#Same Logic/Teeth

[selkaann]

It's hard to walk through all the places that your life used to be in, so you thought you'd shed a layer, maybe try on some new skin. Your friends are all imaginary, your shrink stopped answering her phone, so you decide to make incisions at your home while you're alone, all alone. But you're no tailor, you're no surgeon, none of your cuts go very straight. Every new layer you uncover reveals something else you hate, and then you cracked your head, and broke some bones, and when you glued them back together you found out you did it wrong.

Brand New - Same Logic/Teeth

[dumscribospero]

so i wrote and posted this on my main half asleep og art @wolflyndraws here

he's got so many physical after effects with scars and skin damages but also mental: he's wild and completely feral. he lose himself, living outdoors. he hasn't had any contact with living, breathing being in a long, long time. even animals avoid him, leaving as soon as they see him. seeing him would scare anyone shitless, especially at first when the scars hasn't yet started to heal and the cuts on his face are gruesome and bloody. his body is one massive wound, it never stops hurting, driving him to madness. after a while, he slowly start to get better. his body starts to heal. his mind is still fissured but he gets more and more time as his old self. not totally back to himself, far from it, but he get more cognisant of what's happening around him and what he's doing. there's a point where he has to go back to a village to trade stuff. he doesn't trust anything not to hurt him and dislike the idea of letting anyone get close to him. needs must though, and after weighting up the pros and the cons, he goes to one nearby. he's not careful the first time around and the few people that saw his face expressed shock and disgust. they could not look at him without horror in their eyes and repugnance etched on their face. he honestly didn't think about what he would look like to others. he's been alone for so long at that point, and he avoid every reflective surface he has genuinely no idea what the torture left behind. but even without knowing, seeing other people reaction he can guess. ashamed, he runs away. but he can't stay hidden away forever, he still needs to trade. so he goes back, to another village. further away. clocked under a heavy, deep hooded, capelet. he's got no skin showing at all. and this time, interactions are easier. his voice is gruff, his vocal cords damaged. he hasn't spoken for a long time and the first few words he needs to utter are rough. he doesn't stay for long. he can't. so he makes the trips more often than he'd like too, just so he can spend as little time in here as he can at once. longer interactions makes him hyper aware and he nearly slip from the precarious balance that's his mental health. words goes around that one weird adventurer comes by, sometimes. taciturn and withdrawn, and in need of lots of personal space. and it attracts curiosity. everyone is eager to know who he is, where he's from and what he looks like. but Dream can't answer neither of those questions without people turning on him.

[starpros-sunshine]

What do you do when a friend really wants to play a game with you but it's a horror game and you Really really do not like horror games because horror media tends to make your paranoia worse but you have already said no to most of her suggestions because well. They all just seem like I wouldn't really be having a lot of fun there is all....I feel like such an asshole but I just really do not think I'd have fun playing phasmophobia and I'm not spending 20€ on a game I have no interest in playing but just. Like. I feel like I kind of owe it to her atp for generally being not the best of friends there is.

[naturalbornlosers]

taking child psych as a trans person is wild bc you will see statements like "four year old boys are more aggressive because of testosterone" and have to sit there in silence as though that makes any fucking sense at all

[lumsel]

AITA for not wanting my roommate to use my toothbrush?

Hi reddit. A few days ago I (NB27) was getting ready for work when I caught my roommate (NB27) in the bathroom brushing their teeth with my toothbrush. I got really mad at them for this, but they didn't think it was a big deal and said I was overreacting.

Their logic was that because they were my exact duplicate all our germs are basically the same anyway so it's basically like just one person brushing their teeth twice. But my opinion was that we became "different people" one year ago, when they woke up in my bed beside me one morning without any explanation. But this made them mad because they said from their perspective I was the one who woke up in their bed one morning without any explanation, and they accused me of claiming to be the original again. Things got really heated after this but neither of us was able to kill the other because our abilities were perfectly matched so we basically just declared stalemate like usual.

This whole ordeal had been especially disconcerting to me because up until this point there have been no real points of divergence in our personalities. Every time we have made a decision we would both make the same choice, all of our opinions and beliefs have been identical, and any time we converse it's difficult because we keep trying to say the same thing at the same time. So for us to disagree on anything is unexpected let alone something this big. I was hoping to use this as a clue to help prove I was the original but unfortunately none of my friends or family can remember my stance on toothbrush clone sharing so I was out of luck there.

Anyway they still keep using my toothbrush even though there's another one there because they "like the blue one more than the purple one" but the blue one is mine!!! I really don't think its unreasonable to ask them to use a different toothbrush here, especially since I was here first. AITA?

EDIT: mods this thread isn't a duplicate, they just posted the same topic from their perspective at the exact same time that i posted mine. stop flagging this for deletion.

EDIT 2: I can't believe I have to say this, but a perfect copy of dubious origin is a completely different category of person to a twin!! None of the social dynamics are the same, you can't draw equivalences between them. So when we have sex it is NOT incest. Can we please stay on topic here?

[cinnxmxngxrl]

“Too old”

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Part 2 here Joel’s Masterlist here

Summary: You’ve been throwing yourself at Joel Miller for months, even if the answer was always a no. But tonight he comes knocking at your door.

WC: 3k

Warnings: smut, minors DNI, dirty talk, age gap, unprotected piv, oral (f!receiving).

A/N: Just so you know english is not my first language and this is literally my first time writing, so it’s probably terrible but wanted to try anyway. Also this is pretty much all smut without plot.

“I’m too old for you.”

That was the same bullshit excuse he’d always use. Every single time you tried to make a move, he’d bring up the age difference. You weren’t sure if it was because he was scared of what the people of Jackson would say behind closed doors or if he was worried he wouldn’t be able to keep up with you.

Because yes, he was old—but no other man had ever made you feel so weak in the knees like him. Like that time you saw him fixing one of the fences, flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, those huge arms on full display, veins popping out. Logically, you had to run home to relieve the ache between your thighs, thinking of him. Always of him.

Or that other time, right after winter, when you saw him in his new pants—new for him—legs spread wide as he sat, too preoccupied talking to Tommy for him to notice the way you drooled over the big bulge that the too-tight pants revealed. All you could think about was how it would feel to sit on top of that and ride it until your legs went numb.

“Listen, darlin’, I’m twice your age. It would never work. Just let it go,” he said, shutting you down once again. “Plenty of young men for you here.”

“You know, to me, it sounds like you’re scared,” you shot back. “Scared it might work. Scared you might like it too much.” You took a few steps closer to him, your hand barely brushing his broad chest.

He scoffed, amused as if what you had said was completely ridiculous. “You’re so sure of yourself, huh? I’m sorry to break it to you, but I’d never see you as anything but a kid.”

Now you laughed. “A kid, you say? Then swear to me you’ve never thought about me before going to sleep,” you said, a smile on your face that implied you already knew the answer.

“I’ve never thought about you… in that way.” A lie. You could see right through him, the way he looked away, avoiding your gaze.

You chuckled. “Oh right, of course, you haven’t.” The sarcasm was unmistakable in your voice.

“Jesus, fuck, you’re giving me a goddamn headache.” He said through gritted teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t think of young girls in that way.”

“I’m not a young girl, Joel, in case you haven’t noticed.”

And damn if he hadn’t noticed. Of course, he fucking did. He was only a man, for Christ’s sake. He couldn’t help but stare at your ass when you were bending down to pick up tomatoes in the garden, picturing how you’d look bent over his kitchen counter instead, with him fucking you from behind. The truth was that this was his most recurring fantasy on those cold, lonely nights when he had his hand wrapped around his hard cock, imagining bending you over every possible surface, cumming in record time just by thinking about it. He wouldn’t even dare imagine how long he’d last if he were actually inside you.

“Still, you’re too young for me anyway,” he said. More excuses, you thought.

“You’ll change your mind eventually, Joel. I’m gonna enjoy seeing you crawl to me, and I’m gonna be waiting because I’m a very patient woman,” your tone was far too seductive, nearly making him say “fuck it”and give in. “You know where I live, so find me there when you grow the balls to be with me.”

Joel muttered a curse under his breath as he watched you walk away, your head held high and your hips swaying.

That night, he rolled restlessly in bed. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw your face, those beautiful eyes of yours, and oh that mouth that would look so good wrapped around his cock, taking it all in. He couldn’t stop the way his body reacted to those thoughts; he was so fucking hard it was painful. No matter how much he tried to look at the ceiling and think of anything else, nothing worked, and with every passing second he grew more relentless.

“Screw it,” he thought as he stood up from bed, putting on a pair of jeans and a jacket at lightning speed. The town was quiet and empty this late at night as he made his way to your house. He felt stupid; he was an old man. He should know better than to cave in, to knock on your door in the middle of the night because he needed some much-wanted release. But right now, none of that mattered.

A few moments after he knocked on your door, you finally appeared, a knowing smirk on your face. “Oh, Joel, what a surprise.”

He tried hard to swallow the humiliation he felt for being so weak. “Can I come in?”

“Sure, go ahead.” You opened the door for him to enter and led him to your small couch, sitting down and patting the spot next to you.

He had tried really hard not to look at your chest in that skin-tight tank top you were wearing, but when he sat down, his eyes, almost as if they had a mind of their own, traveled down and noticed your hard nipples pushing through the fabric, and he had to suppress a groan from escaping his lips.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you. I—fuck… you don’t leave my mind for a second,” he admitted.

“Well, that’s a start, you know, you finally admitting that you think of me in your bed.” You teased him, trying to make fun of him just for the pleasure of watching him squirm.

He clenched his hands, a useless attempt to restrain himself from pulling you close and kissing you senseless. His eyes roamed over your figure, lingering on your thighs, exposed under those shorts that were way too tiny, and he felt the heat returning to his body.

You noticed the way he was staring, like a wolf examining its prey before pouncing.

“You like what you see, old man?” You couldn’t help but test him; you knew you had him right where you wanted him.

“Don’t be a smartass… I’m a man. Of course, I’m gonna look.” His voice was low with desire.

“Why don’t you come and get a taste then?” you bit your lip as you spoke.

And that was all it took. He finally reached out to you, his fingers slowly running down the soft skin of your arm until they reached your thigh, sending sparks through your body. It was all too much for him; you felt too good under his hands, and he needed more. He desperately needed more, as if it was a matter of life or death.

He leaned closer, so close you could feel each other’s breaths, smell each other’s shampoo, so close you could almost taste each other.

“Fucking finally,” you whispered into his mouth, teasing him one last time before Joel lost the last shred of restraint he had left in his body. He closed the distance and crushed his lips against yours in a passionate kiss.

His right hand tangled in your hair, keeping you close as he devoured your mouth with a need you’d never seen before. His other hand was on your hip, pushing you down onto the couch.

He climbed on top of you, his mouth continuing to taste yours as his hands roamed freely over your body, finally finding your breasts. He kneaded your soft flesh, taking your clothed nipple between his fingers and pinching it softly, making you gasp.

His touch was everything you had imagined: rough, passionate, and masculine.

You broke the kiss just when your lungs gave out. If you were wet before, you were soaked now, tugging off his shirt, revealing his toned body.

“Holy fuck, it should be a crime to hide all of this under a shirt,” you muttered, breathless as your hands explored his muscular chest and stomach.

He would’ve laughed, but he was too lost in the moment. His body trembled with pent-up desire and anticipation, which only worsened as he felt your hands over his body.

Joel moved back to your neck, kissing, licking, and nibbling at it with desperation. Then slowly began to move down your body. He wouldn’t let one part of you go without a touch or taste.

He kissed your stomach, making you squirm, but you couldn’t move; his grip on your hips was tight. He only let go to move his hands to the waistband of your shorts, letting out a growl when he finally slid them down your legs—shorts and panties in one go—leaving you completely bare in front of him, spread out and just for him to do whatever he pleased.

Joel pushed your legs wide apart, making room for himself between them. His head was only inches away from your glistening center.

“Are you this fucking wet just from some kisses?” He looked up at your face, noticing the utter desperation in your eyes, almost begging him to do something—anything—to take the ache away from between your legs.

He let out a low laugh as he moved his face closer, his tongue darting out to take a lick of your dripping slit. Joel grunted softly—if heaven had a taste, he was sure it’d taste just like this. His tongue circled your clit with experienced precision, and you couldn’t help the loud whimper that left your lips.

He stopped his ministrations for a second. His warm breath against you.

“Like that, darlin’? Tastes like fucking heaven, this cunt… fucking sweet.” He didn’t give you time to answer as he went right back to work, his tongue moving faster through your folds, drawing delicious circles around your puffed clit as his hand gripped your hips, anchoring you in place and making sure you’d be all bruised tomorrow.

You looked down to see his head buried in between your thighs. He was eating you out like a starved man, like you were the first meal he’d eaten in days, and you could feel how much he was enjoying it—getting off from your pleasure.

Joel had to buckle his hips against the couch trying to find some relief for his aching cock, but hearing you moan and whimper only made him want you more, and so his tongue began to push inside your entrance, deep and slow.

“Oh Joel, yes… yes… don’t stop… just like that.” You cried out, your hand tugging at his hair, trying to hold onto something as he fucked you with his tongue.

It only took a couple more minutes before you let out a loud whimper, cumming around his tongue. He felt it—your spasms, the way your walls clenched around him—and he kept going to help you ride out your orgasm, pulling away only after he had slurped the last of your delicious juices.

You tried to regain your breath after that intense experience, but you got only more turned on as you saw Joel wiping your fluids from his chin and mouth with the back of his hand.

“Oh my god… who taught you how to eat pussy like that?” you asked him, half-joking, half-serious.

He laughed softly, his hands roaming over your body—your thighs, stomach, breasts—squeezing the flesh softly. “Years of experience.” He murmured, leaning closer to your face. “But yours is the best I’ve ever tasted.”

Joel kissed you once again, and you could taste yourself on his tongue, only fueling your desire for him—if it was possible to desire him even more.

“Darlin’, I gotta have you… I need to be inside of you,” he muttered, his voice a silent plea.

“Yes… god… yes, Joel, please,” you whimpered pathetically, and your shaky hands fumbled with his belt, feeling the thick shape of him through his jeans.

He grunted, removing your trembling hands with more urgency. He undid his pants himself with impatience, tugging them down just enough to free his cock

You looked down, and your jaw dropped. That was a gorgeous cock if you ever saw one—big, thick, pushing up against his stomach, the tip glistening with a bead of precum.

“Oh god, Joel,” you breathed out.

“Do you want it?” He pumped his throbbing cock with one hand, feeling like it might explode right now.

“Please, Joel… I need it so much.”

With one hand, he spread your legs wider, and with the other, he took the shaft and guided the tip of his cock right on your wet cunt, dragging it teasingly slow to gather all your slick before positioning it on your entrance.

He took a slow breath to steady himself before finally pushing inside—one big and deep thrust that made you see stars.

You whimpered loud, your body shivering as you felt the way he was stretching you open. He gave you one second to adjust to his size before he pulled all the way back, just to slam into you harder this time.

He was so big, bigger than any other guy you’d been with before, it stung for a moment, but the pleasure swallowed the pain whole.

“Holy fuck, how are you this tight?” he groaned as he squeezed his eyes closed just for a second so he wouldn’t lose it. “I swear this cunt was made for me… made to take this cock.”

Joel began to move, his pace completely relentless and unforgiving, each thrust, each roll of his hips, making him go deeper inside of you. His hands kept moving all over your body, gripping you like he needed to brand every inch of you as his.

“Oh Joel… feels so good,” you said between moans. “Please don’t stop… keep going… harder.”

His hands moved to the back of your thighs and maneuvered your legs so they were hooked over his shoulders, this new angle allowing him to dive deeper into you—so deep you could feel him pressing against your cervix, and your moans became cries of pure pleasure.

You’d never seen a man in such a state—completely animalistic, possessed, in the way he moved, almost violently, and in the sounds he let out of his mouth: growls and groans proper of a wild animal.

“Cum for me… need to feel you cum on my cock,” he almost begged with his ragged voice. “Need to feel that pretty pussy squeezing me so tight.”

