#that feeling of 'you went through all that and then it fades to black and you're still here.'

[cutieeva]

Returned Home

Female reader

Warnings : Death. Murder.

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒

What happens if the person you love went missing and suddenly reappear in your doorsteps ? Because (Y/N) doesn't know how to react.

Knocks at the door were light at first, almost like a whisper before turning into frantic and loud like screams that (Y/N)'s sleep broke, a whine slip past her lips not loving the thought of her rare sleep intruded, all after that incident she almost at the verge of becoming the shell of a human, always worrying, little guilty yet hollow the entire time. Perhaps time will heal her wounds and pause the bleeding unfortunately not the knocking because it keeps increasing in alarming amount. She thought in her daze mind, wrapping a soft cloth around her nightdress she step out of the sofa, how tragic despite having warm bed, beautiful home with many rooms the only place she fell asleep was on the sofa in living room in front of the still on TV which is repeatedly showing some episodes of only murders in the building her mind has almost memorized.

"Coming !" She yell, messaging her forehead, feeling her head burn from both the torturous knocks and the stress of what if the twins wake up. Her feet drum the white tiles walking towards the front door and finally her eyes open to peek at the peekhole for safety. Huh ? She rub her eyes once more to peek yet why all she can see is black ? Her fogged mind question not still awaken from the slumped when she flinch feeling the knocks vibrate the door so closely.

"Who is this ?" Her voice stern, not fearful she could have been if awake, adamant to not open the door. Silence replies her. No voice only silence along the knocks. Her eyes narrow feeling her body ache from pain and the headache worsen. "These children". Her neighborhood is fill with all age children and unlike her sweet twin angels, these ones are the demons, the one she was thankful to not have. Oh, remind of her babies, what time is it ? Her eyes glance at the clock on the wall 7:00 am, whoa ? Which child is playing pranks at her doorsteps instead of being in school ? Oh ! Today is Sunday she forgets.

Must make breakfast she thought, her lips shaped a yawn about to walk away from the door "It's......me". Her heart sank, breath sucked. "(Y/N)". She remembers that voice, her whole fabric of being knows that voice, the voice she heard, whisper sweet nothings, laughs loudly, quick to anger, arrogance in his speech. In a second her hand having a mind of it's own, touch the shivering cold doorknob, twist it to unlock and swing open fast enough to not gave chance for the creaking noise.

Revealing the visage of none other than her husband, Vesper Rufus who is missing for two months after the alone trip to mountain.

Munch ! Cracks ! The noise of his devouring simple milk with cornflakes sends strange feelings within herself. Sitting across the dinning table of her husband who's black shirt made her recall it's original color white with his pale skin painted in faded marks of nasty bruises and bite marks belonging to animals, even insects she suspect, a grime cast her face merely thinking of what he went through to be alive in that forest where no police, forest rangers, rescue rangers even herself couldn't find. Hell, the helicopter wasn't of helped. Her eyes then slide below his body that is hidden by the counter where his pants are in the same condition, grey pants painted in coal. Her head span to her behind looking at the door to see no shoes of his as she found him barefoot with crimson hue smeared over his feet.

Click ! Her thoughts snap at the noise of his meal finish turning her vision to his face, dirt, scratchs cover his blemished handsome face. A smile lift those once perfect plump lips now dry and chapped. A happy sparkle in those pools of eyes she fell for that with time and marriage forgetton to dust leaving only a usual reflection of hers she used to bore before he went missing. Suddenly a yearning ache pull her body towards him, stand down from the metal chair, silently cross the line of space and stood under those eyes. Immediately she was hit by the smell of dust, rot, filth yet without a second she throw her arms around him, surrounding her body into his and hug him tightly, the cold body.

Her lids cover her vision, soaking into the frosty embrace and slowly she sense his arms embracing her back, gently to tightly and burying his face into her curve of neck like she was his roof, her shelter he just been gifted.

"Where were you these two months ?" Tears she thought were dried roll down her cheek, her voice soft. "The kids were crying". she added flood with the images of her twin sons wailing at the first news of their father might never returned as the police declared him dead saying no man has the capacity to survive in that stormy mountain more than two weeks and he was missing for two months. Perhaps they didn't found the body because the wild nature covet him or the animals feasted upon him. She likes to think the former. But now she knows, she knows they didn't find his body because he was alive all along.

"Children ?" She felt him title his head in her neck. "Ah ! Children, the twins". His voice muffed and horse like decades of out of speech. Softly like she handle her flowers she lean away from the embrace regardless of his hands still on her waist.

"You remember who am I right ?" Vesper nod like a good man he never was.

"(Y/N) Rufus, my wife, my soulmate". Those sharp onyx eyes that slice her heart multiple times tendered looking at her as if for the first time seen her, feel and stare so intimately at her. Never did she thought the gaze will be directly to her again after their dating phrase pass into the marriage years.

"And about the children ?" She ask, tip toe up to him, pressing her body, her breast to his and lips inches away. Intoxicated he looked, like sipped a bottle of beer he drunk with pink tints on his cheeks to ears, falling in her spell as if for first time he fell in love.

