrow.

“be honest with me, please. don’t you think i deserve that much?”

suddenly, the pain in his ribs throbs. his forehead falls to rest on your shoulder. he’s stalling. biding his time so that he can come up with an answer. 

“of course you do, you deserve the truth and so much more. but…”

“but,” you repeat plainly, because of course there’s a but. 

“—but there’s things that i just can’t tell you. and i know it sucks, and i know it sounds like a bunch of bullshit, but if something were to ever happen to you because of the information you knew, i literally wouldn’t be able to live with myself.” the words flow from his lips hurriedly, like if he doesn’t get it all out now, they’ll detonate inside of him. 

“you gotta just give me this, please, baby.” 

baby. 

babybabybaby. he called you…baby. your eyes widen like saucers at the pet name, and then it dawns on him that he let it slip through a fit of passion. 

“baby? uh, pft, i meant…” he tries to recant the part in his spiel that he let slip out, nervously scratching the back of his freckled neck. 

“i hate you.” a lie. but it sounds right to say, even though there’s no real weight behind it. still, how dare he? how dare he make you go years thinking your feelings were unrequited? how dare he fucking steal your heart again with one little word, two syllables, and four letters? 

izuku smirks. if you had uttered these words to him when he was still young and unsure of himself, he’d believe you. but he doesn’t—because he knows you. knows that your venomous tongue lacks potency. and he knows that your heart is reserved for him, always has been—even if his negligence almost cost him you. 

“you don’t,” he says matter-of-factly, viridian irises soft, staring back at you. 

“i do.” unceremoniously, two large hands grab your waist. they turn you around with uncharacteristic speed, pin you against the sink and leave you with no exit. a gasp bubbles in your throat. 

“okay, then say it to my face, “ izuku leans forward, strong arms encasing you between his chest and the sink he holds. his neck tilts downward so that he’s looking into your eyes, and god, he’s so big. so imposing, takes up too much space. too much. 

“tell me you hate me, and i’ll stop doing…this. i’ll get out of your hair for good.”

any and all semblance of composure you had up until that point, dissipates into thin air right then and there. your eyes squint into slits because he fucking proved you right. you were too much of a coward to say it, but on the off-chance that you did, he’d see right through you. one thing you hate more than being proven wrong, is feeling like you have no control over things.

things like izuku. he made your head all foggy with just a glance, and your stomach knotted up with an utter of your name. but this? god, you couldn’t handle this. the proximity, the intimacy of your rather compromising position, the intensity of his gaze, or the way his breath kissed the curve of your jaw. he was everywhere, all the time. omnipotent. 

“you’re right,” you admit with a huff, acquiescing to his boyish-grin. your admission has him lurching forward, inching closer, and closer to the pair of roseate lips pouting up at him so prettily (that they might as well be an open invitation for him to kiss you).

“i’m right.” 

you find yourself initiating a game of cat and mouse. every time he moves in, you move out. it’s so silly. makes you feel like a love-sick school girl waiting by the lockers to give her crush a handwritten note. but you’re relishing in it; and so is he, admittedly more so than you. 

with every passing second, you become less and less aware of your surroundings. all you know is that your lips are moving in tandem, hovering over the other, open-mouthed and panting. you want him. you want to taste him, to bite him, to give him another wound that will turn into a pretty pearl-grey scar amongst the rest. 

your desire for him is carnal, but you play this little game like time is infinite. and you suppose, time can be anything you want it to be when you’re encased between his body.

just as he’s about to close the gap, you whisper a plea into his ear. “promise me,” your voice is breathy, wanting, but still firm. his lips dip down to your neck, and he places a hot, open-mouthed kiss into the divot of your clavicle. trails upwards as he pops up to answer you.

“i’ll promise you a hundred things, i’ll - i’ll promise you whatever you want.” 

“promise me you’ll start being careful,” you say breathless, “that i won’t see your name as a headline on the news.” 

“i promise,” he delves back into your neck, repeating it like a mantra along the vein of your jugular until he kisses his way up to your lips. there’s a brief pause initiated by you when your hand pushes back his chest.

a look of confusion overtakes his features, and you’re looking at him with nervous eyes. are we really about to do this? they say. are we really about to cross that threshold? like you haven’t already done that and more within the span of ten minutes. but you need the reassurance, to be told that everything after this will be okay.

yes, his say. it’s fine. you can trust me.

you felt again the rush of helplessness, the push and pull of the current; until, finally, you let it sink you. he kisses you gently, delicately, then with a swift gradation of intensity that has you whimpering into his mouth. 