Joel’s hand made its way in between your bodies, and his thick fingers found your bundle of nerves, tracing hard circles around it, the pace of his thrusts never slowing.

You felt the tears in your eyes, completely overstimulated by his cock and fingers both working in unison to get you there again.

“I’m—oh Joel… I’m cumming! I’m cumming!” you sobbed, tears falling down your cheeks. Joel felt the way you clenched around his cock as you came, and it was the most delightful sensation he’d ever experienced.

He felt his own climax approaching. He wasn’t even sure how he managed to last so long when you felt so incredibly good—he definitely deserved a prize for that.

“Oh yes, darlin’… feels so good cumming for me like that.”

God knows there was nothing he wanted more in this moment than to cum inside of you, painting your insides white and filling you up with his seed until it was dripping out of your cunt. But he knew he couldn’t. So, with the last ounce of self restraint he had left, he managed to pull out, his hand wrapping around his cock as he stroked it—one, two, three times—then he let out a groan that sounded like a wounded animal, and his cum shot out of him, hot and thick now coating your lower stomach in creamy white.

He stared at the sight, admiring his artwork for a second before he collapsed next to you on your couch, completely spent and feeling hazy after the intense pleasure he had experienced. His only thought in mind was how he wanted to do this again, and again, and again.

Joel buried his head in your neck, nuzzling it as he tried to calm himself down and catch his breath again. “You alright?” he asked, his soft voice contrasting with how intense it sounded before.

“I’m better than alright… shit… that was…” You struggled to find words that described how amazing it all felt, to finally have him after so much time of fantasizing about him—and realizing that he was even better than you had expected.

“I know,” he said on your neck, as if he was thinking the same things you were thinking. His hand roaming over your body, not with intense passion like before, but with a tender and soft touch to give you comfort after the intense moments of pleasure you both shared.

“How long was it since you last did this?” You knew you probably shouldn’t ask, especially since he was always so reserved, but it was a question that had been in your mind for a long time.

He sighed, and you could feel how his body tensed. Not because he struggled with being honest with you, but because the answer reminded him of how long he’d forced himself to be alone. He was quiet for a few moments. “A long time…”

You already assumed it had to be a long time. “Very specific, like always.”

He grunted, and you could notice he was slightly annoyed by your insistence. “It’s been… years,” he admitted. He’d had needs, sure, but the vulnerability of sex—the intimacy of it—was something he hadn’t allowed himself in a very long time. Not until you.

“And… did you enjoy it? Now, I mean—was it good for you?” Yes, you knew that he came, but after many years without having sex, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was what he expected.

He chuckled at your question, like you had asked the most stupid thing. He pulled you closer, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Of course I enjoyed it. I’d have to be dead not to.”

“Good, ’cause I did too.” You smiled softly, your voice just barely above a whisper.

He held you tight against his body, his eyes closing as he enjoyed the feeling of you pressed against him and the warmth of your body. Wondering if this could be the beginning of something—if he could allow himself to love and be loved again.

Part 2 here

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

[girlinterupptedsblog]

Rafe hates condoms

Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex, Rafe being a whiny brat, slight breeding kink, dirty talk, mild choking, praise/degradation, established relationship, toxic tendencies, possessiveness, explicit language.

Summary: If there’s one thing Rafe Cameron hates more than anything, it’s condoms. He doesn’t just dislike them—he despises them. The thought of something being between you two, even a thin layer of latex, makes his blood boil. But on the nights when you know you’re fertile, you insist—just to be safe.

Rafe was already worked up, eyes dark, hands rough as he dragged them down your body. His shirt was long gone, his jeans undone, your legs spread open on the bed where he had been kissing and touching you for what felt like forever. He was desperate—aching to be inside you.

But then you said it.

"Condom."

And just like that, he was pouting, pulling back like you’d just ruined his whole night. His brows furrowed, lips twitching in frustration.

“Are you serious?” His voice was laced with irritation, but beneath it, there was something else—pure, undiluted disappointment.

You sighed, already knowing this was coming. “Rafe, it’s just for tonight. Just in case.”

He flopped onto his back beside you, dragging a hand down his face like this was some unbearable punishment. “I don’t even wanna fuck anymore,” he muttered dramatically, throwing an arm over his eyes.

You rolled your eyes. “You’re such a baby.”

“I don’t care.” He turned his head toward you, lips set in a stubborn line. “I hate them. Hate them. Why do you wanna put something between us?” His voice was softer now, more genuine, like the thought truly upset him.

“You know why.”

“I’d pull out,” he argued, but even he knew that was a weak excuse. You’d had this conversation before. Rafe didn’t pull out. Rafe buried himself deep inside you every time, groaning about how you were meant to take him. And honestly? You weren’t strong enough to stop him when he got like that.

“That’s not a risk I’m taking.”

He let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling onto his side to face you. His fingers found your hip, tracing slow, lazy circles. “You don’t trust me?”

“I don’t trust us.”

That made him smirk—because you were right. The second he was inside you, all sense of logic went out the window.

“I hate this,” he mumbled, nuzzling into your neck like a sulking child. “It’s not the same. I wanna feel you.”

“You still will.”

“No, I won’t.” His teeth grazed your jaw. “I need to feel you, baby. Need to be inside you, just like this.” His hand slipped between your thighs, fingertips teasing your soaked folds. “You want this too, don’t you?”

You did. God, you did.

But you stayed firm. “Condom, Rafe.”

His jaw clenched. He was fighting himself, torn between his desperate need to be inside you and his absolute hatred for anything separating him from you.

Then he sat up, running a hand through his hair with an exasperated groan. “Fine. Whatever. Give it to me.”

You reached for the nightstand, grabbing the small silver packet. But before you could hand it to him, he snatched it from your fingers and tossed it across the room.

“Rafe—”

“Oops.” His smirk was downright devious. “Guess we can’t use it now.”

Your eyes narrowed. “You think I don’t have more?”

“I think,” he murmured, rolling back over you, pinning your wrists above your head, “you don’t really want me to.”

Your breath hitched as he ground against you, his cock heavy and hard against your thigh.

“Tell me to stop,” he challenged, lips brushing against yours. “Tell me to put one on.”

You swallowed thickly, pulse racing. You should. You needed to.

But then he rolled his hips again, pressing against your entrance, teasing you, taunting you—

And all logic disappeared.

“Fuck it,” you whispered.

His grin was victorious. “That’s my girl.”

Then he was pushing inside, bare and deep, groaning at the feeling of you wrapped around him with nothing in between.

[luludeluluramblings]

Neglected!Pregnant!Reader x Yandere!Bat Family Part Five

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Part One ☁️ Part Two ☁️ Part Three ☁️ Part Four

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Warnings: Pregnancy, Yandere themes, Fem!Reader, made up lore, Guns (Rubber bullets), mentions of termination, Bruce being really delusional, Conner being a bit of a creep, 3.2k words oops

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

You can feel your heart rate rising and the blood rushing to your head so fast that you nearly grow lightheaded once again.

Multiple things happen after Bruce says those words, but you don’t care. Too focused on not launching yourself out of Conner’s arms and tearing into Bruce with your teeth. An effort you know would be futile, but how goddamn satisfying would it feel for his skin to break under those blunt teeth of yours? Very.

“Excuse me?” The words leave your lips before anyone else can utter a word.

“Bruce.” You’d even beaten Superman with your rage, but you shot him a glare of your own. Making his pause his attempt at playing peacemaker in this situation.

“Stay out of this, Kent.” You'd almost be disturbed by how much you sounded like Damian when he was annoyed with his friend. But, Clark wasn't your friend in this situation and you were willing to find out if he had a spine of steel at that moment with all the spitefulness bubbling on your tongue.

It’s a struggle, but you shove out of Conner’s arms and start to storm near Bruce. Not too close. No, you won’t get close enough for him to hurt you ever again. “Listen here you bat-mad-motherfucker—“

“Language.” The man interrupts.

The man being being Bruce fucking Wayne.

Bruce would admit he was a stubborn, but most importantly he was a paranoid and terrified person deep down. Possibly a fool with how enraged you were looking at him. But, this wasn’t pride controlling his actions. This was fear.

Memories of the stress Lois was under while pregnant with Jon. How sick she had looked. How he had been more than willing to help Clark then, but how foolish he thought the man was for putting someone he apparently loved in such a high risk situation.

All the statistical data he had memorized over the years from just regular pregnancies and their risk. Of the horror stories of mothers dying in hospital beds. Even flashes of his own mother's face when he had asked once for a sibling as a child only to see he smile with devastation hidden behind the same eyes she shared with you about how he was enough.

Later he had found the records. Ectopic pregnancy. Hysterectomy. He was lucky he had her until that luck ran out in that alleyway. She never spoke of it either. She didn't even mention it to Alfred or anyone Which made him ache and fear more.

But, now the ghost of her was standing in front of him like he was the gunman that night and glaring him down with a furry that he sometimes saw only in his darkest moments in puddles left on the Gotham pavement after long nights.

“I’ll say it in French if I have too. There is no we in this situation. Just me and my child. You are not included in this. None of the family is included in this.” As you berate into him he finds himself holding on to his fear. Clinging to it the same way he clings to the notions that your his little girl and he needs to keep you safe from the world.

“What you're carrying is partially Kryptonian fetus from an—“

“I don’t fucking care if this child was part Xenomorph. You have no say. No, God damn, say.” There's an awkward laugh from someone at the thought, but whoever it came from bites their lips and chokes it down.

“It’s dangerous.” Bruce finds himself insisting. It’s not about controlling you. He swears it isn’t.

“They’re my baby.” But, you’re his baby.

“You’re being irrational.” The argument spirals.

“You’re being an asshole.” Immature, yet true. He never claimed he wasn’t. But, he’ll bend logical to his will to protect you.

“You need to think clearly. This could jeopardize your health, your life, your safety. That thing is dangerous.” Bruce takes a step in your direction, only to watch as you take a step back.

“That thing is your fucking grandson.” Don’t say that. Don’t tell him what it is. It could hurt you, please don’t make him love it. Don’t make him remember that he didn’t get to hold you.

“I say no.”

“And I say you have no fucking say.”

“I am your father, you will-“ Wrong thing to say, because words start spilling from your mouth like a thousand little cuts. Biting insults and feelings that he suspected you had hidden, but didn’t expect you to hit him with like this.

“You’re just an asshole that fucked my mother. And, newsflash, you ain’t the only one that did that. Hell, I bet you weren’t even the best one at it. You’re just the only one that left something stuck inside her and nine months later I popped out for you to ignore.”

Each word of your anger feels justified in your mind . Nothing was off limits as the libel escaped your lips. Bubbling out of you chest was harsh words that you’d bottled up, but hormones fucked with your control and they slid off your tongue with ungodly ease as tears bubbled in your eyes.

"You chose Batman and Gotham over me.” You murmur. The sick realization you had that day he appeared into your life. He had known. Known about you existence. But, he left you. He had all the resources available to just... check on you. To let you know he at least somewhat cared. And, he didn’t.

“You think I didn't realize that when you showed up at Momma and Daddy's funeral to whisky me away to your haunted mansion? You could have come for me at any point in time. You can't say you didn't know I existed. You've just been really damn good at ignoring me."

Your own heart aching as you practically shout at him. Feeling like a little girl waiting for her dad to give her attention even though you’re not. Not anymore.

"But, I accepted that less than five months after moving into this empty house you keep on top of your real goddamn home." You remind yourself, you’re not a little girl. Even as you spin in that gave to show off what he had picked over you.

You already had a father. And, it wasn’t Bruce Wayne even if blood said otherwise.

"You didn't get to act like you have a say in my life now, if ever again. I'm grown. And, I will pick my son over you. Every. Single. Time. I want to be this child's mother more than I have ever wanted to be your daughter." The words true and concrete as you let your feeling pour out of you like a faucet. And, you look up, meeting the his gaze and you see…

He has that same stupid stoic expression.

And, that fills you with rage.

“You have a whole life ahead of you. Why are you risking it for a mis—“

“Don’t you dare fucking finish that sentence!” You snarl, moving to grab one of Jason’s guns from his thigh hostler in a surprising show of speed. Startling him and the rest of the family observing the absolute shit show going on in stunned silence.

There’s a few gasp and intakes of breath. But, everyone, including you, know it’s loaded with rubber bullets.

“If you dare call them that! Not unless you're willing to admit I was one too!” You hold it pointed at him. But, he doesn’t flinch. Doesn't even rise to your challenge.

Bruce, strangely, feels proud in this moment. Your conviction reminds him of his own. Reminds him of his mother. Reminds him of your mother. He knows he’s not going to change your mind. He knows he’s going to have to accept that.

But, he has to try one last time. You just don’t understand how dangerous this is.

“It’s too—“

You don’t let him finish, you lower the gun. Look him dead in the eyes and fire.

Normally, Bruce could handle a rubber bullet. He’s fought unpredictable criminals that play dirty all the time. He was prepared to expect anything from his children even.

He didn’t expect you to shoot him in the dick though.

“Oh, my god…”

“She shot the Batpole!”

“Jason, how strong are those bullet?!”

“She didn’t even aim!”

“Pregnant women are terrifying…”

Bruce can barely keep his composure as he feels his knees weaken. He may have been wearing his suit, armor and cup sewn in. But, that still hurt like a bitch.

But, it didn’t hurt as much as the way you looked at him before your next words made his world fall apart.

“I will be moving out soon.” You said, loudly. Announcing a fact, one that you refused to let anyone object too. The only sound after was Jason’s gun clattering to the floor as you carelessly let it drop from your hands and left. Without looking back.

Bruce swore, for all his screw ups, for all his miscalculations and fears that made him human, he’d get you back and keep you safe. And, if it meant you had your son in your arms, so be it. Besides, a baby might be good for the family.

Though as his eyes met Clark's he realized, this was going to be a new kind of battle all together.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

You made it back to your room and collapsed in exhaustion as the intense emotions started to wear off and leave you feeling empty. Only for that to last for six minutes before Stephanie was in your room.

You hadn’t even heard her knock. But, you weren’t surprised.

“You’re leaving?” Her shock over the matter was more astonishing to you. After all that, that was her concern?

"Honestly Steph, are you really that surprised I want to leave the manor?" You ask in disbelief as you slowly sit up on the mattress as look at her. Your hoodie has done well at covering your bump, but as you adjusted it was more noticeable. Though there was no point in hiding it now.

"Yes. Alright, maybe not. I just thought we were friends now." She tries to find the right way to describe the thoughts running through her mind. She doesn’t want to lose you. She just got you.

"We are. But, do we really have to be housemates for that?"

"No, but I'm just worried about you and the baby." It’s ease to come up with the explanation. Gotham is dangerous. Living alone would be dangerous. You need help. You need her.

"We'll be fine."

"But--"

"We will be fine." You interrupt, more firmly. Giving her a glare. The emotions from your confrontation with Bruce still apparent. Words still desperately wanting to be said.

"Look, I'm gonna be honest here. As a family, y'all are… unreliable. As Gotham vigilantes, y'all have actually done more for me." You try to reign in your temper. Stephanie really had become your friend and support in this place. But, it was too late for you to want to stay.

"Asking me to stay and raise my son in an empty house… That's too much. Plus you heard Bruce. He wants be to just get rid of my son. Like-- Like he doesn't matter. Like he's a thing. He's mine. My baby. I don't care what you say, but I can't forgive that."

"He didn't mean that you know." Even as Stephanie said the words, she could tell you have no faith in them.

"It doesn't mater that he didn't mean that. What matters is that he thought it so strongly that he still said it out loud. And, considering how few words the man has said to my in my entire life, I'm taking that to heart." Your words echo with finality, like that was the end of the argument.

For Stephanie though, it wasn’t. She knew that it wasn’t the end. She knew they’d pull you back. And, they would. It was inevitable. She knew Bruce wouldn’t let you go and that if you were this vulnerable everyone would do whatever it took to keep you safe.

