#nope! weak to everything still!

[dravidious]

You're more amazing than drawing

Just beat the boss of the 3rd stratum in Etrian Odyssey 5 and idk if it's just my party composition or what but. 2nd Stratum Boss: "I will bash, slash, panic, and paralyze you relentlessly." 3rd Stratum Boss: "Nooo don't kill my low hp minions I need them to do anything!"

[slimyenemy]

woah a puppy.....

[bvrnesher]

۶ৎ — A Welcome Gift !

tap here for chb masterlists ! here for reqs info

warnings: heavy making out (percy is starved, okay?) pda, percy getting handsy & kinda dry humping, public beach so espect sand getting everywhere!

ㅤ୨ৎ — ˳ percy jackson ! fem. reader

summary: after months apart, percy is finally back at camp—and the moment he sees reader, he's all over them. Greetings can wait. Right now, all he wants is reader, and a whole lot of making up for lost time.

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗚𝗢𝗗𝗦 𝗪𝗘𝗥𝗘 𝗗𝗘𝗙𝗜𝗡𝗜𝗧𝗘𝗟𝗬 𝗠𝗘𝗦𝗦𝗜𝗡𝗚 with Percy.

There was no other explanation. He'd been saving Olympus ever since he found out he was a demigod, and what did he get in return? More quests. Nonstop.

The gods were a bunch of idiots. Seriously, they were pros at it. After everything he'd done for them, they still had the audacity to send him on more quest.

Wasn't that some kind of child labor? Sure seemed like it. Well, maybe not child labor anymore, but there was definitely some exploitation going on here.

They had to be joking. You'd think that after saving their godly asses time and time again, they'd at least give him a break. But nope. Overestimating the gods was always a mistake.

And now, finally, Percy was back at camp after yet another quest. Sadly, you hadn't been there to join him—lucky you, right? You weren't even around when he had to pick his team.

Now he was back.

You had just finished unpacking in your cabin and were heading to the beach for some much-needed relaxation. That was the plan... until you saw your boyfriend emerging from the water.

Clasic Percy. Coming back from a quest and just appearing out of nowhere, soaking wet. What else did you expect?

As soon as he spotted you, he sprinted toward you faster than Apollo reciting one of his cringey haikus.

Could you blame him? It had been months since you'd last seen each other. Ignoring his exhaustion, he practically knocked you down into the sand, trapping you beneath him.

You barely had time to process it before his lips took over yours.

A proper greeting? For what? His version of a "hello" was his salty mouth crashing into yours, his wet hair dripping down his jaw and chin, splashing onto your cheeks... and basically your entire face.

"Hey..." Kiss.

"Not now. Talking can wait," he muttered, just before capturing your lips again.

Percy didn’t care about being seen or the lecture that would come afterward. Right now, the only thing on his mind was you. It had been months. MONTHS.

“Mph…m'trying to speak here...” you murmured, trying to talk, but your voice came out weak and breathless.

"Yeah? Well, I’m trying to kiss you here," he responded, nibbling softly on your lower lip in that playful and sexy way that always left you breathless.

You rolled your eyes and shifted positions, now on top of him, pinning him to the sand with one leg on either side of his body.

"Now that’s better," he grinned. The feel of your body molding to his like two puzzle pieces was enough to leave him with a goofy smile, looking at you like you were everything he needed.

And, honestly, you were.

"Much better."

His hands slid under your shirt with a mix of tenderness and desperation, like he was trying to reconnect with you after all the months of separation. Percy's thumb began to trace slow circles on your hips, while his other hand explored a territory he knew by heart.

He looked up at you from beneath, his sea-green eyes locking with yours. Even the sound of the waves crashing against the camp’s beach seemed to fade into the background as you both got lost in the moment. Leaning in, he kissed you languidly.

"I love you..." he whispered.

Percy held your jaw, trying to pull you closer to him, to get as much of you as he could. The hand under your shirt slid to your back, tracing up and down your spine. Playing with the clasp of your bra.

Then—his tongue slipped into your mouth, finding yours. A low breathy moan escaped him and you melted. A soft hum vibrating in your throat.

Percy kissed you just the way Percy was supposed to kiss.

A small whimper slipped from your lips. And that’s when it hit you.

Public.

"Percy,” you tried to protest, but his name came out more like a plea than a complaint.

He smirked against your lips. His fingers toying with the clasp of your bra, teasing. That sound you just made? It should be illegal.

“Yeah, babe?” he murmured. Lips brushing against yours. His breath mixing with yours.

The beach was empty. Just you, him, and the waves. It would’ve been the perfect moment—if you weren’t ruining it.

But your boyfriend knew exactly how to fix that.

“What’s the problem?” he asked softly. His voice dropped an octave, low and smooth, like a secret.

"Percy, we’re in the open—”

“And why should that matter?”

A hand on your hip. A pull. He rolled his hips up, it was subtle. Intentional.

Your breath hitched.

He was hard.

His body was warm. His muscles tense with anticipation as he pressed you down against him. Seeking more of you. A deep, shaky breath left him as his hands roamed your body, slow and purposeful.

“Mhm...” He let his head fall back against the sand, eyes shut, lips parted.

Then, he looked at you. And that look? That look made you shiver.

His voice dropped again. Rougher now. “You... are wearing... way too many clothes.” His hand slipped under your shirt. Tracing the edge of your bra with his fingers. One swift motion and he flipped you over.

His lips left yours, trailing down your jaw, your neck. Hot, open-mouthed kisses, he sucked gently, right where he knew you liked it.

“You look so good like this,” he murmured, voice husky. His eyes roamed over you, taking you in. “Make some room for me.”

He pulled back just enough. His hands found your knees, and he guided them apart, spreading your legs for him. As soon as he had room, he settled between your legs, gently pulling you to him.

A searing heat coursed through your body as Percy caught your wrists and held them above your head, his fingers tangling in the sand around them. His body pressed against yours, his weight enveloping you in the best possible way.

He leaned into you, the tip of his nose brushing against yours. His eyes were fixed on your face, devouring your every feature as he drew closer. His gaze slid between your eyes and lips, taking in every detail.

"You have no idea how much I've missed this..." Percy murmured and he began to roll his hips against yours diligently as his lips sucked hickeys on your neck. His body molded perfectly against yours, and a single movement of his hips was enough to leave you dumb.

"Clothes get in the way..." He murmured, tugging at the waistband of your shorts, and you could do nothing but nod before grabbing his chin to kiss him desperately.

By the time the kiss broke, a trickle of saliva connected your swollen lips with his. A lopsided smile splits over his lips that makes your tummy flutter, and he's already thrusting against your clothed pussy.

Your own hips buck against his, and Percy can only let out grunts and curses in your ear at the sensations.

Percy would be ashamed of how he was leaking under his clothes if he wasn't too busy taking your welcome gift to really dwell on it.

NOTE;; I wrote this half-sleep, lol.

[wordsofwhimsy]

𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝑴𝒆 𝑵𝒆𝒙𝒕 𝑻𝒊𝒎𝒆 ☞ ♥•♥•♥•

Pairing: Main!Mark Grayson x f!Reader | Viltrumite!Mark x f!Reader | Sinister!Mark x f!Reader | No Goggles/Lensless!Mark x f!Reader | Omni!Mark x f!Reader | Shiesty!Mark x f!Reader | Mohawk!Mark x f!Reader

Warnings: Umm there’s a mention of Lensless making his dick jump LMAO but that’s it

Tags: Fluff, comedy, romance, just cute silliness – you get the vibe

Word Count: uhhh the whole thing’s 3,236 but each part for all the variants is between 350-650

Synopsis: It’s so nice to have a superhuman boyfriend who relishes in the idea of you being so weak and helpless, he does EVERYTHING for you. Except, also, sometimes it’s kind of annoying and you just want to do things on your own. So when he’s gone on a mission that’s supposed to last a few days? You plan to take FULL advantage. Only, he comes back sooner than expected…

a/n: man, sorry i’ve been dropping the ball on posting lately. i wasn’t lying when i said losing all my old shit really killed my motivation. BUT i’ve been going dumb reading this comic and bruhhh i’m SHOOK by some of the differences – i digress. i feel myself slowly getting back to my usual grind so pls hang in there with me lovies!!!!

also, Shiesty is DEFINITELY my fav from this series lmaoo

The Set Up...

The thing about being home alone was that it gave you the rare chance to get things done.

No overprotective Viltrumite boyfriend hovering the moment you touched anything over ten pounds. No “babe, let me do it” every time you reached for the step stool. Just peace, music, and the triumphant satisfaction of moving the bookshelf to the wall it should’ve been on this entire time.

You’d nearly gotten it there, too—angled just right, towel under the bottom, scooting it across the floor one slow, squeaky inch at a time.

Main!Mark

You were mid-push, maneuvering the big bookshelf across the floor with a towel under it for glide, when you heard the familiar whoosh of a landing behind you.

“Hey, I’m—whoa.”

You turned around, sheepish but proud. “Hi!”

Mark stood there, mask off, still in his suit, eyes flicking between you and the halfway-moved bookshelf. “Were you… moving that by yourself?”

“Technically yes. But, like, strategically. No lifting. Full physics. Minimum chaos.”

He blinked. “That’s… kind of impressive.”

You beamed. “Thanks!”

He nodded slowly, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean, yeah, no—super cool. Really cool. Totally capable. Independent. You got this.”

You tilted your head. “You okay?”

“Me? Yeah. I’m good.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Mark.”

He scuffed his foot across the floor, eyes cast down. “It’s just… you didn’t wait for me.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to help me push furniture around after flying halfway around the world.”

“Still,” he muttered, glancing at the bookshelf. “It’s kind of my thing, y’know? Being helpful. Picking up stuff. Making your life easier. Super strength is kind of… my niche.”

Your chest ached a little. He wasn’t mad—just quietly, adorably bummed. Like a golden retriever watching someone else throw the ball.

So, naturally, you took two steps back, turned just slightly, and just happened to stub your toe on the side of the coffee table.

Loudly.

“OW—oh my god, ow, okay nope, I’m dying,” you yelped, grabbing your foot and hopping in place.

Mark was instantly at your side, arms out. “Wait, what happened?! Are you okay?!”

“Stubbed my toe,” you whimpered. “On the corner. I think it—ohhh nooo it’s broken.”

He crouched in front of you like a concerned EMT. “Which foot?! Can you walk? Want me to carry you to the couch??”

You blinked at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Would you?”

He was already scooping you up, like a knight cradling a wounded princess. “Of course. I’ve got you.”

You let your head fall dramatically against his shoulder, hiding your grin. “My hero.”

He smiled. A real one this time. “You can move bookshelves, sure. But I’m still the toe-stubbing emergency response team.”

You kissed his cheek. “See? Still irreplaceable.”

A pause.

“…You faked that, didn’t you.”

“No comment.”

Viltrumite!Mark

“…Sweetheart?”

You froze.

“Are you… are you moving that? Alone?”

You turned to see Mark standing in the doorway, uniform still on, brow furrowed in a mix of horror and disbelief, like he’d just caught a toddler wielding a chainsaw.

You opened your mouth to explain—but something in his expression gave you pause.

So instead, you took a slow, shaky breath… and rested the back of your hand against your forehead.

“Ohh…” you sighed. “You’re right. That was… so reckless of me.”

He was at your side in a blink.

“[Y/N],” he murmured, already cradling your face in his hands, inspecting you like you might crumble. “You should’ve waited for me. What if you got hurt? That shelf is solid wood.”

“I just… I didn’t want to bother you,” you said softly, leaning into the moment. “But I feel so faint now…”

He gently brushed your hair from your face, voice dropping to a near-whisper. “You shouldn’t be lifting a finger. Not when I’m here. Let me take care of you.”

You almost felt bad.

…Almost.

Mark pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Go sit down. I’ll finish this.”

You gave him your best helpless nod, then flopped dramatically onto the couch as he lifted the bookshelf with one hand and carried it across the room like it was empty.

“Okay,” he said. “Where do you want it?”

You sat up, pointing. “Against that wall, just—yeah, right there. No, wait—actually a little to the left.”

He adjusted.

“Hmm. No, sorry, more to the right.”

Another adjustment.

“Okay, now turn it a bit. Clockwise. No, my clockwise. Yeah, okay—wait, back a bit.”

He tilted his head. “Back? Or back back?”

You squinted. “Like… scooch it. A half scooch.”

He sighed (very soft, very loving), and scooched.

You stared.

“…Okay, I think it’s—wait. Nope. Now it’s too far.”

Mark blinked. “Sweetheart...”

You gave a long-suffering sigh and dropped your head into your hands. “This is why I just wanted to do it myself.”

He chuckled—low and warm—then gently tapped your knee. “And miss out on being treated like royalty? Why deprive yourself of such a treat?”

You smiled softly "Very good point..." Then you paused, glanced at the shelf and looked up at him again. “If I’m royalty, does that mean I can tell you to move it back to where it was?”

His face went stony for a moment, but then was already turning. “Only for you...”

You smiled. “I love you so much.”

Mark was ready to move planets that point.

Sinister!Mark

You were halfway through dragging the bookshelf across the floor when your body stilled.

The hair on the back of your neck rose. The air shifted. Then you heard his voice. Smooth. Amused.

“…Interesting choice of project.”

Your blood froze. No. There's no way he's already back, is he?

You turned your head slowly, painfully, like a horror movie character about to meet their doom.

There he was. Standing in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes glowing faintly red, with the kind of cold smirk that said “so this is how you betray me.”

Without even thinking – no hesitation, zero shame – you let out a gasp, dramatically tripping over the edge of the towel you’d been using to slide the shelf on and falling down in what felt like slow motion.

The entire bookshelf tipped sideways with you, crashing to the floor with a thunderous BOOM.

Books everywhere. You sprawled in the wreckage like a tragic Victorian heroine struck down by an airborne piano.

“OHHH NOOOO!” you wailed, arm flung across your face. “Why did I think I could do this alone?! I was so foolish! I was so fragile!”

Mark was in front of you before the dust even settled, crouched low, eyes narrowed as he looked over the scene. Not at the bookshelf. Not at the mess.

At you.

You peeked between your fingers. “Is it bad? Am I concussed? Paralyzed?”

He tilted his head. “You’re not hurt.”

“I’m emotionally hurt.”

“You don’t have a scratch on you.”

You whimpered. “But what if I had? I—I thought I was strong enough, but I’m just a weak little thing, aren’t I?”

He leaned in close, his tone syrupy and sharp. “That’s exactly what I’ve been saying.”

You gave a broken little sigh. “You were right. You were so right. It was arrogant of me to think I could do things on my own.”

Mark finally smirked something deep and you felt a wave of relief rush through you. “Well. At least you’ve learned something today.”

He gently lifted you into his arms, stepping over fallen books like they were debris after an explosion. “You won’t be lifting so much as a fork without my help from now on.”

You clung to him like a damsel in distress. “Oh nooo, what a shame.”

He paused at the doorway and looked down at you.

“You’re not lying to me, are you?” he asked, voice suddenly low and flat. “Because you know I’ll find out.”

You blinked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Mark. My bookshelf fell on me. I’m lucky to be alive.”

His eyes searched your face for a long, unnerving moment… then he smirked again. Kissed your forehead.

“Good girl.”

You sighed dramatically, burying your face in his chest as he floated you off to the couch.

Another day, another tragedy avoided. Except for your bookshelf, you supposed...

No Goggles/Lensless!Mark

You were really just starting to make progress on the move when you heard it.

Click.

Thud.

“Hey,” Mark said casually, suddenly perched on top the bookshelf and looking down at you with a lazy grin. “Didn't realize you were this strong, babe. You ever think about joining the Viltrumite army?”

“Wha—Mark!” you gasped, heart racing just a bit. “W-What the hell are you doing?!”

“Just watching you work, babe! Gotta say—I’m impressed. Keep going. Show me whatcha got.”

You flushed a bit. “…But you’re sitting on it.”

Mark gave you a dramatic blink. “Yeah, and? I mean look at you! You’re so strooong, move it with me on it.”

“Mark...”

“C’mon!” He kicked his feet a little. “Let’s see that strength. I’ll just stay here and supervise.”

“…Can you get off please?”

“Nope. You’ve got this. I believe in you.”

You furrowed your brows, pouting for a bit. “Alright. Fine.” You braced yourself and tried to nudge the bookshelf forward, only for it to not move an inch under the added weight of your lovely, idiotic boyfriend.

He grinned even wider. “Aww, is the strong woman struggling?”

You scowled, leaning back off the piece of furniture. “I can’t do it with you on it. Get off.”

“Nah, I’m comfy.” He shrugged. “But if you really need help, I guess I could show you how it’s done.”

Before you could say anything, he jumped down and scooped you up in one smooth motion, plopping you onhis shoulder like you were a prize.

“Don’t worry, baby girl,” he says with a sigh. “I got this.” He reached over with one hand and picked the bookshelf up like it was a cardboard box.

“Wait, but—I didn’t even tell you where to put it!”

He grinned as he moved it toward the far corner of the room. “Right here’s perfect.”

“Noo, I wanted it on that wall.”

“Ehh, I’m feeling this spot more. Looks better, don’t you think?”

“Mark, I’m serious, that’s not—”

“You’ll love it,” he said with a laugh, already walking away from it and towards the sofa. “Trust me. I’ve got an eye for these things.”

You thought about arguing but stopped yourself short, realizing there was no point. He wasn’t even listening.

Mark kicked the couch aside with a careless boot and dropped down into the cushions like a king on his throne, moving you smoothly to straddle his waist. His grin was wide and feral, hair a little messy, pupils blown.

He looked very pleased with himself.

“Yup,” he said, hands sliding to your hips, smug as hell. “Pretty strong, babe. Got, like... crazy stats.”

You couldn’t help but look a bit amused. “….Stats?”

“Oh, you know,” he said casually, voice dropping as his eyes dragged slowly over your body. “Strength. Speed. Stamina. Core control.”

You bit back a smile.

“Wanna see what else I can do?” he grinned, and didn’t wait to hear your answer. You suddenly became very aware of the repeated tapping between your thighs.

He was making his dick jump.

You choked.

“Mark!”

Omni!Mark

You were halfway through dragging the bookshelf across the living room when his voice cut through the space like a blade.

“You shouldn’t be doing that.”

You froze, hands still on the edge of the shelf. “Jesus—Mark?”

He stepped into view from the hallway, calm and unreadable, but his gaze was locked on your hands. On the effort. On your shoulders straining beneath your t-shirt.

“I thought you weren’t getting back until tomorrow,” you said, breath catching just slightly.

He said nothing to that. Just looked down at the shelf. Then back at you.

“I’m fine,” you offered, trying to keep your tone light. “Promise this might come as a surprise, but humans move furniture all the time. There’s a whole job field for it, actually. Movers. Crazy, right?”

The corner of his mouth twitched downward. Clearly not amused.

“I know you’re capable,” he said, stepping closer. His voice dropped a little. “Of more than you’ll ever give yourself credit for.” You blinked. “But this?” His gaze flicked to the shelf again. “You shouldn’t have to do this. Not with your hands.”

“My hands are fine.”

He reached out and gently took your palm in his — and suddenly, the shelf didn’t exist anymore. The room didn’t exist. Just his fingers wrapping around yours, warm and impossibly careful.

“These hands,” he said, brushing his thumb along your knuckles, “shouldn’t be calloused from dragging wood and steel. They should stay soft.”

You opened your mouth — probably to argue, maybe to scoff — but no words came out. Just heat. Everywhere.

“I don’t protect you because I think you’re weak,” he murmured, voice low and steady. “I protect you because I can. Because you’re the only softness in a world that doesn’t deserve it.”

And just like that, you were putty. Your entire body went slack under his gaze, your throat thick, breath gone. Your fingers curled a little tighter into his without even meaning to.

“…You’re not playing fair,” you whispered.

His other hand lifted to your face, thumb brushing just under your cheekbone.

“I never said I was fair,” he said quietly. “Only that you’re mine.”

You nodded, helplessly. Of course. Obviously.

And when he leaned down to kiss you — slow, reverent, like you were something holy — you realized the bookshelf could stay exactly where it was.

Forever, even.

Didn’t matter anymore.

Shiesty!Mark

The bookshelf barely budged as you leaned your weight into it with a frustrated grunt. You were so close to getting it where you wanted it.

“You tryna remodel or build muscle, bae?”

You froze at the very familiar but very unexpected voice.

Mark stood in the doorway, one brow raised, smirking like he’d walked in on you cheating with another man — who just so happened to be made of plywood and frustration.

“You weren’t supposed to be home yet,” you said, trying not to sound as guilty as you felt.

“Clearly,” he said, strolling in like he owned the floor (and the ceiling, and probably you). “You out here grinding furniture across the floor like a damn forklift. Did I miss the call for backup?”

You sighed. “It’s not that heavy. I’ve almost got it.”

Mark leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching you like a man enjoying premium entertainment. “Oh no, go on. Don’t let me stop you. I love a strong woman. Grrr,” he teased, flexing his bicep in mock solidarity.

You rolled your eyes and turned back to the shelf. “It’s just gotta slide like three more inches—”

“Oh you tryna get precise with it,” he cut in. “Okay, okay, I see you. Interior design. Feng shui. Heavy lifting. Very sexy of you.”

“I swear to God, Mark—” Before you could finish, he was already behind you.

“I got it,” he said, voice suddenly softer, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Don’t hurt yourself, pretty.”

You stepped aside reluctantly as he crouched, rolled his shoulders back, and—because of course he did—lifted the bookshelf with one hand.

You blinked. “Did you... just curl it?”

He grinned, looking at you over his shoulder. “You like that? That was rep one. Want me to rack up a few sets? Maybe do a little shoulder press while you admire the view?”

“Mark.”

“Say it again like that and I’ll drop this bookshelf just to carry you to the bedroom instead.”

You would’ve choked if you’d been drinking something.

He moved the shelf exactly where you’d wanted it, then turned and leaned in close, mouth brushing yours. “See? I do listen. Sometimes.”

You melted. A little. Maybe a lot.

“So,” he said casually, already lifting you like a backpack, “wanna rearrange anything else while I’m warmed up? Your guts, maybe?”

“Mark!”

“Babe, I’m just tryna be helpful.”

Mohawk!Mark

You braced both feet against the floor, gave the bookshelf one last stubborn shove, and managed to move it a grand total of two inches.

You stepped back, breathing heavy, hands on your hips.

“Gotta ask,” came a gravel-rough voice behind you, “you movin’ that thing for fun or outta spite?”

You jumped. “Jesus—Mark! Warn a girl!”

He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, suit already halfway unzipped and his hair looking a little messier than usual.

“You weren’t supposed to be back yet,” you muttered, brushing your hair out of your face.

“Clearly,” he said, pushing off the doorframe and strolling in with that easy, heavy gait. “Figured I’d come home and find you curled up on the couch. Not out here goin’ to war with a damn bookcase.”

“I wasn’t—I am perfectly capable, thank you.”

“Sure you are,” he said, like he was humoring a toddler insisting they could drive.

“I am!”

He stopped in front of you, looking down at your flushed face and dirt-smudged palms. His gaze dropped to your hands, then back up to your eyes.

“Babe,” he said, voice lower now, quieter. “You don’t gotta play tug-of-war with your furniture every time I’m not in the room. You miss me? Call me. I’ll fly in, carry you and the couch if you need.”

You opened your mouth as if intending to explain your reasoning, but he was already moving. Already crouching. Already sliding one hand beneath the bookshelf like it weighed nothing.

With a casual exhale, he lifted it off the ground and nodded toward the other wall.

“Point where you want it.”

You furled in your lower lip, trying to ignore how hot this was. “...There,” you mumbled.

He walked it over. No strain. No effort. Just raw, grounded strength like it was part of his muscle memory now.

He set it down exactly where you needed it before turning to you again, rubbing sorely at the back of his neck.

“You good now?” he asked. “You wrestled the inanimate object. I showed up to finish the job. Domestic bliss achieved?”

You smiled, trying not to laugh. “I’m good. Thanks.”

He gave you that familiar crooked smile. “Next time just call,” he muttered. “You think I won’t drop a whole planetary threat just to come move furniture? Priorities.”

You snorted. “Didn’t want to bother you.”

He stepped a little closer, lifting your chin with two fingers. “You’re never a bother,” he said, voice just slightly softer now. “Maybe a bad decision, sometimes. But never a bother.”

You were biting hard into your bottom lip at this point, really trying to hold back your smile.

“…Bet you want me to carry you around now, too?” he asked, already bending to hook an arm under your thighs.

All you could do was squeal and giggle as he hoisted you up bridal-style, with a dramatic grunt that was absolutely just for show.