"Leo, Felix". Breathless he answered, leaning closer to her, brushing his lips with her yet not closing the gap. Why ? She wonder because never did her husband cared for her consent. If his sexual desire awaken he will use her like a escort not a wife. From the beginning he announce his ownership on her like she was a object and her past self mistook it as romantic and after marriage she was a servant. Never a wife, was a lover.

Maybe that's why his missing didn't pain her as much to shed a single tear until now when he is different, his warmth disappear, his arrogance fended leaving a stranger in her arms and she still kiss the stranger. Her lips collide his and it confirmed more. How naive his kiss is like he is exploring her, knowing her for the first time unlike him, who knew her like the back of his palm or— perhaps it's his self pleasure he knew like the back of his palm. Never hers, not after their marriage. The brand of ring tied their fates together as well as ruinning.

Not a hint of bad breath or taste she felt oddly, rather bitter taste of nature hits her when their lips met, at first like a careful of understanding he press their lips hard before she open her lips, giving him the space to enter and he mirrored it, like a learning child slide his tongue, following his guts and savoring her hotly, a contrast to his frosty body. Tips of tongue tease her inner flesh as he wish like she is his salvation before harshly mushing their body and lips more near than humanely possible, with brim of desire and addiction he bite her lips, tongue tenderly, exchanging sliver salivas and breathing heavily like he was suffocated yet not ready to leave as he continue to drove deeper, deeper into the mouth and (Y/N) felt being devoured by a predator not her husband who never with such passion held her, gave her pleasure.

Heart racing and breath threating to stop she ripped herself away, coughing fits at multiple times and drinking water unlike him, his lips hanged open, eyes beastly nothing similar to the sparkly happiness and red blush adore his pale skin. Their eyes met and without another warning he smashed their lips.

"You are so sweet, so deliciously sweet". Mumble his horse voice in the kiss, eating her lips like she was a dinner, shamelessly staring at her while invading her mouth and she let him, kiss her as if her being was the only source of meal. Been ages did her husband desire her such as this moment not to mention it proves more he wasn't her Vesper and it brought her nothing apart from relief.

Suddenly he paused, eyes wide and grip tighten. She slowly freed her swollen lips yet dig the knife deeper in his back. Yes, while he was under the spell of his lust, she went near him— more like near the knife set and stab him at his weakest moment.

"Who are you ?" Calmly she asked, hearing the thrives of her knife twisting his skin, flesh yet no trickle of blood bleeding. Strange she thought glances up again meeting his blank face. Not the agonizing look of a man being stabbed. Not her real husband who's eyes were betrayed, tears sliding and blood bled from her mouth like a fat fish squeeze out of it's body as before.

"Who the fuck are you when I killed my husband with my own hands ? When I buried his body under the solid of that mountain ?" Gritten her teeth, the mask of calmness cracked as she pulled the knife out desire to see the blood bled out of the man she loves so much, devote her life, birth children cutting from her flesh yet he cheated on her bluntly and gaslit her when confronted and spiral into questioning her own sanity. However no blood slide, no scarlet paint his pale skin.

"How ?" She whispered, in more disbelief of him not bleeding than her dead husband who she clearly murdered after planning thoroughly knowing his plan of visiting the mountain which he lied saying he is going alone when in reality his mistress and him will intertwined in ways she can't imagine and follow him before the mistress meets him and killed him brutely, stabbing him fourteen times in his entire body leading his death due to blood loss and burying deep into the soil that took hours only to return home unscathed.

Erriely quiet the stranger wore her husband's skin stare at her angered ones and part his lips. "I see, no wonder that was the most gruesome body I ever seen—" The raspy voice slowly get used to speech pause and (Y/N) sense him debeating. "And wore". The end words was something she couldn't swallow, couldn't avert eyes nor run hearing the conformation in his own voice.

"Who are you then ?" She tremble. He notice.

"Who am I ?" He tilt his head mirroring a clueless being. "Who am I ? What am I ? Doesn't matter because what am I isn't what suppose to exist yet I do and now I am your husband yet not. The body is his, yet what inside is not". Game of puzzle he answered. "I won't die, never bled nor need of humane things. I am of a being neither alive nor dead". Neutral his voice rang her ears echoing inside and frighting from the laughable answer but she knew better to laugh. No other way could her husband retrieve from dead than be possessed by something inhumane, abnormal like the myths tales of creatures she heard.

"Then, will you kill me ?" She let go the blade that isn't even paint in blood, shining her terrified reflection as it was fell on the floor with a biting click.

"No. I like you". A short answer relief her stress a little. "You taste sweet, you smell sweet and you are sweet. I want to cherish you, kiss you like I did. I want to claim you mine". Chanting every word he pepper kiss over her skin. Worshipping, caressing each curve, drinking her making her visible relax and something in her tells it's safe. He is safe—to her. Why ? maybe because her husband terrifies her more than a creature from tale.

"And my children ?" Her words carefully used. Her, not their. He halted in his actions. Inhaling her fabric when he reunite their lips again.

"Not them. Because they are ours. You are my wife, my soulmate and they are our children". Yes, it is because the moment he smell of unwelcome human scent in his home, he prepared to feast them, chew their bones and if unlucky torture them until they beg to death however it changed finding one glimpse of the beautiful woman bearing bloodlust and hatred the creature swore he saw her shining upon a halo and the way of her body soaked in blood of the man's arouse humanely needs he never felt apart from endless hunger. This hunger was different, pleasureful he seen these humans do sometimes before their withered body aside inside his stomach.