After sending Stephanie away with the excuse you needed a nap, you were more than ready to fall into a fitful sleep and drool into your pillow without care when you got a knock at the door.

You gave it a sharp look. Considering how pissed you were at everything, you would’ve have torn anyone apart for disturbing you.

It just so happened that the person disturbing you was some one you physically could tear apart because they were part fucking Kryptonian and appearing in your door way with a stupid fucking apologetic smile.

“So… We should probably—“ Conner starts in that stupid voice of his. Everything about him stupid to you right now. His hair. His eyes. The way he’s bicep is flexing as he scratches the back of his head in a self-conscious manner. That doesn’t make your mouth water. Not at all. Pregnancy did that. You swear.

“What makes you think I have anything to say to you?” You quickly snap at him. Not wanting to hear his excuses.

Already he’s bringing out those stupid puppy eyes that make you want to bend over— no. Bad thought.

“I—“

“Wipe that damn pitiful expression off your face. You aren’t gonna give me some bullshit excuses about you being drunk—“ You know he couldn’t get drunk. And, if he somehow miraculously did, he’d do it with his team or with people he trusted. Not show up at some Gotham party. You didn’t need to be Batman’s spawn to deduce that.

“You’re right. You’re right…” Conner sighs, rubbing his hands over his face as he steps towards you trying to hide the way he shakes.

It’s so subtle that you miss it. But, he’s so fucking satisfied right now. So ecstatic about you carrying his baby. The fact that it’s a boy. The fact that you literally shot Batman for his son.

The way you look so good lying there in front of him with that sleepy pissed off expression makes him want to fall to his knees and kiss his way up from your legs to your lips. Let him feel how soft you’ve become. Let him feel what he did to you.

“I just… I was there. I heard you complaining and I thought I’d check on you. And, you— You are a very clingy drunk.” He does attempt to explain, honestly. But, he’s too enthralled right now.

“And, let me guess, you just couldn’t resist.”

“No. I couldn’t.” Conner wouldn’t lie to you. Not if he could help it. “Even if I had the willpower of a Green Lantern or the discipline of a damn monk, I couldn’t have.” He murmurs with rough honesty as he inches towards you.

“You have no idea how deeply you make me feel. I know it was wrong. I gave myself a million excuses. That you weren’t that drunk. That we’re good enough friends that we wouldn’t regret it. That you might— Feel the same about me…” God, the way your eyes widen and your breath hitches has him feeling lightheaded. Your heart speeds up and he can hear it.

“You’re talking like you’re in love with me.” Your tone is spiteful, even though the emotions in your chest are mixed.

“Yeah, I am. And?” Fuck, this is not how he ever wanted to confess. But, it’s not like he can contain it much longer. Not when he’s so close to having everything he wanted right in his grasp.

“I’m not scared of saying it. I’m scared of scaring you. Of being kept away from you. Of not being about to hear your heartbeat every day, letting me know you’re alive. That you’re somewhere in this word giving me a reason to exist.” He pleads, he grovels. He knows it was wrong.

He didn’t mean to take advantage of you. He’d thought you’d remember. Remember how he made love to you. How he had spent that entire night leaving gentle bites across your skin and holding you so close he nearly bruised your skin.

You can feel your eye’s prickling with tears again. Seeing his stupid face. Hearing his stupid voice.

“Just— Just get out!” You snap, unable to handle the mixture of feelings. The way your heart is aching, breaking, and repairing itself.

“Out! Out!” You yell, throwing one of your pillows at him.

“Okay. Okay. We’ll talk later. Just rest, please. You need it. For you and our baby, sweetheart.” He murmurs, clutching the pillow in his hand as he steps back and lets you have your space.

You grumble and glare as he leaves. Wondering if you offended him by wanting to be alone as you angrily curl in your bed.

You don’t see him standing outside your door. Shoving his face into the pillow you’d thrown at him and inhaling your scent. Noting the subtle ways it’s changed in his absence and how he can’t wait to bury his nose in the crook of your neck again.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

You had woken from your nap, feeling the frustrating urge to pee. A common feeling you were growing uncomfortably familiar with as you moved further along in your pregnancy. You gently rubbed your bump as you grumbled to the bathroom. Quickly finishing so you could go back to bed. Only, you heard another knock on the door.

Instantly your ire is spiked as you march towards it expecting to tear into Bruce or Conner, only to be taken aback when you see Dick. Standing there with a soft look. Not unlike Conner’s stupid look earlier.

"Hey…"

"What do you want, Dick?" You’re half tempted to shut the door in his face.

"Easy now." Now you’re seventy-five percent tempted to shut the door in his face.

"I really don't want a big brother lecture from you or anyone right now. So disappear or whatever. You just as bad as—"

"I'm not here to lecture you." He quickly interrupts, knowing that your next words would hurt. Which, he'd let you hurt him. Not because you were special or anything. He's let anyone in this family hurt him to make themselves feel better. But, you had never tried and he could tell you were aching. Making it a little easier for him to want to take every bit of damage from you.

"Well, that's nice." Was you dry response before you looked back at him with suspicion. "Did Bruce send you?"

"No." He answered, technically honest. Dick may have suggested the idea to Bruce on the premise that you needed a space to cool off before you did end up in some shady apartment on the other side of Gotham. And, Bruce may have approved of his plan. But, he was already going to go through with it regardless.

"I'm here to make you an offer."

"And, what sort of thing could you offer me? You don't exactly have a lot of experience with this sorta thing last I checked." Comes your sharp retort, expecting some fake concern or him trying to play peacemaker.

But, when you hear his actually offer, you’re stunned.

"Come stay at my apartment in Bludhaven."

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Taglist:

@bunbunboysworld @ellaprime7 @bad4amficideas @victoria1676 @nebulousmoon3990 @n-lol @ellelabelle @vanessa-boo @twinklingbeautifulstars @wisefuncherryblossom @mybones537 @pato-spoiler-27 @darktrashpoetry @kitkatkitmeow @eyeless-kun @love-zami @cloudserenity @roseapov @nommingonfood @minkyungseokie @nervousalpacalady @allycat4458 @shadowytravelerlover @faimmm @otterluver05 @ousama-tobio @gabbiegabbie24 @timotheechalametswifeys @princessninii @sweetsugerskull @exactlynumberonekryptonite @sillysealsies @caged-birdies-blog @sirenetheblogger @wpdarlingpan @h0neysiba @jjsmeowthie @00hellohello00 @agsggebhzgehkfisnx @agsggebhzgehkfisnx @misokins @chenlelover @twismare @ssak-i @tacodeemon @momentomoribitch @redkarmakai @couldeatthatgirlforlunch @heyitsaloy @grossstinkygoblin @sg-obsessedfreak @anakilusmos @alittletiredcry @stargirl404 @bath1lda @kittzu @numbu5 @stickyricewithmangosauce @nessielovesfood @atanukileaf @sukaretto-n @nommingonfood @bunniotomia @jensenacklestoothpick @jellystar-star @calicocat-ina-tuxedo @yl90 @angelbelles @jayjayjayson @quotesandanime @sleepyghoster @sheep-from-rad @obsessedwithromance @ferchu0406 @insomniaallnight @simpingfor-wakasa @radiantdanvers @yuyuzi-ling @lunayaps @fantasyhopperhea @fae26 @butterflycardigann @bycstop @ddeliajo @justanerd1 @haniyaasads @bellethesleepypotato @izarosf1833 @izarosf1833 @alwaysholymilkshake @iamapotatoe @cxcilla @revelintales @nuttyrebelflower @sra7riddle-malfoy @obsessedwithfanfiction @pearlyribbons @creat0r-cat @nickey-diano @craulo13 @moonstonedust24 @anamiranda7383 @fto6 @burningkittenprince @senhoritaapple @plus-ultra-girl @oliviaewl @dragons-h0ard @1abi @lonely-star2044 @smiller975 @feedthefandoms995 @wpdarlingpan @type-ink @91-kya @lovebug-apple @cqerrz @zomqiez @hearts4mica @godoreo22 @wonderlace19 @bi-forest-fire @rainschnael @hopingtoclearmedschool @lover-girl009 @doggyteam2028 @shinning-stars @vrsin @k-sv @unearthlykara @biscuitsx @sleepy-sapphic-hooman @needstotouch-grass @ashxmulti

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A/N: I think the taglist is getting kinda long, I don't know if I should close it.

A/N: So, yeah. I've been letting this marinate for a while because I felt like words weren't enough to make Bruce pay. We needed action consistent with Reader's character. (I laughed for two days after the idea of shooting Bruce in the dick struck me.) Also, we really getting into the creepy bits now. Been mentally playing with my spidersona and the Batfam while trying to my energy levels back up post treatment. Plus, May is just a really busy month for me.

Ko-fI Link

[readwritealldayallnight]

im on my knees begging for jealous Simon headcanons 🧎🏻‍♀️

The thing about Simon is, he really has no reason to get jealous when it comes to you, and he knows it

He knows there isn’t anyone else who could make you smile so much your cheeks hurt, no one else who could make you laugh until you claim you’re going to pee your pants, no one else who could make you feel as good as he does, in oh so many ways, because you tell him so

You tell him that those same feelings of being loved, understood, appreciated, and wanted, those very feelings that you make him feel each and every day, he gives them back to you a thousand times over

He knows when you look in his eyes and tell him that you love him, that there isn’t a doubt in your mind that he is the only one for you, and nothing or anyone could ever change that

You’re as smitten with him as he is with you

Still though, Simon does have eyes

And while the logical part of his brain is telling him that he’s got no reason to be gritting his teeth and clenching his fists underneath the table, he can’t help but grow more and more frustrated with the way Soap and Gaz continue to flirt shamelessly with you

To be fair, you had warned him that keeping your relationship a complete secret from everyone would likely result is moments where Simon would have to watch you get hit on, and simply have to grin and bear it

That didn’t mean it was any easier, watching his only best mates try and work their charm on you, all while he sits at the same table and watches you roll your eyes at their advances

“Aw, come on love, just one chance, s’all I ask for!” The handsome, young sergeant practically whines to you, cheeky grin plastered across his features as he tries in vain to convince you to let him take you out some time

“Pfft, ye’d be nothin’ but a waste o’ her time, Garrick. We wouldn’t even ‘ave to to leave base for me to show ye a good time, bonnie.” The Scotsman winks at you, pointedly ignoring the way Gaz elbows him in the ribs at his comment

Throughout the entire exchange, Ghost’s gaze has never left your face, watching every time you scoff and roll your eyes at the men’s antics, reminding himself that you’re his, and he is yours, and the two sergeants are nothing more than pains in both of your asses

Finished with your pitiful meal from the dining hall, you stand from the table with your tray gathered in your hands, flipping your hair over one shoulder as you look towards the men trying to win your affection

“Once again, gentleman,” you say to them, knowing that they’re listening to your every word and watching your every move. “I don’t fraternize with colleagues. At least not the Sergeants.”

The two men groan in feeble protest at the mention of their ranks, having heard this reasoning from you before

“Ach, what if I get myself demoted, lass? I ken I could do that, easy!” Soap teases you, only kind of joking

“Mmm, don’t think that’ll work.” You reply, beginning to slowly walk away from the group, but not before glancing over you shoulder to lock eyes with Ghost and add, “You might have to become a Lieutenant. Those are more my type.”

The two Sergeants are staring after you, slightly gobsmacked, while their Lieutenant hides an overly smug and satisfied grin beneath his mask, shielding the pride that spread through him at your words

“Shite, sounds like you might ‘ave a chance, LT.” Soap laughs, smacking Ghost across the shoulder in a playful gesture, thinking that the larger man would never actually pursue you, let alone sleep in your bed almost every night

It’s a few weeks later when you and the rest of the 141 are all out for drinks at a nearby pub however, when Simon finds his instincts growing stronger than his insecurities

Because that’s just it isn’t it? He’s not feeling insecure when he sees you walk towards the bar by yourself to order a new drink, at least a dozen pairs of eyes watching you weave through the crowd in hopes of making a move on you

He’s not feeling insecure when he watches some tipsy idiot try and pretend he’s drunker than he really he is when he ‘accidentally’ bumps into you, apparently feeling the need to put his hands on you as he apologizes

He’s not feeling insecure when he watches you shove the guy off, reading your lips he knows so well as you tell the guy you’re not interested, nor is he insecure when he knows the idiot won’t give up that easily, likely asking if you’re here alone before you point over to where the 141 have overtaken a booth in the back

No, he certainly isn’t feeling insecure when he sees that the man never bothers glancing back to the table, still trying to land a hand on your body somewhere, when Simon’s instincts take over, rising from his seat without a word to the men who glance his way and ask where he’s going suddenly

He’s acting on pure instinct as he stalks over to you, the crowd parting for his large frame to move by without hesitation, locking eyes with you just as he lands a massive skull gloved hand on the tosser’s shoulder, wringing him around to face him

Your would be admirer isn’t feeling so confident now when he’s staring up at a 6’4” wall of muscle donned in all black apart from the white markings of his skull balaclava

If he were a more jealous man, Simon might take more time to admire the way you can practically hear this idiot gulp over the loud sounds of the music, the way his eyes bulge out of his head and how he looks nearly ready to piss himself on the spot

But your man knows who he is to you, and so instead he shoves the geezer away, turning to face you as one hand lifts up the bottom of his balaclava, just far enough to swoop down and meet your lips in a passionate tangle of tongue and teeth, tasting the alcohol on each other’s breath and the desire in your systems, a kiss that says to everyone else watching, including the bewildered Captain and Sergeants gawking from across the room, that you are his and his alone

[invoncible]

have you ever thought of writing for one of Marks variants? If so you should definitely do Mohawk Mark his cocky attitude is so ugh …. i love your work by the way!

— thank you nonnie hope you like this ! I LOVE MOHAWK MARK OMG

"you know, i feel like i've seen you before." mohawk mark had you by your wrists, preventing your escape as he pinned you to the ground. he studied your face like you were a toy in his hands.

fuck. your boss had sent you to your death yet again. when you signed with your news station, you didn't realize you'd be signing your life away chasing these heroes and their problems.

you thought this was invincible—everyone did until a few minutes ago. they had similar getups and abilities. it was a logical conclusion, right?

wrong. within minutes of pulling up to the penitentiary, the news van was tossed onto its side, a invincible sized hole cut clean through the back. the variant grabbed you and your cameraman by the clothes and dragged you onto the ground... and here you were.

"oh, yeah!" mark snapped his finger, a wicked grin spreading on his face. "you're that news reporter! i remember you... didn't kill you back home cuz you always got my good side." he leaned in, taking your chin in his fingers and guiding you to look up at him. "s'that what you're doing here? you like the view in this dimension too?"

his eyes flicker dangerously to your cameraman, who was shaking behind the heavy lens on his shoulder. he huffed a small laugh at the sight, like the fear he smelled off your partner really got him going.

"yes!" you quickly exclaim, forcing his attention back to you.

his eyes snapped back to you. blood rushed to your head, pulse thundering in your ears. you try your best to not flinch at the way his rough fingers dug into your skin.

"what can i say," you laughed weakly. "you're the hot topic right now, had to get a piece for... myself?"

he paused, his expression like stone as he peered between you and your cameraman, weighing the options in his head: do i kill them for fun, or let them entertain me for a little bit?

after a long pase, mark rose effortlessly to his feet, dragging you up with him by your wrists. he slung his arm around your shoulders like you were old friends in some twisted version of reality. he twirled you around in the ruins, the destruction stretching out in front of you like some sick display of power.

“you like what i’ve done with the place?” he asked, voice dripping with mock innocence as he took in the scattered bodies, the blood-slicked ground.

"oh..." your eyes trailed over the wreckage, the broken limbs and bodies sprinkled over the ground like confetti, and all the blood was the icing on the top. "impressive."

you weren't lying, exactly. it was an impressive show of power, as sick as it was. unease twisted in your gut.

"i knew i liked you." he chuckled. "hey, let's get rid of this." he grabbed the mic from your hand and crushed it, the circuitry sparking one last time before dying completely.