“There we go,” he muttered, planting a kiss on your temple. “Soft hands, remember? You keep ‘em pretty. I’ll do the heavy lifting. And the thinking. And the rescuing. You? You just sit there and look smug.”

You melted into his chest with a sigh. “Well, I was doing just fine before you showed up.”

He snorted as he lowered onto the couch, pulling you into his lap. “Yeah, you moved it a whole two inches. Might as well call NASA.”

You leaned back slightly, lips twitching. “I did move it though.”

He gave you a slow, unimpressed blink.

Then muttered, “You want a trophy or a chiropractic bill?”

You laughed—loud and warm—and when he leaned in to kiss you again, you didn’t even mind the dirt smudge still on your hands.

[inkieun]

Pretty Mouth 3 — Geum Seong Je x F!Reader x Na Baekjin x Park Humin

“Want me to tell him?,” Seongje said, rising from the leather couch like a serpent uncoiling, “I mean, I think he should see what kind of girl you really are.” Baekjin gave a low chuckle. “She’s been visiting a lot lately. I think she likes our company.” My stomach dropped. “Baekjin, stop.” But Seongje stepped between us before I could say another word. He turned to Baku with that familiar venom-smile. “Actually, let me show you something.”

cw: dark!seongje, dark!baekjin, dubcon/noncon, forced oral, hair pulling, praise kink, degradation, blackmail and voyeurism.

Link to part one and two

"Hey, missed you at school today. Is everything okay?"

Sieun’s name flashed across the screen, and my stomach flipped. Oh god no.

I didn’t answer. Just stared at the screen until the words blurred into a glowing fuzz. Then I turned the phone off like that would somehow undo everything. But silence didn’t make it go away. It only made the memory come back louder.

His voice.

"We should do this again." Baekjin’s words echoed in my head, smooth and casual, like we’d just had lunch. Like I hadn’t just stumbled out of his office, red-faced, barely holding myself together and Seongje? Laughing behind me, voice teasing like it was some kind of joke.

“Very soon!” 

My nails bit into my palms. What the fuck am I going to do? I groaned and pressed both hands over my face, heat creeping up my neck. My skin still burned with the memory.

Because seriously… what was I going to do? I dropped to the floor beside my bed with a dramatic flop, curling into myself like the shame might melt away if I made myself small enough. My chest was tight, but not just from panic but the embarrassment. 

But their presence clung to me like smoke I couldn’t wash off.

I should be pissed. I should be yelling, throwing my phone, punching a pillow or something. But mostly? I just felt... stupid. Because I hadn’t said no. Not clearly. Not loud enough. I’d just kind of… gone along with it. Frozen. Like some idiot with no spine. And the worst part? Part of me wanted them to..Nope. Nope nope nope.

I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling like it could erase the last 48 hours. I wasn’t heartbroken. I was mortified and that felt even worse.

My alarm screamed, slicing through the silence.

“What the hell…” I mumbled, blinking up at the ceiling.

It took a second to realize I wasn’t in bed. I shot up, breath shallow, body stiff. It took a few seconds to realize I was on the floor. My cheek had a faint red mark from where it was  pressed against the hardwood. I sat up slowly, groggy, disoriented, and more than a little sore.

I must’ve passed out here. Didn’t even remember falling asleep. The room was dim, grey with early morning light, and for a second, I just sat there—frozen in the wreckage of last night. 

But then reality came crashing back. School. Midterms. Fuck.

I couldn’t miss them and as much as I wanted to disappear into my blankets and never return to society… I couldn’t. So I dragged myself off the floor like a resurrected corpse and told myself the lie I needed to believe:

You’ve got this.

Fake a smile. Say something normal. Don’t look like you’re actively spiraling. Then you can come home and be alone. But not yet.

“Hey!” someone called as I stepped through the school gates. Of course I didn’t even need to turn around to know who it was. I plastered on a smile so fast it probably looked suspicious. “Oh—hey, guys!” Hyun-tak jogged up first, grinning. “We missed you yesterday. Everything okay?” 

“Yeah, just a bad cold,” I said, trying to sound casual and not like I had been emotionally face-planting for twenty-four hours straight. Baku squinted at me. “A cold, huh?”

Uh-oh.

I gave a weak shrug and a laugh that came out way too high-pitched. “Yeah. Totally knocked me out.” “Mm.” He didn’t press, but he didn’t believe me either. I could feel it.

Hyun-tak ruffled my hair like I was some scruffy stray. “Well, glad you’re not dead.”

“Same,” I muttered, managing an actual laugh this time. Sieun fell in beside me, swinging his bag over one shoulder. “Midterms are next week. You picked the worst time to get sick.”

“I know,” I said, dragging out the words like I hadn’t already mentally dropped out of school. “I’ll catch up.” Then Jun-tae appeared, bright-eyed and ridiculously sweet. “You always bounce back,” he said, nudging my arm. “But, like… if you need help or wanna study together or whatever…” He trailes off.

I kept walking, nodding like I was totally tuned in and not just running through every socially acceptable response on loop. They chatted around me—exams, lunch, gossip—and I let the noise cover me like a blanket. I wasn’t really listening. I was just trying not to look like I’d completely short-circuited.

“Well, here’s to hoping I passed,” I groaned, throwing my head back dramatically. “Because I blanked out so hard during that exam, I think I left my brain at home.” Baku snorted, slapping my shoulder. “You always say that shit, and then somehow you end up with better marks than me.”

“Manifesting failure is my coping mechanism,” I said, and that got a laugh out of him. For a moment, everything felt normal—easy. The kind of dumb banter that made school almost bearable. Then Baku’s phone buzzed.

His whole expression shifted, going from light to sharp in a blink. He answered without a word, turning slightly away from me.

“Okay… I’ll be there,” he said quietly, then hung up. “Everything okay?” I asked, eyebrows knitting. Baku didn’t look at me. “I have to go,” he muttered, already turning away. “Wait, where are you—”

But he was gone before I could finish.

Hyun-tak came up behind me, frowning. “Where’s he going?”

“I… don’t know,” I said, still watching the direction Baku disappeared into. “He just got a call and left.” And then I felt a buzz against my thigh.

I pulled out my phone.

Baekjin.

My entire body tensed. I stepped away from the others, turning my back as I answered. “What do you want?”  His voice was smooth, calm, like we were talking about lunch. “Meet me at the bowling alley. Now.” I froze. “What—no. No, I’m not doing this.” His tone darkened instantly. “If you don’t, I’ll just assume you want that picture sent to everyone.” My stomach dropped. “Fine,” I whispered, teeth clenched. “I’ll be there.”

“Good. Hurry up,” he said, then hung up. I stared at my screen, heart thudding in my ears, the warmth from before completely gone like it had never been there at all. “You good?” Sieun asked, his voice snapping me back. “Yeah,” I said too fast. “I just remembered I had an errand to run. I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you guys tomorrow, okay?”

Before anyone could stop me, I was already walking off. Behind me, I barely caught Jun-tae’s voice, light but puzzled: “Well… that was weird.” He had no idea.

I walked down the stairs of the bowling alley, head down, shoes clicking softly against the floor. The air smelled of cheap cologne and sweat. Then I heard a whistle. I looked up.

A dozen eyes locked onto me.

“Is that the boss’s new toy?”

“Shit—look at her.”

“She’s pretty. Think he would let us have some fun with her”

The heat of their stares pressed against my skin, filthy and smug. My heart kicked up hard against my ribs, breath catching. Every instinct screamed run—but my legs refused to move.

They were watching me. I forced my head up, eyes forward. But their words crawled after me like spiders.

“She’s shaking.”

“Scared little thing.”

I broke.

My shoes struck faster now—sharp, panicked taps echoing through the hallway as I sprinted down the corridor toward the one door I knew would be opened. Of course it was.

I didn’t knock. I pushed it open—and walked straight in. I opened the office door, expecting Baekjin to be alone.

“Baku?” I gasped, startled. 

Baku was there—standing tense, arms folded, anger simmering under his calm exterior. And Seongje, lounging in the corner like a shadow that could never leave you alone, smirking as if he’d been waiting for this exact moment.

My heart stopped.

Baku’s eyes locked onto mine the second I entered. “What are you doing here?” he asked, but his voice wasn’t cold—it was confused. I blinked, breath caught. “I… didn’t know you were here.”

“Want me to tell him?,” Seongje said, rising from the leather couch like a serpent uncoiling, “I mean, I think he should see what kind of girl you really are.”

Baekjin gave a low chuckle. “She’s been visiting a lot lately. I think she likes our company.” My stomach dropped. “Baekjin, stop.” But Seongje stepped between us before I could say another word. He turned to Baku with that familiar venom-smile. “Actually, let me show you something.” 

“Seongje,” I warned, my voice breaking. But it was already too late. “She’s been real nice.” Seongje sneered. “No.” I stepped forward, panic clawing up my throat. “Don’t—” He reached into his pocket. So casually. Like he wasn’t about to destroy me. My legs moved before my brain did, hands flying toward his phone but Seongje was faster. His fingers twisted in my hair, yanking my head back with a cruel snap. I gasped, stumbling into him, trapped.

“Don’t touch her,” Baku growled, stepping forward—but he stopped cold. Because he saw the photo. The phone screen glowed with it. Me. In the stall. Legs weak. Clothes askew. My mouth parted, my expression dazed and used. A snapshot from after the bathroom. After Seongje.

Baku’s expression collapsed. He looked at me like I was a stranger. “No,” he whispered. “That’s not… That’s not real. Tell me that’s not real.”

I wanted to. God, I wanted to. But Seongje was on me, breath hot on my neck, whispering in my ear like a devil with all my secrets. “Tell him, baby,” he murmured. “Tell him how good it felt. Tell him how you didn’t stop me.”

His words made me flinch. My shame was loud. I stared at Baku. His eyes were begging—Please. Please say it isn’t true.

And I shattered. “…It’s true,” I whispered. “It happened.” The silence crashed like thunder. Seongje’s grip loosened, satisfied. Baekjin just leaned back, arms crossed, watching it all with quiet amusement.

And Baku? I would never forget the way he looked at me.

Baku turned sharply toward Seongje, jaw clenched, fists shaking. “Delete that,” he said, voice low but dangerous. “I said delete it now!” His roar echoed through the office. I flinched, my stomach twisting. I’d never heard him this angry. Not even close. Baekjin let out a soft laugh, like he was watching a movie. “If you want that picture gone,” he said casually, “you’ll have to join the union.”

Baku hesitated. His breathing ragged. “Fine,” he growled. “Just… delete it.”

Seongje grinned slowly, wolfish and cruel. “Sure,” he said. “I will.”

Then his smile deepened. “But on one more condition.” My heart dropped. “I want to see you fuck her.” The words punched the air out of the room. “What?!” Baku barked, face darkening. “Fuck no!” ‘No’?” Seongje tilted his head, mock-innocent. “That’s what she said too… at first.”

I choked on my breath, my skin turning cold and hot at the same time.

“But if you say no…” Seongje waved the phone lazily. “Well, I guess I’ll just send this to every group chat on campus. Oh, maybe I should post it online with a nice little caption. Something like ‘slut in bathroom begs for more’…”

“Seongje, please.” My voice cracked. “Don’t do this.”

He turned to me, amusement glittering in his eyes. “Aww, baby, you think I’d listen to you?” He stepped closer, whispering like it was a joke meant just for me. “I own you now. And you know what? I know for a fact Baku’s been dying to fuck you since day one.”

“No, he—”

“Right, Baku?” Seongje cut in. “Tell her.”

I turned slowly. My throat closed when I saw him.

He wasn’t looking at me.

“Baku?” My voice was barely a breath. “Is that true?”

He said nothing. Wouldn’t meet my eyes. That silence was louder than any answer.

“Wow,” Seongje giggled. “Look at you two. It’s like a fucking tragic love story.”

I wanted to scream. To runaway and disappear. Instead, I stood there stupid as Seongje stepped behind me again, brushing my hair aside like he had every right to touch me. 

“I mean, what’s the big deal?” he whispered. “You let me fuck you, remember?” His fingers slid down my arm, slow and deliberate. I jerked away, but it was too late. The heat, the shame—it was back. Burning under my skin. “And you liked it,” he added. “Didn’t you?”

I couldn’t speak. “Tell him,” Seongje said, louder this time. “Tell Baku what happened that night.”

“Don’t,” Baku muttered, eyes dark. “You don’t have to—”

“Yes. She does.” Seongje leaned into me again. “Or I press send.”

My lips trembled. My shame, thick in my throat, tasted like betrayal.

“I didn’t stop him,” I whispered, eyes fixed on the floor. “I… let it happen.”

No one spoke. I couldn’t look at Baku. Couldn’t bear what I might see in his eyes.

“See?” Seongje said, smiling like it was a gift he’d just unwrapped. “She’s already halfway there. Might as well finish the show.” He turned to Baku. “So what is it gonna be? You finally get what you’ve wanted since freshman year… or I ruin both of you?”

Baku still hadn’t looked at me. I was still frozen as Seongje waited with a grin carved into his face, watching us like a director about to yell “action.”

“You’ve wanted her for years, haven’t you?” he said, voice syrup-thick and full of poison. “I saw how you looked at her. Don’t act all noble now.”

“Shut up,” Baku muttered. But he still didn’t move. Didn’t leave. Didn’t look away. That was what terrified me most. “I…” I began, but the words trembled into silence. Then finally—finally his eyes met mine. They weren’t hard. They weren’t angry. They were full of something worse.

Hurt.

And under it, something I couldn’t name. “Tell me you don’t want this,” he said, barely louder than a whisper. I opened my mouth. I wanted to lie. I wanted to say no. But the words didn’t come. “I just don’t want it to be like this,” I whispered. He stepped closer. His hands were shaking when they touched me cupping my face like I was made of glass, like if he held too tight, I’d shatter.

“You don’t owe me anything,” he murmured, his forehead resting against mine. But I leaned into him anyway. I needed something soft. Something real. And for a moment, the rest of the world disappeared.

Until Seongje’s voice cut through the quiet like a blade.

“Aww, how romantic,” he drawled. “Bet she’s dripping already.”

I flinched, but Baku’s hands didn’t leave me. His lips brushed my cheek, barely there. “Ignore him.”

“I can’t,” I admitted, voice small.

“You’re with me now.” His hands found the hem of my shirt. He hesitated, eyes searching mine. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

I didn’t. And when he pulled it up over my head, he did it like he was undressing a wound—slow, careful, reverent. “Oh, she’s really letting you?” Seongje snickered. “I choked that little slut last time but I guess now she wants missionary with eye contact. Cute.”

I trembled, my fingers curling into Baku’s sleeves. Baku kissed my forehead, my temple, the bridge of my nose. His lips were soft. “You don’t owe me anything,” he repeated, his voice thick. “But if you want me, I’m here.” And I did. God, I did.

Because even with the shame curling hot and thick in my chest…Even with Seongje’s venom soaking the air like poison…Baku’s hands on my body felt like safety. He laid me back on the couch gently, brushing hair from my face. Every kiss he left on my skin was slow, as if he was trying to replace every ugly word Seongje had spat with something soft. “She makes these little sounds when you touch her right,” Baekjin murmured from across the room. “She did for me. You hear that hitch in her breath? Yeah. That one.”

I turned my face away, burning. He pressed a kiss to my collarbone, my shoulder. His fingers tangled with mine like he was grounding me. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “You always were.” I couldn’t speak. My throat was too tight. But I arched into his touch, wordless, needing him to keep going.

Baku kissed me softly, his lips brushing mine like a promise. He hovered above me, his forehead against mine, our breaths tangled. But when I shifted beneath him, spreading my thighs to welcome him in, I felt the sharp twitch of his control fraying. His breath stuttered. His fingers dug a little harder into my hips.

“Tell me you want this.”

“I do.”

“Tell me again.”

“I want you.”

And then he kissed me like he was starving. The soft, trembling man who touched me like glass suddenly gripped me tighter, mouth rougher, body pressing harder. Somewhere between kisses and gasps, he pushed his pants down to his knees, the movement clumsy and desperate. He didn’t even fully remove them—just enough to free himself, to feel more, to press closer. I gasped as he shoved his hips between mine, his cock thick and hot against me, sliding through the slick heat between my legs.

“Oh fuck,” he muttered, dragging his mouth across my jaw. “You’re already soaked.”

“I… I can’t help it.”

I was ashamed of how wet I was.

how much my body betrayed me.

But when he pushed inside me, slow at first, then deeper—harder—I cried out.

Not from pain.

From need.

He growled against my throat, fucking into me with long, deep strokes that had my legs shaking. Every thrust drove the air out of me, and yet I still begged for more.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, his hands locking under my thighs and spreading me wider. “So tight. So fucking perfect.”

Behind him, Seongje laughed.

“Look at her—already gone. That’s how she was with me too. Like a bitch in heat the second you get her open.”

I whimpered.

Baekjin let out laugh.

“Damn, she’s dripping like a leaky faucet.”

A chuckle followed.

“Fuck, this is better than porn.” 

Baku looked into my eyes—and something snapped.

His thrusts grew rough, urgent, his rhythm punishing. I cried out again, but not in fear.

In release.

In desire.

“You like it like this?” he asked, breath ragged. “Yes,” I gasped. “Please—don’t stop.”

He grunted, slamming into me so hard the couch creaked under us. “Say it again.”

“I want it,” I moaned. “I need it.”

His fingers tangled in my hair as he thrust harder, deeper, my body bouncing with every movement. My nails scratched down his back, legs locking around his waist, trying to keep him in me.

Every inch of me burned.

I was full of him.

“God, you’re perfect,” he said, breath hitching. “Taking me so fucking well.”

Even in the roughness, I felt it.

His hands gripping me tighter.

His lips crushed against mine.

His hips pounding into me like he couldn’t get deep enough.

And when I came, I came hard—back arching, mouth open in a silent cry, shaking around him. “Oh fuck—baby,” he groaned, losing control. “Gonna come—where do I—?”

“Inside,” I gasped. “I don’t care—just don’t stop.”

With a low, guttural sound, he buried himself deep and came, body trembling, face pressed into my neck as he spilled into me. We stayed like that—locked, panting, shaking.

Baekjin’s voice broke through the silence again, teasing and gleeful.

“Damn, Baku, you bred her like a fuckin’ animal. Hope you at least made her see stars.”

Another laugh.

“She’s gonna be limping for days.”

Seongje clapped mockingly from the other side of the room.

“Well,” he sneered. “That was hot. Not as sloppy as the bathroom, but I’ll give you points for passion.”

I closed my eyes.

But Baku didn’t let go.

He held me tighter.

“So the picture’s safe... for now.”

Baekjin said, low and cruel.

“No one’s gonna know how big of a slut you really are... unless you give us another show.”

My heart dropped.

Baku stiffened above me.

Seongje leaned against the wall, grinning like the devil.

“She doesn’t need a camera,” he sneered. “Girl practically wrote ‘fuck me’ on her skin. Didn’t take much, did it? Spread so easy for you, I almost feel left out.”

I turned away, heat rising to my face—not from pleasure this time. From fear.

But Baku—he didn’t move away. He gripped my waist tighter, held me.

Baekjin whistled again, slow and mocking.

“Baku,” Then he smirked wider.

“Welcome to the union.”

[clementineinn]

before you fade

abstract: a string of disappearances in a snowbound town pulls the BAU into a chilling case — one that hits too close when the next target is personal. chosen not for weakness, but for the strength that's been buried, hidden away in the depths of a person. as a team races against time, secrets resurface, and the line between subject and survivor begins to blur.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (some usage of Y/N)

genre: angst / fluff (a little dark i won't lie, but it resolves i swear fmskdjs)

word count: ~4.4k

note: this is my first time posting my writing on here,,, kinda nervous LOL. but huge thanks to all the writers here on tumblr that have inspired me to finally post some of my writing! i really hope you enjoy! :p

part one. part two.

The jet was quiet — the kind of quiet that hangs between two people with too many unsaid things. Y/N sat near the back of the plane, tucked into a corner, a case file sitting open in her lap. Her eyes drifted to the frost-laced window, watching the clouds pass like bruises over a pale sky. One hand toyed with the edge of the folder absently, her thumb flicking the corner rhythmically. Tap, tap, tap. She hadn’t flipped the page in ten minutes, a fact that Spencer quickly noticed.

Across from her, he was trying — failing — to read the same profile paragraph for the third time. His eyes kept tugging back to her like gravity, focused on the shadows under her eyes, the soft, focused line between her brows, the way her fingers rested against the page as she focused intently on the case file in her lap. Her brows were furrowed in concentration – he wanted to press his finger to the wrinkles between her eyebrows and ease her worries away. A pencil caught between her lips. Reid pretended to read the victimology section again, but his eyes kept drifting up — watching the way she tilted her head when something just didn’t add up.

She always read case files too fast. She annotated them in shorthand code that only Garcia had once dared to decipher — and even she had given up after the third sticky note label “internal triangulation, subjective anchor.” But today—nothing. No highlighter, no pen. Just stillness.

Spencer knew how many sugars she took in her coffee (zero, but only because she hated the grainy texture). He knew she double-knotted her boots because once, on an op, her laces had snapped mid-chase. He knew she kept her phone on silent unless her mom was sick or the team was in the field. He knew she hummed soft rock songs when she thought no one was listening. He even knew her heart rate elevated whenever he stood too close.

And he knew her tells.

She hummed when she was bored. Quizzed herself on bone fractures when she was nervous. Flipped her pencil in her hand when she was thinking — and now, she wasn’t doing any of that.

He leaned forward slightly. “You haven’t turned that page in a while,” he said gently.

Y/N blinked, slow and unfocused. “I know.” Then her voice dipped, dry as the cabin air. “The words stopped making sense.”

She didn’t look at him. Just stared out the window.

Spencer hesitated. “Want to talk about it?”

“Nope,” she said easily, popping the “p” with forced cheer, then gave him a half-hearted smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “But thanks for asking.”

He watched her for another beat. Then: “You’re allowed to not be okay, you know.”

“Yeah,” she said softly, “I know.”

She finally turned to face him — eyes shadowed, tired, but sharp. “You ever feel like a case is talking to you, not just at you?”

Spencer’s throat tightened. “Yes.”

“Yeah.” She looked back at the file, thumb pausing its rhythm. She said it like a joke, but the tension behind it wasn’t funny.

He loved her. In the deepest, quietest part of himself. The part he didn’t dare let breathe.

She didn’t know.

Or maybe she did. Maybe she felt it too — the tension strung between them like an invisible thread, pulled tight and trembling with everything unsaid. But neither of them moved and neither of them reached.

Their case in Vermont had gone cold long before the team arrived. Cold in every sense of the word — the kind that sunk into bone and refused to leave. Barre, Vermont was blanketed in an oppressive hush, the streets buried beneath layers of old snow and older secrets. The town itself felt suspended, frozen in time and temperature. Over six weeks, three women had vanished without a trace. No witnesses. No forensic evidence. No behavioral patterns to chase. Just absence. Until Isabel Warren came back.

She wasn’t whole, however.

Isabel had survived, but only technically. In the sterile fluorescent light of the hospital room, she looked less like a patient and more like something plucked from the ruins. A porcelain figure fractured at the seams, held together by instinct alone. Her voice, when it came, was dry leaves crushed underfoot — barely audible, brittle. Her eyes darted, flickering to corners and shadows as if expecting them to bite.

“He didn’t hurt me like you think,” she whispered, voice trembling like frost-laced glass. “He studied me.”

Morgan and Prentiss had taken the lead in her interview, giving the rest of the team space to process the implications. The story Isabel shared didn’t come all at once — it unraveled slowly, painfully, like unraveling gauze from a fresh wound. There was no rage, no screaming. No sudden violence. Instead: metal restraints that gleamed under surgical lights. Stainless steel trays. The cool pinch of needles. A camera that blinked silently in the corner, recording her every flinch.

And the man behind it was calm – precise. He didn’t shout – he asked questions. He didn’t hurt her in the way they expected. He violated her humanity in silence. Conversation filled the spaces where screams should have been.

What Isabel described wasn’t just captivity. It was dissection — of the mind, of identity, of control. And that made it worse.

The cold hit hard when they stepped out of the SUV — the kind that cracked at skin, settled in bones. Snow clung to the rooftops and drifted in thin sheets across the pavement, whispering over the soles of their boots as the team moved toward the small-town police station.

Y/N lagged behind slightly, scanning the street. Her breath fogged in front of her lips. Everything about Barre felt like it had stopped mid-sentence — frozen storefronts, shuttered windows, barely a sound beyond the wind.

Inside the precinct, the air was warmer, but only marginally. The heat came from space heaters along the hallway and the bitter scent of old coffee.

They’d just finished introducing themselves to the lead detective when someone behind the front desk called her name.