He watched the angelic woman, the lymph of paradise left the man buried and he walked out of the shadows to the place the man is under, saw his belongings along his address and the lymph is his wife— (Y/N) with twin sons. Good she killed him before he had to and now she is his, her children is his, all of her is his alone.

Tiny groans, tapping of floor steal their attention and (Y/N) watched her children wore night outfits walking towards the open kitchen, rubbing their hazy eyes.

"Mama I am hungry". Her three old years son said, the older one between them.

"Me too ! But I want pizza". The younger twin said, opening his eyes only to widen and grasp loudly. "Papa !" Following a joyful scream his tiny feet ran to the stranger wore their father's skin and the older twin also stare, face brighten in happiness the mother didn't saw since he was missing. His body was thrown to their father too and unnatural, his arms touch them back, still glancing to see (Y/N)'s visage than theirs.

Touching his familiar face, she caress saying "Yes, papa has returned home". The man lean in decided not the say one more thing, actually the real husband she killed was alive the time he was standing above the ground however he killed him again. For good and twice his death was before taking his skin.

"Indeed I have". Smiling crazily. "Returned home".

FIN

[tgmsunmontue]

Because I was leaving comments on @jayjay-thejet-plane's work over on AO3 (when it let me stay logged in, JFC) I remembered the horrific experience of getting my tongue pierced back in the 90s and how I passed out afterwards, which I said would make a funny Meet Ugly. Referring to Tattoo artist Bradley because we need ALL the AUs.

TW: Blood.

 “How do you feel about having Mikey do it? He’s new to piercing but he’s one of our experienced tattoo artists.”

 “Got to learn somehow I guess right?” Jake asks.

 “Thanks man, appreciate it,” a guy, obviously Mikey, says, reaching out for a fist bump and Jake obliges, throws a grin over his shoulder to Javy who had bet him good money that he couldn’t and wouldn’t get his tongue pierced. Javy is in fact paying for the privilege of Jake getting his first piercing. He’s walked through the procedure, shown the instruments and he listens intently, tries to ignore the needle and clamp. Then there are the aftercare instructions and what he does and doesn’t need to do to keep it from getting infected. Okay. It’s not rocket science. He can do this.

 He’s never had anything pierced before, isn’t quite sure what it’s meant to feel like and he can’t really ask with his mouth wide open like it is, tongue pinched in the clamp and it reminds him vaguely of the dentist, when they ask you a question and you try and answer while your mouth is stretched open. Then there’s a count of three and blindingly hot pain and a flood of wetness in his mouth and he looks up to see Mikey looking at him wide-eyed. Then the hot pressure in his tongue is gone and he feels a little light headed, reaches up to wipe his chin where he can feel the wetness dribbling out of his mouth and when he sees blood the light-headedness intensifies and he swallows, tasting nothing but the sharp tang of his own blood and then his world fades to black.

 “I got him.”

 “Jesus that’s a lot of blood…”

 “Go! Get Bradley!”

 “Rooster!”

 Jake wonders woozily why they need a barnyard animal, if maybe the blood loss will help in some type of ritual. His grandma was always warning him about shit like that.

 He hears the heavy approach of boots, but his eyes feel heavy, can’t open and focus and at least the chair he’s in is comfortable.

 “Holy shit, it looks like a murder scene in here. What did you do?”

 “Uh…”

 There’s movement and rustling noises and he can feel hands on his face, then a damp cloth and he presses into the hand cupping his jaw. It’s nice and cool against the heated skin of his face and he hums appreciatively.

 “Mikey…”

 “Slipped and went through the transverse muscle on a diagonal.”

 “So not vertical.”

 “Nope.”

 “Well fuck…”

 Jake forces his eyes open and looks up, his vision a little blurry, but there’s a guy standing in front of him and the first thing he notices is the moustache, tries to reach up to pat it but the guy pulls away and Jake thinks he’s frowning.

 “Looks fuzzy…”

 “Is he on something?” the guy with the moustache asks.

 “No…” Javy answers for him.

 “Okay…”

 “It’s a caterpillar… fuzzy.”

 There’s a few snorts or what Jake thinks might be amusement, he’s starting to feel a bit more normal and the hand is still on his face and he looks to it, notices the tattoos. His eyes are now able to focus, and his gaze travels up the arm, it’s nicely muscled and notes the black tank with the bronco logo, the mosquito caught in amber on a chain around the guys neck and oh, the arm is attached to the guy with the moustache.

 “Hi…”

 “Hi there gorgeous. You back with us?”

 Jake nods, feels the hand flex a little on his face and he nods slowly.

 “Now, you want to try again?”

 Jake nods, and this time he’s sat up first, given some water to rinse out his mouth before settling back again, somehow less nervous. Moustache guy has introduced himself as Bradley, and Mikey hasn’t stopped apologising for the slip, and Jake doesn’t care, can’t really focus on much more than Bradley’s intense gaze on him as he reopens new packets of sanitised equipment.

 It goes much better this time around, not painful, well, not compared to the first time. Then Bradley’s removing his fingers from his mouth and Jake swallows, wonders if intense eye contact is part of the tongue piercing package.

 “Want to get an ice cream? I know a place. Be good for your tongue.”