"i mean, sure, i could kill you. it'd be a waste of a pretty face, so i’m not gonna. we've got history, you and i."

your pulse quickened. your eyes darted to your cameraman, who had already taken off, running toward another van and driving off. you grit your teeth. fucking coward.

you felt the weight of mark’s gaze burning into your back as he clicked his tongue in disappointment.

"i'm not the same as your y/n." you reminded him quietly.

"yeah? come home with me 'nd find out."

"no." your eyebrows furrowed.

he smiled, your resistance rolling off his back like it meant nothing. "you're gonna. two y/ns are better than one, and besides you're gonna love my place—it's a palace. i'll get you a nice room and everything. all you'd have to do is stay by my side."

"mm..." you glared at him, trailing off but communicating your answer loud and clear. not that you thought he'd listen to you anyways. his grip on you was almost possessive. this guy was superpowered, for fuck's sake. you were dead for the second he decided he was done playing around with you.

"ohohoho," he chuckled, raising an amused eyebrow. "you're lucky you're cute. but you're coming with me." he shot up into the sky, already set on taking you to wherever he intended to stash you until he had a way back to his dimension.

you shrieked as you were vaulted into the air, anchored only by his arm around your waist.

"shhh," he grinned wildly, his hair fluttering in the wind. "you were the one that wanted a piece for yourself. you gonna refuse me when i'm accommodating you so nicely?"

against your better judgement, you clung to him and hoped that his nice mood lasted a long, long time.

© invoncible

[sugarwarachan]

part two, you dirty birdies. go read this first to catch up! summary: A city-wide blackout leads to some questionable decisions on Eraserhead's part: for four nights in a row now, Aizawa Shouta has been watching you get yourself off. Is tonight the night he joins in? pairing: aizawa shouta x citizen!reader wc: 2.4k (oops) content warnings: SMUT mdni, dark content, stalker!aizawa, voyeurism, dubcon, power imbalance (pro hero/civilian, ya know), obsessive behavior, voice kink, dirty talk, blindfolds are involved, piv sex, oral f!receiving, spanking, dom/sub elements but not explicitly stated, aizawa's big dick, creampie, unprotected sex (do not do this!!! especially with strangers!!! this is fiction!!!)

Aizawa knows he shouldn’t go back.

It was already enough of a risk to hear your voice; that he's considering confirming his identity with you should have alarm bells blaring in his head.

But logic abandoned him hours ago.

Your message, come back tomorrow <3, blinks in his head. At this point, he’s just waiting for the city to fall asleep so he can slip out along the ledge and head straight to you.

Part of him is bizarrely nervous to replace the distance with reality, but the thought of never feeling your weight on top of him erases all arguments.

As soon as night falls, he winds his capture weapon around his neck and slides out into the dark.

All day long, you’ve been aching and hot, sliding your thighs together under the desk at work to relieve some of the pressure.

There’s no guarantee he’ll come back. You’ve told yourself this ever since you woke up gasping for breath, rocking your hips against a pillow.

It’s like he possessed you, you muse on the train ride home, the force of the train cars rattling your already frazzled head. You’ve never felt this way in your life, desire snapping and fizzing under your skin.

Your apartment looks exactly the same as when you left, straight down to the kicked-over coat stand you’d jostled on your way out the door. It’s all so maddeningly ordinary that it takes everything within you not to scream.

It’s almost like last night didn’t happen at all.

“No need to sigh like that, sweetheart.”

His voice comes from behind you. Fear zips up your spine like dynamite sparking, your stomach bottoming out in one fell swoop.

He’s here.

Something winds around your wrists and face, obscuring your vision and tugging your body back. You collide with someone who smells like cedar and books and black coffee.

You breathe in his scent as the fear melts to excitement, to anticipation.

He’s here.

“Miss me, sweet girl?”

You’d think huffing him in like a fucking croissant would be a dead giveaway.

“What’s with the blindfold?” you ask instead. Angling your head in various ways does nothing. He made sure you can’t make him out, only confirming your previous hunch. He’s a pro, and he sure as fuck doesn’t want anyone to know he’s sneaking into girls’ apartments and fucking them stupid.

“You’re smarter than that.”

His voice is even better in person; you can feel the rumble of it against your neck. He loosens his hold on the cloth binding your wrists. Your hands naturally settle on the broad expanse of his chest.

He says the next thing nice and soft, “We don’t have to do anything.”

You understand the out for what it is, but you’re willing to sacrifice your sight for a taste of what he offered you yesterday.

“I’d like to do some things,” you say, and he huffs a laugh. “I don’t know what you did to me, but if you don’t touch me in the next few seconds, I feel like I’ll pass out.”

You don’t even realize you’re grinding yourself on his thigh until his hand splays across your hip, stilling you. Flipping you around, he cages you against the door, teeth scraping down the side of your throat.

“You don’t know what I did to you?” He punctuates the ask by kicking your feet apart with the heel of his boot. Your pussy clenches around nothing, a keen high in your throat. “What about what you did to me? Feels like I’ve got you floating around my fucking bloodstream.”

With a growl, he scoops you up and pins you against the door with his hips, mouth bracketing over yours.

“Can’t get your pretty little noises out of my head,” he says against your lips, sounding like a man at a confessional. His hips jerk, the length of his erection pulsing between you. “Can’t stop thinking about that pretty picture you sent me.”

He laves at your collarbone with his tongue, hand resting in the hollow of your throat. The gentlest squeeze elicits your softest sigh. He grunts at the sound, thick fingers applying more pressure before falling to your waist and locking you in place. His breath skates over your cheek; you feel the rasp of stubble on your skin.

“Let me take you to bed, sweetheart.”

God, his voice makes your knees fucking buckle. His forearm is tight around your back, holding you close.

“Please.”

You don’t recognize that whine as your voice; you’ve never sounded this eager, never felt this aching pulse in your core the way you do now. You need him to mold your insides to the shape of him, to pin you down on the mattress and take you.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. You don’t know him, not really, but you like this aspect of his personality. He makes his want for you tangible, so sharp you can practically taste it in the air. It’s like he’d rather die than leave you unsatisfied, and honestly, you don’t think anyone’s made you feel like that.

You can’t help liking it.

He taps open the door to your room with the toe of his boot. Lips slanted over yours, his tongue presses behind your teeth, licking into your mouth in the filthiest kiss you’ve ever shared with someone. It’s a sloppy clash of teeth and tongues; your hands fist in his hair as he caresses his thumbs over the skin of your hips.

“Take your clothes off.”

You obey just as you did on the phone, the rush to do so shooting a wave of heat over your face.

“That’s my girl, fuckin’ eager for it, huh?” You wish you could see his face; you want to match the feral snarl you hear with an expression. He sounds like he’s enjoying it, standing in front of you fully clothed while your arousal drips down your fucking legs.

You cross your legs together and he laughs, the hot span of his hands splaying over your hips as he tugs you to him.

“I know you’re needy, baby; you’re already doin’ so good for me. You listen just a little longer and I’ll make sure this pretty little pussy of yours gets the treatment she deserves, okay?” He cups your cunt in the palm of his hand; immediately, you rock against him, the meat of his palm bunching over your clit. He spanks your ass sharply. “Get on the bed and spread your legs open.”

Your muscles are shaky; your thighs tremble as you settle on the bed. You’ve never wanted to be able to see more than right now, spread out and vulnerable underneath a stranger’s gaze.

Before doubt can blare in your head, you hear him, “Fucking Christ, sweetheart, look at you. Absolutely gorgeous.”

His knee dips the mattress; his hands pry your thighs apart obscenely.

“She’s prettier up close,” he says, and then sucks your clit into his mouth.

You buck your hips into his face. He holds you down with his other hand and sucks harder. The sound you make has pre-cum spurting from his cock.

He’ll fucking cum like this if he’s not careful, rutting his hips on the sheets with your thighs choking off his air supply.

Worse ways to go, all things considered.

“You’ve been pent-up for a while, hmm?” He turns his head to kiss at the soft skin of your inner thigh, slick shimmering in the moonlight. He almost wishes his stubble were longer so he could capture more of your scent.

You smell so fucking good; he inhales and runs his teeth up the inside of your thigh, biting and sucking, grinding your clit on his nose. You whimper and lock your hands on his hair, silently begging for more.

He runs the flat of his tongue over your clit before breaking away. His dick jumps at your growl of frustration.

“Let’s stretch you out on my fingers first, pretty girl. I wasn’t just talking myself up yesterday.” He coats his fingers in your arousal, inhales the musky sweet scent of you like a drug. “You’re gonna need a little prep before you can take me.”

He sinks two fingers in. Your cunt sucks him in, gummy walls immediately clamping down. He drops his forehead to yours, thinks wildly about ripping away the blindfold, of forcing you to hold his gaze while he makes your pussy gush on his hands.

“More,” you cry out, and he obliges, working three fingers in, twisting and pressing and stroking, listening to your small gasps, waiting for the breath in your voice to catch. "Sho, please—"

Aizawa bites down on his lower lip when your back bows, fingers scrabbling at his forearm, holding his hand in place as you rock back and forth on his fingers. One little pinch of your clit and you’re sobbing out his name.

He lopes an arm under you and pulls you to him. Your breath comes out in shuddery little gasps.

“All good, sweetheart?”

You nod against his neck, already nosing at his throat for a kiss.

He doesn’t know what possesses him.

“I’ll let you take off the blindfold if you get on your hands and knees.”

The noise you make is so embarrassingly eager you almost cringe.

You might see him.

You arrange yourself as he asks, wiggling your ass and arching your back. You gasp when he palms your hip, pulling you back against his clothed cock.

"Can I take it off now?" you try to ask as coy as you can, but you just sound like a fucked-out mess. He feels big. You saw the picture but it's nothing compared to feeling the ridge of his shaft pulsing along the cleft of your ass. You choke on a groan, undulating your hips in a desperate move to calm the ache in your lower belly.

He grunts behind you and palms the back of your head. “Eyes forward, or you aren’t getting fucked. Understand?”

You nod into the mattress, not trusting your own voice.

"Words, princess, didn't we talk about this last time?" His tone is between condescending and tender and it's making your insides turn to fucking goo.

"I understand."

"Good."

You hear the clink of buckles, the rustle of a zipper.

"I'll only keep my eyes forward if all your clothes come off, though."

You know you're pushing it, pushing him, but fuck, you need his skin on yours so you can sear him into your fucking brain.

You squeal at the crack of pain when his palm collides with your ass.

"Mouthy tonight, honey?" There's his hand again, collaring the back of your neck. You throw your hips back at him; he spanks you again. "Fuck, you know what you're doin', don't you? My little cocktease want her pussy stuffed that badly?"

No one's talked to you like this. No one's ever said exactly the sort of profane filth you've longed to hear.

"Yes," you sob out.

"The clothes come off then, you little brat."

When he settles behind you, the hot ridge of his dick slides between your folds and you jerk back into him. The blindfold falls away.

"Goddammit," he growls out, fingers digging into the plush of your hips. "Fuck, you're soaking wet, baby. Can already feel her trying to suck me in, isn't that right?" He palms your lower belly. "You're gonna feel me right fuckin' here. I'm gonna be so deep inside you you'll forget about everything but me, you understand?"

His cockhead tips into your fluttering hole. Fuck, he is big. You peer back between your tits at where he's disappearing into you. The girth and length of him makes your stomach bottom out.

His hand pushes down on your lower back, bowing your ass up.

"Don't run away, let me work my way in, huh? Make my pretty girl feel so fucking full." Another inch of him slots inside you. The stretch of it burns slightly, but the pain recedes when he rubs little circles on your clit. "Fuckkkk, baby, you have any idea how perfect this tight little pussy is? Feels like you're suckin' the life out of me."

The drag of his cock inside you makes your eyes cross. With every thrust, he rubs the head of his dick on your g spot, hand locked in a possessive clutch on your lower belly.

"Put your hand here, feel where I'm fucking you." With one hand on top of yours, he presses down hard. You buck, the sensation almost too much. "No one else is ever gonna have this pussy, you hear me? It's fucking mine, sweet girl, mine to fuck, mine to feast on, mine to fill up with cum—"

The heel of his hand grinds down on your clit and that's all it takes before your orgasm collapses your lungs and shorts out your brain. Everything detonates, star-bursts of pleasure exploding in your core until tears stream down your face.

His rhythm barely falters as he fucks you through it, mouth hot on the back of your neck. "Keep goin', princess, you can cum again, can't ya? One more time, just for me. There's my fuckin' girl, milk every fucking drop out of me, fuck—"

You can only imagine the milky ring of cum and arousal coating his cock as he wrenches another orgasm from your tired body. His dick pulses inside you, a guttural moan reverberating from his throat so deeply you practically feel it in your gut.

He stays inside you for a few more moments, both of you catching your breath. When he slips out, you groan at the loss.

"Be right back, sweet girl. Blindfold goes back on, too."

He laughs when you pout, cloth obscuring your vision once more.

When he comes back, he dips a warm cloth between your thighs, swabbing away the gooey mess. You're so sensitive you hiss out a sharp breath. He presses a glass of water into your hand. You gulp it down with gusto.

"I already blocked off where I came in from," he's saying, and you can't help but roll your eyes even if he can't see the motion. You wonder how he chalks up this whole excursion in his stupid pro hero head.

"Don’t want anyone else getting to me or something?"

He clears his throat. "Or something."

The scrape of your window sounds. "I'd start locking these if I were you."

You know he's gone when the cloth whips away from your face, the flutter of your gauzy white curtains the only proof he was there.

taglist: @cryingintheclubdhmu @abigolemess @rindarudoesshonen @simplyraeblue @ermmclovingit @deputyazor @lizzobeth @quinn0-0 @hotlosergirl17 @mother-hellsing

[blasphemyandbackshots]

ღ satoru x suguru x kento x sukuna x toji x you

—booked and blessed

The apartment door slammed behind you with a tipsy thud. “Fucking finally,” you mumbled, dropping your keys with a clatter and kicking off your heels like they were personally responsible for your aching arches. Your cheeks were a little flushed from the cheap champagne your friend insisted on ordering and the sheer secondhand horniness of watching two strangers make out in the club bathroom line. You hadn’t been kissed in weeks. Touched in months.

And now, of course, you were alone again.

You peeled off your coat, your dress and your dignity in a lazy little trail toward the bedroom. The soft glow of your laptop lit up the room like a beacon of bad decisions. You sprawled across your bed in just your panties, eyes hazy as you tapped into the website your friend had once whispered about with a look of guilty reverence. You had made an account there, also when you were tipsy and now…

‘Five-star companions. The kind you don’t forget.’

You bit your lip. The alcohol made you reckless. Warm. A little dumb.

Satoru. Suguru. Kento. Toji. Sukuna.

You clicked their profiles one by one. Each hotter than the last. It felt like reading porn. Muscles, sharp grins, lewd testimonials and bodies built to make a girl weep between the thighs.

God, imagine being filled by even one of them. There was for sure some drool at the corner of your mouth.

You scrolled down, just for fun and clicked; ‘Group Experience - Limited Edition. Do you crave a night with, not one, but five of our hottest men? Then book our special, but be quick, ladies. Our men are hot, and they’re wanted.’

It made your stomach flip. Five digits. But… your hand hovered over the screen. Drunken logic whispered: What’s the worst that could happen? They’ll decline. You’ll laugh it off.

You pressed the booking button. The screen flashed white.

‘Booking confirmed. Estimated arrival: 1 hour.’

You sobered instantly. “What the fuck,” you whispered. Your card was charged and you were panicked.

You paced your apartment like a girl about to get audited and fucked at the same time. You brushed your teeth. Moisturized. Put on lip gloss and took it off twice. You changed your panties. You considered calling your bank and telling them you’d been hacked, but… the idea of it, the fantasy, was already taking root in your bloodstream like a drug.

And then, exactly 58 minutes later, your doorbell rang.

You opened it. You blinked. You gawked.