“Agent Y/L/N?”

She turned.

A uniformed officer — young, no older than twenty — held something out toward her. A plain white envelope.

“This came for you,” he said. “Dropped off about ten minutes before you arrived.”

Y/N frowned. “Dropped off by who?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t leave a name. Just walked it in. Said it was for you and left.”

The envelope was unmarked except for her name in neat, block print. No return address. No smudges. Just… clean.

She turned it over.

No seal.

Inside was a single sheet of paper.

No letterhead. No date. No signature.

Just one line, typed:

“You can hide what broke you, but I can still see the cracks.”

Beneath it — in ink — was a small, hand-drawn smiley face.

Eyes and the curve of a mouth.

Y/N stared at it, the paper crinkling slightly between her fingers.

Her pulse didn’t spike. Her face didn’t change.

But something in her stomach dropped.

She folded it carefully, tucking it back into the envelope — then into the inner pocket of her coat.

Not now.

Not yet.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

The precinct’s makeshift war room buzzed with the low hum of fluorescent lights and muted voices. It was late — the kind of late that slowed movement and turned everything grainy – and the team had been investigating for days. Half-drunk coffee cups cluttered the table. A printer sputtered in the background. The map of Barre, Vermont, glared back at them from the board, dotted with red pins that marked where the victims had been taken. Three so far. All in two weeks. All women. All gone without a sound.

“He didn’t leave anything behind,” Morgan said, dragging a hand down his face. “No fibers. No prints. He’s not improvising. This is controlled.”

JJ’s brows furrowed as she laid out the victim photos. “All three women had similar emotional profiles. Independent, intelligent. Lived alone. Minimal social entanglements. Their trauma histories go back to early adolescence. They’re survivors, but just barely holding themselves together.”

Garcia’s voice crackled through the speakerphone like an apology. “And I pulled medical records like you asked. Isabel Warren? PTSD flagged in her file three years ago. She’d been in and out of counseling. So had the other two.”

“So he targets women who’ve already been broken,” Rossi murmured, eyes narrowing.

“No,” Spencer said quietly, his voice threading through the room. “He targets women who’ve survived it. Who’ve spent years putting themselves back together. He doesn’t want destruction. He wants erosion. He doesn’t abduct them at their weakest — he waits until they’re strong enough to matter.”

That quieted the room.

“Observation,” Hotch said flatly as the details were laid bare. His voice was calm, but there was a tension in the set of his jaw — a rare betrayal of emotion. “He’s not in a hurry. He studies them. Prepares the environment. Then waits until the right moment to break them down.”

Emily crossed her arms, staring hard at the psychological profile. “He doesn’t kill them quickly. He watches them fall apart. Slowly. Deliberately. He chooses subjects that are already primed to fracture.”

No one moved for a moment.

Y/N sat at the edge of the conference table, spine arrow-straight, the collar of her coat still pulled close around her neck. Her eyes were on the photos — lined side by side, the faces of missing women caught mid-smile, mid-blink, alive in one frame, vanished in the next. She didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. But she wasn’t seeing them anymore.

The team kept talking.

Morgan cursed under his breath, pacing. “The guy’s using psychological stress like a weapon. Cages, lights, silence. It’s about control."

“And emotional isolation,” Spencer added. “He mimics safety — gives them just enough normalcy to confuse them. Then watches what they do with it. He’s cataloging survival behavior.”

Hotch nodded. “He builds trust just enough to remove it. Then he watches what’s left behind.”

A silence settled again, deeper this time.

Spencer glanced at Y/N — and that’s when he saw it.

She still hadn’t moved. Not once. But her hands, under the table, had shifted. Her fingers curled into fists. Small. Tense. Controlled.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

The crime scene board loomed like a ghost in the center of the precinct — faces, names, timelines. Victims rendered into data. But no one was speaking anymore. The weight of the profile sat heavy on all of them.

Y/N had left the room a few minutes ago. Silent. Swift. She’d said she was getting some air, but her expression hadn’t changed — just locked down tighter. More precise.

Prentiss watched her go, something flickering in her eyes.

Then she turned toward Spencer, her voice low. “Have you noticed something… off with her today?”

Spencer looked up from a page of victimology notes. “What do you mean?”

“She’s not reacting,” Emily said, stepping a little closer. “Not the way she usually does. She’s not asking questions. Not checking in. It’s like she’s watching the case from the inside out.”

Spencer’s brow furrowed. “I thought maybe she was just tired,” he said — but even to himself, it sounded like a lie.

Emily gave him a look. Not sharp. Just knowing.

“You know her better than the rest of us,” she said softly. “That’s why I’m asking.”

Spencer’s shoulders lowered slightly. “She’s… quiet. Too quiet. During Isabel Warren’s statement — she didn’t move. Her hands were clenched under the table, but her face didn’t change. Not once.”

Emily nodded. “Exactly. She was holding it in. And she’s too good at it.”

A beat passed. Then she added, voice careful now: “That’s the kind of woman he goes after, isn’t it?”

Spencer froze. Not because it was a surprise — but because it wasn’t.

“She hasn’t said anything,” he offered. Weakly.

“She wouldn’t,” Emily said. “Especially not about something like this. Not after what happened before she came here.”

They both fell quiet.

Everyone in the BAU knew that Y/N had come from Interpol. That she’d spent nearly two years undercover. That something had gone wrong — badly enough to get her pulled from the field and quietly reassigned to domestic ops. But the details? Those were sealed. Even Garcia couldn’t pull them.

Prentiss had always respected that silence. But now, that same silence felt like a liability.

“She doesn’t talk about it,” Spencer murmured. “Whatever happened overseas… I think she’s still carrying it.”

“I think he’d see that,” Emily replied. “He’d read it in her body before she ever said a word.”

Spencer looked toward the hallway where Y/N had disappeared. His chest tightened.

“Do you think he’s already noticed her?”

“I think he noticed her the second she walked into town,” Emily said quietly. “And if we don’t act like that’s a possibility, we risk everything.”

She paused, then stepped back, her voice softening.

“Keep her close. Even if she pushes you away. Especially then.”

Spencer nodded. Once. Tight and sharp.

Then they moved — together — toward the board.

Hotch stood at the front, arms folded, studying the regional map with a crease forming between his brows. Red pins marked abduction sites, discarded belongings, last-known locations. They looked like wounds.

“Hotch?” Emily’s voice was calm, but steady.

He turned. Both she and Spencer were standing too straight. Too still.

“We need to talk,” Spencer said.

Hotch motioned for them to continue.

“We think Y/N might be at risk,” Emily said. “Not just as a profiler. As a potential victim.”

Hotch’s eyes narrowed. “Explain.”

Spencer stepped forward, voice quiet but precise. “All of the victims had histories of trauma — long-term, deeply buried. High-functioning women who survived something early, then spent their lives masking it. They weren’t fragile. They were contained.”

“And that’s how he chooses them,” Emily added. “Not because they’re vulnerable — because they’re strong. Because they hide it so well, no one sees the cracks.”

“She fits the pattern,” Spencer said. “Even if she hasn’t said it out loud… she knows.”

“I saw it,” Emily said. “The moment Isabel started talking. Y/N didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. She recognized it.”

Hotch looked between them. His jaw tightened.

“She hasn’t acknowledged it?”

“No,” Spencer said. “And I don’t think she will. Not until it’s too late.”

Hotch turned back to the board. Something clicked into place.

“If he’s watching her — if she’s already on his list — he won’t wait long.”

Then he faced them, all hesitation gone.

“Get the team.”

The air felt heavier as the team reconvened — everyone on edge from the tension radiating off Hotch’s stance alone. He waited until they’d all settled: JJ, Morgan, Rossi, Prentiss, and Spencer. Y/N wasn’t in the room — not yet.

Hotch spoke low and firm, voice carrying weight but no panic.

“We believe the unsub may be targeting someone on this team.”

That froze everyone.

Morgan’s eyes narrowed. “You saying he’s made us?”

“I’m saying,” Hotch continued, “he may have identified someone who fits his selection criteria. And we’ve determined that the agent most at risk… is Y/N.”

A beat of silence.

JJ’s eyes widened. Rossi’s expression hardened. Morgan leaned forward slightly, voice tight. “Are you sure?”

“She fits the behavioral profile to a T,” Spencer said, his voice almost too fast, like he was racing his own thoughts. “Trauma survivor. Emotionally reserved. Isolated but highly adaptive. She’s everything he’s been selecting for.”

Prentiss added, “And she hasn’t said a word about it — because she doesn’t want to be seen as vulnerable. Which only reinforces the pattern.”

Morgan swore under his breath, pushing away from the table. “We should’ve seen this sooner.”

“She did,” Hotch said quietly. “She just hasn’t said it.”

That landed like a weight.

Everyone knew Y/N had been through something in her Interpol years. Something she never talked about. Something that changed the course of her career and quietly followed her into every room.

Hotch’s eyes swept the room, sharp now. Focused.

“I want eyes on her every hour,” he said. “No one goes anywhere alone. Especially not Y/N. She doesn’t need to be scared — she needs to be covered. Discreetly. We don’t lose one of our own.”

Everyone nodded, a silent current of agreement moving through the room.

Spencer’s jaw clenched slightly. “If he’s already watching her... he won’t wait long to escalate.”

“Then we won’t give him the chance,” Hotch said. His voice was calm — but even Spencer could see the storm behind his eyes.

And just then — footsteps echoed in the hallway.

The door opened.

Y/N stepped into the room, unaware of the conversation that had just taken place. Her stride was even, composed — but to those who’d just been told to look closer, that composure now felt different.

Like armor.

Spencer’s eyes found her immediately. So did Emily’s. JJ’s smile faltered as she looked away and busied herself with her notes. Morgan leaned back, arms crossed too tightly. Everyone shifted — subtly, instinctively — forming an invisible perimeter around her.

She didn’t seem to notice.

But Spencer did.

As Hotch launched back into the debrief, picking up where he’d left off, Y/N settled at the edge of the table. Not beside anyone. Just slightly apart. Her coat was still on. Her coffee sat untouched. Her face didn’t move, but her shoulders gave away the truth — pulled up just a little too tight.

And Spencer knew.

Spencer watched her out of the corner of his eye as Hotch continued listing behavioral patterns and forensic gaps. Her eyes remained fixed ahead, but they were no longer following. Her breathing was even, but too shallow. Every muscle in her shoulders was drawn tight, and her jaw flexed once, twice, like she was swallowing words she didn’t trust herself to speak aloud.

He could see it now — the slow unraveling. The tiny threads fraying at the edge of her self-control. It wasn’t visible to anyone who didn’t know her. But he did.

She hadn’t slept. He could tell. There were faint shadows under her eyes, soft as smudged graphite. Her hair was neatly pulled back, but a few strands had slipped loose around her ears, stuck to her skin from where she’d rubbed at her temples earlier. And the coffee in her travel mug sat untouched.

The unsub sought emotional containment — not chaos. He didn’t want hysteria. He wanted the slow, clinical breakdown of a subject too proud or too traumatized to scream.

Y/N fit the profile because she was composed enough to attract him — and haunted enough to keep him interested.

The room had fallen into a contemplative hush.

Garcia’s voice crackled through the speaker, listing trauma indicators pulled from each victim’s medical and counseling history.

JJ added, “They all presented as stable — no recent crises, no major relapses. But every one of them had years of quiet therapy behind them. There’s a pattern of early trauma, but also recovery.”

Morgan leaned back in his chair, brow furrowed. “So what’s he hunting for? Strength? Weakness?”

Y/N looked up from her notes, finally speaking — voice calm, clear, steady.

“I don’t think it’s about strength or weakness,” she said. “I think it’s about endurance. The kind you don’t see unless you’re looking for it.”

The room quieted further.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, not rushed, just thoughtful.

“He’s choosing women who’ve rebuilt themselves. Not because they’re fragile — but because they’ve already been through something and survived it. He’s not looking for people who are breaking. He’s looking for people who know how to hold themselves together.”

Spencer glanced at her. There was something in his eyes — recognition, maybe. Respect.

Y/N continued, her voice soft but certain.

“He doesn’t want to destroy them. He wants to watch them try not to fall apart. To study the exact moment that strength starts to give.”

She didn’t say it with drama. She said it like she was laying something carefully on the table — something that mattered.

Hotch gave a small nod. “We’ll adjust the profile.”

And just like that, Y/N looked back down at her notepad and quietly underlined a single word: Endurance.

When the briefing ended, the team slowly dispersed to cross-reference victimology, revisit the scene logs, and check the geo-mapping data. No one said it out loud, but everyone lingered in her orbit. Just enough to keep her in their periphery. To follow Hotch’s directive without alarming her.

But Y/N lingered longer. Alone at the table, the light above her humming faintly.

Spencer didn’t leave. “You okay?” he asked softly.

She blinked. The motion was delayed, like a system rebooting. “I’m fine.”

It was automatic. Too fast.

“Y/N,” he said again, quieter now, stepping closer. “You don’t have to be fine.”

Her silence stretched. The room felt too big, too empty. Then she looked at him — really looked at him — and for a brief second, the glass cracked. The composure faltered. He saw it in her eyes. Not fear. Not yet. But recognition. Like she’d seen herself on that profile board, and couldn’t unsee it.

“He watches them fall apart,” she whispered. Her voice was barely audible, not really for him — more like a quiet realization rising from some place she’d kept sealed. “Like he’s waiting for something to break open.”

Spencer didn’t move. He just stood there beside her, close but not touching, like getting too near might crack what was left of her armor.

“He’s already watching,” she added, softer still.

Then, a pause. A slight shift.

She reached slowly into her coat pocket — careful, almost cautious — and pulled out a plain white envelope.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” she murmured. “I told myself it was just local paranoia. A scare tactic. But... this was waiting at the precinct when we arrived.”

Spencer took the envelope gently, his brow furrowed. He opened it, unfolded the sheet inside.

One line of typed text.

“You can hide what broke you, but I can still see the cracks.”

And beneath it — a smiley face. Small eyes and the curve of a mouth. Inked by hand.

Spencer’s blood went cold.

“Jesus,” he breathed. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“I wasn’t sure it meant anything. And part of me didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of reacting.” She paused. “But I haven’t stopped thinking about it since I read it. It’s not random. It’s not just a threat. It’s… intimate.”

His jaw tightened. “He knows.”

“I think he’s known,” she said. “Since the moment we stepped foot in Barre.”

They stared at each other in silence. Then Spencer slowly folded the paper and slipped it back into the envelope — like returning it to its cage.

“I’ll tell Hotch,” he said, his voice low, careful.

“No,” she said quickly, too quickly. “Not yet. Let me... let me handle it a little longer. Just until we’re sure.”

Spencer didn’t like it. Every nerve in his body told him not to let her walk that line alone.

But he nodded. “Only if you promise me something.”

“What?”

“If you see anything else — if you feel anything off, anything strange — you come to me. Not later. Right then.”

She met his eyes. For the first time all day, she looked like she might break.

But she didn’t.

“I promise,” she said.

And then JJ’s voice called out from across the room. Penelope had found something. Everyone was gathering again.

Y/N gave Spencer a practiced, quiet smile — the kind you use to keep people from looking too closely — and beckoned him toward the others.

He followed.

But his eyes stayed on her a second too long.

The case briefing had dissolved into murmured strategy and side conversations, whiteboards covered in red ink and shadowed photos. The team split off — Prentiss reviewing victim timelines with JJ, Morgan mapping out geographic overlays, Hotch and Rossi deep in behavioral cross-referencing.

Spencer hovered near the far wall, watching Y/N from across the room.

She sat perfectly still. Back straight. Hands folded. The epitome of focus. But he could see it — the hollow weight in her gaze, the way her shoulders sat too high, like her body hadn’t unclenched in hours.

He wanted to go to her. Say something. Tell her that she wasn’t alone — that even if she didn’t speak it aloud, even if she hadn’t admitted it to herself, they knew. But something in her expression told him she wasn’t ready. Not yet.

So he watched.

And what he missed — just barely — was the moment she excused herself to the bathroom and slipped out the door. If he hadn’t been looking at a case file, he would’ve seen the look on her face – would’ve known it was something deeper than just having to take a break. He would’ve seen the way she refused to make eye contact with anyone from worry of them seeing through her lies.

Y/N moved quickly but calmly, coat already over her shoulders, bag slung across her arm. The snow was still falling hard — it pelted the front windows in a sideways blur. A local officer sat behind the lobby desk, sipping weak coffee and half-reading a report.

She stepped close and kept her voice low.

“I need an escort back to the hotel,” she said. “Discreetly, please.”

The officer looked up, confused for only a moment. Then nodded. “Absolutely. You alright, Agent?”

“I’m fine,” she said with a tired smile. “Just need some air. It’s been a long night.”

He stood, grabbed his keys, and followed her out.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Back in the conference room, the team reconvened quickly upon Penelope’s sudden gasp, the undercurrent of tension drawing them together like gravity.

JJ stood near the monitor, phone pressed to her ear as Garcia’s voice poured through the speaker — clear, fast, and edged with adrenaline.

“Okay, family — grab your metaphorical Kevlar, because I’ve got a name. And it’s not just a name. It’s a history, an address, and a very suspicious paper trail.”

Hotch leaned forward slightly, his voice sharp. “Go ahead, Garcia.”

“Meet Benjamin Cyrus Milburn,” Garcia said. “Age thirty-nine. Former veterinary technician — licensed in Massachusetts and Vermont. Worked at several rural clinics, most recently in Waterbury. No criminal record, no major red flags, but there’s something weird here. He dropped off the grid about two years ago — no income, no property under his name, no bills. Like he went full ghost mode.”

Prentiss frowned. “That lines up with the timeline for the first disappearance.”

“Oh, it gets better,” Garcia continued. “The last known address tied to him is a decommissioned vet clinic on the edge of Barre. Shut down three years ago for health code violations. He worked there part-time before it closed.”

Morgan’s eyes narrowed. “That’s within five miles of Isabel Warren’s last known location.”

Spencer’s head snapped up. “Does he have access to controlled substances?”

“Legally, not anymore,” Garcia said, “but based on the inventory records from the shutdown clinic, a whole list of sedatives and anesthetics went unaccounted for — ketamine, isoflurane, and acepromazine. It could easily knock someone out fast and keep them just conscious enough to know what’s happening.”

A brief silence fell.

Then Hotch asked, “Do we have a photo?”

“Sending it now,” Garcia confirmed. A moment later, her familiar digital sparkle sound effect echoed from the monitor, and Milburn’s DMV photo appeared on screen.

He looked unremarkable. Average build. Short brown hair. Clean-shaven. Wearing a collared shirt like he was applying for a job he didn’t want. But his eyes were wrong. Blank, but focused — like he was already watching something no one else could see.

Rossi exhaled through his nose. “That’s the face of someone who disappears in a crowd.”

Hotch turned to JJ. “Have local PD canvass the area around the old clinic. No contact. Not yet. I want eyes on it first.”

“On it,” she said, already dialing.

Prentiss shifted, voice lower now. “If he’s using the clinic as his hunting ground... and Y/N fits the profile...”

Spencer finished it. “Then he’s already chosen her.”

Everyone went still.

Hotch turned slowly to Spencer, eyes narrowing with precision. “Where is she right now?”

Spencer swallowed. “She was just here.”

Rossi spoke up. “She said she was going to the bathroom.”

“She didn’t leave with anyone.”

Morgan stood, tense. “I’ll find her.”

But before he could take a step, the lights flickered — just briefly. Long enough to make everyone freeze.

Then JJ’s phone buzzed sharply.

She checked the message. Her face went pale.

“That was the hotel desk clerk,” she said. “One of their officers was supposed to escort her back to the hotel. He never checked in. And Y/N’s not answering her room line.”

The air drained from the room.

Hotch didn’t hesitate.

“Where’s her phone?” he asked.

Garcia’s voice chimed in a half-second later over speaker. “Last ping was twenty minutes ago near the main road out of Barre—before it went dark.”

Silence. Immediate. Heavy.

Spencer’s mouth went dry. He stepped back like he’d been hit.

“She left,” he whispered. “She left without telling us. Alone.”

“No,” Prentiss said quickly, trying to stitch it together. “She wouldn’t—”

“She did,” Hotch cut in, sharp now. “And she’s not responding. That means one of two things: either she’s gone dark on purpose or someone took her.”

Morgan grabbed his coat. “I’ll take the road to the hotel.”

“I’m coming,” Spencer said immediately.

Hotch nodded. “Go. Now.”

As they rushed out, the room behind them fell to silence.

But no one said what they were all thinking: they’d profiled the next victim and let her walk straight into his hands.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

At first, it felt like nothing.

The cruiser glided over snow-slicked backroads, wipers beating steadily against the windshield. The officer beside her — nameplate reading J. D. Greeley — was quiet, focused on the road. Barre’s small-town streetlights flickered past in the rearview mirror, fading as they veered farther from downtown.

Y/N sat in silence, arms folded, her breath fogging faintly in the chill that leaked through the windows.

“You mind taking the long way?” she asked, her voice casual. “I just need to breathe for a few minutes before going back.”

The officer nodded once. “Sure. Not a problem.”

He turned down a road that dipped behind a line of tree cover, away from the main street.

That was her first warning.

She knew the town’s layout by now — knew this wasn’t the most direct route to the hotel. But maybe he was avoiding a traffic blockage. Or snow.

Still.

Her fingers tightened slightly on her coat sleeve. “You from around here?” she asked lightly, trying to place his cadence, his rhythm.

But the man didn’t answer.

The second warning.

Her stomach tightened. “Officer Greeley?” she tried again, voice sharper now.

No response. No acknowledgment. Her heart began to pound.

She reached for her phone, kept in her coat pocket. Cold leather met her fingertips — no phone. She checked the other pocket.

Gone.

Her pulse quickened. She glanced at the dashboard. No GPS. No radio on.

And then — the cruiser slowed.

Not at the hotel.

Not anywhere near it.

They were pulling into a snow-covered drive that disappeared into trees — overgrown, unlit, forgotten.

A thin, wavering breath escaped her lips.

She reached for the door handle. Locked.

The driver turned to her.

And for the first time, she really saw him.

Wrong eyes. Wrong age. Wrong badge.

Not Officer Greeley.

Not a cop.

Just the unsub wearing his uniform like a second skin.

“You’re everything I expected,” he said softly.

And before she could scream, move, or fight —

The needle was already at her neck.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

The cruiser’s wheels screeched to a stop at the edge of the snow-packed drive. Blue and red lights flashed across the skeletal trees, illuminating the icy breath that left Spencer’s lungs as he stared through the windshield.

“There,” Morgan said, already out of the vehicle.

The escort car was parked at a crooked angle just off the road — doors flung open. Snow had started to fill the driver’s seat. The headlights were still on.

Spencer sprinted forward.

“Y/N!” he shouted.

Nothing but the howl of wind.

Morgan reached the car first, flashlight sweeping the inside. The cabin was empty. Spencer circled to the passenger side — door wide open, scarf still clinging to the seatbelt.

Then he saw the needle cap in the snow.

“Oh God,” he whispered, dropping to one knee. He picked it up with gloved hands — a faint glisten of residue clinging to the tip.

“Chloroform or a paralytic,” Morgan said, voice grim. “He took her clean. Quiet. Knew how much time he had.”

Spencer rose, eyes scanning the tire tracks. “He left on foot or transferred her to another vehicle. There's no exit on this road except back the way we came. It was a trap.”

Morgan cursed low under his breath. “She asked for a private escort. He knew. He either intercepted the real cop, or he was waiting for her to ask.”

Spencer’s throat felt like it was closing. The image of her smiling softly, tugging on her gloves, saying I’ll be fine—it punched through his chest like a fist.

“She’s gone,” he said, barely audible.

Morgan’s hand came down on his shoulder. “Not for long. I’m calling Hotch.”

They stood in the snow, breath hard and fast, the empty cruiser behind them glowing like a signal flare in the dark.

Somewhere in the forest, Y/N was already fading.

And the clock had started.