 “Yeah? That your professional opinion?” Jake asks, and it feels weird, the metal bar knocking around in his mouth, tongue definitely feeling tender and swollen.

 “Sure is. And I should stay with you. Just in case you pass out again.”

 “Well, I wouldn’t want to stop you from doing your due diligence.”

 Bradley gives him a slow smirk and yeah, Jake thinks he’s going to like him.

[eccentricallygothic]

Apology Boy

Description: Paul finally apologizes for the scar(s) he gave you when he saw you for the first time. 

Pairing: Paul Lahote | Human mate!You.

Warning(s): Paul's anger, possible past angst, fluff, Paul is a crazed mess for you, size kink (duh), imprinting/mates, abo!verse but you're human, possessiveness, fingering, cunnilingus (worship), breeding kink, licking, biting, smut with plot because oh God I can never stop myself, teasing, pet names, unprotected p-in-v, overstimulation, manhandling, light dom!Paul because I am still me. MDNI.

Type: Request, for the sweet @wishyouloveme, here.

MASTERLIST

Just like any other day.

. . .

It hit Paul like a freight train and caused sweat to form in ice cold drops on his otherwise warm skin. He had just returned from patrol with Embry and was spread over Emily's dining table whilst stuffing his face with the food she had cooked for them. Everything was fine and dandy. It was a pleasant day and the weather was nice and cool. Soon, he would be done with his daily obligations and then he would go home.

But then Sam came up behind Emily who was standing next to her mate's seat at the head of the table, one hand on the frame and other on her hip as she listened to Seth drone on and on about something that Paul's voice refused to register due to what unfolded next.

The pack leader's strong arms snaked around the waist of his delicate lover as he nuzzled his nose into her hair until the tip had found its way past the dark strands and against her tender cheek until it was caressing and tracing the scars he had left on her. 

All blood drained from Paul's skin and something in his head clicked. His surroundings faded to a dim buzz and the next few moments went by in a blur. 

And then he was standing in front of home.

“Paul!” You yelp in surprise at the sight of your nude lover. He usually dresses himself at Sam's house after patrols before coming home to you. 

Since you are human and your initial experience with the pack had both been overwhelming -thanks to your lover imprinting on you the first chance he was given- and traumatizing -as said lover who was much worse at controlling his primal urges back then had lost control at the sight of you because he was so overcome with raw, foreign emotion he did not know how to process-, you prefer to keep by yourself near the outskirts of the community in a house that Paul had moved in with you upon your request. 

The pack life is simply too loud and… public for you; a city girl used to her secluded places and treasured privacy.

You notice that Paul is panting -which is very unlike him due to his superhuman strength- and a redness outlines his eyes when his huge form approaches yours. “Are you— Paul!” You gasp and nearly flinch from both the shock and impulse when he lets his heavy body collapse on its knees in front of you. “What the hell happen—” you never know with your hyper emotional mate.

His long fingers push your sweater up and out of his way so he can stroke the soft skin of your stomach with the tip of his nose, his head nuzzling into your chest as his dark eyes flutter close and he inhales a deep whiff of your scent. It is the only thing that never fails to calm your hot blooded lover down. 

“What's wrong?” Your voice lowers to a concerned mumble as you peer down at him, your fingers cradle the dusky skin of his handsome face -as much of it as you can reach- and your nails rake through the male's jet black mass of short hair. “Honey?” He only behaves like this if something went wrong or when he is in need of comfort, which are both rare occurrences as he is the usual caretaker in your relationship. But you aren't a complete stranger to him acting like this. 

Ever the uncommunicative one, the male only sighs— no, whimpers against your skin as if he's wounded and softly feels your skin with gentle caresses of his fingers. Words require thought, patience and wisdom. Unfortunately, Paul's instinctual mind runs too fast for those things to catch up with it in time and rash actions get carried out before better sense can supply him from its store.

“Paul…” A shiver runs down your spine when his lips that had begun to softly peck your navel find their way up your stomach before they halt to ghost over the healed, plum coloured lesions that stretch across your tender skin in menacing shapes akin to claw marks. “What are you doing?” Though he never mentions or discusses it verbally due to the guilt he feels, sometimes Paul becomes hyper aware of the scars of his unmediated passion that mar your skin and tries to make up for them in his own wordless ways.

Except, this only ever happens when you're underdressed or the two of you are indulging in activities typical to couples and the sight of them reminds him of their cause. He has never stormed into the house stark naked and marched up to you like an unreadable oversized pup on the brink of tears like this. 

“I am sorry.” You nearly jump due to how unexpected the sound of his words are. Usually he just sulks in silence. “Baby, I am so sorry” Paul never speaks when he is in one of these moods. Especially when he is experiencing bouts of guilt for his actions during his first encounter with you. “Oh, God” his body grows heavy against yours as he practically pushes his face into the crevices like he wants to become one with them and fill them back up to their original state with parts of himself. 

“Paul— oof!” Your smaller body yields to his weight and the ground slips from underneath your feet. “D- Did the guys say something?” You fear the worst as Paul's protective hands catch you before your back can hit the wooden ground and you cannot help but whimper from how his lips lock with the scars in thick, desperate and hurried apologetic kisses. 