“hate you,” a kiss, “for making me,” another, “wait so - mmf - long,” you try to speak between clashes of teeth and tongue, smoothing your arms up his exposed chest before encircling them around his neck.

“i know, baby, i’m terrible,” he breaks away to suckle your neck, “i’m the worst.”

“the worst,” you agree. suddenly, you start to understand why people say kissing is like melting, because every part of your body he touches, has you dissolving rapidly into sea-foam. you’re so hot and bothered, you don’t even know what to do with your hands. 

they were around his neck at some point, but now they’re roaming freely. over his chest, his biceps, down his back, in his hair—on his face. maybe you’ve traveled too far, because the sound it elicits from him is teetering the border between pain and pleasure.

“sorry, did i do that?” you gesture to his brow, which he shields protectively. 

“just a scratch, i can take it,” he reassures, attempting to resume his assault on your collar bone. you grab hold of his chin, redirecting him to look at you.

“just a scratch, huh? well, you’re lucky you got away with just a ‘scratch’.”

© arachine 2023

[ghostchems]

This would fuck me up so much soooo

5. looking at the mirror but the reflection isn't. looking. at. you.

With Terzo and you know I like it spicy 😊😊

a man after midnight - terzo x f!reader

a/n: so many warnings. this is super smut. 18+, mdni. this absolutely ran away from me!!! i feel like i have lost my mind but i hope you all enjoy :) 2.4k words. ao3 link.

You got back from work later than you’d liked, past midnight and far past your usual bedtime. There’s still chocolate syrup stuck to your arm as you hop into the shower, to clean that off and whatever else has stuck to you. The water is warm, falling over your delicate skin, cleansing you of the smell of ice cream and chocolate, and all the feeling contributed to work. It’s your time now, even though you will most likely just fall asleep after your shower.

Your apartment is covered in shadows and darkness, with the light in your bathroom dim and flickering and just one other desk lamp illuminated in your bedroom. The moon is hidden and the sky is starless tonight, an omen to those who notice… but you haven’t. Your brain is preoccupied with how much sleep you’ll be able to get before having to return to work. 

The shower is a quick one, not wanting to take more time away from sleep, and you step out onto the cold tile floor while wrapping your towel around you. Your mind slips for a moment, thinking about nothing in particular as you brush your teeth. When your gaze falls to the mirror, you notice your eyes don’t meet your own. Mirror you has toothpaste foaming from her mouth and is staring at the door to the bathroom.

You quickly spit out the toothpaste and look back up at the mirror but she hasn’t changed. Unease starts to crawl up your spine, shivering in your towel. The room becomes cold, the vapor from the shower dissipating and the condensation on the mirror starts to turn to frost. You open the medicine cabinet and slam it shut only to find the same image. This time her eyes flicker to stare into yours, then raises her finger to point toward the door. 

There is nowhere to go but out; you drop your towel and rush toward the door, nearly slipping multiple times. You reach the door and the lights go out, leaving you in complete darkness. Your fingers curl around the frame of the door and you peek through it. There’s nothing you can see. You slowly slip through the door, taking anxious baby steps forward. You’re telling yourself that your exhaustion is playing tricks on you, that all you need is to get into bed and shut your eyes and whatever is going on will sort itself out. 

The second you’re through the door the room comes roaring to life with black candles lining the walls glowing with green flames. You cover yourself with your arms and hands, trying to press your thighs together so you’re not exposed once your eyes fall to the bed and you realize there is a man here. He eyes you up and down, his white eye glowing green as his lips twitch into a grin. His fingers raise dramatically and he snaps them. In a blink of an eye your body is suddenly expertly wrapped up in a lush towel along with your damp hair. 

“Don’t look so surprised, carissima. You summoned me.” He stretches out on your bed, propping his head up his hand as he waggles his brows. “A man after midnight, no?” He uses his spare hand to feather through his raven hair with some strands falling into his face. His face paint cuts through the green light, highlighting the white parts of his face and making his piercing eyes stand out against his black eye paint. 

“The… the Abba song?” Your high-pitched voice cuts through the air, your face twisting in confusion. A wave of warmth washes over you, the most comfortable warmth you’ve ever felt, and you take a step toward him, your feet having a mind of their own.