There were five of them. All tall. All hot. All real. They looked like a pack of gods dressed in sin. Broad shoulders, black jackets, casual smiles that told you they knew exactly what kind of mess you were about to make of yourself.

The white-haired one, Satoru, grinned as his eyes skimmed you from bare legs to flushed face. “Holy shit,” he whistled. “You’re even prettier than the profile said.”

You swallowed. “Um. Hi.”

“Hi,” the dark-haired one beside him said with a lazy smile. Suguru, you thought. He stepped inside without waiting. “We came fast. Hope that’s not a theme tonight.”

You backed up on instinct as the other three followed. Kento, tall and serious; Toji, silent with a sharp jaw and a scar down his lip; and Sukuna, whose face was pretty in a violent kind of way, tattoos licking up his temples and a glint in his eyes that made you want to lock the doors and get on your knees all at once.

“Bedroom?” Kento asked politely.

You pointed. “Down the hall. First door—”

You were lifted. Legs in the air. Hands under your thighs. You gasped softly as Satoru carried you like you weighed nothing, slapping your ass on the way as you yelped in surprise. “She’s ready,” he said over his shoulder, “I can smell it.”

They were in your room before you could blink, setting you on the bed, stripping you with too-efficient hands. Your panties were pulled off with a snap. Your shirt was gone. Suguru kissed the inside of your knee like a priest blessing a sacrifice.

“She’s not running,” Sukuna said, circling you like a wolf. “She’s trembling, but she’s wet.”

“Of course she’s wet,” Toji muttered. “Look at us.”

You blinked up at them. Five of the hottest men you’d ever seen were unbuttoning shirts, licking their lips, unzipping pants like this was normal. Like this happened every night.

And maybe it did. For them. For you? This was some unspeakable dream.

“Shouldn’t we—talk about—“ You mindlessly waved your hand towards them. Then blushed as Toji pushed his pants down and exposed a cock so thick you nearly went unconscious from just staring at it.

“Talk about what?” Kento asked gently. Almost politely.

“I—uh—can I have a safeword?” you blurted, heart hammering.

All five froze. Kento crouched beside you, smoothing a hand down your bare thigh. “That’s a very good question. We usually pick one. You can say Red at any time. Everything stops.”

You nodded relieved. “Okay. Got it.”

Satoru smirked and leaned down until his lips brushed yours. “Just don’t cry too pretty, baby. Some of us like a little begging.”

They tore you apart. That was the only way to describe it.

One cock in your mouth. One in your pussy. One in your ass. Your wrists tied in soft rope tied to the headboard of the bed by Suguru while Satoru held your jaw open and spat in your mouth between groans. “You like that, don’t you?” he moaned, jerking himself against your tongue. “Filthy little mouth.”

Kento was under you, controlling and calm, muttering filth into your ear. “Take it. That’s it. Don’t waste it, sweetheart.” His cock was buried in your ass and you nearly blacked out from the pressure.

Toji was fucking your pussy like he hated you, bruising your hips with every slap. Sukuna sat next to you, jerking himself to the rhythm of your sobs. His leaking tip ran circles around your hard nipple until it was wet and shiny.

“She’s gonna pass out,” Suguru said, rubbing your clit in slow circles like a mercy. “Give her a second.”

“I’m not gonna—” you choked.

“You’re fine,” Kento reassured, voice hot against your neck. “You’re doing so fucking well.”

Your body was shaking. Crying. Coming again and again while they used you, filled you, praised and degraded you until you didn’t know what you were saying anymore. You begged. You screamed. You called them gods and assholes and please please please until your voice was wrecked.

And they still weren’t done.

Toji came inside you first. He buried himself deep and painted your insides with hot, sticky ropes. He pulled out with a groan, watching his cum drip out of you with greedy eyes.

Satoru didn’t even wait. He pushed in like your body was a hole made just for him, one hand fisting your hair as he thrust until your eyes rolled back and you clawed at the ropes around your wrists, sobbing around Sukuna’s cock while he came on your tongue.

Suguru wiped your tears away with his thumb and whispered, “Do you want more?”

You nodded, shaking. Fucked dumb and out of your goddamn mind.

He smiled. “Good girl.”

At this point you didn’t know where one body ended and another began. Sweat slicked your skin, your own juices and theirs dripped between your thighs, and other parts of your flushed body. You couldn’t stop shaking. Not out of fear or pain, you still had the safe word to stop, but it was just too much. Too much cock. Too much pleasure. Too much of them.

You were given some water in between and Satoru had found your chocolate stash, but it was only a fleeting second where the chocolate melted on your tongue, while the next cocks already pressed on your gaping holes.

You barely registered the mattress dipping beside you until a warm palm slid up your belly. It was Sukuna again. “You’re not tapping out, right?” he asked, voice a low rasp, thumb brushing your lower lip. His cock was still hard, heavy and twitching against his thigh like he hadn’t just come in your mouth five minutes ago. “You’ve still got holes left.”

You whined helplessly, too fucked out to speak a whole sentences. Kento’s hands were still smoothing down your sides, his voice a lullaby of filth against your temple. “She’s shaking so sweetly. Look at her. What a perfect little toy.”

“She’s leaking,” Toji muttered, using two fingers to spread your pussy lips apart and watching their cum dribble out. “Fucking pretty mess.”

“Let’s flip her,” Suguru said casually, as if he were asking someone to pass the salt. “Wanna see that ass bounce.”

Strong arms lifted you before your brain caught up. You were turned over, belly to the sheets, drool pooling at the corner of your mouth as your knees were shoved apart. Satoru fisted your hair and yanked your head back just enough to kiss you. A kiss that was so sweet and nasty at once, tasting like Sukuna’s cum and your own desperate moans.

“You can still say Red, sweetheart,” he murmured against your lips.

“I don’t want to,” you breathed. “I want more.”

The laugh that left the room was downright wicked. You almost felt ashamed what a greedy little whore you were. But who could blame you here? What did Lana Del Rey sang, ‘in the lands of gods and monsters, I was an angel, begging to get fucked hard’? Sounded about right.

“Oh, baby,” Suguru purred, spreading your ass wide. “That’s the best thing you could’ve said.”

They took you again. Rougher, deeper, sloppier. Sukuna was behind you now, fucking your ass like he owned it, hand wrapped around your throat to keep you gasping just on the edge. Kento slid underneath, pushing his cock back into your pussy with a groan of satisfaction like he’d missed it. You were double stuffed again, mindless from the pressure, only able to cry out for god or mercy or more.

Toji stroked himself at the foot of the bed, muttering dark things like “She’s gonna be ruined after this,” while Suguru kissed his way up your spine, whispering promises of how good you were. Satoru never stopped touching you. His warm mouth on your shoulder, fingers teasing your clit, breath hot in your ear. “She’s gonna come again,” he warned.

“She’s ready,” Kento growled. “Let her.”

You broke again. And again. And again. Your cunt and ass were clenching so hard that you were afraid you’d break their dicks. But they loved it. Each clenching, each little broken gasp made them grin widely like they just had won something. If you wouldn’t know it better you’d think they truly enjoy this and this wasn’t paid pleasure.

By the time the fifth orgasm hit you, you were nearly unconscious. They untied you slowly and carefully, and laid you on your back like a doll that had been played with too hard. You expected them to leave. But they didn’t.

Suguru brought water to your lips. Kento wiped your skin with a warm cloth. Satoru curled beside you, cradling your body against his bare chest and murmuring soft praise into your hair. You blinked up at them, boneless and ruined.

“…That was the group experience?” you rasped.

Toji smirked. “That was round one.”

Sukuna stretched, cracking his neck. “We’ve got hours left, princess.”

And Satoru? That bastard just grinned and kissed your swollen mouth. “Better hydrate.”

“Because now,” Suguru added, already pulling your thighs apart again, “we’re going to make you forget your own name.”

“Give her a moment.” Kento said firmly. “I’m not ready for our girl to break apart yet.”

You whimpered gratefully in return as you got picked up and carried to the bathroom, probably also by Kento since he seemed to be the most levelheaded from them.

You nuzzled into his broad shoulder as he turned on the warm water. The steam of it curling around the tiles like smoke and the soft scent of vanilla and roses fill the bathroom. He set you down on a fluffy mat and knelt to help you in. Strong hands and clean hands touched your body like you were something sacred, even after everything they’d done to you.

“You did so well,” Kento murmured, brushing your hair behind your ear. “You deserve a reward.”

The tub was deep and warm as he settled behind you. His broad chest pressed against your back as he pulled you gently between his thick thighs. One arm curled around your waist and caressed the marked skin of your hip. The other hand—well, that one had other plans.

“You ever been bathed by a man before?” he asked, lips soft at your temple.

You shook your head. Kento clicked his tongue, nuzzling into your hair. “Such a shame. We’ll fix that.”

His hand dipped below the water to spread your thighs with the same patience he had undressed earlier. You hid your face in his neck and whimpered quietly, but he was so patient and good to you. His fingers teased over your sore, swollen pussy with feather-light care, like he was touching a bruise—one he’d helped create.

“You’re still so sensitive,” his voice was pure velvet against your skin. “Poor thing. Can’t believe you let five strangers ruin you.”

You moaned, arching into him. His fingers didn’t fuck you. They caressed and rubbed. Circled your clit with maddening softness, never quite enough to push you over, just enough to remind you that you were still theirs.

The bathroom door creaked open behind the steam. You turned your head and met four more pairs of eyes. It was clear how still hungry they were, but they didn’t push. They just watched.

Toji was in the shower now, one hand pressed to the wall as the other stroked himself slowly under the spray. He was watching you. So was Suguru, toweling his hair off, bare and wet and grinning like the devil himself. Satoru leaned against the counter, arms crossed, cock hard again and already leaking.

Sukuna sat on the closed toilet seat like a king on a throne, stroking his cock lazily. “Look at her. She’s fucking trembling from just your fingers.”

“She’s perfect,” Kento murmured behind you. “Such a good girl. You want to come, sweetheart? Want to fall apart all over again in my hands?”

“K-Kento.” You gasped and nodded, clutching his wrist beneath the water, hips rocking into the motion of his palm.

“She’s soaking,” Toji muttered from the shower. “Is it the bath or her?”

“Both,” Suguru answered.

You cried out, your orgasm washing over you like a wave. This time slow, warm, soul-wrecking. Kento held you through it, one hand around your stomach, the other never leaving your pussy until you were twitching and wetting his fingers with more than just bathwater.

Satoru moved closer, rubbing your cheek with his knuckles. “Still think we’re done, baby?”

You looked up at him, dazed. Fucked-out. Floating. “I—I don’t know,” you whispered.

Sukuna grinned. “We do.”

Rough big hands slipped under your arms and hauled you up like you weighed nothing. Instantly you clutched to his wide chest and whined as you felt his erection throbbing hotly against your thigh.

“Pretty show,” he muttered against your ear. “But I’m done watching.”

Water still clung to your skin in rivulets when he carried you down the hall. His cock bumped against your thigh with every step, his fingers dug deep into your soft flesh like he wanted to leave a permanent mark. He didn’t say a word until he dropped you face-down onto the bed and shoved your legs apart.

“You’re wet,” he said, more to himself than to you. “Good.”

You barely had time to protest before he was inside you, deep. No prep. No fingers. Just a filthy, thick cock punching into your sore pussy like he owned it. You screamed and sobbed into the mattress, fingers clawed at the sheets. He didn’t stop. He fucked like he had a problem with you.

“Fucking tight,” he grunted, slapping your ass once. “Don’t tell me you’re sore already. We’re just getting started.”

You were sore. You were crying out so hard that it sounded borderline like you were murdered. And yet your hips pushed back against him to chase the painful pleasure, to chase him. Toji grabbed your waist and slammed into you harder, punishing you for wanting more.

“She likes it,” Sukuna said amused from the doorway. “Look at her greedy little cunt.”

“She loves it,” Satoru agreed, jerking himself at the foot of the bed. “You see the way she clenched when he said that?”

Toji reached forward and fisted your hair, yanking your head up. “Answer them.”

You moaned rawly. “I—I love it. Please. Fuck, don’t stop—”

He didn’t. Not until he came inside you with a groan that shook the bed frame. His balls emptying again in you while your walls fluttered around him. He pulled out then and smacked your ass again before stepping aside.

“My turn,” Sukuna said, already climbing onto the bed. His cock was flushed. The tip was almost purple and angry and gleaming. “Open that pretty mouth.”

You barely had the time to breathe before he was on his knees beside your face. His tattooed fingers gripped your jaw while his other hand fisted your hair to hold your head in place. With a growl he plunged his cock into your mouth and down your throat.

“No teeth,” he growled. “Just tongue. Show me you’re useful.”

You did. Tears leaking down your cheeks and you watched him with wide eyes as he started thrusting into your throat. He was rough and merciless. But he also was so goddamn beautiful like that, tattoos twitching under his skin, his abs flexing as he used your mouth.

“God, you look ruined,” Suguru murmured from the side, watching you with dark, hooded eyes. “Do you like this, sweetheart? You want us to keep going?”

You nodded the best you could with your mouth full. Sukuna groaned deeply and pulled out just before he came. His hand moved maddening fast as he put the tip on your lips and his hot cum spurred on your tongue.

“Don’t swallow,” he told you. “Let me see it.”

Despite everything you blushed as you opened your mouth wide and showed him the cum on your tongue. “Good girl,” he mumbled and covered your mouth with his hand. “And now swallow.”

You preened and wanted to say something as you suddenly were flipped again. Laid out on your back, Satoru leaned over you next. His blue eyes sparkled with sunshine and sin.

“I’ve been patient,” he said almost too sweet. “But I want this pussy now.”

You nodded quickly and Satoru smiled. Then he slid in slowly. Not brutal like Toji. Not sloppy like Sukuna. He fucked you like he knew you. It was almost a miracle how easily he found the spot that made your back arch and your thighs shake. He hit it again and again with his forehead pressed to yours. Long fingers rubbed your clit while he whispered filth in your ear.

“Think about this tomorrow,” he said between groans. “When you’re sore and leaking and too fucked out to walk. Think about my cock keeping you up at night.”

You didn’t think you’d survive him. He didn’t fuck like a machine, he fucked with emotions and that was dangerous. He played you and your body so perfectly that you almost believed it, and he aimed straight for it. Your heart was pounding so hard and you almost cried when you felt the twitch of his cock. Satoru came deep inside you, moaning into your open mouth as you spasmed around him again. You clutched to him, but it was no use.

“Fuck,” he gasped, pulling out with a shudder. “Okay. Who’s next?”

“Me,” Suguru murmured. “I’ll take her ass.”

“Suguru.” You whined as your head lolled to the side.

“Shh,” Kento said softly, already moving to stroke your thigh. He was the shelter in the storm. “You’re safe. You’re perfect. You can do this.”

You nodded, dizzy with desire. Your body and soul was drenched in cum and praise and filth.

Suguru kissed you sweetly before he fucked your ass. He was slow at first, giving you the time to adjust. He might was wicked and coated in dark chuckles. But you felt the caring side as he made sure he wouldn’t tear you and his hands stayed gentle the entire time. Even when his hips snapped forward, because he couldn’t wait to be buried in your body.

Who also kept you grounded was Kento again. He held your hand the entire time and kissed your knuckles, “That’s it. Take him. Look at you, angel.”

When Suguru came, you were crying again. You were broken, shattered, blissed out and begging for more. And everything at the same time. Whatever dick magic spell the men used on you, worked perfectly. Because they kept you on the edge of pure bliss and insanity.

Kento was the last. Gently he cradled you against his chest again and laid you back into his lap. Warm lips found your neck as he slid into your swollen and ruined pussy. He didn’t thrust fast. He didn’t need to. Instead he filled you and praised you with pride and longing. He took you with slow, sweet rolls of his hips that made you sob.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered. “We’ll keep you if you’re not careful.”

By the time he came, you were trembling in his arms and gasped against his sharp jawline. You were overstimulated, yes. Full of their cum. But your mind was far away and somewhere soft.