Paul and his pack mates play rough and sometimes they go too far with the teasing. So though he clings to the tough guy act in front of them, he dismantles into you once he is home if their words ever get too far. Yes, the tussling and fighting is not enough if it's serious. And just sometimes, when it gets too much for him to bottle it up, he shares some of it with you. But most often not, since he knows how you feel about the pack and he does not like to worry you.

“I am sorry it has taken me this long to say it out loud, baby… but I am so sorr—”

“Paul, hey, look at me” but he refuses to detach himself from your skin in his shame, his big hands safely holding your whole body up against his. “You don't have to—” you cannot help it, you hate to see him like this when you know how badly he regrets it. You hate for him to hurt.

“But I do” he nearly growls against your skin, his fingers tightening on your hips to brace himself against the war in his head. “There’s not a day that goes by where I don't regret it.”

“But you didn't do it on purpose, baby” you sigh when he refuses to let you see him. Your fingers try to pry his stubborn face upwards. “And you worked and improved for us, didn't you, hm?” Your eyes earnestly search for his. “Don't sell yourself so short.” One of your hands rubs his tense shoulders to try and ease their guilt-stricken stiffness. 

“All the same” ever the stubborn knucklehead. “I should have done this a long time ago. But I was selfish and I was afraid that if I verbally mentioned it…” He hesitates and the love you behold for him renders you helpless against a burning urge to reassure him. 

“My love—”

“I was scared you'd get reminded of it and…” He takes a deep breath and then gulps down the bile in his throat, blinking back tears. “L- Leave me…” Paul's voice is barely a whisper and your heart breaks at how vulnerable he sounds. “And I am such an asshole for it because it had more to do with my fear of you leaving me than you reliving your trauma…” 

“Paul…” You blink and try to focus, but his warm gropes and caresses falter your steam of thought. 

“I love you, I really do, so much” he peeks up at you just a little, dark eyes frightened for the first time since the day he scarred you. “Please forgive me. I don't ever want to lose you. I know what I did was irreversible but I swear I'll spend the rest of my life fixing it… if you'll let me.” You shake your head. 

Does he really think there's an off chance that you will leave? 

“Paul” when you cup the side of his face, he hides into your stomach again. “Hey,” you try to duck your face closer to his. make him look at you. “Look at me” your intended request comes out an order due to all the emotions you feel. “I forgave you a long time ago. That's the reason why I am still here” you finally manage to place your forehead against his, making your breaths mingle with his. “I love you more, so much more.” He opens his mouth to drone so you beat him to it. 

“Now shut up and kiss me.”

Paul is taken aback at your demand, his widening eyes prove it. But as surprising as it may be for him, this isn't something that was unresolved for you until today -unlike him- so you aren't as overwhelmed with angst. Because your mate has proven his love, devotion and worthiness of you through his actions over the course of your relationship. He has shown you that he loves you and that he is sorry for what he did. 

If anything, his innocently intimate and lovestruck worship of your body has fired it up instead of making it sentimental. 

And so you want him. 

Bad.

“But—”

“No buts. Kiss me.” You are breathless as you urge him to do so, your hands try to pull his face closer into yours although in vain because his bigger and stronger form remains unbudging. 

Paul's eyes search yours for assurance. “... Yes, ma'am” he whispers once finds it and the next thing you know, you're being pounced down onto the floor with his arms cased around you to protect you from the impact. 

And though you always feared that him getting physical in this manner would trigger you, you giggle against his mouth that he drags across your chest and up your throat to clamp onto yours. Your arms circle around his broad shoulders and instead of trying to repel him -like you suspected you would despite having grown to trust him now- you pull him closer as you whimper into the tender yet hungry kiss, feeling your legs climb the lower half of his body instinctively.

“Paul~” you needily blabber against his tongue that he uses to enjoy the sweetness of your mouth, his balmy lips enveloping everything your mouth has to offer in tight, big kisses. “Mm~” your chest aches from the strain the lack of oxygen puts on your lungs but your sparking nether regions only scoot closer to his that you feel riling up against yours, your hips grinding against his and limbs tightening around his rock hard body.

“Mine” he growls against your mouth when he has no choice but to pull apart at last, his coarse fingers groping you in greedy handfuls while peeling away any fabric that hurdles their path to your skin. “All mine” you moan at the feeling of his teeth grazing against the tender skin of your boobs that he sprays with kisses and licks. “God, mouse, I love you so much” the strength he puts into pushing everything you wear on your upper body away from it leaves you breathless. You love the thrill you feel when his touch feels like he is on the horizons of the dangers he is capable of. When he is so worked up and desperate that he cannot help but get rough because your sweet sweat and arousing body heat fires him up the way it does. You are addicted to the sight of him not giving in to his beastly impulses despite all that because he loves you so much. It is scary, yes. But it turns you on too.

“I love you too, Paul” though he likes to act cocky and all-knowing most of the time, you know he needs to hear it too. Underneath all that knucklehead play fighting and manhandling of his, he needs reassurance just as much as the next person and though he tries not to burden you as his different lifestyle is hard enough for you as it is, you don't have to be part wolf to feel him and hear his heart. 

“You're so perfect…” The way he peppers wet kisses along your cheekbone whilst relieving you of the rest of your clothing causes for your eyes to flutter close to cherish the tingling feeling that sparks your body alight. “Just—” when you try to reach for him to also make it enjoyable for him, he plants your hands above your head and softens your confused pout with a kiss. “Just let me take care of you today, yeah? Don't worry about anything.” 