[lazy-ahh]

Lazy-ahh, first, your brain his huge and wrinkly for all the writing you’ve shared with us! You’re easily one of my fav Invincible writers! 🛐🛐🛐 Second, bless you for giving us more male reader in this desolate fandom 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

Third, I had a request I’ve been thinking about and having a tough time deciding which Mark I wanted. I HC that Viltrumites can purr! Can we get something about male reader witnessing main Mark purr for the first time because of him? And reader’s completely weak for how cute it is. 🥺

THE SOUNDS HE MAKES (ARE ONLY FOR YOU)

pairing mark grayson x male reader

mark grayson purrs. it’s a secret only you know—something between a biological quirk and a love language, vibrating against your skin every time you touch him just right. and god, do you love finding new ways to draw it out of him.

taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff , @thebatsgreatestfailure , @roryroro

you never expected to fall for someone like mark grayson. loud, optimistic, annoyingly persistent—everything you usually couldn’t stand. the first time you met him, he was all wide-eyed enthusiasm, rambling about superheroes like it was the most important thing in the world. you’d scoffed, called him an idiot under your breath, but he just grinned like you’d handed him a damn trophy. it pissed you off. or at least, that’s what you thought you felt.

but then he kept showing up—in the hallways at school, at the shitty diner you worked at, even outside your apartment like some lost puppy. and no matter how much you snapped at him, he never left. just stood there, smiling like you weren’t being a complete asshole, until one day, you realized you were looking for him too.

now, a year deep into dating the idiot, and somehow, you hadn’t strangled him yet. (though not for lack of trying.)

it was a lazy afternoon, the two of you sprawled across his bed, your head resting on his chest as he rambled about some comic book shit. you weren’t really listening, more focused on the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth of his skin under your fingertips. you traced idle patterns along his ribs, just to feel him shiver, and smirked when his voice hitched mid-sentence.

"you’re not even paying attention, are you?" mark huffed, but there was no real annoyance in it.

"nope," you admitted, dragging your nails lightly down his side just to watch him squirm.

he laughed, breathless, and caught your wrist—not to stop you, just to lace his fingers through yours. "you’re such a dick."

"you love it," you muttered, half expecting him to roll his eyes or shove you off like anyone else would. but mark just squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a way that made your chest tighten.

"yeah," he said, soft and stupidly sincere. "i do."

your pulse jumped. you weren’t used to this—being wanted, being loved, especially not by someone who looked at you like you hung the damn stars. it made you feel exposed, raw in a way that should’ve sent you running. but then mark smiled, all crooked and fond, and you couldn’t help but curl closer, pressing your face into his shoulder to hide the way your own lips betrayed you.

that’s when you felt it—a low, rumbling vibration against your ear, so deep you almost missed it.

you stiffened. "the hell was that?"

mark blinked down at you, confused. "what was what?"

"that—that noise. did you just—" you cut yourself off as it happened again, the sound unmistakable this time. a deep, content purr, resonating from his chest.

your eyes narrowed, fingers stilling against his ribs as you lifted your head just enough to glare at him. the sound was unmistakable now—a deep, rhythmic hum vibrating through his chest, warm and alive under your cheek. it shouldn’t have been possible, but then again, neither was half the shit mark could do.

"are you fucking purring?" you demanded, voice rough with disbelief.

mark’s face flushed instantly, his stupidly long lashes fluttering as he avoided your gaze. "i—uh. maybe?" his voice cracked, and the purr stuttered for a second before doubling in intensity, like his traitorous body was daring you to tease him.

your chest did something embarrassing—tightening, then melting all at once. it was disgustingly cute. like finding out a wolf could wag its tail. here was this idiot who could level buildings with his fists, who talked shit in the middle of fights like it was a damn comedy routine, and he was purring because of you. because you’d scratched his scalp like some kind of overgrown housecat.

you should've mocked him. should've rolled your eyes so hard they'd get stuck, called him a pathetic excuse for an alien warrior—but your traitorous fingers were already moving, sliding through those soft dark curls like they had a mind of their own. your nails scraped gently against his scalp, barely there but enough to make his breath catch, and god help you, you needed to hear that deep, rumbling purr again like you needed your next breath.

"maybe?" you deadpanned, propping yourself up on one elbow to give him your best unimpressed glare, even as your free hand stayed tangled in his hair like you were afraid he'd float away. the way his pupils dilated when you tugged just slightly made your stomach do stupid flips. "since when do you purr? you some kinda fucked up space cat?"

he groaned like you were personally torturing him, covering his face with those big hands that could crush steel but always touched you like you were made of glass. "since always, okay?" his voice came out muffled, embarrassed. "it's a viltrumite thing. i can't help it when i'm—" he cut himself off abruptly, but the tips of his ears burned crimson.

your heartbeat kicked up at what he wasn't saying. when he was what? happy? content? completely fucking gone for you? you stared at him for a long moment, memorizing the way his throat worked as he swallowed hard, the faint tremor in his fingers where they covered his flushed face. then, because you were weak and he was yours, you flopped back down onto his chest with enough force to knock the air out of a normal person, pressing your ear firmly against the warm skin over his heart. you needed that sound like a drowning man needed air.

mark yelped, his whole body tensing beneath you. "what're you—?"

"shut up," you muttered, listening intently for that telltale vibration. the purring had stopped, and that just wouldn't do. your fingers trailed down his side, tracing the defined muscles there with deliberate slowness, lips pursing in poorly concealed anticipation when he squirmed under your touch. "do it again." your voice came out rougher than you intended, almost pleading, and fuck if that didn't make your face heat up. but you'd burn the world down to hear that sound again, to know you were the one who drew it out of him.

"i'm not a damn cat," he grumbled, voice already going thick and syrupy as your fingers found their way back to his hair. the protest died in his throat the moment your nails scraped gently along his scalp, that deep vibration starting up again—quieter this time, like a distant thunderstorm rolling in, hesitant like he was afraid you'd pull away.

something in your chest cracked open like dawn breaking. it was stupid. ridiculous, even. but god, it was cute in a way that made your ribs ache—this invincible boy who could punch through mountains melting under your touch, reduced to nothing but warm skin and rumbling contentment. the sound wrapped around you like sunlight through curtains, golden and impossible to ignore.

"huh," you said, voice softer than you'd ever admit, the word barely more than an exhale against his collarbone. "didn't know you could do that." didn't know you trusted me enough to let me hear it, you didn't add.

mark peeked down at you through his lashes, still pink-faced like a sunrise. "you're not gonna make fun of me?" he asked, but the way he leaned into your touch betrayed how much he already knew the answer.

you scoffed, rolling your eyes with all the theatricality you could muster. "oh, i'm gonna make fun of you forever." but your traitorous fingers kept moving through his curls, slow and reverent, and the purr grew louder, vibrating through you like a live wire, like the hum of power lines after a storm, like something alive and electric settling deep in your bones.

you hated how much you loved it. hated how your stupid heart turned traitor, flipping like a dying fish in your chest, how your blood sang in your veins like it had finally remembered what happiness tasted like. so of course you buried your face in the warm expanse of his chest, hiding the way your lips curved into a smile too tender for either of you to acknowledge, pressing closer until you could feel that purr in your teeth, in your soul, in all the broken places you'd never admit existed.

"freak," you mumbled into his skin, but there was no bite to it—just honey-thick fondness dripping from every syllable, so obvious even you couldn't pretend otherwise. your fingers tightened in his hair just to hear that purr stutter, just to feel him shiver against you, and fuck if that didn't make your chest burn brighter than any sun.

mark's laugh vibrated through you before you even heard it, that stupid, sunshine-bright sound that always made your chest feel too tight. his arms wrapped around you like living seatbelts, pulling until every inch of you was pressed against him—your nose buried in the crook of his neck, your knees slotting between his like puzzle pieces finally clicking together. when you tilted your head up to glare halfheartedly, his expression did something devastating; his eyes crinkled at the corners, his stupidly soft lips curving into a smile so warm it could've powered a small city. he looked at you like you'd hung the damn moon, like you were christmas morning and the last slice of pizza and every good thing rolled into one.

"yeah, yeah," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead that made your traitorous heart stutter. his purr kicked up another notch, thrumming through your ribcage until you wondered if he could feel your heartbeat matching its rhythm. "love you too, asshole."

and if you stayed like that for hours—mark's fingers tracing idle patterns along your spine, your hands fisted in the back of his shirt like you were afraid he'd disappear, his purr a constant, comforting rumble beneath your ear—well. no one had to know how easily he turned you into putty in his hands.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

it became your best-kept obsession—cataloging every way to coax those rumbling purrs from mark's chest. the sharp intake of breath when your fingers found that spot just behind his ear, the way his lashes would tremble against his flushed cheeks when you scratched lightly down the nape of his neck. you'd discovered he was embarrassingly responsive to the smallest affections—your lips brushing his temple, your palm resting warm against the small of his back, even just breathing his name into the space between his shoulder blades in that private tone you never used with anyone else. each time, your ribs would ache with something too big to name, this glowing, golden feeling like you'd struck treasure no one else knew existed. and mark? he'd go pliant against you every single time, his purrs thrumming through your skin like a second heartbeat, his entire body thrumming with quiet joy just because it was you.

tonight, you waited until he was half-asleep against you, his head heavy on your chest as some old movie played forgotten in the background. you started slow—fingertips tracing meaningless patterns along his shoulder, feeling the way his breathing deepened. then, with deliberate care, you carded your fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp the way you knew drove him crazy.

mark made this soft, punched-out noise against your collarbone, his body going lax against yours. "mmph...cheater," he mumbled, but he was already nuzzling closer, his arms tightening around your waist.

"shhh," you murmured, smiling against the crown of his head as that familiar rumble started up, quiet at first then growing stronger as you kept petting him. his purrs reverberated through your chest, syncing up with your heartbeat in a way that made something tender and aching swell in your throat.

"feels good?" you asked, already knowing the answer from the way he'd practically turned to putty in your arms.

mark tilted his head up just enough to press a sleepy kiss to your jaw, his lips warm and slightly chapped from where he’d been biting them earlier. “cause it’s you,” he slurred, voice thick with drowsy affection, like those three words held the entire universe inside them. and maybe they did—because with every purr, every content sigh, he was telling you without words what you already knew: he was yours, completely and utterly, in every way that mattered.

you couldn’t help it—your fingers tightened in his hair, tilting his face up to yours, and then your mouth was on his, slow and deep and burning. mark made a muffled sound against your lips, half-surprise, half-pleasure, before melting into the kiss like he’d been waiting for it all night. his purr kicked up instantly, vibrating against your chest as his hands slid under your shirt, palms warm and rough against your skin.

the kiss turned messy fast—mark biting at your lower lip just hard enough to make you groan, your tongue sliding against his in a rhythm that had him arching into you. his purrs grew louder, more frantic, every drag of his fingers down your spine pulling another broken sound from your throat. you could feel the way his body trembled under your touch, the way his breath hitched when you nipped at his collarbone, his hips jerking against yours in a silent plea for more.

"fuck," he gasped when you finally pulled back for air, his pupils blown wide, lips kiss-swollen and glistening. his purr was a constant, needy rumble now, his hands gripping your waist like he was afraid you’d disappear. "you—you can’t just—"

you cut him off with another searing kiss, swallowing his whimper, your teeth scraping over his pulse point just to hear him fall apart all over again. his breath hitches, sharp and wet against your lips, his fingers twisting desperately in your shirt like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight enough. you don’t let up—your tongue swipes over the bite mark, soothing the sting just to draw another broken sound from him, and fuck, you could live off this, the way his body arches into yours like he’s trying to fuse your skeletons together.

his skin is fever-hot under your palms as you slide them down his sides, mapping every shuddering breath, every twitch of muscle. when your thumbs brush the sensitive dip of his hips, he makes this noise—half gasp, half sob—his back bowing off the mattress as his purr stutters into a ragged, staticky vibration. you can feel it, the way his control splinters under your touch, his usual confident swagger reduced to trembling thighs and fluttering lashes. you still can't fucking believe you didn't notice such an important thing about mark earlier. he must have used all his strength to suppress the sounds he made to hide this from you for so long. no more hiding, you say.

"look at you," you murmur against his jaw, your voice gravel-rough with want. your fingers trail up his stomach, tracing the outline of each defined muscle like you’re memorizing him for the apocalypse. "all this just ‘cause i touch you?"

mark’s cheeks flush darker, his lips parted around uneven breaths. he tries to hide his face in the crook of your neck, but you catch his chin, forcing him to meet your gaze. his pupils are blown wide, his irises barely visible rings of brown, and his expression is so ruined it makes your chest ache.

"s’not fair," he whines, his voice cracking as your hand skates lower, fingertips teasing the waistband of his sweats. his hips jerk up instinctively, chasing friction, but you hold him down with your free arm, pinning him with your weight. the way he goes pliant under you, his body surrendering before his pride does, sends a vicious thrill down your spine.

"tell me," you demand, nipping at his earlobe. "tell me who does this to you."

his breath comes in ragged, stuttering gasps—each one hotter than the last against your lips, trembling like the rest of him as he arches into your touch. his fingers scramble at your shoulders, blunt nails digging crescent moons into your skin, clinging like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. when your palm grinds down firm between his legs, he breaks for you, his purr shattering into a high, desperate whine that punches straight through your ribcage. "you," he chokes out, voice wrecked already, thighs shaking where they bracket yours. "only you, fuck—please—"

and god, you’ll never get tired of this—of how the great invincible mark grayson comes completely undone beneath you, reduced to a trembling, pleading mess with nothing but your hands and your name falling like a prayer from his kiss-swollen lips. you swallow his next broken sound with a filthy, open-mouthed kiss, licking into him slow and deep, savoring the way his breath hitches when you curl your fingers just so. his hips jerk up against your palm, chasing the friction, and the noise he makes—a punched-out, trembling moan—goes straight to your gut, white-hot and possessive.

you worship him like this: with your teeth dragging along his pulse point just to feel his purr stutter, with your free hand sliding up his chest to thumb over a peaked nipple, reveling in the way his back bows off the bed. "look at you," you murmur against his jaw, voice rough with awe. "so fucking perfect for me." his answering whimper is devastating—a broken, punched-out sound that vibrates against your throat where his face is buried.

his entire body flushes darker, that sun-kissed skin blooming a heated red from his collarbones all the way up to the tips of his ears, like you’ve lit him up from the inside. when you finally wrap your fingers around him, his hips jerk up into your grip, desperate and uncoordinated, his cock hot and heavy against your palm, the velvety skin stretched taut over thick veins. you stroke him slow and firm, twisting your wrist just the way you know he likes on the upstroke, and the wetness beading at his head smears slick over your fingers, making every drag smoother, messier. his breath comes in ragged gasps against your shoulder, his blunt nails digging half-moons into your biceps as he tries to ground himself, his thighs trembling where they bracket yours. the precome leaks steadily now, sticky and warm, and you can feel the way his stomach muscles clench under your free hand when you swipe your thumb over the swollen head, spreading the wetness in slow circles just to hear him sob your name.

"f-fuck—" mark’s fingers knot in your hair, tugging sharp enough to make your scalp sting, his hips jerking up into your grip like he’s trying to fuck into the tight heat of your fist. his purr is shattered now—glitching in his throat, a staticky, uneven thrum that breaks every time his breath hitches. you can feel the vibrations where your mouth is latched onto his nipple, your tongue swirling rough over the stiff peak before you bite down just to hear him wail, his back bowing off the sheets.

his chest heaves under your palm, sweat-slick and burning hot, every muscle in his abdomen fluttering as he teeters on the edge. you don’t let up—sucking another bruise into the delicate skin under his collarbone, licking a stripe up his throat to swallow the desperate, punched-out noises he’s making. his pulse rabbits against your lips, wild and frantic, and when you scrape your teeth over it, he sobs, his cock twitching violently in your grip.

“gonna—fuck, please—” his voice cracks, raw and wrecked, his thighs trembling where they cage your hips. you can taste the salt on his skin where your tongue drags over his nipple again, can feel the way his stomach tenses under your palm like he’s trying to hold back. his lashes are wet, his lips swollen from biting them, and when you press your forehead to his, his breath fans hot and uneven over your mouth.

your fingers tighten just enough to make him whimper, the slick twist of your wrist deliberate, perfect, and mark breaks. his back arches off the sheets, a choked, ragged cry tearing from his throat as he spills hot over your knuckles, his purr stuttering into a gasp so shattered it hurts to hear. you don’t let go—not when his hips jerk helplessly, not when his thighs clamp around your hand like he’s trying to keep you there forever, not even when his entire body locks up before collapsing, spent and trembling, into the mattress.

you kiss him through it, soft and reverent, swallowing every broken noise he makes—the hitched whines, the shuddering exhales, the way his lips move against yours like he’s still trying to say your name. his skin is fever-hot under your palms, his chest heaving as you stroke his hipbone with your clean hand, soothing now, gentling him through the aftershocks that still wrack his frame.

and god, you’re aching, your own hard-on straining against your boxers, but you barely notice—too busy memorizing the way mark’s wet lashes stick to his flushed cheeks, the way his pulse stutters under your lips when you press them to his throat, the way his fingers clutch weakly at your shirt like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. you won’t. you can’t. not when he looks like this—wrecked and beautiful and yours, his usual boundless energy reduced to this boneless, panting mess beneath you.

"look at you," you murmur, thumb brushing the tear clinging to his lash line. your voice is rougher than you mean it to be, thick with something too close to worship. "took it so fucking well, baby."

mark makes this soft, punched-out noise—half protest, half plea—as his body goes lax beneath you, but his purr stutters back to life anyway, faint at first like a dying engine trying to turn over. then it grows, uneven but persistent, vibrating through your sternum where your chest presses flush against his. you can feel it in your teeth, in the hollow of your throat, this quiet, physical proof of his contentment radiating through you like sunlight through closed eyelids.

when he finally slumps back into the sheets, his muscles melting into liquid warmth beneath your hands, his purr shifts into something deeper—smoother, like honey poured over gravel. it thrums against your skin as he nuzzles clumsily into the curve of your neck, his lips brushing your pulse point in a drowsy, open-mouthed kiss. "love you," he slurs, the words thick and syrupy with exhaustion, his arms looping around your waist to drag you down atop him with surprising strength for someone who just came apart under your touch.

and fuck, if that doesn’t hit you like a freight train—the way he clings to you even now, his fingers splaying possessively over the small of your back, his purr kicking up another notch when you settle between his thighs. his heartbeat thrums against yours, rapid but steadying, and you realize with a jolt that this—the weight of him under you, the salt-sweet taste of his skin where your lips press absentmindedly to his shoulder, the way his breath evens out against your temple—feels more like victory than anything else ever has.

3.9k words full of mark purring and reader being obsessed. honestly, if i were in reader's shoes i would've done the same thing- and sorry y'all i was in a freaky goofy mood when i wrote that second half LOLOL! thank you so much to the anon who requested this! literally screamed when i read this in my askbox, cause this is one of my guilty pleasures(?)/headcanons for mark LOL. also hell yeah male reader solidarity—we out here surviving the wasteland one soft mark grayson one-shot at a time 💀

[ghostfacd]

𝙄𝙉 𝘼 𝙒𝙊𝙍𝙇𝘿 𝙁𝙐𝙇𝙇 𝙊𝙁 𝙈𝙀𝙉, 𝙃𝙀’𝙎 𝘼 𝙂𝙀𝙉𝙏𝙇𝙀𝙈𝘼𝙉

pairing: lorenzo berkshire x fem!slytherin!reader

genre: fluff, sweetheart enzo, brief suggestive content, enzo is a big softie basically

summary: in a world filled with men, there’s lorenzo berkshire, a sweetheart and gentleman

Lorenzo Berkshire was a sweetheart.

Everybody knew that the down to earth Slytherin couldn’t hurt a fly even if he wanted to, and weirdly did not fit the stereotypical mean Slytherin persona despite hanging with Draco and his friends.

In fact, a lot of things that Lorenzo did were out of the ordinary for his crowd of people. Whenever Draco would pull a first year by their backpacks so their bodies would fling back, Lorenzo always muttered an apology after, offering the first year a cookie the next day. It was just who he was; he was a sweet boy, and that often meant he was also very clueless.

Sure, he was smart in his classes, but in everything else? Lorenzo was practically the virgin of all virgins.

“Her eyes are up here Enzo,” Pansy teased, watching as Lorenzo’s eyes finally shifted off your chest to look at Pansy in the eyes.

“Huh?”

“Well I know they’re nice,” you tease further, “but it’s rude to stare, y’know.”

“Oh,” Lorenzo’s eyebrows furrow, clearly confused. He’s either great at playing the dumb role or he genuinely has no idea what you and Pansy are inciting.

“What do you mean?” Lorenzo then moves his hand over to touch the gold colored necklace on your neck. “I was just looking at the new necklace you got. It’s nice.”

Oh. You didn’t think anyone would notice your new necklace. You bought it over the holidays when you went back home with your family, and had just started wearing it now.

“Thanks Enzo,” you say, placing a kiss on his cheek. He pulls back flustered, but he mutters a you’re welcome under his breath.

“LO BOY!” Lorenzo is quickly pulled into a headlock by no other than Draco Malfoy, who seems to find his friend struggling hilariously funny. “Oh what’s wrong Lo? Got your head in a knot?”

“Boys.” You and Pansy mutter, rolling your eyes as you both get up from your seats, heading to the much more quiet Great Hall.

- - -

The next time you see Lorenzo is in your Potions class. He’s on the left of you, and you’re almost falling asleep at the boring lecture of your professor. He always seem to talk more than actually teach how to mix potions.

“Pssst,” Lorenzo mutters to your partner as he hands her a slip of paper. “Be a peach and pass it to Y/N?”

Your partner, who has developed a little crush on Lorenzo only blushes, accepting the piece of paper and tapping you on the shoulder.

“Here,” she says, “it’s from Lorenzo.”

Your eyebrows quirk up, slowly unfolding the crinkled paper.

Your hair is pretty today

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a smile. Lorenzo just knew how to swoon a girl over, didn’t he? He doesn’t even have to try and your knees would still feel weak.

So my hair isn’t pretty on other days?

You scribble down, passing it back to your partner who passes it to Lorenzo.

His eyes grow wide when he reads it, opting to shake his head quickly.

“Not what I meant,” Lorenzo mouths.

“I know,” you mouth back, giving him a smirk. “Thank you Enzo.”

And you both end up more pink than the potions that were made in class that day.

- - -

“What do you even do in your free time?” Theodore asks, poking Lorenzo’s cheek repeatedly to annoy him. “Like read?”

“Like read?” Lorenzo mimics back. “Yes, I read. You should too Teddy, it’d be good for you.”

Theodore rolls his eyes, “I don’t need to read. And don’t call me Teddy.”

When you arrive in the dining hall, Theodore and Lorenzo already make a space for you to sit in between them. Usually, Pansy and Draco would be sitting across from the three of you, but today, they were off doing Godric knows what.

“Pans and Draco not here today?” Lorenzo asks, still focusing on the assignment he was finishing up before dinner ends.

“Nope,” you say, popping the p. “No idea what they’re doing.”

“Oh,” Theodore chuckles, “I have a few ideas.”

That makes the two of you burst out laughing, and Lorenzo finally looks up from his paper.

“What?” He asks. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh Enzo,” Theodore places a hand on his friend’s back, “never change.”

Lorenzo rolls his eyes, shrugging Theodore’s hand off. “Whatever that means.”

When Theodore finally heads off to the Slytherin common room, you and Lorenzo are left alone, the small conversations of the other students surrounds the two of you.

“Working hard on that assignment,” you say quietly to Lorenzo, bringing up your hand to pull a few strings of hair that were poking his eyes.

“Well someone’s gotta be the smart one in our friend group,” he says teasingly.

“Oh, so you’re saying I’m not smart?” Your hands start to wander, coming to each of Lorenzo’s sides to tickle him. He was especially ticklish around his abdomen.

“H-hey! Stop that!” He laughs, pushing your hands away. “Okay okay, we’re both the smart ones.”

“And Pansy,” you add.

“And Pansy.”

- - -

When you walked out to the lake that sat across from the Slytherin common room, you didn’t expect to find Lorenzo feeding the ducks. He was crouching, softly throwing a few pieces of crushed up bread at the ducks that now surrounded him.

“What are you doing Lo?” You ask, walking beside him.

“Not too loud,” Lorenzo says, “you’ll scare them away.”

He continues doing what he does before he runs all out, deciding to finally turn to you and throw an arm around your shoulder. “Evening.”

“Evening Enzo,” you say, pressing a kiss to his cheek. It was out of habit, and you did it regularly, but it didn’t stop Lorenzo from blushing every time it happened.

“I was feeding the ducks,” he explains, although it was pretty clear what he was doing. “I like them, they’re nice and pretty. Draco sometimes throws rocks at them, so it’s kind of my way of apologizing for him.”

You ruffle Lorenzo’s hair slightly, giving him a small kiss on the cheek. “Oh Enzo, you sweetheart.” But he doesn’t hear you, instead, choosing to admire the scenery of the lake.

- - -

“You know what’d be funny?” Mattheo says, already laughing before he could get out the rest of his sentence. “If we pied the girls. Pansy and Y/N.”

Lorenzo’s ears perk up at this, but he keeps quiet. Why was his friends always looking to get into trouble?

“They’d totally kill us,” Theodore comments.

“That’s why we have to do it.”