“You have a need and I’m here to fill it.” He clicks his tongue and smiles, your eyes falling to his fangs. “Come, carissima.” He pats the empty side of the bed and you immediately feel a rush of arousal explode through you, your cheeks growing hot and your breath catching in your throat. You can’t stop yourself from doing what he asks as if he is controlling you or maybe he is just impossible to resist. Still, you are apprehensive while you sit down, clutching your towel and maintaining some distance between you — which he quickly closes in on. You swear a second ago he was wearing a black button down shirt but now he’s shirtless and you take in the fine, dark hair that covers his chest.

“Work, work, work, sleep, sleep, sleep. You need some excitement in your life, bella.” He growls huskily as he brings one of his hands to your face to cup your cheek. The ache between your thighs only grows while his thumb strokes your cheek gently. You should be smacking him away from you but you find yourself disarmed by him. It’s only now that you’re so close to him that you can see the sharp horns poking out from his forehead.

“What are you?” You sound flirty and it shocks you. It’s like he’s in your mind controlling your feelings and how you react to him. He slides his finger from his cheek to your lips, ghosting it lightly across the soft skin. You feel your heart pound in your ears and you press your thighs tightly together. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” He slips his finger into your mouth and presses down on your tongue, eliciting a deep, unintentional moan from you. “Call me Terzo, carissima. And please, no more questions, eh? We are wasting valuable time.” Terzo purrs and leans in, his lips brushing against your cheek. His kisses are soft and open, carefully making his way down your cheek as they grow more feverish. 

You don’t stop him. His free hand rests on your shoulder and slides down to toy with the top of your towel as he reaches your neck, his teeth and tongue nipping and sucking along the tender flesh. Everything melts away from you, all thought and all concerns, just as he carefully tugs at your towel, slipping his hand down the front of it. His hand and mouth are impossibly hot, warming your skin and sending heat straight to your core. Terzo focuses on your collarbone, humming as he mouths along it, trailing wet kisses. He reaches up and grabs at the towel on your head, freeing you damp hair.

“Mostriciattola, you are so beautiful.” He murmurs as he lifts his head up, mismatched eyes gazing into yours. You’re speechless, your lips parted but nothing leaving them as you wet them with your tongue. Terzo groans and presses his chin against yours, both of your mouths open before he descends on it. His tongue sweeps inside your mouth, tasting you and meeting your own tongue, taking his sweet time in skimming over every inch of you. You can feel your breath being taken away by him, your mind growing hazy and the ache between your thighs growing more intense. 

“I know how to please you. I’ve seen your darkest desires, belleza.” He purrs and forcefully pushes you onto your back. Your towel falls from you, his smooth hands cupping your breasts. He rolls them between his fingers and then pinches both of them at the same time, the jolt of pain and pleasure making you whimper. “You need some attention, si?” Terzo grins, showing off his teeth before he dips down, his hot breath skimming your breast. You squirm beneath him as you whine, watching him through half-lidded eyes. He chuckled quietly before flitting his tongue across your pebbled nipple. “Don’t youuuuu?” Terzo teases, tilting his head to peer up at you with a wicked grin. 

“I do.” You whine as your body trembles. “I do, oh god, I do.” He growls in response before sealing his lips around your nipple, laving his tongue across the pebbled flesh. Your hand falls to his sleek hair, your eyes fluttering shut as hushed moans spill from your lips. Terzo pulls off of your nipple slowly then moves to the other, giving it the same attention. You feel yourself dripping between your legs and the coiling tension in your abdomen only grows. He starts to move lower, his lips and tongue teasing down your stomach, his teeth scraping against your hip bones hard enough to make you squeak. Terzo then settles himself between your legs, deep, rumbling breaths pushing past his lips as half lidded eyes flicker up to your face and then down to your sex.

He leans down and kisses at the inside of your thighs, his sharp nails stroking at your legs. It’s slow and sensual, his fingertips heating up your skin and his lips gently massaging. He gives a shuddered breath as his mouth hovers over your sex, unable to hold back a groan once his tongue meets your slick folds. Terzo wraps his arms around your legs and buries his face between them, his nose pressed firm against your clit and his mouth devouring you. Your fingers knot in his hair, your hips rolling in time with his tongue against you. The taste of you on his tongue makes him moan, the vibrations of the sound reverberating through you as he continues his slow pace of working against your folds. 