“But— oh!” He reaches for the mating mark that sits on the right side junction of your neck where a she-wolf's mating glad would be. And though you lack the physical features to feel him through it, the meaning that it holds for Paul serves as a bridge for the biological gap. “Oh…” You turn your head sideways to rub your cheek against his shaved one, your hips roll into his hand that dips between your legs and you shudder against Paul's hot tongue that drags across the impressions of his teeth that crevice your skin. 

“Taste so fuckin' sweet, baby” there is a strain in Paul's voice because of how much strength it is taking him to hold himself back from impaling you full of his cock right there. “So perfect” the lower half of his body leaps down so he can rub his bare erection against the softness of your leg. 

You moan at the feeling. “Paul,” you whisper into his hair, the feeling of his sharp teeth causing for slick to sizzle up to your entrance from the inside. He growls out a quiet yes, baby against the mark, one hand constantly caressing the dents running along the width of your stomach. “Don't hold back” you go to touch his rock hard cock and he grunts in denial, seizing your wrist in his fingers faster than you can blink. 

His face comes up to dominate your vision. “No, mouse, tonight is all about you” another kiss squishes out any protest you can form and when his invasive tongue has your nostrils flared from the breathlessness, Paul drags it down your writhing body in the company of heavy pecks until his mouth is between your thighs and he is propping one up with a broad shoulder and the other with his hand that isn't occupied with caressing the evidence of his temper. 

“Paul—!” He knows how shy you get when he is between your legs like this. 

But it's not his fault you taste so fulfilling. 

“Sh, little mouse, you're perfect” he kisses any and all insecurities away with gentle kisses, the hand that cases one of your thighs stroking the tender inside with its thumb. “And you taste so good too” he takes his time worshiping your pelvis, deliberately leaving out your pussy to save the best for last. And though you pretend to disapprove and whine for him to come back up and just fuck you instead, his soft kisses that vibrate into your skin every time he moans at the feeling of your nether skin touching his slightly chapped lips, you find yourself helplessly crying out for more at the end. 

“Paul, please!” You feel his mouth twist into a smirk and your hands dart to finger his thick hair to withstand the sensation of his mouth hovering over your petals. 

“Please what, mouse?” You roll your eyes at the taunt in his voice. 

“Please touch me!” Your fingers impatiently tug at his short strands and he grins.

“Oh, mouse, but I am touching you” you whine and his shoulders vibrate under your knees from his devilish mirth. 

“Y- You know what I mean!” Though your cheeks are already aflush, you feel new heat seep underneath the layers of the reddened skin. 

“Mmm, but I thought you wanted me to—”

“Paul!” You desperately whine and he lets out a deep cackle.

“Fine, geez” he is so mean when he gets smug. You go to scowl down at him but he takes the mound between your legs in a deep handful and feels the slit between your petals in a vertical caress of his thumb before you do and you end up letting out a loud moan instead. “Needy much?” You bite your lip and wantonly roll your hips closer to his mouth. “Tsk, tsk. Impatient little mouse…” The tip of his digit presses between your nether lips that are dusted with pearly discharges of your arousal and a cherry red flush and your hips buck in anticipation. “You're lucky that you're so pretty and I like you so much…” Your spine trembles in your skin when you feel the coarse skin of his thumb against your ultrasensitive folds. “Because I typically don't appreciate things so small ordering me around…” Your back arches when he finally sticks the hot tip of his tongue between your nether lips.

“Oh…” You feel your toes curl. “More, please, Paul, more.”

He is so enchanted by your sweet scent and addictive taste that he is ignorant to anything that isn't your body. “But you, my dear mouse, you're something else…” His strong hands take your ass in them and he firmly kneads the plump skin, talking pretty much over you with a lust-drunken madness. You mewl out a moan at the feeling and Paul growls at the sound you make, pulling you closer to his mouth as he presses an open kiss to your pussy. “Fuck,” he groans and licks his lips that glisten from your slick, his own tip leaking at the taste of you. “I've never tasted anything like you before and I sure as hell am never gonna get tired of it.” 

“Paul!” you cry out when his tongue twirls against your entrance, his nose rubbing against your clit to caress it with the tip as he begins to eat you out.

His growl that vibrates your soaked folds to a buzzing life causes your eyes to roll to the back of your head. “Paul” you moan breathlessly, his name turning to a prayer as you tremble on the verge of releasing more slick.

“Gimme that sweet cum, baby, let me taste it” your lips part and you can't help but arch into his mouth with need. His hands are merciless, the one on your ass kneads it with rough gropes as the other massages the underside of your thighs in broad, determined strokes. You moan and writhe against him, your vision blurring at the hot waves that take over your body.

“I am gonna— oh, Paul!” He moans against you as you tremble and then release more even slick into his mouth. His tongue is in heaven as he greedily licks up all he can get. 

“Fucking hell, baby” the grainy tip of his tongue pokes and prods at your entrance, working the little hole open. “I can't wait to stuff this pretty little pussy full of my pups.” 