The boys had already gotten two pies and their plan figured out before Lorenzo could stop them. He watched as they hide it behind their backs, approaching you and Pansy who were both engrossed in your conservation.

“Wait,” Lorenzo mumbles, quickly following his group of friends. When he sees their hand from their back move as they speak to you and Pansy, he steps in front of the two of you, getting hit straight in the face with the two pies.

“Huh..” Lorenzo says, wiping away the whipped cream that was covering his eyes. “Key lime.”

“Enzo,” you say, knowing that this was probably one of Mattheo or Draco’s dumb ideas again. “You guys apologize to Lorenzo right now.”

The three boys sigh defeatedly, muttering a quiet sorry to their brunette friend who’s still wiping the whipped cream from his face.

“Why’d you do that Enzo?” You ask him as the two of you sat down on the grass. You’d finally got all the whipped cream off his face with a towel, and although Enzo won’t admit it, he was kind of grateful he did end up getting pied. After all, a pretty girl was cleaning him up after all, and not just any pretty girl, his close friend.

“Cause you’re too pretty to get pied.” He shrugs, which makes you smirk.

“Too pretty?”

“Well yeah,”

You laugh at Lorenzo’s honesty, and finally, you lean in to give him a kiss on the lips instead of the side of his cheek.

“Did you just-”

“Shh,” you say, grabbing ahold of his hand. “Just let me appreciate you right now. In a world full of just men, you’re a gentleman Enzo.”

And Lorenzo only smiles, knowing he’s finally got the girl of his dreams.

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

59 / 3.4k / part 3 of shark mermen Gaz and Soap with human!reader <3

kinktober keywords: dubcon, monster mermen, monsterfucking, teratophilia, overt predator/prey dynamics, hypnosis/hypnokink, praise

...

"You gonna behave?"

You bite your lip and keep your arms tightly wound around your upper half. "I thought I was."

The movement catches Gaz's eyes. They darken. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

He reaches out, catching your bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger. He pulls it gently lower and lets it snap back into place, and your lip stings with saltwater. "That."

You squirm in his hold.

Gaz keeps his grip, but lets you keep moving. His gaze drops again to your lips and keeps getting lower until it's obvious that he's staring at your neck. Even if he weren't a predator sensitive to the quick heartbeat and rushing blood of startled prey, he'd see the nerves all over you. He draws closer.

"You're so small," he murmurs.

You press back, but it does no good.

"And weak," Gaz continues. The clawtip of his index finger presses into the damp flesh of your stomach. "I could crack you open like the shell of a clam. Can I touch you?"

Before you can answer, Soap's hands wander up your legs again. You tense. Gaz's tail tightens under you in response.

"Bit late to ask if you can touch her," Soap says in their mer-tongue.

Gaz ignores him. "Stay still," he murmurs, his tail tightening. Not quite enough to crush anything, but enough to restrict more of your movement. "I won't hurt you."

As Soap makes a grab at one of your wrists, the coldness of your skin and the quickness of your pulse sends a small thrill down his spine.

You try to still your movements and steady your breath. It seems like the more you squirm and protest, the more it snags their interest. You're pretty sure by now they're not going to eat you, but their interest in you has taken an unmistakably carnal tilt.

"See?" Gaz says. "You can be good." He drags his claw lightly over your belly again, and you feel all the muscles of your midsection tense. If it weren't for him squeezing you so firmly, you'd almost be lifted out of the water.

"Good," he murmurs again.

"What do you want to see? I already showed you my legs."

"Everything else."

It's a blunt, straightforward answer. The way Gaz says it seems almost disinterested—matter-of-fact—but his gaze is fixed intently on your belly. He wants to see every inch of you, the softness and the curves and the hollow spots and the sharp dips.

Soap's hands find your waist, and he pulls you closer in in a way that forces you to arch your back, bough toward him, and spread your legs wider over Gaz's tail.

You steal a glance down at the glass-sharp rocky sand and the cold waves rising in. "Here?"

They don't bother to answer. Gaz shifts your hips up his tail, contorting you further. Soap stares openly down at your tits through your wet shirt as he drags his massive hands down your thighs and back up in an exploratory motion.

Gaz's scales push up against the crotch of your shorts. Your brain skips. This can't be happening right now and you can't be feeling kind of hot under the collar about it. No, nah, nope.

You plant your hands against Soap's shoulders and push him back. "I said not here! Take me somewhere nice." No, that's not quite right. "Somewhere private."

nsfw ⬇

Gaz digs his fingers into your hips and pushes you further up his tail. The movement grinds you into him like he's starting to feel you get warm and wet.

"Yeah?" Soap purrs, letting you push him away. There's no way you could throw him off unless he lets you, but he does. "Where d'you want us to take you, little human?"

"Somewhere soft and dry."

The two merman trade looks with one another. Gaz tilts his head down at you and narrows his dark eyes. "I know a place."

You swallow. "You do?"

"Mmhm." His tail shifts beneath you. "Have you ever seen a merman's bed?"

"No..."

Gaz’s tone drops to something just above a murmur. "It's carved out of sloping reef rock and lined with the softest, sun-warmed sand. Perfect to lie in."

Despite his attempt to soothe you, Soap's claws catching the hem of your torn shirt make you even more tense. You grab his hand and push it down. A muscle in your jaw jumps with irritation.

Soap stops pushing, but there's a look in his eye that you don't like at all. He knows he's bigger and stronger than you. All he has to do is pull back a little too hard, and he could easily yank you off Gaz's tail and into his own arms instead. He can make you do whatever he wants, and he knows it.

It makes you all the more aware of the strength of his body between your knees. He could pin you down so easily—he could crush you with the sheer size of him—and you'd never be able to do anything about it.

Before either of you makes a move, Gaz growls at Soap in their mer language. Soap's eyes snap up to Gaz's. His face tightens. His hands loosen and slide slowly out from under your shirt.

You watch it happen with an unsteady glare. But now they're watching each other rather than you. It only holds for a moment before Soap pulls his gaze away. He looks almost bored as he lets his hands drift back to your thighs.

"Fine," he murmurs. But the look in his eyes still leaves you with the uneasy feeling that he isn't entirely done with you.

Fine is the only word of it you understand, but you still feel the agitation in their tone and the subtle shifts of muscles in Gaz's back and shoulders against your chest. Still, he seems fine with Soap's hands on you as long as he's not agitating you further.

You look down at Gaz's claws. His grip on you stays tight. He isn't rough, exactly, but his hands are big and his touch is insistent and slightly possessive. His hands drift lazily over your hips, up your ribs, across the tops of your thighs. It feels like he's keeping track of every inch of you he's already felt.

You squeeze your legs together stubbornly when he gets close to your inner thighs.

His grip is like iron. You feel the muscles of his tail working beneath you as he shifts to get you just right again.

"Let me in," he murmurs.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"And why not?" His hands wander up and down the seam of your legs.

You get the impression that he can smell you getting wet when you when you're squished up close against him like this. Does he think you're putting out crazy pheromones or something? A twinge of shame makes you look away. "Because we're mismatched."

"Mismatched?" He snorts and pulls you forward so you're leaning further back and against his chest. It exposes your neck to him and his eyes darken. "Your kind has a real obsession with categorizing everything, don't you? We can be matched just fine."

"But we're not, like, physically... you know... it would be weird. It's like having sex with an animal."

"I don't think humans are animals," Gaz murmurs. He draws his claws over the outside of your thigh--not causing pain or leaving marks, but stimulating the nerves under your skin with small jolts. "Besides in the literal sense. But then we both are."

You say nothing. His fingertips brush up the backs of your knees, and a shiver of awareness travels all the way down your spine to your toes. His voice is low and soft as he speaks to Soap in their language again. He rubs his thumb in tiny circles on the back of your knee.

If you knew what he was saying, you'd realise that he's telling Soap that you're nervous.

"It would be weird," you say again.

Soap scoffs. "You keep saying that word. Weirrrd," he repeats in a voice edged with disdain and mimicking your accent. "Why does it matter? There's no one else here."

Gaz tilts his head down in an attempt to catch your eye. "You're not even a little bit curious? You humans are always so desperate to know why and how things work. You used to poke and prod us. You're usually curious about stuff like this." His voice drops lower. "About new experiences. What if I told you that this could feel good?"

"It's still wrong." Even as you say it, you're starting to wonder. You're already pretty sure they won't hurt you. They would have already if they didn't care, right? But you can't bear to think about how disgusted people would be if they knew you were seriously considering this.

"You think it's wrong?" Gaz’s voice takes on an edge. "Humans have a lot of strange rules that don't make any sense. Do you really think we're that different?"

"Yeah."

His gaze drops to your lips. "That's what you humans get so wrong. You think everything means something. Rubbish. Sometimes things can just feel good. And this" --he strokes the sensitive skin of your ankle-- "could feel so good. If you let me in, you'll be warm and safe. That’s what you want, yeah? To be looked after?"

"I don't... I don't know."

Gaz hums and rubs your ankle. Your skin is softer than the salt-smoothed calluses of his hands, and your leg is so small. He feels like he would barely have to squeeze to break it in two. "It's okay not to know, you know," he says. "You've been through a lot. Can I tell you more about us?" he asks, voice low and soft. "About our kind?"

His voice seems to soothe your ragged nerves. "I guess so."

"Good human." He leans very close, his mouth against the shell of your ear. His hands tighten on your thighs again. You’re at his fingertips. You’ll be his in no time. "We're not so different. We hunt and we play. We fight and we... enjoy things." He traces his claw along the line of your legs again. "We can feel things other creatures can't. Sounds too quiet for other prey, smells under water, under the salt. We like the smell of other creatures. What do humans like to smell?"

"Um... flowers, I guess. And food. Baked goods."

He huffs a laugh. "What a waste of your senses." He slides his claw along the outside of your calf. "You humans like things to be clean, huh? Nice warm water and soap. So many rules and little rituals with your cleaning."

"Yeah, so?"

"But then you spend half of your time dirtying each other again. Fighting and rutting and making messes. Humans are strange. Your rules get in the way of your senses."

"We need rules to protect ourselves."

"You need rules to limit yourself," Gaz says. "No wonder you act so fragile. If you'd let yourself enjoy things, everything wouldn't seem so dangerous."

Soap watches you steadily. He can smell the way you're reacting as Gaz's voice washes over you and the way you melt slightly every time he touches you.

You huff. "That's easy for you to say."

"Humans keep themselves vulnerable. No claws, no callouses," Gaz says as he runs his free hand over your upper arm. Your skin is so smooth, he can feel the tiny hairs standing up as his hand passes over them. You really are like a seal—all big eyes and soft give everywhere and no bite to you whatsoever. Except your words, maybe. " How do you defend yourself like this? How do you hunt?"

You don't reply.

His hand finds its way into your hair, claws tracing lines over your scalp. "Do you know what it is to hunt by yourself? Taking charge when something catches your interest. Taking things that you want."

"Not really."

"It's thrilling."

"To be stronger and faster?"

"More than that. Feeling another creature's pulse beneath your teeth, hearing the crunch of bone as it gives way. Knowing you've caught your prey." Gaz strokes the hair back from your ear. His voice and fingers send pleasurable tingles down your spine. He pulls you closer to himself as he speaks so you can fully feel his large frame cradled around yours. “We don't have many possessions," he says. "We like having something that's ours."

"Oh."

"And humans are small," he murmurs. "So soft and small." He rubs circles into your scalp, and you feel his voice as much as you hear it. "So warm and pliable. Easy to hold and keep."

You catch Soap grin and realize you've been staring at him.

"See somethin' you like, hen?"

You flush and look away.

Gaz shifts to comfort you. "Don't look away," he murmurs. His big hand comes up and catches your jaw to make you look up at Soap again. "Watch his eyes. Listen to my voice."

You blink at Soap. Your mind feels sluggish. But Soap is nice to look at. And Gaz is nice to listen to. His voice is low and soothing. His hands drift. The fingertips of one hand trace your collarbone and the other strokes the softness of your throat. Your eyelids are a little heavy.

Gaz watches you for a moment before leaning very close. "Good," he whispers, and Soap's eyes darken. "Easy to hold. Just like I said."

You feel the vibrations of his voice in his chest. His voice soothes you so completely that the old legends about sirens enticing humans with their hypnotic voices surfaces briefly in your mind. Then it disappears.

His hand continues, and the soft, slow touches lull you further. Your stress ebbs away grain by grain. It’s replaced by anticipation. He rubs the soft skin of your cheek with the pad of his thumb, and you feel the calluses on his hands.

"That's a good human." He keeps using that low voice to praise you. Soft warmth and anticipation curl low in your belly. "Just keep looking." He slides a hand down your spine and across your lower back. Your muscles and your mind unwind slowly like a fraying rope. "You remember when I was telling you about a merman's bed, yeah?"

"Mm."

"That's good. Now pay attention. I want you to hear what I say. They're comfortable," he murmurs. "Warm and soft, all lined with sand that's been warmed in the sun. Perfect to lay in. To writhe in. To sink into." As if to show you, his hands slide under your wet shirt and press against the small of your back. He rubs the warm softness of your skin, and goosebumps rise where his hands pass over. "Imagine it. Imagine sinking in. Sinking in. Sink with my voice."

Your eyelids droop even more. You're sleepy.

"You're doing so well." Gaz feels how relaxed you are—the tension out of your muscles and how your limbs feel like they're melting into his. "Sink with my voice," he repeats. "You don't need to struggle anymore. Everything's alright. You're safe with us. Just let yourself… drift."

A sweet, heavy, warm softness like sinking into a hot bath. Like sinking into the sand under his hands. He guides you into a light doze and continues stroking your back and murmuring praise, your body growing heavy and lax beneath his warm hands.

"Shh," Gaz says. You're sinking deep. He guides you down into a soft, warm haze full of quiet, soothing sounds. Even Soap is watching you with a soft, rapt interest, not wanting to ruin the moment. They're taking care of you right where you belong. Deep. Safe. Warm. Comforting.

"What do you see in that bed with you?" Gaz murmurs. "One merman? Two?"

"Hmm?"

"Can't think straight, can you? You're so relaxed." He moves so his hands slide around your waist again. He knows you can't escape this time, even if you wanted to. And you look so sweet and soft. He knows you're almost asleep, almost floating away from him. "I know. Keep listening. Can you tell me what you see yet?"

"Blankets."

"That sounds so nice, doesn't it?" Gaz murmurs. His hands shift again, one drifting all the way to the back of your neck. His voice is as quiet and warm and comforting as a blanket over you. "Just sink into my voice. Keep listening. What else is in that bed with you?"

"Stuffed animals."

Gaz laughs, but it's low and soothing. "Like a child has? That's cute. But it's not like you need them."

You huff, your hypnotic trance vaguely disrupted by his words. "You asked me."

"And I got my answer." Gaz's hand slides up your neck to rest on your jaw. He strokes your pulse point again. "You're getting a little too close to falling asleep. You need to stay awake for this."

Soap has drifted closer, his dark eyes watching you. He looks hungry, but Gaz doesn't push you towards him yet. Not while you're so out of it. "Fine, fine." He rubs your neck again, and you feel your muscles melt under the pressure. "What kind of stuffed animal?"

"Hmm..."

Gaz hums back, his voice deep and soothing. Your eyes are already so heavy, your body is so relaxed in his arms. Your breath is slow and steady, and your skin feels warmer to his touch. Gaz can smell the change in your scent, your body's response to him—to all of this.

"I'm curious now." His voice is low and dark against your sensitive ear. "If you're going to have stuffed animals in your bed, I want to know what kind."

"Octopus."

"An octopus?" He murmurs. "So you want something with so many arms to wrap around you? Something tight and big?" He's so close to your ear now that his lips brush it. "You want to be wrapped up and covered and surrounded?"

"Mm... maybe. Yeah."

Your voice is heavy with drowsiness. He keeps you skirting that line between consciousness and sleep. Your body in his arms is puppet-like.

"You want to be surrounded by so many arms. Maybe even pressed against us with no space to move, yeah?" He slides a hand down your stomach.

"Mmhmm."

"Mm. So you want to sink into a nice bed, surrounded by an octopus with its big, plush arms. Surrounded on all sides with soft, soft tentacles that cover you. You want something big and soft and heavy on top of you--resting between your legs and keeping you warm and safe." His hands slide around you again. "Would that make you feel safe and protected?"

You murmur an affirmation.

"And do you feel safe and protected here? Now?"

You murmur another one.

Something like a smile curves Gaz's mouth. It's sweet that you're answering without thinking. "Mm," he hums, and he slides both hands down your thighs. His claws trace little circles on your sensitive skin. "Very good. Hold onto that feeling as you come up, human." Gaz lifts his eyes to Soap's. "We're just curious. We won't hurt you. We just want to see what you feel like. Is that alright?"

"What I feel like?"

Soap looks down at you. You barely open your eyes. Barely even react, even though you can feel his claws grazing your thigh, even though his eyes are dark and his lips parted slightly. Your eyes are so heavy, your brain so slow.

"Mm," Gaz murmurs again, and his chin brushes your ear. "Your skin's soft. Soft and warm. We want to feel you." His hands slide up your chest again, your breath shuddering at their passing, and he holds you up so your back is against his chest but your legs are still spread over his tail. He smiles. You're so close to sleep, but he doesn't want you to miss this. "Shh. You'll see. You just need to let us touch you, okay?"

"Oh." You let your legs slide to the sides of Gaz's tail and into Soap's waiting palms. "Okay."

...

part 1 / part 2 / [part 3] / part 4 / part 5

more Gaz / more Soap / more mer au / masterlist

[hyunjincanraptoo]

Bite marks- H.HJ

To my beautiful friend @jehhskz ❤️ with chk chk boom Hyunjin cause he looks like sin

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: smut

Alexa, play Killin' it girl by j-hope

You were supposed to go with Hoseok

The tickets were bought, the outfit was planned, the matching bracelets were ordered weeks in advance— pink bands with tiny crescent moon charms.

But two nights before the Pink Moon Festival, your phone lit up with a message cause he didn’t even have the decency to do it in person.

Hobi 💜:

I think we shouldn’t do this anymore

But let’s stay friends

No call, no explanation— just that.

And it wasn’t even about the festival. It was the way he made you feel disposable. Like love was something that could be cut in half without warning.

You didn’t cry at first. You showered, sat on your bed and stared at your phone like he might come back and apologize.

Then suddenly— it hit you.

Your cell phone is lost somewhere in the house, the curtains are closed and your heart is crushed in a million pieces. You’are curled up in bed, wearing an oversized old t-shirt and socks that don’t match with mascara smudged under your eyes when the door swings open.

“Get up. We’re going to that damn festival”, Chaeryeong says

You don’t look at her, “I don’t want to go”

“I didn’t ask if you wanted to”

 “Chaeryeong…”

 “Nope. Get out of that bed. Right now”

You sit up reluctantly still blinking through tears and your bestie is already marching over to your closet. She digs for a minute, muttering under her breath, then pulls out something red. And short. And deadly.

“Here. Put this on”

“What is that?”

“Your revenge”

She holds it up  and your eyes widen

It’s a deep red mini dress— tight, short, and made of soft, silky fabric that clings to your body in all the right places.

It has a low, heart shaped neckline that shows off just enough of your chest to tease, and it hugs your waist tightly, making your curves stand out even more.

The bottom of the dress barely covers your thighs  so short that it feels like it might ride up with just one step.

On one side, there’s a long slit that goes all the way up to your hip, showing off your leg with every move. Just the right amount of skin to make people stare.

It’s sexy, bold, and meant to make someone regret ever letting you go.

“I can't wear that”

“You can and you will”, Chaeryeong says, tossing it at you, “You’re not gonna cry in that bed anymore. You’re gonna go out there and make him suffer”

You laugh,weak, “You really think I can pull this off?”

She kneels in front of you and wipes under your eyes with her thumbs.

“Babe. You were built for this dress”

By the time you're in the full look— smoky dark eyes, glossed lips, heels that make you taller than your grief — you're unrecognizable. Not a mess. Not an ex-girlfriend. A weapon.

You feel your ex evaporate from your bones with every step toward the festival.

You don’t even know what’s coming yet. But you’re on your way.

And red looks damn good on you.

𔓶𑇓𝆬 ͙࿐𓈒ْ ㅤㅤ

The Pink Moon Festival is already alive— a glittering chaos of bodies, drinks, loud music and temptation. And tonight, you aren't just dressed to impress— you are dressed to kill.

You take your first step into the crowd, the hem of your dress tugging upward with every movement, the slit parting like a red sea with each sway of your hips. Chaeryeong walks just ahead of you, scanning the crowd like a panther.

Your pulse pounds. Not with nerves— with intent.

You feel the heads turning. You don’t look at tho. You don’t have to. Because the one you came for is already watching.

Across the courtyard, near the central tent, Jung Hoseok stands with a drink in his hand and a girl tucked too close at his side. She’s pretty— but she doesn't look deadly tonight. 

His gaze lifts from his cup, then he sees you.

And for a moment, everything stills.

You don’t smile. You don’t wave. You just hold his gaze— the slow, dangerous kind of soft that says “you’re already too late”.

And then, someone else sees you.

A flash of movement— dark shoulder-length hair falling over his cheekbones, a silver chain hanging around his neck. He walks towards you  with one hand in his pocket, sipping something cold and expensive. His eyes drag down your body, then back up, unhurried, like he’s appreciating a work of art. Or about to ruin it.

“Do I know you?”, he asked, voice lazy, lips curled in a smirk.

 “No” you said, “But you’re about to”

“You know, that dress should be illegal”

You raise a brow, “Why?”

His eyes drop to your legs, your thighs, your chest. He doesn’t touch

Not yet.

“Because now I want to do unspeakable things to you”

Your lips curve. You should look back at your ex, make sure he’s watching, but you don’t need to. Hyunjin is already close enough that the heat of his chest makes your breath hitch. His hand brushes your bare arm.

“Why are you here tonight?”

“I don't know. Maybe just fate?”

But the guy in the back, burning your back with his gaze tells Hyunjin another thing

“Whoever let you go”, he says, voice getting lower, “must be the dumbest man alive”

Your stomach flips. His eyes are burning with desire and you feel something pulsing in your core. So you kissed him.

And he kissed you back like he’d been waiting all night.

Hyunjin slides his hand to your lower back and whispers, “Come with me? I’m going to make you forget his name”

You nod and he takes your hand, leading you through the crowd. And if you glance back over your shoulder for a second, you catch Hoseok standing frozen, jaw tight, drink forgotten.

𔓶𑇓𝆬 ͙࿐𓈒ْ ㅤㅤ

The walk to Hyunjin’s private tent feels like a dream.

The sound of the festival fades behind the heavy velvet curtains as he leads you in. The space is bathed in warm rosé light. There’s a low bed on the floor, draped in crimson silk sheets, candles flickering in glass holders, shadows flickering across the tent’s walls. It smells like roses and something sweet, like incense that’s halfway burned down.

He shuts the flap behind you and turns, leaving you alone with him.

Hyunjin steps close. His hand rises to cup your jaw, thumb stroking along your lower lip as he stares at you like he’s memorizing your mouth.

“You sure?” he asks, voice low and hoarse.

You nod.

He kisses you like he’s taking ownership. Tongue sliding into your mouth, hand wrapping around your waist, pulling you against his body. You gasp, hips brushing, and he groans into your mouth.

“Get on the bed”

You do. You lie on your side, not quite sure how to pose, but Hyunjin already knows.

He undresses slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. Shirt dropped. Belt unbuckled. He steps out of his pants like he’s teasing you on purpose, and when his cock springs free, flushed and hard and already dripping, your mouth parts on instinct.

He crawls in behind you.

You feel the heat of his chest against your back. He nudges your hair aside and kisses the back of your neck. Then one of his arms wrap under your top leg, lifting it high and back until your thigh is stretched over his forearm, your knee pulled to his chest.

You moan from the stretch of your hip tilting up, pussy already aching.

“Stay just like this”, he breathes, aligning himself behind you.

Then, with one single slow thrust, he sinks inside.

You whimper. The angle is so deep you can barely think. His cock curves up perfectly from this position, hitting everything. His hips roll slowly, pushing in deep and pulling out just far enough to make you feel the loss just to slide back in, groaning in your ear.

“Fuck”, he pants, “You feel so good like this”

His hand squeezes behind your knee, keeping your leg in place. His other hand wraps around your ribs, holding you tight to his chest. Every thrust pushes you forward on the mattress as his cock drags against that spot over and over.

“So tight”, he growls, “So wet. You’re dripping for me”

You try to bite down the sounds, but your breath stutters— high pitched, needy.

“No, baby” he hisses,  “Let him hear you”

Your heart skips a beat, “Hyunjin…”

He fucks into you deeper, harder, his hand leaving your ribs to rub fast circles against your clit.