They didn’t leave. Not even now. They stayed and changed the sheets. They held you, gave you water and more snacks. Again you were cleaned and praised, like you were their most sacred treasure. It drove the tears to your eyes and you didn’t fight them as warm lips kissed under your eyes.

You’d paid for one night, but they were giving you so much more.

Once you trusted yourself to speak again and the writhing of your body stopped, you slowly rolled on your back. You wanted more, but something different. Maybe you weren’t allowed to have this and they’d laugh at you. But it just felt so right in this moment. And a part of you didn’t care that they’d maybe think you were just a silly girl who confused paid sex and whispered praise with feelings.

You wanted them, and you wanted to let them know.

You pushed yourself up on shaky arms, breath catching as you knelt in the middle of the bed. “C-come here,” you whispered, voice rough, threadbare. “Please.”

They were quietly watching you. Curious what you wanted next, but the mood felt a bit guarded.

Suguru was the first to move. He sat at the edge of the mattress. Satoru followed, crouching beside him, sweat drying on his snow white hair. Kento leaned against the headboard, arms crossed but eyes soft. Sukuna stood, head tilted, like trying to figure out what the hell you were up to. And Toji just stared, still half-hard and twitching. His jaw was tight.

You crawled to Suguru first and pressed your lips to the inside of his wrist. Then his chest. Then his neck. “You’re so beautiful,” you whispered, dragging your tongue gently along the curve of his collarbone. “You fucked me like I mattered. Like I wasn’t just a hole.”

His breath caught and he blinked stunned. Satoru did too, brows lifting. Each one of them listening.

“You could’ve been meaner,” you murmured, turning to the blue eyed god next. You kissed the base of his throat and his cheek. “But you wanted me to come. You wanted me to feel it. I’ll remember it forever.”

Satoru swallowed hard. “Shit.”

You kissed his hand and turned to Toji. “You’re a monster,” you whispered, dragging your mouth over the thick muscle of his thigh and the sharp jut of his hipbone. “But you knew I could take it. You made me proud of my body.”

Toji exhaled through his nose, low and slow. He didn’t say a word. But his fingers twitched, like he wanted to hold you and didn’t know how.

Sukuna chuckled darkly when you got to him. “What’re you gonna say to me, princess? That I skull-fucked you real polite?”

You smiled softly and kissed the trail of tattoos along his abdomen. “You’re so pretty when you come,” you said. “I liked making you feel good. I liked how loud you got.”

His smirk faltered and his eyes battled a war of emotions, beyond what you could comprehend and understand now.

Then you crawled to Kento, and god, he was trying to hide how moved he was. His knuckles flexed against the headboard, watching you with something dangerously close to reverence.

“You were kind,” you whispered, laying a hand on his chest. “You made me feel… cherished. Even while you ruined me.”

You laid your head in his lap and he stroked your hair without thinking. “You didn’t have to be gentle,” you added shakily. “But you were. And I’ll never forget it.”

None of them spoke. The air was heavy and quiet. You smiled through the ache and let your hand trail down Suguru’s thigh. “You’re not just pretty bodies. You’re not just gods. You’re men. And you’re… you’re mine for tonight. So let me say thank you.”

Satoru breathed out a stunned laugh. “Holy fuck, I think I just fell in love.”

Suguru rubbed a hand down his face, groaning. “She’s gonna break us.”

“You boys all right?” you asked sweetly, but sincerely. “You look like you just got hit by a truck.”

“We’re supposed to leave girls crying, not the other way around,” Sukuna muttered.

Toji finally moved. His fingers found your chin and tilted it up. “Say that shit again,” he said roughly. “Say I made you proud of your body.”

You did and he leaned down to kiss you hard. His tongue fucked your mouth roughly, his scar scratched your lips. But you felt it and so did he.

The others watched, a little stunned, a little wrecked. Each of them sporting new erections they didn’t even realize were happening. You, the good girl. The one they tore open and fucked raw. Crawling on bruised knees to worship them with lips and voice and love-drunk praise. It should’ve been unnatural. But god, it felt divine.

It was quiet afterward. Not awkward, just slow and heavy. The kind of silence that settles after an earthquake.

You laid in the middle of the ruined sheets, limp and covered in bruises and marks. Your lips were swollen and your thighs twitched occasionally. You were the most beautiful mess.

Suguru sat on the windowsill shirtless. A cigarette dangled between his lips. He wasn’t even smoking, just holding it there while he seemed lost in thoughts.

Kento had dressed again, but he kept his tie off. He had put on your nightstand, like he might leave a souvenir. But for now he stroked your hair and urged your head on his lap.

Satoru sat backwards on a chair, chin resting on his arms as he watched you with something sharp and unreadable in his eyes.

Sukuna had lit a match and burned a long, lazy line down the candle on your nightstand, just to watch it melt.

And Toji? Toji was still hard. He didn’t say much, but his fingers rested on your ankle like a brand. Thumb dragging slow circles into the bone like he was trying to memorize your pulse.

You finally broke the silence with a hoarse little laugh. “I can’t believe I actually paid for that.”

Satoru snorted. “Babe… you didn’t pay for that.”

You blinked. “I didn’t?”

Suguru smiled. “You paid for one night. That wasn’t one night. That was a fucking… religious experience.”

Toji’s hand slid up your leg. “Next time your pussy gets hungry,” he said darkly, “you call us.”

You blinked confused. Your heart stuttered at the implication.

“No charge,” Sukuna added, grinning. “You just say the word.”

Kento nodded, brushing a thumb over your bottom lip. “You’ve earned that much.”

Suguru laughed and finally lit the cigarette. “Fuck, I’d cancel on paying clients for you. Girl who says thank you with a cock in her throat? Yeah. You’re top-tier.”

Satoru leaned in close and kissed your temple. “You’re not a client anymore,” he murmured. “You’re a favorite.”

“You don’t need a card,” Kento said. “Just keep the bed warm.”

“Text one of us,” Toji said. “We’ll bring the others.”

Sukuna grinned. “Fuck a website. You’re direct line now.”

You swallowed. You were still trembling. Still a little sore. But heat coiled low in your gut again. God, you were their favorite. Their chosen one.

And you knew, deep in your raw little cunt and fucked-out heart, that this wouldn’t be the last time you let these men destroy you.

[petrichoravis]

You, everywhere I look. | s.r

summary: Spencer finds himself unable to move through his life without finding pieces of you in everything he does or sees. He can’t say that he minds. (Or, you have been away and Spencer welcomes you home with love and flowers.)

word count: 1,7k

what to expect: spencer reid x fem!reader, no plot just spence being down bad, fluff (like tooth rotting, the couple that you see on the street and feel like barfing kind of fluffy), domesticity, established relationship, mention of spence lifting r up but he doesn’t actually, mention of future children as well as bad experiences with relationships but it’s not a plot point and there are no actual children, food and eating, English is not my first language

a/n: this is kind of my form of shit posting, bc this isn’t particularly good, but I liked it somehow. I think my fics being swallowed up by the algorithm has given me the freedom to just post what I want

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Spencer stretched his arms above his head with a sigh. The sun filtered through the curtain, beaming the shadow of the windows on the inside of the fabric like a projection screen.

He dreamed of you—a good dream for once. A child of your own, a life filled with joy, laughter until your stomach hurts, and rolling in the grass together down the hill where your house sits.

Dream analysis has never been something he believed in, given that it is purely based on interpretation, with no underlying logic or factual basis. But you made him forget logic, made him want to believe in all the things ethos and the universe told him.

But dream analysis and believing that a dream could inspire a future were two different things. And he so badly wanted to lead that kind of life with you.

In the bathroom, he found your toothbrush next to his in the run-down cup. You had insisted on painting clay with him for your second date and made a cup with beautiful flowers embellishing it. But you had forgotten to add a handle before painting, so it had its place on Spencer’s sink now.

You were a little sad that he wouldn’t be able to drink his coffee out of it every morning, but he had assured you that they would keep him motivated to brush his teeth every day and save him from cavities.

The toothbrush for you was something that had accidentally happened.

You and Spencer had started off as a hesitant couple, as you’d called it. You did all of the things couples did, kissing, going on dates, sleeping at each other’s apartments, but both of you were hesitant to put a serious label on it.

Spencer was careful because of his job and the dangers that it brought with it—too many of his relationships having fallen victim to his profession—and you because of the hesitancy that was brought on by ex-boyfriends and baggage.

But as the two of you spent more time together and started falling deeper in love, you started sleeping at Spencer’s house more than at your own.

With that came that you always had to bring your own necessities. Often, this led to you leaving things with him that you needed at your house when you left his.

So, Spencer bought you a toothbrush (and a towel (he had towels, but he saw one that he knew you’d like) and a hair brush and shampoo). He tried to disguise it like it was just a spare one he coincidentally found at the bottom of his drawer.

(“What a coincidence that all of those things appeared at the same time, huh?” You had teased, and he was too focused on your smile and the fact that you had your things at his place now, he just replied, “Mhm.”)

Spencer pressed play on the CD player he installed in his bathroom, which you laughed at him for, but found endearing at the same time.

You always played music while brushing your teeth to make the activity more enjoyable and to really brush for three minutes, which Spencer never failed to remind you was important. It was something your family passed down to you, and Spencer was incredibly proud that you trusted him with it, too.

As he pressed play, the intro song to your favorite album started playing. You must’ve forgotten to take the disc out. He hummed along around the toothbrush while brushing.

After he finished cleaning up, showering (your shampoo stood on the little shelf in his shower cabin) and putting on clothes (the cardigan he chose was your favorite, a brown one made from soft wool, with a green button band), he made his way into the kitchen.

He wasn’t much of a breakfast eater before meeting you. Usually, he chose to grab a coffee and a doughnut on his way to work, but you made him want to wake up early to wake you softly, to eat still-warm buns and solve crosswords and sudokus.

It had become a habit for him now, even without you here, waking up earlier to enjoy the morning sun at his table next to the window, watching birds.

Crossword puzzles were something he saved for you and him, though.

On his way to the office, he passed by a flower shop like he did every day, called The Water Lily Pond. Named after the famous painting by Monet.

They always had a beautiful array of flowers, and today they had a big bouquet of your favorite flowers and bicolored leaves, and goat willow twigs as decoration stood right outside. He swore to himself to buy you one on his way back.

Walking just a few steps further, he saw a cat with a little hat looking out of the window and smiled. You would love that, begging for him to lift you up so you could pet her, and he would roll his eyes and pretend that he cared about being on time while already lifting you up.

The work day is one of the rare slow-moving ones, Spencer’s task mainly involving research on offenders that are already in prison, to refine profiling techniques and methods for future consultations with other law enforcement officers.

It’s a tedious process, and he is well aware that he had been chosen for the task because of his practical ability to read as many words a minute as he can. He doesn’t mind, Garcia and JJ visit him from time to time, he plays cards with Emily, and Hotch invites everyone to a lunch break.

He ordered your favorite food at the restaurant, and when the conversation about Emily’s cat Sirgio, subsided, Morgan asked about you.

“How’s the lady, boy genius?” A smirk ready on his lips. Spencer was sure that anything he’d say would end in relentless teasing.

“She’s great,” he smiled sheepishly, ignoring the cough of ‘I’m sure she is’ from Morgan. “She’s been away to visit friends and family last weekend, and work kept her busy until now, but we’re cooking today. Staying in, maybe read something together.”

Penelope squeaked in delight, “That sounds so lovely! Tell her I said hi, please. Oh! And that I totally didn’t forget to send her the cookie recipe, I’m just perfecting it. It has to be perfect.” She went on, asking him to ask you if you wanted to come to her girls night and if you liked strawberry or preferred cherries, and only stopped when Morgan laid a hand on her shoulder, gently.

“I will,” Spencer replied, laughing fondly. He had introduced you to the team just a month after you had made things official, and they adored you from moment one, just like he knew they would.

Penelope had even baked you cookies for your last birthday, and as you stood next to the table, snacking on them, she said that she trusted you to pass the recipe down your family line and promised to send you the recipe.

(Spencer had choked as she said it, scared that it would be too soon to implicate such a thing. But you had handled it with grace, telling her that you would feel honored to bake delights like Penny’s sugar cookies for your future children. Spencer knew he was done for in that moment, if he didn’t already know it, anyway.)

After lunch, they all went back to the office to finish their respective tasks for the day and went home early thanks to Hotch’s insistence that they deserved one day a year to be home before dark.

On his way home, he went by The Water Lily Pond like he promised himself to buy you the flowers and pretty paper for a card, you always said how much you loved handmade gifts.

Speeding back home to keep the flowers fresh, he saw a couple on—undoubtedly—their first date and smiled; he still remembered his nerves as he took you out for your first date. He kissed you under the low light of the lantern over your apartment entrance.

Back home, he found a vase in the crannies of his cupboards and presented the bouquet on his kitchen table, the card he made with press-dried flowers leaned against it.

It wasn’t long before his doorbell rang, and Spencer hurried from his kitchen to the door, cotton socks on his hardwood floor slithering.

“Hi,” he breathed out as he opened the door to see a smiling you.

“Hi,” you echoed. It was funny to think that you’ve known each other for years and still felt nervous around each other, as if you had gotten to know each other for the first time again every time you saw each other.

Spencer let you in and hugged you tightly, his arms wrapped around you securely and his head on your shoulder. “I missed you.”

“Me too.” You were rocking slightly, not letting go for quite some time, and when you did, it was just to kiss each other softly.

When you did separate, you were smiling fools. “I got you a little souvenir,” you said, searching your bag for the present. It was a little key charm, a vintage-looking lock. “I know it’s not much, but I found it in a vintage store and thought you’d like it.”

He took it from your hands, smiling even bigger. “I love it, thank you.” He kissed your cheek. “Are you hungry?”

You nodded, linking your hand with Spencer’s as if you were going somewhere far rather than five steps towards his kitchen.

As you saw the bouquet, you gasped. “It’s so beautiful,” You peeled away from your boyfriend to look at it more closely. “My favorite,” you pouted at him, “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome.” He said fondly, stepping closer to you to hug you from behind.

Not much cooking happened that evening, you mostly stayed on the couch, talking and kissing. Well, you did try to cook, but you were so caught up in each other that you accidentally burned the food and ended up on the couch, eating take-out from boxes.

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thank you for reading! please remember that reblogs and comments encourage writers to share more 𝜗𝜚

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Twenty One

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 3.1k words - AO3 CW: 18+ mdni, discussion of kidnapping, sedation. Angst.

“Da?” Penny points at the guest room. “Bunny?” 

“Aye lamb, Bunny.” He tries not to look at the door, tries to push away the avalanche of despair. If he could dig it free it from his brain, he would. He’d take it away from everyone, you, Si, himself. He’d rewind time, take it all back, start from the beginning and fix it all. 

The memories burn like fire. They’re ash in the back of his throat. 

“We’d never hurt ye, we jus’ want to take ye home.” 

 What a lie. Who were they kidding, doing this? Pretending they were some knights in shining armor, coming to rescue you? 

They became everything you feared. 

Pen nestles into his neck, gripping his shirt as she wiggles. “Story?” 

“Jus’ one alright?” She signs okay, and sighs. 

“Gus?” He grits his teeth. Penny's love for Gus has been a tiny bright spot in an abysmal expanse of misery, but her obsession just reminds him of everything else. 

“Gus is downstairs, it’s nap time.” He can feel the tumultuous slope of a tantrum, Penny’s mood ratcheting up and up until it explodes. She’s tired, and stressed, too much like her Dad, reading the emotions in the house like its second nature. She knows something is wrong. 

“Gus Gus,” her lower lip trembles, legs kicking. “Wan’ Gus Gus.” 

“Ye’ll see Gus later.” She doesn’t understand anything that’s happened, and the guilt eats at him, at what they’ve done to their family, what they’ve brought into their home. 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. 

He holds her tight, kisses her forehead. “I love ye, Penny.” She sniffles. 

“Luh you.” 

 “Not at all?” 