“Mmm, oh fuck, Paul, oh fuuuck” when he finally penetrates the tight barrier and his hot tongue invades your sensitive cavern, the burning knot between your hips gets tighter. Paul moans at the feeling of your delicate walls and though the vibrations of his doing so shakes you to your core, you cannot help but greedily wrap your legs around his head to both stay in place and withstand the pleasure.

“Oh, God, Paul, ’m so close!” Your voice is a breathless mewl and he growls at the vulnerable sound, his cock hurting from need. “Oh, fuck” you tremble so badly that you'd collapse into the ground if your knees weren't propped up by your mate's shoulders. “Oh fuck, oh fuck” Paul’s jaw flexes against your thighs when he begins to fuck you with his tongue, one hand fumbling for your cunt before he tickles the hood with his thumb. Your back arches and you clench your eyes shut, your chest heaving as you gasp out his name.

“Tsk, tsk, mouse” his hot breath fans your sensitive folds and you can't help but whimper at the feeling of his middle finger replacing his tongue. “You need to relax.” His hand that holds your ass pats your cheek in an endearing yet condescending way and your whole body tenses up at the touch even more. “I'm gonna take care of you, baby” you cannot help but rock your hips to his finger stretching your insides out against it. “You're mine and I'll never let you get hurt again, I promise” he croons before pressing a tender kiss to your clitorial nub. “You know that, right?” He kisses the slick covered inside of your thigh next to soothe your shaking body. “Tell me you know you're mine” his possessive words make the heat between your legs to go haywire.

“I am yours, Paul” you breathlessly promise him before letting out a moan when he tickles your folds with his tongue in a praising manner, satisfaction breaking out on his handsome face at your obedience.

“Good mouse” he begins to lap at your nub and your walls tense around his finger as a result, causing for your slick to slosh from the opening and down Paul's hand. “Shh, mouse, easy now” he cooes to get you to relax because of how tightly you are clenching yourself and it only gets worse when he adds a second finger. Your hips are so tight. You are on the edge. “You're gonna let me take care of this cute little pussy, aren't you?” You whimper at the feeling of being stuffed full and being licked at the same time.

“Y- Yes, Paul!” The air is heavy with the smell of slick and the sound of him slurping your juices up.

He adds a third finger and you nearly burst into tears from the pleasure. “Oh God, Paul, I am gonna cum!” Your entrance burns from the stretch and you moan from the bittersweet discomfort. “Please, lemme cum! Wanna cum so bad! Please, please!” Your submissive side comes out because of how overwhelmed you are and Paul can cum from the fragility of your voice right here.

“Hold it for me, mouse, good girl, c'mon” you sob at his cruel denial and he closes his lips around a mouthful of your folds, soundfully sucking at the clammy skin as he speeds his hand up to practically hammer your trembling pussy into an orgasm. Your toes curl and you throw your head back, fingers tugging at his hair as you tremble violently against him. Your back arches from how his free hand pinches and twists your nipples, softly landing occasional smacks to your boobs. “Good girl. I know you can take it” his hand then comes down to massage your ass cheek to make for a better stretch. “Relax, baby” you sob out his name and he smiles against your quivering core, his cheek gently caressing the inside of your thigh to get you to loosen up a little because you are clenching so hard.

“You're doing good, mouse. So good” his lips buzz against your clit. “Take it, baby, take it” your walls twitch against his coarse digits. “That's a good girl” he praises you while continuing to stuff your pussy with his fingers, the feeling of being filled up to the brim causing for you to shake and tremble violently. “That's my good girl” his tongue licks your clit as his fingers curve inside of you to search for your sensitive bundle of nerves that always makes you let out the sweetest of melodies.

“I'm gonna— I can't anymore, Paul!” Neon shapes cloud your vision when his fingers graze your sensitive spot and he growls at the feeling of your walls convulsing around his fingers.

“Yeah, baby. You can cum now” he finally relents and you cry out from the joy. “My little mouse, give me that sweet cum” his mouth never stops moving against you and you are so overcome with emotion that you are not sure if the tears that are streaming down your cheeks are due to pleasure or pain. “Gimme it, mouse. Gimme it” his tongue is like a beast that eats you up to satiate its starvation. You cry out his name from the pleasure.

“Paul! Paul, Paul— oh god!” The tongue is too much, though it gives you everything you could ask for at the moment, you need to escape. But when you try to pull away Paul catches your hips and holds you in place. 

“Now, where do you think you're going, little mouse?” There is a beastliness to his voice.

“N- No, Paul! No more—” you don't get to finish your plea because his mouth clamps down on your sensitive flesh to suckle on it in big, eager kisses again and your heart threatens to burst through your chest.

“Oh fuck” the knot between your legs tightens so hard you cannot maintain it anymore. Vertigo breaks through your hearing. “Oh— Paul!” The orgasm takes over your whole body, your mind blurs from the burst of sensation that courses through your blood and everything turns into a euphoric mess. “O- Oh God…” You tremble from the aftershock and Paul groans when he feels you squirt. He releases your hips and you fall back onto the floor, your body too weak to withstand its own weight. “O- Oh fuck…” You're breathless and your body feels like jelly. “Paul, oh Paul…” Your fingers desperately try to reach for him like you're no older than a baby and you notice that he is stroking his hurting cock because of the need to bury his knot in you, a pained expression etched across his face. “P- Paul, I am ready” though you can barely speak, your body shakes from the need to be filled up by him.