“Don’t hold it in. Let him know what he lost. Let him hear how good I fuck you”

You let your moans, no shame left. Your leg shakes in his grasp, and he grins against your shoulder, fucking you through every broken noise.  Your orgasm builds like fire in your gut, coiling tighter

“Come for me like this”, he pants, “With your leg open, with my cock deep inside you”

You cry out, voice high and ruined as your body clenches around him, trembling and twitching while he holds you still. He fucks you through it with rough thrusts,  then slams in deep one last time and groans. Thick ropes spill into you as he buries his face in your neck.

You both breathe hard tangled in sweat and silk, your leg still cradled over his arm.

He kisses your shoulder.

“I bet he never touched you like that, Hyunjin whispers.

And he’s right.

Your body feels heavy, blissed out in the softest way and yet the tension in the room hasn’t broken. Because Hyunjin’s not done.

“You think I’m letting you leave without a few reminders?”, he murmurs, voice full of mischief 

You start to turn your head, but he pulls you back with a gentle kiss to your shoulder before trailing his lips up to your neck.

“He thought he could just throw you away”, he whispers, “Now he gets to see what it looks like when someone have you right”

And then he bites you. Not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to leave a mark. One sharp pull of teeth, followed by a wet kiss. You feel it already — the bruise blooming on your skin, just under your jaw, where it is guaranteed to be seen.

“One here”, Hyunjin says, his voice rasping against your neck, “One for every time he made you cry”

His mouth trails lower. Along your collarbone, over the swell of your breast.

He sucks another hickey there. You whimper as he drags his tongue over the sting.

You reach back blindly, fingers tangling in his hair, your body arching into him. He shifts slightly behind you, pulling out of you slowly, and you feel the heat of him dripping down your thigh. Filthy.

But he still doesn’t stop.

He kisses down your spine, his teeth scraping down your back till his mouth finds your inner thigh, where he licks and sucks until another bruise paints itself 

“One more”, he hums, “Right where only I’ll know it’s”

His tongue flicks over the fresh bruise. His hand squeezes your ass as he kisses back up.

“There”, he whispers, brushing a final kiss to the back of your neck, “Now you can go back out there”

You blink, dazed, “You want everyone to see?”

Hyunjin leans in, lips curling just beside your ear, “No, baby. I want him to see”

You get up and start looking for your dress while Hyunjin lies stretched out on the silk bed behind you, completely naked, glowing with sweat, his hair a mess. You’re sitting on the edge of the mattress, tugging the hem of your red dress back down over your body. Your heartbeat still hasn’t leveled out.

He watches you with heavy and possessive eyes as you slip your heels back on. The marks he left on your neck and collarbone are already darkening into bruises, barely hidden by the fabric of your dress. You don’t fix your hair to cover them.

You want them to show.

𔓶𑇓𝆬 ͙࿐𓈒ْ ㅤㅤ

You step out of the tent and find Chaeryeong immediately leaning against a tree, sipping from a pink drink, her phone in hand.

She looks up, pauses,  then lets out a dramatic gasp.

“YOU BITCH”, she shrieks, storming up to you,

“Is that a bite mark?! Oh my god, you little whore!”

“Shhhh”, you laugh, grabbing her arm, trying to contain her.

 “No, no, we are not going to be calm about this. Look at you! You’re glowing”

You grin, breathless. Still floating.

“It was good?”, she teases.

“It was… out of this world”

Chaeryeong pulls you aside into the crowd, “Okay, okay. Listen up. Hoseok saw you leave. And I think… wait. Yep. He’s looking”

You follow her gaze.

There he is— Jung Hoseok standing in the garden with a drink in hand, his jaw tight, eyes locked on you like you were an alien. The girl from earlier isn’t beside him anymore. And when his gaze drops to your neck— to the bruise Hyunjin left under your jaw— you see it.

The flicker of regret. The consuming jealousy. The realization that he lost that version of you.

You raise your drink in a silent toast.

Hoseok doesn’t move but his grip on the glass tightens.

And behind you, summoned by the force of your glow, Hyunjin slips through the crowd, shirt back on, hair still wild. He slides an arm around your waist from behind, resting his palm above the curve of your ass.

He doesn’t even look at Hoseok but he leans in, lips brushing your ear.

“How many do you think he can see from there?”

You bite your lip, “At least two”

Hyunjin hums, “Not enough”

“You’re impossible”

“And you’re marked, baby. By me. He can’t undo that”

Hyunjin’s hand settles lower on your back. His lips ghost against the shell of your ear, his breath warm, “Come with me”

You turn slightly, your body already leaning into his, “Where?”

“Somewhere nobody even knows”

Your breath catches.

You feel Hoseok’s eyes on you still but you don’t turn. You don’t give him that. You just let Hyunjin guide you, your hand sliding into his, your body already humming with the weight of his stare.

Chaeryeong watches you leave with a devilish little smirk, raising her glass like a proud best friend

“Text me when you’re alive again”, she calls after you.

You don’t answer, just smile over your shoulder as Hyunjin leads you away. Past the music, past the lights, past the people who wish they were either of you.

His fingers stay firm around yours the whole way, never letting go. 

Never looking back.

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Taglist: @hyyunjinnn , @jehhskz , @mbioooo0000 , @nightmarenyxx , @rozsdascsaptelep, @thatonegirlonhere , @notmedina127, @sweetlifeofjoy , @jeonginsleftcheek , @yelhsaa, @my-neurodivergent-world , @hyunles , @lexlikesbts , @imagine-all-the-imagines , @mysterysold , @teenagepeterpan , @hangonhyunjin , @yxna-bliss

[etherealrin]

꩜ .ᐟ blue.

summer 2006.

you know, you and satoru both do, that you're not supposed to be enjoying it this much. this whole beach trip in okinawa, all of this sightseeing—none of it was really for your pleasure nor enjoyment.

riko amanai looks at you thoughtfully. "something up?"

"nope! let's keep going!" you fake a smile, dragging her back towards the shoreline where the ocean was ravaging the sand.

"eek! it's cold!" the black haired girl cries, cringing at the sensation. you'd have to agree, squeezing her hand in reassurance.

out of the blue, you're both rudely splashed by a truckload of the frigid water.

"SATORU!" you exclaim, turning to stare at the white haired male, currently sniggering with glee. suguru stands next to him, an obvious accomplice by the sight of the huge dragon which had caused the wave.

"you'll never get us, losers!" the two boys had run too far along the seashore for you and riko to have any hope of catching—and even if you did, satoru would surely turn on his infinity.

not that he'd turned it off since leaving riko's school. you can sense it in his eyes, how they're just a little bit duller. he must be dead exhausted underneath that facade, you know it.

his gaze catches yours, and as if by fate's intention, suguru and riko are called away by kuroi, leaving the two of you alone. you walk to him, sand shuffling under bare toes. satoru is oddly quiet, eyes never leaving you for even a second.

"you gonna stop staring? it's a bit awkward for me, y'know?" you lightly punch his arm when you finally reach him, sighing.

"it's weird, isn't it? to feel this normal. gives me a bad premonition, actually." his fingers are fidgeting at nothing in the air, now looking up at the blueness of the sky.

you're standing shoulder to shoulder but it feels like there's an impossible distance between you two. he seems distant, lost in the world of his own thoughts somewhere far away.

"what are you thinking about?" you question softly. "i know you might believe you have to handle everything by yourself, because you're the strongest or whatever, but that's just your superiority complex talking." that gets a chuckle out of him. but he still doesn't feel like the satoru you know.

"what i'm thinking about, huh?" he falters, pale hair ruffled by the salty breeze of air. you swear you can hear both his and your heartbeats, drumming in sync. "i'm thinking—well, imagining, that we fell in love on a day just like this, by the ocean."

when the words leave his lips, you suddenly see it. everything he imagines, you want to believe so badly.

"is that what you wish for? that we were regular humans?"

"sometimes." it's a confession from the strongest. "but mostly no. i'd hate to be weak," he feigns disgust in an attempt to joke.

you can't stop the smile from spreading across your face, reaching both hands out to capture one of his. satoru stiffens immediately, impossibly blue eyes widening.

so he did turn off his infinity for you.

"it's alright. like you said, you're the strongest, right?"

the glimmer of the ocean's waves reflect across his face, painting him aquamarine. the moment is so blue, in both emotion and color.

if you could have said it then, you would have told him instead that he could leave his heart with you. you'd keep it safe for him, and your love wouldn't ever falter. that the universe would always bring you two back together.

but you don't. you can't, knowing that if something ever happened to the either of you it would only hurt even more.

instead, you allow him to rest his head against you, quietly praying to a higher power that everything would be okay, listening to the soft splashes of the water.

a/n: this is the beach scene in hidden inventory yes! gojo art is by @ shachi0515 on yt!

ılılılılılılı now playing: blue by yung kai, blue by keshi (do we sense a theme here?)

masterlist. can be read as a continuation of this fic!

[zevrra]

Oh, Teacher —ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

✩𝐬𝐲𝐧: you’ve been failing to pay attention in class & your grades are starting to slip…no worries, your professor has offered to help you. (ft. coach toji.)

✩𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬: smüt, pw/op, plot if you squint, modern au, teacher au, multi-paragraphs, CONSENSUAL!!, everything is consensual, age-gap, fem!reader, reader is 21(+), other characters involved are in their early 30s, except toji he's in his late 30s, established relationships, fem giving öral, v penetration, punishment, cöckwarming, dirty talk, spänking, strict discipline, light chöking, deep throat, hair pulling, degradation, praise, däcrycilia, sir kïnk, mention of gagging, bd/sm themes, blindfold, pain inflicted, böndage.

✩𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: find more of my jjk works here <3

✩𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚: lowkey didn’t proofread this so forgive me for mistakes jshsjxh but i may or may not turn this into a mini hookup series hmm…anyway, likes and reblogs are appreciated! ♡

𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 !!

"professor..." you softly whine as your hips wiggle, seeking for any kind of friction you can get.

you’ve been bent over mr. gojo’s desk, skirt flipped up, while his fingers run circles along the back of your thigh, for a little longer than you would’ve liked. you had shamefully been caught slipping on your grades and while you thought your professor offering to tutor you would be a great idea, you did not think he would…punish you during your study session.

“nope, no moving. answer the question.” satoru says as his free hand grabs your hip and forces you down against his desk. demanding you to focus on your studies while he got to enjoy the show. his fingers worked on fingering your pussy ever so slowly. he wanted to edge you, give you no real satisfaction until you answered his question correctly.

you bite back a groan, barking out the answer to his question and praying it’s right. thankfully, it is. which means you get a small reward. gojo licks his lips from his position above you as his hand slips from your waist to mess with the buckle on his belt. “good. next question.” he instructs as you simply listen to his belt slide across the pants he wears. before hearing it clatter against the floor you barely manage to touch with the tips of your toes.

you tremble beneath his gaze and touch. the press of his cock head against your already drooling pussy had you moaning in anticipation. eagerly now with the thought of him fucking you, you stutter an answer out as quickly as you can. “good.” you hear him sigh sweetly behind you before he slams deep inside of you, hips connecting with your ass in one fell swoop. the motion forces you up further onto his desk, your fingernails dig into the oak wood as you gasp for air at the sudden intrusion. a broken cry falls from your lips as his cock buries deep inside of you.

now you so badly want him to move. feel the burn and the stretch of his thick cock inside of you. fuckfuckfuck, you needed him to move. tears spring into your eyes as you whimper and try to move your hips back against him, begging him with no words to fuck you. but once again his hands find your hips and firmly pin you to his desk as he stays still.

“nuh uh, no squirming. you’re gonna answer every question with my cock inside of you until you get every. single. one. right.” satoru’s states with a colder tone than his usual cheerful voice, making a promise of what’s to come.

what feels like hours later of edging and sitting still on his cock, answering these stupid ass questions, every inch of your lower half is starting to feel swollen and entirely full. your hands and knees are entirely too weak so you lay flat, limp against his desk; while his hands continue to hold your hips tightly. solely to keep your bodies connected but not allowing you to move and seek the pleasure you want so badly.

and you swear at some point you’ll end up cross eyed and drooling from him just sitting, unmoving inside of you. you don’t know why or how but your entire body is far more sensitive than usual. far needier and hungrier than ever before. it had to be something about sitting on his cock, stiff and under his total control, that made your entire body so reactive to the point you could feel your pussy drip with slick between your thighs.

“answer right now or i’m pulling out and going home.” satoru threatens with a snarl, ripping you out of your dazed state. you gasp at the harsh words your lover speaks. he had never been this harsh with you before…and why did you like it so much

you’re thankful this is the last question, anymore and you might not be able to stay sane. you don’t want him to leave though so you pathetically stutter out any answer that comes to your head. while he doesn’t answer you, you can feel the drag of his cock as it begins to leave your core; a wrong answer. you scramble, tears falling across your cheeks, nails dig into the wood even more as you try your best to keep him inside. “n-no! no wait please i’m! nooo no, it’s!” you beg while you whimper the correct answer to his question.

he stops, stilling himself with half of his cock still inside your drooling pussy, as a hand reaches down to spread your lips even further. “pathetic. your pussy is sucking on me so much. can’t live without my cock can you? you’d be so stupid without it wouldn’t you?” gojo laughs, watching your slick drip from around his shaft. his hand finally moves from his bruising grip on your hip to grab a hand full of the back of your hair, tilting your head back and forcing you once more to focus on him. “now, my good little girl, the study guide needs some work. get these last few questions right and I’ll finally give you a reward.”

a whiney, breathless moan breaks from your lips but you smile at the thought of finally having satoru fuck your puffy, achy pussy. “yesh…professor.” you giggle, drunk on lust and wanting nothing more than the man inside of you to remind you why he was the one in charge.

𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨 !!

you had not studied for this damn test one bit. having been preoccupied with literally anything else going on in your busy life, not to mention seeing professor nanami in a more…mature setting, it was hard to even think about studying.

so the day of the test, you wear an outfit you know he loves. a cream colored, off the shoulder sweater, paired with a cotton beige skirt. thigh high white leg warmers to match your top with pretty doll like black shoes. for an added touch you wear the earrings he had secretly gotten you as a gift along with an exquisite perfume that you knew he loved as well. a sweet but classy smell, vanilla and bourbon. hoping that all of this may get you an easy a.

and from the moment you walk into the lecture hall, nanami’s gaze finds you immediately. you know he stares at you as you walk to your usual seat, somewhere in the middle of the room, all the while his eyes never leave you. you make sure to tease him just a little more by bending over and fixing your rolled up leg warmer. once you settle into your seat, laptop set up, you finally bring your gaze to him, flashing an “innocent” smile at your lover. who has to rip his gaze away from you as class begins.

the entirety of class he ignores your general direction. orders for everyone to go to the correct website link for the test as he hides behind his podium the entire time. throughout the test you made sure to look over at him when you knew he was glancing at you for another little taste. making sure to catch his gaze, shifting your legs and squeezing your thighs together while he watched you until his neck flushed red and he had to busy himself with other work. and while you did attempt to try on the test, even knowing you’re more or less likely going to get a failing grade, you knew your little plan was working as well.

after you turn in your test, you busy yourself with some other homework, continuing your little cat and mouse game with your teacher before class finally drags to an end. at the end of the few hours he dismisses everyone but you. you watch everyone else leave, waving goodbye to a few friends and telling them you’d meet up later, before making your way into your professor’s office where he waits.

“you’re playing dirty. why.” nanami demands as he shuts and locks the door behind you. circling you like a man in heat as he rolls his sleeves up onto his forearms.

“i forgot to study,” you admit truthfully, moving to sit on top of his desk just as he moves to stand before you. “i’ll do anything you want just…give me the good grade baby.” you mutter as you grab ahold of his tie and twirl it between your fingers.

his arms stay crossed over his chest, irritated by you forgetting to study but the promise of doing whatever he wanted had his interests peaked. especially as his hazel eyes rake over your outfit and your body, staring a little too long at your shoulders and the gap between where your skirt lays and your stockings sit. to persuade him a little further you yank against his tie, forcing him to lay his palms out flat against his desk on either sides of your thighs. “pretty please professor?” you mumble sweetly as he gets closer to you. where he can definitely smell the sweet vanilla bourbon on your skin.

you could practically see the gears whirring in overtime in his head. but ultimately, your plan wins, and he sighs a heavy sigh. “fine.” he says as one of his hands move to settle on your thigh, slowly pushing up beneath your skirt. “but don’t get too excited. i’m punishing you for forgetting to study too.” he adds as his other hand moves to begin to undo his tie.

honestly you didn’t think he was serious when he said he would punish you but here you were now, bent over his desk with his tie being used as a makeshift blindfold while his belt keeps your hands tied behind your back. nanami has stripped you of your shoes and skirt; leaving you in just your stockings, pretty underwear, and your top.

you moan as nanami’s fingers rubs up against your wet core, slides his fingers easily against the fabric of your panties. “keep your voice down or i’m shoving these into your mouth.” kento instructs and you bite your bottom lip in return as his fingers hook around the edge of your underwear and he yanks them down to your ankles.

he runs both hands up from the back of your calves and thighs, grabbing your ass and giving it a firm squeeze. before unexpectedly, nanami with his bare hand smacks against your ass; not hard but not very soft either as he tests the waters. you gasp harshly, body tensing under the spank. and while you may not be able to see your eyes still widen under your blindfold.

“repeat after me,” kento states, with another smack to your ass, in a tone you’re unfamiliar with but nonetheless it turns you on. can feel your pussy beginning to drool. “i will study for my tests.”

you grunt at the tingling pain spreading across your skin. “i will…” you begin, another smack to your plump cheeks, the pain and pleasure making your toes and body jerk. your breathing becoming ragged in just a few short seconds. “study for my…tests.” you finish.

satisfied with your words, kento moves his hand to your now soaking core, pressing a single finger inside. he slowly starts to finger you now. pressing another finger inside with a slight curl to both, making you shudder and gasp once again, before he removes his fingers altogether. another smack to your ass has you jolting, fighting against your bounds. “again. say it again.”

you repeat his words again, smack, repeats, fingers inside, repeat, smack. like clockwork he edges and spanks you for what feels like forever. you can’t see him but you somehow know he’s lovingly staring at the red blooming across your skin, turning him on even more. his thumb pulls your skin taunt, showing him more of your leaking cunt and how it drools even with just a little pain and pleasure. he wants to fuck you so bad but no— this was your punishment and he’d make sure to teach you a lesson.

you’re getting too loud and whiney for him now though so he does as he promises; your panties are stuffed into your mouth to keep you quiet. you groan around the cloth while nanami adjusts you against his desk, preparing for his next move. he places a single kiss against the curve of your back before his fingers plunge into your pussy again, giving you new instructs; “you’re not allowed to cum, not until i say otherwise, understood darling?”

another moan is stifled in your mouth but you nod in agreement. willing yourself to not come until he says so, so that maybe you can get a reward for being such a good girl.

𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮 !!

he never wore a damn tie let alone a suit. how the hell were you supposed to focus on some silly little quiz when professor geto so confidently strutted around in the sexiest goddamn suit you’ve ever seen him in?

you had miserably bombed the quiz, even knew you were going to before he instructed everyone in the class to pick up their graded papers. and when he stopped you at his desk, a slight disappointed look on his handsome face, telling you to stay after class today, you knew you were in for some trouble.

after class, you find yourself following him into his office. thankfully, tucked away and out of view from any prying eyes. while his hands and kisses against your bare shoulders are gentle, his words and plans for you in the moment was anything but.

“you’re such a filthy slut. can’t focus on anything else when that pretty mind of yours thinks about my cock, huh?” your teacher muses, taking off his reading glasses and setting them on the desk before you. “failing the quiz today tsk tsk. can’t have that happening anymore so i’m going to teach you a lesson, ok princess?” geto mumbles against your shoulder now as his fingers work on tying the red bamboo rope around your wrist. tying you down to his large office chair with your legs spread wide open for him. securing you entirely and giving you not a single inch of wiggle room. he had previously stripped you of everything but the panties you wore, the pretty ones he had bought for you, exposing you in every way he could.

you nod sheepishly as he places a kiss against your temple. reminding you that he’s doing most of this out of pleasure and love but also that you needed a reminder of what came first, your studies.

you watch as suguru then pulls out a small vibrator and tapes it right up against your clit before stepping back to admire his work. you swallow as his eyes devour you oh so hungrily before he retrieves an old fashioned wooden ruler from his desk before turning to lean against said desk, gently tapping the wood against his palm. "this is how it will go. for every 3 questions you get right, i'll remove a single piece of clothing. but for every wrong question, well," geto hums as he twirls the ruler between his fingers. "now, let's get started."

you don’t know how long you’ve sat tied to his damn office chair, sitting in your own slick with the reddest of thighs while your professor stood before you in just his slacks and long sleeved shirt now. it felt like an eternity being at his whim while he stood all with a smile as he leaned against his desk. “you gonna fuckin’ answer me pretty girl?” he asks, ruler tapping against his fingertips.

you stare up at him with wet eyes, body trembling from the pain and the pure pleasure you were feeling. the vibrator on your pussy barely gives you any sort of satisfaction on the lowest setting. it was just enough to make you uncomfortable and needy all in the same breath. “mphm! uh, it’s this right?” you ask, entirely unsure of yourself.

the blunt side of the ruler slaps against your thigh with a good amount of weight behind it. wrong answer.

you can’t help but throw your head back as pain jolts along your entire thigh but your pussy drools in response. whimper after whimper leaks from your lips as you listen to your professor chuckle softly.

“one more wrong answer and i’m putting my jacket back on.” geto hums as his purple gaze stares down at you. you can’t hold back a harsh moan as the tip of his ruler pushes against the vibrator against your clit, giving you just the slightest bit of satisfaction to your aching cunt. “disgusting. you’re enjoying this too much ya know? you’re soaking through my damn chair.” he adds with a dark chuckle before leaning back away from you.

“s-sorry professor geto…” you whimper as you come down from your pain/pleasure filled jolt. shivering under his gaze but you manage to give him a different answer, this time it’s correct. thankfully you watch now as geto begins to take off his white dress shirt, watching as he unbuttons every button as slow as he fucking can to further tease you.

when he finally sheds his shirt and drops it on top of his desk, revealing his fairly toned, tattooed body, you groan at the sight. you wanted, no needed him so badly now. and could he really blame you for not being able to think straight when he looked so fucking good? looked better than any man you’ve ever seen before! how could you not be distracted by him and the thought of him fucking you every time you saw him?

he takes two small steps before he's standing just inches from you. his free hand smooths against your hair before he's gathering up a fist full of it between his fingers, gripping your hair hard enough to rip your head back. he smiles all too sweet down at you as the ruler he holds in his other hand presses against the line of your jaw. "finish the rest of the quiz with all right answers and i'll give you what thay pathetic pussy of yours wants." suguru hums with a soft smile.

hearts in your eyes, you nod all too eagerly to your lover. mouth threatening to drool just like the way your pussy between yours thighs does with the promise of what's to come next. and god, even with the pain you couldn't fucking wait.

𝐭𝐨𝐣𝐢 !!

"you've been too stiff and unfocused recently. what's gotten into ya?" your coach asks with a deep frown. standing before you with his thick arms crossed over his even thicker chest.

you pout, eyes peering up at him through pretty lashes as you sit inside his office. how the hell were you supposed to tell him the reason you had been so distracted recently during practices was because you couldn't stop thinking about him. thinking about his strong hands on your thighs or his lips kissing down your tummy before sucking on your clit with your fingers in his hair. or the thought of him cradling your head with the crook of his arm, bicep flexing against your throat as he thrusts into your core with what you assume has to be the biggest dicks you've ever had before.

no way, you couldn't tell him.

coach toji clears his throat, ripping you out of the thoughts you've been struggling with for what feels like weeks now. "uh...sorry coach, i'm not sure..." you lie as you fidget with the hem of your athletic shorts, praying he couldn’t tell that you were lying through your damn teeth.

yet green eyes stare down at you, staring straight through your lie, before toji sighs and moves to his office door. where he closes it, locks it with an echoing click, and draws the curtains closed so no one can see inside.

when toji returns to your side, you expect him to disappointingly scold you for your absent mind, instead a strong hand grabs hold of your shoulder before smoothing against the back of your neck; where his fingers ever so gently squeeze. "you need a little help loosening up?" toji hums with a devious tone to his voice.

but his words only help in stilling you even more, further stiffening your body under his touch. wait, what? were you day-dreaming again? or were you having some depraved wet dream? did your coach just imply what you think he was implying?