His mouth is intoxicating. Never have you felt this insane from getting eaten out. Terzo’s movements grow more sloppy, his tongue fluttering along you before focusing on your clit. He seals his lips around it, sucking and gliding his tongue across it. Your hips jerk and you cry out, your abdomen tensing with each lick. His fingers push against your entrance, teasing and applying just the right amount of pressure to make you squirm. He pushes them in to his knuckles, giving a pleased grunt at how easily they slipped inside. Terzo curls them again and again against that spot deep inside you, sucking on your clit in perfect rhythm as screams rip from your throat, your hips stuttering and jerking from the sudden overstimulation. 

The pleasure is too much for you. Your body shakes and shudders, your nails digging into his scalp as you start to feel yourself become overtaken. A choked sob leaves your lips and you cum around his fingers, your eyes rolling back as your head hits the soft bed. He doesn’t stop though, his fingers still working you over and over again. Terzo pulls his mouth off of your swollen clit and rests his chin on your hip, wild eyes staring up at you as he continues curling his perfect fingers inside. 

“One more for me, belleza.” He sounds so nonchalant, so unworried, while your senses are on fire. You can’t bring yourself to speak, only sounds of desperation and thrill leaving your lips. Your hips writhe and twitch, and you let go of his hair only to grab onto the sheets as your gut tightens and your vision blurs. The tension snaps and you cum again. You can hardly feel your legs and your head feels light, your vision coming back only to see him smirking above you. You roll your eyes at him but are still unable to speak, instead catching your breath as you start to relax against the bed.

“Oh, I’m not done yet, mostriciattola.” He hisses and undoes his slacks, his perfect cock falling out of them. Before you can respond, his one hand curls around your throat, nails digging into your neck as he squeezes. You give a surprised yelp and then a scream once he slams his cock inside you. Terzo’s hips piston into you, his teeth bared as he snarls low in his throat. His eyes look like they’re glowing and the nails pressing into your neck feel impossibly sharp, threatening to break the skin. One of your hands clutches his wrist while the other grasps his forearm. You’re only able to gasp and give deep moans, his cock massaging your inner walls relentlessly. 

You feel like you’re dead on arrival, unable to even stand a chance against his monstrous cock. Your abs tense and you struggle to breath against his grip on your throat. His perfect hair is messy and he looks positively devilish as he squeezes your throat even tighter. You gasp for air, the combination of the lack of oxygen and the way his cock mercilessly fucks into you sending you over the edge. There are tears in your eyes as you cum and the orgasm is delicious. He quickly lets go of your throat and lowers himself on top of you, his hands curling behind your shoulders as he drives himself home. His hips snapping, his eyes boring into yours as he growls, so extremely focused on chasing his own release. You grab onto him and meet his hips with each thrust, and he can’t help but give a surprised groan, his lips hovering just over yours.

“Oh, sathanas.” Terzo hisses and buries his face in your neck, ragged breaths and low moans filling your ear. His thrusts slow to a stop and he stays there on top of you for what feels like a long while. You don’t know what else to do so you rest your hands on his back, hesitating for just a moment before you start to rub at it. He stiffens and then melts into the touch, closing his eyes while he catches his breath.

Suddenly, the green flames go out, the candles disappear and the lighting returns back to normal. In a blink of an eye he’s dressed in his silk black dress shirt and slacks, and you’re in a matching royal purple pajama set. 

“You’re leaving?”

“Ah, si. I’ve completed my assignment, carissima.” He smiles cheekily. 

“You could stay.” This creature had just been inside you but you still sound shy and a blush creeps up your cheeks. 

“You’re serious?”

“Well, yeah.” You are surprised by how unsure he looks as if no one has ever asked him to stay the night. Maybe it wasn’t part of his typical summoning but surely one person had to have asked, right? You cross your legs on the bed and start to mess with some of the covers. “You don’t have to… but you could stay.” 

Terzo eyes wander up and down your figure then focuses in on your face, his brows knit together. Something is going on behind his eyes, like he is thinking and overthinking about something. He ends up giving a deep sigh, as if he’s given up, and dives into the bed next to you, his arms immediately finding you and pulling you in close.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would think you have a little bit of a crush on me, mostriciattola.”