“No idea mate. Looked at me like she’s never seen me a day in her life. A bit bizarre if you ask me.” Simon rubs a hand over his face. “But she also pointedly avoided looking at me. Tried to make herself smaller.” Johnny grimaces. They've moved as fast as they could, but you didn't make it easy.

In a weird way, Johnny is proud of you.

“How does she seem?” He knows this answer. To not recognize Kyle you must be tired beyond belief, operating on autopilot, frozen stiff with fear. 

“Skittish. Exhausted. Scared.” His shoulders slump, entire body sinking into the cushions of the couch. Your frightened face haunts his dreams, a little rabbit running for her life. He can't imagine how you must feel, believing you were betrayed by them, running away with their babe in your belly.

In another life, maybe they’d stay in Scotland with you. He’d show you all the things he loves about it, all the things he still calls home, the same things he showed Pen. Maybe it would be different. 

“Did you get it done?” Simon interrupts his spiral, redirects their focus. 

“Yeah, managed to slip it into the little pocket at the top, she had no idea. It’s online and I sent you guys the link; you should be able to see the ping. I’ll stay on her until you get here.” 

“From a distance.” Simon reiterates, and Kyle scoffs. 

“Do you think I’m an amateur?” 

Penny isn’t in her room after her nap. 

She gets up at the same time everyday without fail, dependable clockwork that they work their lives around. 

Johnny’s heart jumps into his throat. Logical thinking starts to fade away into panic, fear, his fumbling fingers swiping at his phone just as her little giggle echoes from down the hall, and relief rushes through his bones.

She's in your room. Curled up in your side, feet in your lap, little palm on your belly, staring up at you like you hung the stars in the sky. 

“And then the cow said-” 

“Moooo!” He’s sick at the sight, another tidal wave of grief pulling him out to sea, reminding him of things they’ll probably never have now, your love, your trust, a family with you.

But you haven't left, a desperate voice in his head reminds him, you've had plenty of opportunities, but stays here. Why? 

Maybe all hope isn't lost.

“That’s right,” you brush her wispy curls back from her face and smile, “you’re such a smart girl Pen.” She pats the curve of your stomach, and then signs. 

“Baby?” Your hand folds over hers, and Johnny’s throat is so tight he can barely breathe. “My baby.” You laugh, and she giggles as you hug her close, kissing the top of her head. 

“This is your baby brother or sister Pen. What do you think? Boy? Or girl?” Penny shrugs, giving you a sheepish look. 

“Gus?” 

“Didn’t you see Gus earlier? Did you feed him breakfast?” There’s some shuffling, and she wiggles down to the floor, waiting patiently as you groan and swing your legs over the bed. “Alright, he could probably use some more fish flakes anyway.” You look tired, weary, but still your smile is soft for Penny, gentle and encouraging. 

It fades when you catch him in the doorway. 

“Hey.” You nod, the small spark in your eyes dying immediately as you watch him cautiously. Like he’s a threat. 

“How long have you been standing there?” 

“Er, not long.” What’s another lie in the long list of transgressions at this point? 

“Pen wants to see Gus so… I thought I’d take her downstairs.” You shift uneasily, and he steps aside. Penny’s hand is tucked in yours, and a vision of one of you falling, tripping, and taking the other down flashes in his mind. 

“Be careful on the stairs Pen.” She goes down on her knees now, backward, sliding her stomach across each step in a slow but methodical process. One that could trip you up. “I can take ye down-” 

“No,” she vehemently refuses, “I do it.” 

“She can do it on her own.” You back her up immediately, both of his girls united in solid opposition against him. Bleedin’ Christ. Penny points downstairs. 

“Da. Gus.” She signs for both, for once oblivious to your agitation, and he winces when you shoot him an annoyed look. 

“I’ve got her Johnny.” 

“Okay,” Penny’s already started on her descent, and you hold onto the banister, still glaring at him. He gulps. “Ye be careful too.” For a second, the storm breaks, the thunder rolls over the hill into the distance, torrential downpour turning a drizzle, and the sun tries to peek through the clouds. Sadness and longing, flickers in your eyes, so clearly displayed that it urges him forward, a step too close. You back away. 

The sun is gone, and the storm rages. 

The prefilled syringe glints in the sunlight where it sits on the table. Johnny tries not to look at it. 

“Are ye sure-” 

“No,” Simon snaps, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, I’m not. But I don’t see what our choices are. We can’t leave her on her own with Graves at large. I promised… I promised she’d be safe. That I’d take care of her.” 

“We both did.” 

“Well we did a shit job.” He pales when he looks back at the needle. “We’re one hundred percent sure? It’s not going to harm them?” 

“Aye, triple checked. Safe for mum and baby.” They sit across from one another in silence. Simon is far away, somewhere even Johnny can’t reach him, and when he speaks next, his voice cracks. 

“She’s going to be so scared. She won’t understand what’s happening.” He covers his face, heels of his hands pressing into his eyes. “She already thinks… she thinks we’re a threat. She’s not going to listen to anything we say.” 

“I know.” 

“We have to do it this way.” He’s whispering, locked in an endless battle of wills with himself, and Johnny reaches for his hand. He doesn’t know what else to do. Sick with dread twisting his heart, he knows the options are limited. He knows this is a good course of action, possibly the safest, the most rational. 

Even if it will turn them into your monsters.

“I know, Si. I know.” 

You’re on the patio. 

He’s found you there a few times, curled up on the outdoor couch, sun on your face as you read or scroll on your phone. 

He wants to go to you, encouraged by the sliver of something he saw in your eyes earlier, but he knows he can’t. If he pushes too hard, it will only make you retreat.

“She’s been out there for an hour.” Simon stands at his side, and if you look up, you’ll see both of them staring. Watching. 

“Did ye talk to her?” 

“Tried. She ignored me.” 

“Did ye actually?” His patience is thin today, a fine thread threatening to fray. “Try?” Johnny knows what it truly is, this avoidance of you. Simon brings you meals, checks in, but keeps away, holds his position at a firm distance. 

He can’t live with himself. 

“Johnny,” it’s a warning shot, but he chooses not to pay it any attention. 

“Did ye? Try at all? Because I haven’t seen ye try since we got home, since that day she woke up.” Simon stiffens. 

“She doesn’t want me.” 

“She doesnae want either o’ us Si. What did ye think would happen? That everything would be fine and she would forgive us? She would trust us automatically?” He’s on the verge of yelling now, and instead of trying to soothe him as usual, Simon scowls and turns away. Johnny snaps. “We said it’d take time an’ work but ye’re jus’ runnin’ away now, every chance ye get, an’ leavin’ everything to me!” 

“I…” He’s never seen his husband so lost. These past two weeks, every day he’s slipped further and further away, and nothing Johnny says or does brings him back. “I can’t, Johnny.” 

“Ye have to try.” For her. For me. For your family. Simon shakes his head. 

“I can’t.” 

“Jesus.” The heel of your palm goes to your temple, and he holds his breath. “What-” You trail off as you look up, take them in, guilty as sin. 

If only his Ma could see him now. See what he’s done. 

You shoot upward, scrambling towards the head of the bed, eyes wide and frozen with fear. 

Shaking and terrified. A little rabbit caught in a snare. Their snare.

You watch them like they're executioners leading you to the block. 

“Wh-what…” 

“Listen to us sweetheart, just listen,” Simon soothes, voice low and cautious but fast because he knows they’ve got to get it out, establish the truth right away. “You’re safe, everything’s okay, you and the baby, you’re safe here.” You shake your head, tears rolling down your cheeks. 

“You… b-brought me back?” Your voice cracks. “You brought me back and n-now he’s…” you break apart on a sob. 

“He’s never going to touch ye ever again, bunny. We swear it. I know,” you try to scoot off the bed, but Simon holds you still by your shoulders. They have to get this out, have to get through this part no matter how difficult it is, no matter how much you don't want to listen. You have to hear the truth, the reasoning.

“I know you don’t believe us, but we can prove it.” Johnny pulls out his phone and clicks open the secure email attachment. It’s the mission report from when Graves betrayed them outside the Mexican Special Forces base, and it’s only partially redacted thanks to Kate.

It’s a risk. 

It will confirm your fears and dissolve them. It will tell you who they truly are, what they truly do, while proving they’re telling the truth. 

It’s a gamble. 

“Read this,” Simon pushes it into your hand and you recoil. It doesn’t stop him, he wraps your brittle fingers around it and then stands, Johnny right behind him. “Take as long as you need. We’ll be here.” 

“Did ye like it?” You refuse to look at him, half of a pot pie eaten and sitting at your side on the tray. No answer. 

You blink at the ceiling. 

“Wanted to check in, see if ye needed anything?” Please, say something. Say anything. “Somethin’ else to eat, maybe? Si said ye didnae eat much of yer lunch. Are ye feeling sick again?” You’ve been having bouts of nausea, which you’ve told them is normal. You said you brought it up with your midwife at your appointment last week, she wasn’t concerned, and left it that. He knows you only supplied the information because they were badgering you about it, and as you told them the other day-

“I’d do anything to get you to leave me the fuck alone.” 

When you turn to look at him, he almost wishes you hadn’t. 

There’s a lifetime of pain in your eyes. Anger. Distrust. Hurt. All of it caused by their hand, their decisions. 

He tries anyway. He has to. 

“Did ye know goldfish can grow up to ten inches? Researched it when we…” he swallows the lump in his throat, “when we got home.” Still nothing. Your fingers twitch on the edge of your kindle, and he’s overcome with the urge to place his hand there, to hold yours. “Ye know, Si an’ I were talking, it might be good for you to come down for a meal? Maybe ye could come downstairs for breakfast tomorrow? Pen asked.” Using Penny is wrong, he knows that, but he’s drowning and he doesn’t know how much farther they can sink at this point. 

But it all falls on deaf ears. 

You give him one last long look, another glare overflowing with malice, more rage, more despair, everything twisted up into a complicated knot. 

He's well practiced with bombs, confident, rarely makes a mistake-

but this is one he's terrified to defuse.

“Johnny… just... leave me alone. Please.” No, he wants to tell you, no, I'd rather have you scream at me for hours on end, I'd rather have you throw another mug at my head, over all of this... this agonizing silence.

“Okay,” he whispers, “I’ll… leave ye be.” 

“Upset?!” You cover your heart with your palms. “Upset…” 

“Sweetheart-” Simon hangs back behind Johnny, allowing him to take the lead, again, but still trying to coax you to calm, and you look at one then the other, shaking your head, tossing the phone on the bed.

“You… you hid all of this from me. I knew you were military but this…” You’re angry, but beneath it, fighting for freedom, is pain. Pain caused by them, by this betrayal. “Phillip aside, you kidnapped me!” 

“We had no choice,” Johnny’s voice wavers and he scrambles for control. “We couldnae leave ye alone and unprotected, an’ we knew ye wouldnae listen to us if we just… showed up.” 

“I wish I had better aim,” you spit, staring daggers at where Simon’s arm sports a fresh bandage, covering the stitches. He flinches. 

“We would never hurt ye-” A bitter laugh cuts him off, and you throw your hands up, gesturing around the room. 

“What do you call this then, Johnny? What would you call drugging me and hauling me away from my home?” 

"That wasnae yer home! Yer home is wit' us, bun." You stare at him in disbelief.

"You're out of your fucking mind if you think this... this could be my home now."

“I promise-” Simon starts again but you glare at him. 

“Your promises mean fuck all, Simon Riley.” 

“We’ve never lied to ye, bunny, an’ if we had known from the beginning, we could have protected ye, made sure he never came near ye again.” It’s low to use your own evasion against you, your own survival instincts, but he’s grasping at straws. He’s not sure it’s possible to tell you how sorry they are anymore, they’ve said it a thousand times. You snort. 

“You’re unbelievable. Both of you. And you’re no better than him.” 

“That’s not true.” Simon cuts, sharp edge slicing through your declaration. “We would never, ever hurt you. We love you.” Your swallow is audible, and for a second, you falter. A tear falls. Johnny steps forward. 

“Bun-“ 

“I want you to go.” 

“Ye have every right-” 

“Get out!” You scream it, pointing at the door with a shaking finger. “Get the fuck out.” Simon doesn’t take a single second before turning his back and disappearing, leaving Johnny alone with you. 

Defeated. 

“I love ye.” He murmurs softly, and you scoff. 

“Fuck your love, Johnny. It means nothing.”

The scream wakes them both at zero two hundred. 

It’s blood curdling, could shatter the windows, shake the house down to the studs. 

Simon’s faster than him lately, gets the drop- 

But he bypasses your room. 

“I’ll take care of Penny.” Of course. She’d be awake. That would’ve woke anyone. 

The door creaks when it flings wide, and then he’s sitting at your hip on the mattress, holding you, calling your name. The whites of your eyes shine in the dark, pupils slowly adjusting as he flicks the light on next to the bed. 

He braces for a fight, shores his defenses, readies himself for the venom, but the only thing you give him is the trembling of your lower lip, and your tears, your hand stretching for his. “Shhh, ye’re okay, it’s okay. Was jus’ a dream bunny, jus’ a dream.” Your chest heaves. 

“I… Phillip...” 

“He’s no’ here, it’s just ye and me. Simon and Pen down the hall.” He’d be lying to himself if he said this isn’t making a sick part of him happy, this need you seem to have for him, for comfort, even if it may be fleeting. “Ye’re safe, pretty girl.” A moan escapes you, working its way into a sob, and you curl forward. 

Into him. 

In this darkness, the early hour of the morning, the two of you are suspended in time, alone in this world where nothing bad ever happened and you’re safe in his arms. Like the man he sees in the mirror doesn’t disgust him, like his remorse isn’t a living, breathing thing, a reaper waiting to take him away. 

And when your nose presses to his chest and you wet his shirt with tears as he rocks you, promises you’re safe, that they’ll take care of you, that he loves you, all the words they’ve said since the day they met you, the guilt threatens to drown him-

And his own tears drip from his face. 

[missarchive]

Spencer and reader get stuck in the cold weather while on a case, and after Spencer rambles about body heat being a good source of warmth (or a similar fact); reader suggests testing that theory

oh i really liked this ask 😭 i always love writing for things i havent before! i actually thought id already posted this but i found it in my drafts

cw; 18+ mdni!! needy!spencer, softdom!spence if you squint, sexy science puns, lots of heavy petting, dry humping, fingering

The cold was unforgiving. It bit through every layer of clothing, sinking into your bones with a chill that felt almost personal. You wrapped your arms around yourself, blowing into your hands as you glanced at the snow-covered road stretching endlessly ahead. The SUV sat uselessly on the shoulder, engine dead, and the faint crackle of your radio confirmed that the rest of the team was still hours away.

Spencer stood a few feet away, pacing in a tight circle to keep his blood moving. His long coat whipped slightly in the wind, and his hair, unkempt from hours in the field, fell into his face. He pushed it back absently, his gloved fingers trembling slightly from the cold. His breath puffed in front of him like small, fleeting clouds.

“We’re going to freeze out here,” you muttered, your teeth chattering as you hugged yourself tighter.

Spencer paused mid-step and looked at you, his brows knitting together in concern. “Not necessarily,” he began, his voice wavering slightly from the chill but still steady enough to deliver one of his signature facts. “The human body has remarkable thermoregulatory mechanisms. For instance, shivering is a natural response designed to generate heat through muscle activity.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips quirking despite the cold. “Not sure shivering is going to cut it, Reid.”

He blinked, his face taking on that familiar, earnest expression as he shifted gears. “Well, there is another method that’s proven to be highly effective in conserving warmth. Sharing body heat—specifically, skin-to-skin contact—can significantly reduce the risk of hypothermia. It’s a technique commonly used in survival situations.”

You stared at him for a beat, then let out a short laugh that fogged the air between you. “Skin-to-skin, huh?”

His eyes widened slightly, and he stumbled over his words, his hands flailing in a nervous gesture. “I-I didn’t mean it like that—I mean, not like that—just, you know, from a purely biological standpoint. It’s logical.”

You couldn’t help the grin tugging at your lips, despite the fact that your face was half-frozen. “Relax, Spencer. I’m not accusing you of anything. You’ve got a good point.”