"i see the way you look at me brat," your coach huffs with a villainous smirk as his thumbs hooks under your jaw and forces you to look up at him. "lying to me like you're not thinking about me fucking that wet cunt of yours, yeah? seems like someone needs to be punished."

yep. definitely a dream.

your head spins at his words, forcing you to suck in a dizzying breath while his thumb smears over your partially opened lips. “planning to lie anymore?” toji asks with a tilt to his head.

you scan his face, trying to figure out if this really was a dream or some sick fucking prank you would shamelessly never let down. but nope…he’s dead serious. waiting for you to answer him. “n-no coach—“ you begin but he cuts you off, pressing his thumb roughly against your bottom lip as his giant hand grabs ahold of your jaw to stop you from speaking.

“sir.” he instructs with a dangerous glint to his eyes. “not coach. it’s sir. understood?” he adds before his hand slips away from your lips just a little, allowing you the chance to speak once again.

“yes…sir.” you mutter with a dazed look.

your answer pleases him as he brushes his hand gently over your face now. thumb returning to pluck at your bottom lip and he pulls it ever so slightly, smiling down at you. “now let’s use that pretty little mouth of yours for some good.”

no fucking way this was happening right now. your mind ran a mile a minute as you kneel before toji, hands tied to your ankles, bound behind your back with some rope he managed to find inside his office. kneeling at perfect height to line right up at his waist where you watch as he pridefully yanks down the gray sweatpants he wears. and you were right. staring you in the face was the biggest cock you’ve ever seen. all those sleepless nights and day dreams about him proved to be somewhat useful. yet you gulp at the sight now, truly worried how painful he was going to be and it certainly had you a little nervous.

toji must notice your hesitation for he laughs at your gasping right as he lifts his hand and spits into it. using his spit to stroke across the thick of his shaft, beginning to wet his cock. after a few strokes he holds his fingers out to you and without saying a word presses them into your mouth. you grunt at the intrusion of thick fingers but do your best to suck on them. getting just a small taste as to what’s to come and it made your pussy throb. just as you’re enjoying sucking on his slick fingers he retrieves them and steps up close to you. grabbing the base of his cock and using the head to slap against your wet mouth.

“not gonna stop even if you cry.” toji promises before his hips snap forward and more than half of his cock disappears into your mouth.

you gag as his cock spears into your mouth. tears immediately spring into the corners of your eyes as you basically choke on his shaft. your body tenses and jerks, hands flexing against your bounds to try and wiggle free but it does nothing but push you further down onto his shaft. you struggle to breathe through your nose but toji is anything but gentle as you try and adjust to his girth. he grabs a handful of your hair and forces you to swallow him all the way down to the base of his cock. your nose is pressed against his abdomen and with your hands bound; you’re at his total mercy.

tears finally break free and stream down your cheeks as you choke on toji’s cock. spit bubbles up at the corners of your mouth as you gag around his base while the rest of his cock sits in the back of your throat. you whimper with your mouth entirely full but you'd be lying if you said you didn't fucking love this. his taste, his smell, the hand gripping your hair, his dark gaze staring down at you as he stuffs your mouth full, every sensation made your pussy drip.

toji notices your eyes roll back up into your head for he slowly pulls you off of his cock to allow you to breathe for a moment. your lips are already slightly puffy and your jaw is already beginning to ache but toji looks at you with a pretty glint to his eyes and you know you’re gonna give your everything to the man. “you’re doing so good, doll. ready for more?” he asks, tapping the tip of his cock on your lips once again.

you smile wickedly up at him, biting your bottom lip ever so slightly before nodding, sticking the tip of your tongue out and giving his head a lick. “mhm…yes sir.”

[the-kr8tor]

Arrowroot + ❣️ : Jason Todd with reader who’s been a spy for as long as they can remember and he can never hide anything from them, so he enlists the whole family’s help to set up a proposal pls :3

JASON PROPOSING QIZNKWNXKWNXJ Thank you for the req! I hope you like it bestie ❤️

Pairing: Jason Todd x fem! Reader/ Red Hood x fem! Reader

Word count: 2k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, Spy! Reader, established relationship, cw food mentions, lovestruck! Jason, fluff!

One year celebration 🎉

Navigation

You're attuned to little things, such as a simple change in temperature, the number of people inside a cafe or even eyes on you. You're used to it because of your profession. If you weren't then it could spell your death, or worse, capture. But the only person who can slip past through your honed radar is Jason Todd. Granted that he's your one weakness, him and a good matcha cake. So when you wake up to those glowing green eyes you love, his silhouette the only thing you can make out in your sleepy state and within the dark room, your senses don't blare for you to take up arms and shoot. No, instead of flinging a blade at the handsome boogeyman, you open your arms tiredly for him.

“Hey, Jaybird.” You croak out, eyes half lidded as you make grabby hands at him.

“A deadly spy making baby hands, and here I thought I've seen everything.” Chuckling, Jason walks into the slip of sunlight from the blackout curtains, revealing his handsome self to you in all his glory as he carries a tray of breakfast. His green eyes smile at you, head tilted whilst his dark hair is still tousled from sleep.

“Savour this moment, I'm only like this in the morning.” Grinning up at him, he mirrors your smile as he clicks the bedside lamp open. He's still in his boxers, bare chest almost blinding you from how the light reflects upon him. Like a moth to a flame, you poke his stomach. “Morning to you too, JJ.”

“Stop naming my body parts, babe.” He shakes his head, chortling at your shenanigans. Scooching close, he sits beside your hip as he places the tray of food on your lap.

“Can't help it when it looked at me first.” Joking, your eyes catch the spread. A plate of heaping waffles, crisp at the edges just like how you like it and with all the fixings that comes with it. A glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, and a bowl of fruit.

If it was a special day you wouldn't have second guessed what it's for. You could chalk it up to Jason being a classic romantic, but you remember that he got home late last night from patrol and would be too tired to squeeze out a handful of oranges just for you. Well he has done that before, but the way he looks at you, emerald eyes peeking through his lashes, lips casted into a small yet soft smile, you have a feeling what it's for. Especially when you accidentally found the ring tucked inside his sock drawer. It could be a proposal, years of loving each other all culminating to this day. Your heart soars at the conclusion, and you couldn't help the giddy smile to appear on your expression.

“I knew that I should've made pancakes instead.” His head tucks above his shoulder, lips pressed into a nervous smile.

You'll bet good money that the ring is in-between the waffles.

“No, I love it, Jason.” You reach for his cheek, thumb brushing along his skin to placate him. “I was just wondering what this is all for.”

Jason's face turns flat within a half second, brows knitted together as he frowns. “It's our anniversary.”

You raise a brow, slowly a smile spreads across your cheeks as well as his. The chorus of guffaws echoes in the shared room until he cups your face, reaching over the tray to press a brief kiss atop your smile. “I didn't even get you even for a little bit, hm?”

Shaking your head, you chase his lips, kissing him with a resounding smack. “Nope, I know what day it is, Jay, and it's definitely not our anniversary.”

“I thought I'd get you this time.” He lets your face go, picking up the syrup bottle and squeezing it all over the waffles just like how you like it.

“You're the only person who falls for that.” Smiling, you take the fork he offers to you. This is it, once you cut into that waffle you're going to get the prettiest ring ever, albeit sticky from syrup.

“What are you waiting for?” Eyes twinkling with mirth, the lilt in his tone doesn't fly by over your head.

“Nothing, just admiring your cooking.” You say in a sing song tone before cutting into the waffle right in the middle. As you lift the fork up, it reveals— nothing. Absolutely empty except for another waffle. You blink at your plate, taking a generous bite before Jason notices.

“How’d I do?”

“Good.” Nodding, you cut into another waffle, then another and another until you could only see the end of the plate. “It's really good.” It's not a lie, the waffles taste amazing like always, but you can't help but try to find the sparkly ring in between them.

“Yeah?” Jason lies down on his side, beaming at you as he watches you eat. His cheek rests on his fist, arm perched on the bed as he casually lays down on the quilted blanket. “You sure? Because you were slashing into it like it owed you money.”

“Oh I just thought that there's some whipped cream in the middle.” The other perk of your job is that you're quick in making excuses just like how you're quick on your feet when push comes to shove. But you don't need to run away from your fiancé to be as he looks at you expectantly.

“D’you want some whipped cream? I can grab it from the fridge?”

“No, it's fine.” You take his hand before he could stand up, patting him lovingly as he settles back down. He's definitely up to something. “Stay with me and have some of this, I can't eat all of it, babe.” As you bring the fork to his mouth, the two of you have a staredown. It reminds you of all the times you spot a fellow spy out in the field, but this time, you're starting to think that he knows that you know of his plan.

Jason chews as you scrunch your nose at him with a loving smile. That goes on for what seems to be hours, you feed him from your fork, while you sneakily scoop through the fruit but find nothing but fresh slices of mango and melon. And with every sip of the orange juice, you ready yourself lest you choke on the ring, but alas, you're left with a full bladder as you finish the whole glass.

“Trying to find something?”

Your head whips towards him, not even hiding the expectation any longer as you stare at him like he caught your hand inside the cookie jar.

“No,” you calmly say, politely straightening up your utensils on the plate. “why, should I be looking for something?”

Jason tilts his head back slightly whilst shrugging. “Not really.”

He knows. This fucker (affectionate) knows. And he's clearly playing with you and your unquestionable senses and perception.

“You know, babe,” you bat your lashes at him. “You never answered my question.”

“What question?” Oh he's challenging you. Sometimes you forget that he's also good at reading people because his usual sweetness and kindness towards you makes you forget. That and his kisses.

“Why you made me breakfast in bed?” Poking his pec, he catches your finger and splays your palm over his heart as he smiles at you innocently.

“Oh that, I just wanted to.” His index runs along the inside of your wrist, dancing along your skin until he reaches your elbow, cupping it gently as he traces small circles around it. “You've been working too hard, y’know, I just wanted to make you something nice.”

Why were you asking him again?

Your heart swells, “thank you, Jaybird.” Moving the tray beside you to have more space, you fold yourself to kiss him. The sweet syrup on his lips jolts you awake, but his hand on your back as he moves away your sleep shirt to feel your skin makes you fall back into forgetfulness. As you lean away, you peck the tip of his nose while he sighs affectionately. “I want to stay in bed with you, can we?” You say, almost a whine as he holds you close.

“We both have shit to do today, babe.” Jason looks at you through his puppy dog eyes. “I have that thing with Bruce and you—”

“Have debriefing.” You finish the sentence for him, head falling right atop his shoulder with a groan. “You can't expect me to just get dressed and leave when you made me breakfast in bed.” Your words are muffled by the crook of his neck.

Chuckling, he kneads at your back, comforting you with his warmth. “Well, you don't have to do the first one for at least another hour.”

Leaning away, you see the familiar glint in his eyes. You don't even say anything as you smirk and abruptly push him further into the plush bed.

—

Jason opens the car door for you as you get inside. He perches his arms over the window, gazing at you fondly. “You've got your water bottle?”

“Yep.” You sigh like a lovelorn schoolgirl about to move school away from her crush when it's just you going to work for the day. “You've got your keys?”

He dangles the carabiner of keys in his fingers. “Got them. You got your wallet?”

You scoff with a smile. “‘course, you've got my kiss?”

“Ah, shit, I think it's still in the house.”

“Well go get it then!” Giggling, he takes your face gently through the window and kisses you softly. “I see that you've found it.”

“I did, or maybe I need to look for it some more.” Moving back to kiss you again until you're a giggling mess, he pecks you once, twice, thrice before finally leaning away. “Keep safe, okay?”

“Always, Jason. Don't get shot.” You rub his freshly shaven chin as he fully leaves the side of the car.

“I won't. Don't forget, dinner at Bruce’s.” He taps your car as you put on your seatbelt and put it in reverse.

“As long as Alfred's cooking!” You call out before driving away.

Jason grins at the spot that you just left, hands tucked inside his leather jacket as he feels for the small velvet box inside. He might've not gotten you with the anniversary prank but he properly planted the red herring. Now you won't be any wiser when he proposes later at dinner when you'd expect a simple family dinner but not what he's planing— or what his family helped him plan. It's genius really. How to dupe a spy, and he thought it wouldn't be possible. But thanks to everyone's heads put together, including the world's greatest detective’s mind, this could work.

His phone rings, and Dick’s caller ID pops up. “Yeah?”

“Did it work?” He asks excitedly, too excitedly in fact.

“I'm surprised it did. Barbara was right, she sniffed it out immediately.” Jason chuckles as he leans against his motorcycle. A round of cheers echoes through the receiver, and Jason blinks at the sounds. “Am I on speaker?”

“Yeah! Everyone was on the edge of their seats waiting for your call, man. So she's not at all suspicious?”

“Not anymore.” He hopes, he really wants to surprise you just once. But that's hard enough when you're always anticipating everything.

“Listen, we cleaned up the gazebo and Alfred's going nuts in the kitchen. We just need to carry all the furniture in there and fix up the lights.”

Jason's fists clenches and unclenches, trying to ebb out the nerves. “Yeah, sounds good, thanks.”

“Just thanks?” Dick scoffs, and he hears a round of groans in the background. “You owe us, man, don't you dare elope without us being there.”

“That defeats the purpose of elopement.”

“Fine, guys, wreck the gazebo—!”

“I'm joking! She'd want to have everyone there.” Jason rolls his eyes and he swears his brother saw it from the click of his tongue.

“If she says yes!” Damien calls out, and he hears Barbara scold him.

“I'm going there now, don't start without me.”

As he puts on his helmet and races off to the manor, he feels the comforting warmth in his chest along with the sizzling nerves slithering in his arms. He just hopes that you don't immediately figure out the plan the second you enter the manor and it's just him and you inside.

[snowballseal]

Them as supernatural creatures (LaDS)

Summary: This is my take on what supernatural creature each guy would be. They're pretty long, and either a fic where reader discovers what they are or a domestic moment they share together.

Rafayel - kitsune

Zayne - vampire

Xavier - guardian angel

Sylus - demon

Word Count: all roughly 1500 words

Note: These honestly came out soooo much longer than I expected. I might add a fic for Caleb, cause honestly, I'm really warming up to him. What supernatural creature should he be?

I'll probably come back and edit later, so let me know if you catch any mistakes!

---

Rafayel / Kitsune

“Rafayel…” You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“What?! They deserved it,” Rafayel defends himself as he flops down onto the couch. 

“That doesn’t mean you can screw with people whenever you want,” you chastise softly and sit next to him, “You’re supposed to keep your identity a secret.”

Rafayel gives you a pout. Letting out a dramatic huff, he falls over into your lap, stretching out lazily instead of giving you any kind of response. You bite back a laugh, his weight pressing you into the couch, effectively trapping you as he makes himself comfortable. It takes everything in you to not give in to his usual cute tactics, the concern gripping your chest not quite letting go.

“Seriously, Raffie, it could be dangerous,” you continue, worry seeping into your voice.

“It’s fiiine,” he sighs, ocean eyes glinting up at you with amusement, “You worry too much, cutie. You wouldn’t even know if I hadn’t told you.”

“Still-”

“Nope, no more worrying,” he cuts you off quickly, reaching up to pinch both your cheek with a teasing, cheshire grin, “Miss Bodyguard is off duty now. This spirit wants his girlfriend to cuddle with him.”

Swatting at his hands, you can feel a blush creeping up your neck. Sometimes it still surprises you how care-free he is, like nothing could ever touch him. Which maybe he’s right. And you know he’s never going to stop his antics. Still, you worry. It’s a part of your nature, wanting to protect people, especially the ones you love, especially him.

But Rafayel is persistent, coaxing you to relax with playful touches and banter. He knows exactly how to unwind you, and how to rile you up, every button, every nerve. You feel almost powerless to resist, to hold onto your lingering doubts. And it’s not even his powers, it’s just Rafayel, your Rafayel.

And of course you give in. With a weak sigh, you settle into the couch, your fingers finding their way into his curls to calm what’s left of your frazzled nerves. Rafayel hums, low and content, his eyes flickering shut as he arches up into your touch like a cat.

“Do you want to stop hiding your ears?” You ask quietly, something warm and tender winding through your ribs.

Rafayel lets out another low rumble, eyes opening a fraction to look up at you suspiciously, “You know, sometimes I wonder if you like my ears more than you like me. That wouldn’t be true, now would it, cutie?”

“Of course not,” you tease, ruffling his hair, “I just want you to be comfortable.”

“Mhm, sure.” A small smirk pulls at the corner of his lips, because of course he knows that you do truly love him for him, but the fox does love his games.

It’s almost unnoticeable, the way he dismisses his transformation magic. Every time you can’t help but watch, fully enraptured by the change. A pair of soft ears flicker up from his hair, as if they were simply hiding in his curls the whole time. And his tails. You blink, and suddenly they appear, fluffy and plush, the same color as his hair. They curl around you, as if seeking out your warmth, the same way Rafayel turns to nuzzle into your stomach. The spirit gives a happy rumble when you rub his ears, pressing impossibly closer.

“You have no idea how irritating it is to hide them all the time.” His voice comes out  muffled by your sweater, his ears flicking back before pressing to your fingers again. “I imagine it’s how you humans feel when you wear itchy clothes.”

“That doesn’t sound fun,” you agree, “I’m glad you don’t have to hide them around me anymore.”

“You’re the first human I’ve allowed to see my true form in a long time, ya know.”

Your heart flutters a little at that. It’s a fact you’re well aware of, and one you try to never take for granted. It had taken a long time for Rafayel to share this with you. 

Ever since you met in the park, you knew something was different about him. He was beautiful, after all. More beautiful than you thought a person could be. And there was always something about his smile, something that set you on edge but also drew you in. The mischievous glint in his eyes never wavering, the almost unnatural grace he moves with, even the way he talks, as if he remembers times long gone by.

It all clicked when he finally told you. When he showed you his true form. A fox spirit. Everything made complete sense, but also no sense at all in that moment. First, you couldn’t comprehend it. Wanderers, yes, those you could wrap your head around. Mystical fox spirits? No. No, that took a few days to really settle in.

Still, it was Rafayel. It was always Rafayel. And the moment he came to you after those few days of distance, tentative and quiet in a way you had never witnessed from the artist, you made your decision. 

A life without him wasn’t possible. Not for you. Not with how you had fallen in love with him.

“So, tell me again why you tricked those guys into thinking a bear was chasing them?” You ask, tone fond as you continue to rub the soft fur on his ears.

Rafayel huffs, rolling on his back to meet your gaze more easily. The swirling colors of his eyes gleam with that familiar mischief, his canines flashing sharply in a dangerous grin, “They were hunting for sport, so I showed them what it’s like to be hunted.”

He really is scary sometimes, you think to yourself, biting back a smile.

“I’m sure they’ll think twice about hunting in your woods again.”

“They better,” he snips, “If I catch them again I’ll send a real bear after them.”

“I’m sure the forest thinks you’re quite a good guardian, mister fox spirit,” you tease, ruffling his hair fondly.

Rafayel suddenly shifts, and in the blink of an eye he’s leaning over you, his arms braced against the couch on either side of your head. You freeze, eyes going wide as you look up at him, pulse racing in your ears. The fox spirit leans down, nose brushing yours, that same dangerous smile pulling at his lips.

“And what do you think, miss hunter?” He asks, breath warm against your lips.

A lump forms in your throat, making it hard to speak, to even breathe with him this close. And Rafayel can tell, his eyes narrowing with amusement. He lifts one hand, fingers tracing delicately along your cheek so you feel the faint edge of his claws.

“What? Fox got your tongue?” He all but taunts, leaning closer. His eyes slowly trail down to your lips, his grin widening. “I could show you what that really feels like if you want.”

…

Heat flares across your cheeks. You gape at him, shock mixing with embarrassment mixing with something you don’t want to admit to. Did he just say what you think he did?

Rafayel keeps his cool facade for only a few more seconds before he cracks, bursting into a fit of laughter. You stare at him, blinking wildly, brain slowly catching up with it all. And then you’re shoving him.

“Rafayel!” You squeak, and he only laughs harder, which in turn, makes you more flustered. “You’re such a- I can’t believe you! God, you’re insufferable.”

The artist catches your hands when you go to hit him again, his ocean eyes crinkling along the edges. Snickering softly, he leans down, pressing a kiss to your angry pout.

“Sorry, my bride,” he hums unapologetically against your lips, pressing a scattering of chaste kisses along your pink cheeks. “It felt like the best way to change the subject.”

“My lover is such a sadist,” you grumble, trying to turn away from him. It’s difficult to keep pouting when he showers you in such soft affection. “My poor heart can’t take this, you know.”

Rafayel cups your face, drawing you back to face him so he can press another kiss to your lips, this one tender and gentle and slow. And just like before, you’re powerless to resist him. Your fingers brush against his neck as you return the kiss, letting the warmth of his touch wash over you. Everything about him is so addicting, so enthralling, like you could get lost and never find your way out. It almost scares you, how much you’re willing to lose for this man.

Eventually Rafayel draws away, if only to let you catch your breath, still teasing you, “Now do you forgive me, cutie?”

“Hmm, I guess so,” you sigh, pretending to be appeased. Your fingers trail innocently up into his hair, until you’re close enough to give his fluffy ear a playful pinch. Rafayel squawks and pulls away, giving you the most dramatic look of betrayal. Grinning, you lean up and press a chaste kiss to his cheek, “Okay, now I definitely do.”

Rafayel whines, reaching up to rub his ear, “Who’s the sadist now?”

“Watch it, or I might just pull your tail.”

“Okay, okay, we’re even…Now can we cuddle?”

---

Zayne / Vampire

You’ve known Zayne practically your whole life. Well, all of your life that you can remember, at least. He’s always been something constant, if not distant at times. And while you never assumed you knew everything about the doctor, you thought you knew more than most.

That is, until you wander into his office one day to find him passed out on the floor.

“Zayne?” You freeze in the doorway to his office, eyes blowing wide. 

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t show a single sign of life. Fear sinks deep into your bones, wraps around your lungs like a noose. And then your legs are moving. Your shoes desperately try to grip the tile as you dash across the room, panic dulling the throb in your knees as you drop to the ground beside him.

Pulse. You need to check his pulse. And his breathing.

Hands shaking, you press your fingers below his jaw, only to inhale sharply at the shock of how cold his skin is. Like ice. Too cold. No one should be this cold. And you can’t find a pulse. You skim your fingers down his neck, looking, looking, but still nothing. 

Leaning over the still doctor, you press your ear to his chest and wait. Your lungs start to ache from how you desperately hold your breath, but it’s nothing compared to the terror gripping your heart. Because you hear nothing. Nothing at all.

You draw back, lips parting, ready to call out for someone, anyone.

Until a hand clamps firmly over your mouth.

A surprised scream escapes you, muffled by cold fingers, as you find yourself flipped, a hand holding the back of your head to prevent it from hitting the ground. Chest heaving, you draw a fist back, ready to fight back against your attacker, only to freeze when your eyes meet a pair of hazel ones.

Zayne.

Relief washes over you. Quickly followed by confusion. You quickly push his hand away, brow knitting together.

“What the hell, Zayne?” You bark, pushing yourself onto your elbows.

The doctor quickly backs away, resting back on his haunches. You take a moment to look him over, worry still clinging to your bones. He’s pale, somehow more pale than usual at least. Dark shadows rest under his eyes, which appear almost bleary as he gazes back at you. He looks exhausted. 

Dead, even.

“You weren’t breathing,” you whisper, getting to your knees so you can check his temperature again. “Your heart wasn’t beating. I checked. What happened? How are you awake right now?”

Zayne grimaces, flinching away from your touch, and you freeze.

A deafening silence fills the office. It’s an odd stand-off, you staring him down, confusion burning behind your gaze, while he does everything he can to avoid it. For a split second, though, you see something you’ve never seen in the doctor. Uncertainty.

“Zayne?” You call again, voice going soft, “Talk to me. Please.”

Zayne hesitates, seemingly debating in his head before he speaks, his voice a low rasp, “I apologize for scaring you. That must have been startling to walk in on.”

“I’m fine,” you dismiss, slowly making your way closer to him, “I’m more concerned about you right now. You were dead. At least, I thought you were. So what happened?”

Another beat of silence.

“I must have lost consciousness from exhaustion. I haven’t slept much the past few days,” he tries, but even to your ears, it sounds like a weak excuse.

“Zayne, your heart wasn’t beating. You-” You press a hand to his chest, perhaps to prove a point, perhaps to knock some sense into him. To do something.

Except his heart still isn’t beating.

You're paralyzed. Eyes locked on his chest. Confusion creeps over you, like tendrils of ice spreading through your chest. Sharp. Suffocating. This isn’t right. This can’t be real. It can’t.

Zayne lets out another sigh, this one resigned and tired. Like he’s finally given up. His cold fingers gently cover yours. He draws your hand away from his chest, though he never lets go of it.