His head tilted slightly, his mouth opening and closing as if he were trying to decide whether or not you were teasing him.

“I’m serious,” you said, stepping closer and gesturing toward the SUV. “Let’s test that theory. Unless you’ve got another way to keep us from turning into popsicles out here?”

He froze for a second, his cheeks turning pink—not just from the cold, you noted. “Oh. Uh… okay. Yes. That—that makes sense.”

You led the way back into the SUV, grateful for even the limited shelter it provided. Spencer followed, his movements stiff and hesitant as if he wasn’t entirely sure he was allowed to be there. You shrugged off your heavy coat, setting it aside, and gestured for him to do the same.

He hesitated, his hands hovering near the buttons of his coat. “You’re sure about this?”

You rolled your eyes, though your tone was light. “Unless you want to freeze out there alone, yes, I’m sure.”

Spencer nodded quickly, shedding his coat and draping it over the seat. His movements were deliberate, precise, as though he were calculating every step.

“You know, this is purely for survival,” you teased as you slid onto the backseat.

“Of course,” he replied, his voice a touch too high-pitched to be convincing.

Settling beside him, you turned to face him fully. “So, how does this work, Doctor?”

“Well,” he began, his tone shifting into that of a lecture despite the awkwardness in his posture, “the idea is to maximize surface area contact to facilitate heat transfer. The skin is an effective medium for conduction, and by—”

“Spencer,” you interrupted, unable to keep the amusement out of your voice. “Just hold me.”

His lips parted in a silent “oh,” and he nodded, his cheeks darkening further as he opened his arms. Tentatively, you leaned into him, resting your head against his chest. His body was lean and sharp beneath the layers, and his arms wrapped around you with a hesitance that made your heart squeeze.

“Warmer already,” you murmured, closing your eyes as you pressed closer.

He let out a nervous laugh, his breath brushing the top of your head. “That’s… good. It means the method is working.”

For a while, the two of you sat in silence, save for the faint sound of his breathing and the occasional rustle of clothing. Gradually, his grip on you became more secure, his hands resting lightly on your back. You could feel the thrum of his heartbeat beneath your cheek—quick and irregular, as though he were nervous.

“You’re like a walking space heater,” you teased softly, breaking the quiet.

“That’s not entirely accurate,” he replied, his voice carrying a hint of his usual matter-of-fact tone. “The human body only generates a limited amount of heat—around 100 watts at rest, give or take. It’s not comparable to a—”

“Spencer,” you said again, a laugh bubbling up despite yourself. “I was joking.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” He cleared his throat, and you could practically feel the embarrassment radiating off him.

You tilted your head to look up at him, finding his gaze already on you. His brown eyes were wide, soft, and filled with something that made your stomach flip—curiosity, vulnerability, and a hint of awe.

“It’s okay. I like when you ramble. Especially when you get all excited about sciencey stuff.” Your voice was soft, meant to soothe, and you tilted your head to meet his gaze. The small smile you offered was an invitation, a reassurance that he hadn’t overstepped. “In fact, it’s one of my favorite things about you.”

The effect of your words was immediate. Spencer blinked rapidly, his expressive brown eyes widening as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard. His eyebrows shot up, almost vanishing beneath the tousled strands of his hair. He opened his mouth as if to speak but hesitated, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a hard swallow.

“Oh,” he finally managed, his voice unsteady. “I, uh... thanks.”

You could see the flicker of uncertainty in his gaze, the way his eyes darted to the side, searching for an anchor in a moment that felt too big for him. Your heart ached at his reaction, and without thinking, you raised a hand to rest your palm gently on his chest. The warmth of him seeped into your skin, and you felt the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath your touch.

The muscles beneath your hand tensed slightly, a reflexive reaction, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he stood frozen, his eyes fixed on yours, his vulnerability laid bare in the way he held his breath. You let your fingers drift upward, brushing over the edge of his collarbone and the sensitive skin at the base of his neck. The movement was slow, deliberate, meant to ground him.

Spencer’s breath hitched audibly, a faint gasp escaping his parted lips. His wide eyes flickered back to meet yours, and for a moment, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of you, the snowy storm outside fading into insignificance.

“Y/n?” His voice was barely a whisper, your name fragile and questioning on his tongue.

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you leaned in, closing the small distance between you to press a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. The sound he made in response—a soft, involuntary whimper—sent a ripple of warmth through your chest. His lips parted slightly against yours, his breath mingling with your own, and you could feel the way his body trembled ever so slightly under your touch.

The kiss deepened by degrees, slow and exploratory, as if neither of you wanted to rush the moment. His hand came up tentatively to cup your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. There was a sweetness to his touch, a kind of reverence that made your chest tighten with affection.

When you finally broke the kiss, you stayed close, your foreheads nearly touching. Spencer’s breathing was uneven, and his eyes were dark, filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite name but felt all the same.

“I like when you ramble,” you murmured again, letting your fingers trace the line of his jaw. “It’s one of the things that makes you, you. And I love that.”

Spencer swallowed hard, his lashes fluttering as he looked down at you. “I... don’t think anyone’s ever said something like that to me before.”

“Then it’s about time someone did,” you said, your voice firm with conviction.

His lips curved into the smallest of smiles, shy and a little uncertain, but so genuine it made your heart squeeze. You leaned up to kiss him again, this time lingering a little longer, savoring the warmth of his lips against yours.

“Tell me something scientific,” you murmured, your voice muffled as you turned your face into the curve of his neck. Your lips found the soft spot beneath his ear, and you pressed a gentle kiss there, feeling the slight shiver that ran through him.

Spencer cleared his throat, his voice a little uneven as he obliged. “Humans have a remarkable capacity to generate warmth through muscle activity. For example, shivering alone can increase your metabolic rate by up to ten times.”

“That’s interesting,” you hummed against his skin, the vibration making him swallow hard. Your lips trailed lower, brushing against the tender skin of his throat before settling at the hollow where his pulse beat steadily. You kissed him there, slow and deliberate, savoring the way his breath hitched. “Do you know what else can generate warmth?”

For a moment, Spencer froze, his body stiffening slightly in your embrace. When he finally spoke, his voice was tight, and the single word seemed to catch in his throat. “Uh... friction?”

You grinned against his neck, the curve of your smile pressing into his skin. “That’s a good one.”

His exhale came out in a shaky mix of a laugh and a gasp, his nerves and amusement intertwining. “You- you think so?”

Shifting beneath him, you arched your back just enough to press your hips against him, and the reaction was immediate. Spencer groaned softly, the sound vibrating against your chest as you undulated again, slow and deliberate. “I really do,” you clarified, your tone teasing as you moved against him.

Spencer dropped his forehead to your shoulder, letting out a low chuckle tinged with exasperation. “God, Y/n. You’re ridiculous.”

“Hey, I learned from the best,” you shot back, your grin widening as you tightened your grip around him. The warmth of his body against yours was intoxicating, every slight movement feeding the growing tension between you.

He lifted his head, his expression softer now, his gaze locking onto yours. Without hesitation, he kissed you, his lips tentative but sweet as they met yours. “And I learned from you,” he murmured against your mouth, the words carrying a weight that made your chest ache. “Everything.”

His kiss deepened as he spoke, his tongue slipping past your lips to meet your own in a slow, intoxicating dance. “Everything,” he repeated, his voice husky as he pulled back just enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath against your lips. “Including this.”

Spencer rolled his hips against you, the hard length of him dragging against your center with a pressure that made your toes curl. The friction was maddening, delicious, and you gasped into his mouth, your hands clutching at his back as you arched against him.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” Spencer whispered, the confession raw and unguarded. Despite his words, he didn’t stop moving, his rhythm steady and almost instinctual. “I just—fuck, I’ve wanted this for so long.”

The vulnerability in his voice tugged at your heart, the mix of lust and affection swelling in your chest until it felt like you might burst. “You could never mess this up,” you said, your voice trembling slightly as your fingers traced the lines of his spine. “Spencer, I—”

The words faltered on your tongue, the depth of your feelings too overwhelming to articulate. How could you possibly express how much you cared for him, how long you’d admired him, how deeply you craved this closeness? The enormity of it all made your throat tighten, the emotions too big and too raw to put into words.

So instead, you kissed him. You poured everything you couldn’t say into the press of your lips against his, hoping he would feel the depth of your emotions in the way your hands held him, in the way your body pressed against his, in the way your heart beat wildly in sync with his own.

Spencer's fingers slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, his palm tentative but burning hot against your side. His touch was so light it sent a shiver skittering down your spine, and your breath caught in your throat as he hesitated. “Can I...?”

“Spencer.” You reached down to capture his hand, guiding it higher and pressing it firmly against the flat of your stomach. “You don’t have to ask.”

He exhaled shakily, leaning in to kiss you again. This time, there was a hunger in his kiss that hadn’t been there before, an urgency that made your pulse race. His other hand found its way to your chest, and he palmed you through your bra, his movements still cautious but full of intent. “I want to be good at this,” he murmured, his voice low and raw against your lips.

You arched your hips into his, the movement slow and deliberate, eliciting a sharp gasp from him when his cock dragged against your clit. “You already are,” you whispered, your words a mix of reassurance and pure honesty.

He pulled back slightly, his lips parting as he searched your face. His gaze was soft but piercing, filled with a vulnerability that made your chest ache. “Really?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“Yeah.” You swallowed hard, your throat tightening with the weight of your emotions. “You’re perfect.”

The corners of his mouth lifted into a small, almost bashful smile, his face softening at your words. His gaze drifted downward, his lashes dark against his skin as he took in the sight of your bodies pressed together. “You are, too,” he murmured, the sincerity in his voice making your heart stutter.

Without warning, Spencer pushed himself up, his hands bracketing your hips as he knelt between your legs. His fingers fumbled at his belt, his brow furrowing in concentration as he worked to undo it. After a moment of struggling, he gave up with a quiet huff, opting instead to slide a hand into his jeans. When he began stroking himself, his lips parted on a soft, unbidden moan, and your stomach clenched at the sight.

The way his hand moved, slow and deliberate, combined with the way his jaw tightened and his breath came in ragged gasps—it was intoxicating. You couldn’t tear your eyes away, your mouth watering as you imagined replacing his hand with your own, with your mouth. You wanted to feel him, taste him, make him lose himself in you.

“Spencer—” you breathed, the single word thick with want.

But before you could finish your thought, he was shifting back down, his body settling against yours as his lips found your neck. “I want you to get off on me,” he whispered, his voice rough and urgent against your skin. His mouth trailed along your jawline, the light scrape of his teeth sending sparks of heat through you. “Is that okay?”

“Fuck, yes,” you gasped, your hands finding purchase on his hips. You dragged him closer, your fingers digging into the firm muscle of his ass to pull him against you.

The friction was delicious, the slow roll of his hips against yours making your head spin. The heat of him, the weight of him, the low, breathy sounds he made—it was almost too much and yet not enough all at once. You tilted your head back, offering him more of your neck as you ground against him, losing yourself in the rhythm of his body against yours.

Spencer gasped as your hips rocked up against his, the friction of his cock sliding over your clit drawing a soft moan from you. The two of you found a rhythm, slow and deliberate, your bodies moving in perfect sync. Each roll of his hips sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through your veins, the growing pressure between your thighs impossible to ignore. His hardness rubbed against you with each motion, his movements unpracticed yet intoxicatingly eager.

He dropped his head to your shoulder, his breath hot and erratic against your skin. His groan was low and guttural, the sound vibrating through you as his body tensed. You couldn’t help the soft whimper that escaped your lips in response, your hands sliding up his back to hold him closer.

He felt incredible like this—hot, hard, and trembling with need in your arms. You pressed a lingering kiss to his temple, feeling the dampness of his hairline as you drew back to take in his face. His cheeks were flushed, his lips parted, and his eyes... God, his eyes. They met yours, dark and stormy with a desperate hunger that made your breath catch.

“What do you want?” you asked softly, your voice steady despite the hammering of your heart.

Spencer’s gaze didn’t waver. “You,” he breathed, his tone raw and unguarded. “I want you.”

A laugh bubbled up in your chest, high-pitched and giddy with affection and desire. You cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing over the sharp angle of his cheekbone. “You’ve got me, Spencer.”

His eyes fluttered shut as you rocked your hips against him again, drawing a sharp inhale from his lips. His voice was rough with longing when he spoke, barely more than a whisper. “I know. I want—I want to...” He trailed off, his brow furrowing in frustration as he struggled to articulate his thoughts.

You leaned in, your lips grazing his forehead before trailing down to his ear. “Tell me,” you murmured, your voice soft and coaxing. “Whatever it is, Spencer. Tell me.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing against your lips as he searched for the words. His breaths were shallow and uneven, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low and ragged. “I want—fuck. I just want to make you feel good.” He exhaled sharply, his hand sliding between your bodies to cup you through your underwear. His palm pressed against your cunt, tentative but deliberate, and your breath hitched in response.

“I want to feel you come,” he continued, his words spilling out in a rush. His fingers twitched against you, his touch gentle but insistent. “Is that—can I—fuck—”

You silenced him with a kiss, your lips capturing his in a heated press that said everything words couldn’t. His hand flexed against you, and when you rocked against him, a strangled moan tore from his throat. You felt his hesitation melt away as his fingers pressed more firmly, his eagerness making up for any lack of experience.

“Yes,” you breathed against his lips, your hips moving in time with his touch. “Yes, Spencer. Please.”

The desperation in your voice seemed to spur him on, his confidence growing with every gasped moan and whispered plea that fell from your lips. His movements were clumsy but earnest, his need to please you shining through in every stroke and press of his hand. It was intoxicating, the way he gave himself to you so completely, so openly.

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, your breaths coming faster as the tension coiled tighter in your belly. “Spencer,” you gasped, your voice breaking on his name. “I’m—God, I’m so close—”

His response was immediate, his free hand sliding to your hip to hold you steady as he pressed harder, his movements matching the rhythm of your hips. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, his voice shaking with both nerves and determination. “Let go. Please, I want to feel it.”

And when you did—when the tension snapped and a wave of pleasure crashed over you—it was his name that spilled from your lips in a cry, his hands anchoring you as you trembled in his arms. Spencer held you through it, his own breaths ragged and uneven, his forehead pressing against yours as he whispered your name like a prayer.

[thelotusrabbit]

STOP THE MUSIC! Part 1

This is inspired mostly by the ENA series and videogame, and Cosmo Sheldrake's songs

[Part 2]

The Infinite realms.

The Ghost Zone.

The Veil.

A place where mortals have no chance of surviving alone.

Everything has a logic of its own, rules you learn to follow and respect.

Schools of fish float in a red landscape, symmetrical trees lined up in a way that makes it look like walls, but each one of them is yards away. 

Animals with multiple limbs or extra body parts, silhouettes of people, and heads replaced by concepts.

Plants grow from the ceiling, eternal voids occupied by nothing, and cramped deserts filled by the same pattern over and over.

After a while in there, everything starts to make a sort of sense.

Danny learned quickly that the best way to make the angry shade move on was to sing it a little tune, that you can’t trust anybody that cries by a river, that you should stop and pet every tree that has a doll hanging from it…

That not everything that sounds like an insult or a compliment is what it sounds like, or not to generally accept food from others.

Drinks are sometimes an exception.

Speaking was also wildly different. No matter the language, everybody understood what you were saying, but the phrasing was what was the most different.

So, when Danny was summoned, it was a long time since he left the realms.

His eyes were unblinking, his smile ever so wide, showing too many teeth.

“What in every sensational?! It hasn’t been flesh in a long time!”

He looked at the confused humans, maybe they didn’t speak English?

There weren’t really language barriers in the Realms…

“You flesh! Earn your keep!”

One of them stutters.

“I uh… hi?”

That was it! They were shy!

“Ho, ho! Oh, where has your poor stomach been? Is it gone, or cat’s got your tongue?”

There was another beat of silence.

“What?”

Danny huffed. They really weren’t making this easy.

[Part 2]