“I suppose there’s no hiding it anymore,” he murmurs, voice stiff, like how he speaks when he’s working. “Come, let’s sit on the couch. I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable there.”

You don’t say a word as he helps you to your feet. You can’t. Your tongue feels like a dead weight in your mouth. And even if you could talk, you don’t know what you would say. A million questions rush through your head, so blurred that you can’t pick out a single one, except-

“What are you?”

It echoes in your head raucously as you take a tentative seat on the couch. Zayne’s lips press into a tight line, and he clears his throat.

“That depends. There are many names for my condition.” His leg bounces ever so slightly as he continues, eyes still not meeting yours. “Though I suppose the most common term is vampirism.”

Vampirism.

You blink. 

And blink and blink.

Vampire. He’s a vampire.

A vampire?

“Those aren’t real,” you immediately breathe out, mind racing.

A humorless smile pulls at the doctor’s lips, “I assure you, it is. I’ve suffered from the symptoms for as long as I can remember.”

A vampire. He’s a vampire. Your childhood best friend is a vampire.

“How did I not notice?” You all but squeak, examining him with this new information. 

Sure, he’s pale, but Zayne’s always been pale. And it’s not like he avoids the sun. Aren’t vampires supposed to be weak to the sun or something? Plus, he’s aging, isn’t he? A million new questions race through your mind.

“Wait, do you have fangs?!”

Before you can stop yourself, you’re touching his face, basically making him open his mouth. Zayne startles, brow raising at your brazenness, but he does nothing to stop you. At first, his teeth look normal, the only thing worth noting being the excellent care he’s given them. But then you notice it. His canines seem to sharpen, just a touch longer than they should be.

And that’s all the proof you need.

“You’re a vampire,” you breathe, fingers settling along his jaw.

Zayne watches you carefully, waiting for some kind of reaction. Horror. Fear. Anger. All of those would be appropriate. But you don’t show any of them. Instead, you look at him with a mixture of disbelief and…curiosity? 

Brow knitting together, Zayne reaches up to touch your wrist, just to check your pulse to make sure you haven’t gone into some sort of shock. Your pulse is steady though, if not a little accelerated.

“You’re not…frightened? Of me?” He asks slowly, confusion gleaming in the depths of his eyes.

You shake your head, a smile threatening to break out across your features, “No, Zayne, I’m not scared of you. I probably should be, but hey, I fight wanderers for a living. Do I have a lot of questions? Yes. But if you’ve really been like this since we were young, that means you’re not going to suddenly do something to me now, right?”

Your lack of concern should be worrying, but Zayne finds the tension is his shoulders slowly dripping away. Of course you would surprise him like this. You’ve always been too trusting, in his opinion, though he’s not about to correct you now.

“So, do you drink blood? I’m guessing you don’t hurt people, considering how strictly you follow your oath.” Head tilting, you give him a questioning look, eyes wide and almost innocent in their curiosity. “So where do you get it from? Blood bags? I’ve read that in a few books. Or animals? I’ve read that, too. How accurate are all those stories?”

“I could answer your questions if you slow down,” Zayne murmurs, fighting an amused smile. “I assure you, we have plenty of time.”

You flush, biting off the rest of your questions. Right. You’re not really giving him an opportunity to answer, are you? So where do you start?

“What is your first question?” The doctor prompts, thumb brushing calmly over your pulse.

“Hmm. The blood question. Do you have to drink it?”

“Yes,” he answers, though his voice rings with distaste, “I have to consume some form of blood every few months to keep my senses about me. I’ve perhaps waited too long this time.”

“Do you need some right now?” You press, brow furrowing.

Zayne hesitates. His lips pinch together again, a sign you recognize.

“No.”

“Liar. That’s why you passed out,” you accuse, though you keep your voice somewhat gentle.

He says nothing for a long moment, a mixture of guilt and discomfort crossing his features. Sighing softly, you give his cheek a light pinch.

“Zaaayne.”

“I’ve tolerated longer periods than this between feedings,” he murmurs, trying to sound dismissive, though you can hear the exhaustion creeping back into his voice, “My body must simply be enduring higher levels of stress due to the season. As long as I rest more, I’ll be fine until my next supply arrives.”

“Oooor,” you hum, hesitating only a moment before you offer, “You can draw some of my blood. Just enough to get you through till then. We know it’s clean since you always run so many tests on it, so that shouldn’t be a concern right?”

Zayne blinks in surprise. Even if you were taking this all well, he certainly wasn’t expecting you to make such an offer. But you meet his gaze, unwavering, expectant, mind already made up.

If his heart were beating, he’s sure it would stutter.

While he hates his condition, hates what he has to do to appease it, he can’t deny that the smell of your blood has always been tempting to him. Cloyingly sweet, like the sweetest dessert. 

He should say no. He should just endure, as he always has. 

But the determination in your eyes makes him waver. And Zayne is a weak man when it comes to anything related to you.

“It’s not advisable…” He starts, jaw tightening.

You perk up, not actually expecting him to consider it. It was a crazy idea after all, but you want to help. You hate the idea of him suffering by choice when you can do something about it.

 “But…?”

“But I am not completely opposed to the idea,” he concedes, almost looking ashamed.

“Good,” you chirp, a smile lighting up your face as you lean up to press a kiss to his cheek. “Then let’s get to work, doctor.”

God, you would be the death of him.

Well, if he were fully alive, that is.

---

Xavier / Angel

“How is it that you seem to find danger wherever you go?” Xavier murmurs, voice as even as ever, yet cradling a hint of exasperation.

Biting back a smile, you keep your attention focused on his fingers. They work with a practiced precision to bandage the laceration on your arm, adept from the years of dressing your wounds. It has become a near weekly occurrence because of your work. Getting hurt is an unfortunate side effect of being a hunter.

“Maybe I wouldn’t be so reckless if I didn’t have such a sweet angel to take care of me afterwards,” you hum, tone bordering on teasing.

Xavier’s ears flush a soft pink, his wings ruffling in some kind of indignation, which only makes your smile stretch wider. He’s always so easy to fluster, and his wings give him away every time. It makes you want to tease him even more, but when you go to do exactly that, all that escapes you is a low hiss when he swipes a pad of alcohol across another of your cuts.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, his thumb brushing tenderly along your knuckles.

“S’okay,” you sigh, taking a deep breath, “Just stings. I hate the shallow ones more than the actual cuts, you know?”

Xavier gives a low hum, neither agreeing or disagreeing. You’re sure he would prefer you avoid all physical injury, but that is an argument the angel lost a long time ago, not long after you first met. And what a day that was.

Xavier came into your life in a flash of light. Literally.

You remember the day with quite a bit fondness despite how horrible it was. Everything had gone wrong that day. Exams were kicking your butt, as was training for the Association. To say you were down in the dumps was an understatement, which is why you had been out in the woods, trying to enjoy a bit of silence. 

That is, of course, when a wanderer decided to appear.

You did your best to handle it, but you were still just in training at the time, and it was clear you were outmatched. Things would have taken a turn for the worse if Xavier hadn’t shown up.

All you really remember is seeing a blinding light, almost like a flashbang, and then there he was. Ethereal, face set with stone-cold focus, hair silvery white like a star, but most striking were the large wings stretching from his shoulders, impossibly white, the edge of each feather glinting like a knife. With a flourish of his sword, he clashed with the wanderer, killing it in seconds.

In that moment, you were convinced you were dead. That made a lot more sense than what you were seeing, after all - an angel. Sure, he didn’t have the halo, but what else could he be? And how could you be seeing an angel if you weren’t dead?

It took him kneeling down in front of you, eyes sharp with concern as he scanned your entire body for injuries, for you to realize you were, in fact, not dead. And that’s when the questions started.

“Who are you?”

“What are you?

“Where did you come from?”

Xavier being Xavier, he danced around each answer. And you being you, you didn’t relent until you got the answers you wanted.

Not only is he an angel, he’s a guardian angel, and you’ve become his charge. And since he revealed himself to you, he can’t go back to his realm without getting in serious trouble.

That’s how you ended up here, with an angel as your roommate. What else were you supposed to do with him? The man was like a lost puppy with wings. Sure, he can take down a wanderer like it’s nothing, but ask him to work a toaster and he’ll sit there for about an hour just staring at the thing. You couldn’t leave him to fend for himself.

And it was the best decision of your life, really. Not only has he become your best friend, but maybe something more.

“I do wish you would stop putting yourself in unnecessary danger,” Xavier rumbles suddenly, pouting a little bit as he examines your now bandaged hand.

“It’s not unnecessary,” you chime softly, slipping your hand from his to poke his cheek playfully. Satisfaction curls in your chest at the blush that spreads across his beautiful features, his pout only growing cuter. “If I don’t put myself in danger, then other people will, and then innocent people can get hurt.”

“Being so selfless could get you killed,” he sighs, rising to his feet, wings flaring behind him.

Your eyes follow him, steady and warm, head craning up to hold his gaze, “I’m perfectly capable of staying alive, Xavier. And if I’m ever in trouble, I know you’ll be there to help me.”

The angel huffs. You’re not wrong, as much as he’d like to argue. What was once just a job to him, a responsibility, is now something more, something carved deep into his soul. Every fiber of his being longs to keep you safe, even if it means breaking every rule he once followed. Even if it means he must fall some day.

Ignoring that thought, Xavier settles onto the bed next to you, letting out a heavy sigh as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. His hair brushes your neck, soft and ticklish, drawing a light giggle from you as you curl your arms around his shoulders.

“You really shouldn’t worry so much, starlight.”

“You make it incredibly difficult not to,” he grumbles, voice low and muffled, “I just want to keep you safe…”

“Hmm, such a sweet angel,” you hum and card your fingers through the feathers at the base of his wings.

Xavier holds back a shiver, his body arching into your delicate touch. His wings have always been sensitive, especially when you’re the one touching them. You don’t miss the way his blush spreads down his neck, or the way his wings instinctively curl around you, as if they can block out the rest of the world, as if to make a space just for the two of you. The smile that pulls at your lips is overwhelmingly fond, just like your touch.

You love the feeling of his feathers under your fingers. At first glance, they look almost sharp, but they’re surprisingly soft, downy and warm to the touch. Without thinking, you trail your fingers along the curve of his wing and fix any out of place feathers with the utmost of care. Xavier lets out another, shaky sigh, his eyes flickering shut.

It’s a soft moment. Everything else is muted, the only sound being that of your steady breath and his lazy, content hums. Xavier nuzzles even closer to you, his body impossibly warm, his weight too much for you to support. A giggle escapes you as you lean back onto the bed, the angel settling on top of you without an ounce of shame in his expression.

“I swear, sometimes I wonder if you’re actually a cat disguised as an angel, “ you tease, reaching up to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing the corner of his lips. He leans into your palm without hesitation.

“Being a cat wouldn’t be so bad,” he murmurs, as if he’s given the idea some thought before. “I’d get to sleep all day and eat whenever I want instead of chasing a certain, reckless hunter around.”

He nips at your finger lightly, but your smile doesn’t waver.

“I think you’d get bored eventually.”

“Is that so?”

“Yah. I think you enjoy chasing me around, you just don’t want to admit it,” you chirp, tilting your head innocently, “And you’d miss me horribly, don’t you think?”

Xavier hums, turning his face to nuzzle into your palm. His lips brush your skin, a whisper of some kind of promise, making your heart flutter unevenly.

“I suppose I would…and would you miss me?” His eyes flicker back to you, narrowed, an undeniable spark of affection kindled in their blue depths.

You both know the answer.

“I’d miss you more than anything, angel.” Leaning forward, you press a kiss to his cheek. “I can’t imagine life without you.”

A hint of a smile tugs at his lips. “Then, I guess I’ll have to stay by your side.”

“You better.”

“Of course, my lady.”

---

Sylus / Demon

“What does your real form look like?”

You perch on the edge of his bed, feet kicking in the air as you watch Sylus get ready for whatever meeting he’s about to go to. Something to do with one of the other head crime bosses in the N109 Zone, you’re sure. One certainly down on their luck and looking to make a deal.

Sylus glances at you through the mirror, long fingers slowing as he fixes his cufflinks. His eyes bore into you, glinting with something violent, something vicious and bloody that should unsettle you to your core, but you don’t flinch, you don’t even blink.

Such a brave kitten, the demon thinks, amusement curling his lips.

“Curious, sweetie?”

The smile he gives you is sharp, too sharp, and your skin prickles with an instinctive kind of unease. It’s something you’ve grown used to, the way your body reacts to him. Like a lamb cornered by a wolf, everything screaming at you to run, yet you chose to stay cornered. Choose to trust the teeth pressing so gently to your throat, violence and desire so perfectly restrained to keep you safe.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” you chime, head tilting ever so slightly. “I just…want to understand you better, you know?”

Sylus hums and turns his focus back to straightening his cuffs, “Is that so? Aren’t you scared of what I might look like?”

“No.” Your answer is quick, unwavering, and Sylus perks a brow.

A brave kitten indeed. He’s almost impressed. The rumors about him are none too kind, and yet here you are, seeking the truth. Without knowing what the truth means.

Giving himself one last look in the mirror, the demon turns to you. He studies you for a long moment, gaze dark, pensive, intense in a way that makes your breath hitch. His eyes darken, something predatory glinting in their cardinal depths. You look at him so innocently, as if you’re not staring down the devil himself, as if you know he’d never hurt you. It makes him want to ruin you, to see that pretty blush stain your skin all over, just to curb the morbid desire burning in his chest.

But you are right, he’d never hurt you. You’re too pure, too good. So he lets himself be soft, to the best of his ability at least.

“I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors,” he murmurs eventually.

His shoes barely make a noise as he slowly approaches you. Each step is measured, confident, like he always is, and each step makes your heart flutter a little more. You’re all but holding your breath as Sylus comes to stand in front of you. His fingers, calloused and rough from a life of violence, graze your jaw so tenderly, drawing your face up to his.

“Are you sure you can handle it, sweetie?” He asks, voice almost taunting, though his features remain soft, unassuming.

Still unwavering in your decision, you nod, “I want to know you, Sylus. All of you.”

He holds your gaze for another long moment, as if he’s trying to read your soul. Which he very well could be, you realize. But when you look into his eyes, what you see isn’t his usual smug composure. Instead, you see a flicker in hesitation. Uncertainty. And it makes your heart ache.

Lifting a hand, you carefully cover the one Sylus holds against your cheek. You lean into the warmth of his touch, a gentle smile pulling at your lips, “You won’t scare me away, Sylus. I promise.”

So perceptive. Sylus gives a low chuckle, shaking his head, “You really aren’t like most humans, sweetheart. Most wouldn’t want to know me even in this form.”

“Well that’s their loss,” you hum, eyes crinkling up at him, “But that means I get you all to myself, so I can’t feel too bad for them.”

“My, what a selfish little kitten I have.” His thumb brushes lovingly over your cheek as his expression turns more serious. “If you want to see my true form, all you have to do is ask. Your desires are mine to fulfill, and I will do so with pleasure.”

“I want to see it, Sylus,” you repeat, “I want to see you.”

“Alright.” He draws back, that wicked smile returning, “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you, kitten.”

You watch, enraptured, as he rolls his shoulders, tendrils of dark smoke curling around his body. It envelopes him completely and the air in the room grows tense, fizzling with a static that has the hair on your arms standing on end. The lights flicker, plunging the room in darkness for a split second.

And when they come back on, you have to swallow down a gasp.

Because there he is. You’re not sure exactly what you were expecting. You had heard the rumors, the whispers about the monster that haunts the N109 Zone, but this somehow seems different from everything you’ve heard.

Smoldering eyes, sharp and cat-like now, stare you down with an apprehensive gleam. A pair of dark horns curl from his silvery hair. Veins of the same color curl around his neck and down his forearms like webs, the skin of his hands bleeding pitch black. His fingers look more like claws, glinting dangerously in the dim light of the room. Your eyes catch on the tail waving behind him, the spade-tip just as sharp. And the wings. They unfurl slightly, ink-like feathers brushing the floor.

What’s most shocking though, is his size. He stands almost a foot taller, his already imposing stature now threatening. The air shivers around his form, and you can feel that familiar, foreboding sensation creeping up your spine.

But the only thought running through your head is that he’s beautiful. Beautiful like a storm. Devastating and destructive, yet you can’t tear your eyes away. And you just want to be closer.

“Are you scared, kitten?” His voice rumbles with an almost imperceptible dissonance, a hint of concern beneath his tone.

You blink, gaze snapping back up to his, “No, of course not, Sy.”

The tension seems to fall away from his shoulders at that, but he still doesn’t dare move, like he’s still worried you might run away. So you, in a bout of confidence, push off the bed and walk right up to him. Sylus watches you carefully, expression reserved. 

“Can I?” You ask, keeping your tone soft as you brush your fingers against the back of his hand. You look up at him questioningly, and Sylus relents, allowing you to take his hand in yours. Your touch is unbearably soft and curious, trailing along the dark tendrils marking his skin. “Does any of it hurt? To change, I mean. Are you comfortable in this form?”

“I used to spend more time in this form,” he hums, tail flicking back and forth, “but to do business in the N109 Zone, one must be able to live in the shadows without being noticed. This form did not benefit me, so I took the form of a human to…blend in, one might say. Humans are more willing to make a deal when they believe they’re on equal ground.”

“That makes sense, but it didn’t answer my question.” You pout, tapping his hand. “Does it hurt to switch between the two?”

A small grin pulls at Sylus’ lips, revealing a sharp set of fangs, his eyes narrowing in amusement, “No, sweetie, it doesn’t.”

“Good.” You nod and brush your thumb over his knuckles. “Then I want you to take whatever form you’re more comfortable in when it’s just the two of you.”

Surprise flickers across his face, barely noticeable, but you catch it. Sylus covers it up quickly, his smile turning mischievous, “I didn’t expect you to be so comfortable with this. Does my kitten have a soft spot for monsters?”

“Maybe,” you hum, stretching up to curl your hands around his neck despite how much taller he is than you now. 

Sylus relents once more, leaning down so you don’t have to balance on the tips of your toes, even though he finds it quite cute. His hands rest tentatively against your waist, his fingers nearly interlinking at the small of your back. The size difference makes you bite the inside of your cheek, heat creeping up your neck.

Pushing the thought away, you lean up and press a chaste kiss to his cheek, humming happily, “You’re not a monster, though. I think you actually look quite…charming like this.”

The demon huffs out a laugh, his forehead coming to rest against yours, “Whatever you say, sweetheart. I’ll be whatever you want, as long as it makes you happy.”

“You make me happy, Sylus.”

“Well then, I suppose this arrangement will benefit us both greatly.”

You roll your eyes, but can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips, “I suppose it will.”

---

I felt most of my choices were pretty expected, but let me know if you guys think they'd be other supernatural creatures! And Happy almost Halloween!

[dworkism]

hiii junoooo my husbands wife!! (and mine) i’ve been thinking about hanta growing out a little mustache stubble moment and he’s sooo proud of it (bc ofc he would be) and reader kinda teasing him about it but secretly really like it. if you could do something with that it’d be amazing i know you can get me right ok love u bye

BLOOM YES YOU ARE A GENIUS this idea is #PEAK

it ain't much, but it's honest work.

there's always a first time for everything. for hanta, it was growing a stubble.

pairings : hanta s. x gn!reader

cw / notes : fluff! established relationship

511 word count!

It’s been almost a week since Hanta started doing this… thing. 

First thing in the morning, he’d kiss your cheeks hard. Then spends at least three extra minutes in the bathroom, before coming out all grinning and whistling that telenovela soundtrack he loves. 

At first, you thought his mother probably sent him new clothes from his hometown. He always gets giddy for that, but nope, he hasn’t even worn anything new these past three days. Deciding to drop it, you settled it was probably him being happy from climbing the hero charts. 

That is until you were talking to him one evening, and that was when you spotted it. 

His hand—restless and looked like it wouldn’t stay still, always rubbing somewhere between his chin and under his nose. 

Oooohhhh, so that’s why. 

You snickered, the slight coarse textures of his stubble now obvious to your eyes. It wasn’t much, but hey, at least it was honest work. 

“Whaatt?” He grinned, as if he didn’t notice the way your eyes were on his chin.

“Nothing,” You brushed it off, waving your hand with a grin you couldn’t hold back. “Continue, continue.”

He cornered his lips, narrowing his eyes with a skeptical gaze, before he continued. “Well, I was saying, my gear broke mid swing! Like—literally!” His hand found its way back to his jaw, rubbing it again as he chattered away.

You blinked, stifling back a smile every time he smiled a bit wider when he touched his slight stubble, like a boy beyond proud of his newly crafted toy robot. 

With his third time of lifting his hand up from his lap to his jaw, your laughter barked out. He stared at you dumbfounded, “Whaaattt?” He whined, flopping his hands down to the couch. “You keep laughing at me!”

“You keep–” Giggling, you copied his motions. “Doing this! Every five seconds!” 

“No I don’t!!” He argued, cheeks a faint tint of peach. “It’s not that often,”

“Yes you do,” You scoffed, chuckling at his weak protest. “You look like you have a secret evil plan.” 

Hanta’s groan was muffled by a pillow, lifting up to his face as he sunk down the cushions. “So whaaat, I like it, okay?” He drawled, pulling down the pillow just enough for you to see his eyes only. “I’ve been trying to grow it, now it’s here, let me have my moment,”

You smiled, shuffling closer to his spot. Gently, you pried away the pillow, letting him show his reluctant pout to you. “I’m not teasing you because of it, silly.” Your hand found its way to his jaw, cradling his face to look at you properly. “I’m teasing you ‘cause you look like a kid who just got a piece of candy.” 

“I like it, swear.” You murmured, brushing your thumb over his slight stubble, coarse and a tad bit sharp. “You look nice with it,”

He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment before letting his smile bloom to a grin, popping back up onto the couch to sit up straight again. 

“Okay, well as I was saying–”

dworkism | do not repost!

imagine him being SOOO brutal about it too like he'd kiss you HARD on purpose just cause you'd complain about it

taglist : @bloomness @deepinthegroves @insomniatears @coldnightshark @lilac-heartz @love-me-satoru @antriimx @lillyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy @xolunlun @idexmids @idkidk32

be a part of the tag list!

➤ masterlist!

[happybirthdaynoah]

Hey....I need HABIT head-cannons... you know, the goods..

oookkay!

HABIT NSFW HEADCANONS, 18+ (x reader and general headcanons)

Rough. He's very fucking rough. He doesn't know how to be gentle.

He is topping 100%, he HATES being a bottom, it makes him feel weak.

He loves being in control of you and everything you do during sex, he'll command you to do things and if you don't oblige he'll punish you <3

Will edge himself and overstimulate you at the same time, he loves making you a complete mess before he can finish himself off

He'll also overstimulate himself if he's feeling up for it

He'll do it anywhere, literally anywhere. Bed? Sure! In public? You best bet he'll drag you to a bathroom or something.

He loves doggy, he loves scratching up your back, grabbing your hips, forcing you down onto his dick while he fucks you, pulling your hair and shoving your face onto any surface he can.

He LOVES biting, sucking, scratching and anything else that'll leave marks all over your skin, his favorite places to mark are the neck, shoulders, back and thighs.

HE LOOOOVES FACE FUCKING. He will force his dick in your mouth and grab/pull your hair to force you to pace yourself as he pleases.

He's a thigh guy, he loves having you sit on his face and absolutely crush him with your thighs.

Blood/fear/knifeplay liker. You can't change my mind about this one. He loves seeing you in pain.

Back on my last point, he loves the idea of carving his signature into your skin while teasing you.

And on the last last point, he'll lick up any blood he draws from you.

He growls, drools, groans and grunts at ANY movement he makes. He's not very quiet with his animalistic sounds.

He will NOT listen to any of your requests. You're begging him to slow down? Nope, he's going faster!

He also LOVES it when you're riding him. He loves seeing you on top but he still has a lot of control over you (hands on hips, thrusting up into you, slamming you down onto his dick whenever he feels like it)

He likes to praise, he'll tell you how beautiful you are when you're being absolutely destroyed by him. He loves telling you how well you're doing when he's rearranging your guts

He likes humiliating you. And by that I mean making you touch yourself in front of him. He 100% talks you through it and if you do well enough he'll reward you <3

He has a secret soft spot for when you try to struggle out of his grasp when he's pinning you down.

He loves the "predator/prey" trope and WILL rope you into a scenario where he's hunting you.

In these scenarios his favorite thing to do is choke you out and/or hold a knife to your throat and make you beg for your life.

ANYWYWAYS.... LIKE 4 PART TWO ........ IM GETTIGN TOO CARRIED AWAY.