“Mouse… are you sure?” Though his voice strains from the painful need, he prioritizes your comfort over his and your heart wells up.

“Y- Yes” you try to sit up. “Fill me up, please” he needs no more encouragement after that. With a low growl, he jumps onto you and you feel the tip of his cock press against your entrance in a heated caress that makes you whine, your body even forgetting to yelp from how he pounces on you. 

“I'll never hurt you again, mouse” he whispers into your ear as he buries his nose into your hair, cock throbbing between your legs. You gasp when he enters you in a quick thrust that makes for all the air to bolt out of your lungs. “I promise.” You tremble in his hold and Paul groans at the feeling.

“I know” his mouth clamps down on the mating mark upon hearing your whisper and he slowly stretches your pussy to fit around his erection that even after all that fingering is still too big for your tiny cunt. The overstimulation causes for stars to form in your vision. His cock twitches inside you and he growls, the tip of his tongue tickling your nape in need.

“That's a good girl, baby” the hand that cups the side of your face tenderly strokes your cheek. “Relax for me” when your walls finally adjust to his log-like girth, Paul grins against the mating mark. “You're doing so good for me” the thrust of his hips causes for his cock to rub against your sensitive spot and your eyes roll to the back of your head with the feeling. “There's my good girl. You take my cock so well.” He releases his bite, hips pistoning up and down between your legs as he baby talks to you and strokes your hair to comfort you against the overstimulation that makes you whine.

“Paul!” You tremble as he fucks you in slow, long strokes and you cannot help but cry out his name in need.

“I'm here, baby. I got you” he murmurs into your hair and you moan at the baritone of his voice. “Take this cock, baby, you got it” he pants as his fat cock slides in and out of you. Then he suddenly grunts and readjusts you in his hold because the position is not comfortable enough for you and he can feel it. “God, you're so perfect.”

“I love you, Paul” you murmur into his ear, your hips lazily rolling against his as you hold him tight. 

“I love you more” the latter part of his sentence turns into a growl due to his struggle with the positioning and he collects your limp form in his. “And I can do this better” though he roughly pushes your bodies off the floor to head for the bedroom, his fingers subconsciously caress your back in gentle strokes to make up for how your bare skin rubbed into the floor during the ordeal. You whine from how his heavy sack puts a strain on your entrance where your bodies connect as he does so. He cooes praise and reassurance in your ear as comfort, peppering your mouth with gentle kisses.

.

The next morning when he leaves for patrol in a black tank top and some shorts, there is a shy grin on his face as he looks back at the door one last time to wave you goodbye. You blush and return the gesture, biting your lip like it's the morning after your first time with each other. 

“Geez, man, not the dreamy eyes!” A groan sounds from somewhere in the woods and you gasp before ducking behind the door. Chuckles and howls follow. 

The jerk brigade has arrived.

“Someone get these two a room!” You recognize Jake's voice and shake your head as you peek outside from behind your shield. “Oh, wait, they did that already!” You cannot help but snort when you see that Paul has begun to jog in the direction of the voices. “In light of how the whole town learnt all the ways in which Paul's name can be moaned last night” uh, oh. That's not going to be good. Your lover is very private and sensitive about you as it is and when someone tries to pry or joke about matters of this sort he does not appreciate it. Especially if it's his hormonal friends that he knows too well. “Paul, Paul, oh, Paul!” Your cheeks burn in embarrassment and Paul snarls before he flings his shirt off and jumps into the air, transforming into his beastly form midway and disappearing into the woods to attack the offendor.

You see the great trees shake from the tussle that you can practically visualize behind them and the encouraging howls of Paul's pack mates further confirms it. They love to get a rise out of your easily excitable boyfriend and he loves to put them in their place, being the strongest after Sam. Their crossing of each other's boundaries for the sake of fun used to concern you in the beginning but Paul himself assured you that that was just how they played and it was not coming from a bad place. 

So you wait for the ferocious crowd to move further away into the jungle that surrounds your house before you walk down to the dirt road to collect his clothing with a lighthearted shake of your head. A smile graces your lips as you do so and you cannot help but graze the now covered scars that your superhuman lover gave all his love to last night.  

Though it will be a while before he does, you cannot wait for him to come back home to you.

. . .

I am sorry if it sucks omg I really hope you like it <3

[inklore]

does it feel good?

— qimir x f!reader

premise: he is your beginning, the whole reason you have made peace with the darkness inside your head, and you know someday he may become your end. whether by his saber or by him finally consuming completely. you welcome both.

contents: established master x acolyte dynamics, shared force bond, unprotected p in v, foreplay, light choking, biting, scars and burn marks mentioned, death, teasing, over stimulation | wc: 2.7k+

note: i love that we all saw the water scene and went yeah that's for the smut writers. glad we are collectively going insane over this man.

The moons paint the water in a shimmering light that bathes its surface in sapphire that fades to the deepest of blacks the longer you stare into it. The waves that hit against the ragged stones are like a siren call to your aching body. 

Your muscles are still tight and coiled from earlier. Your molars grind together when you lift your arms to pull off your ruined and stained clothes. A burning sensation felt through your body as the fabric covering your torso moved against every burn, cut, and bruise you had acquired tonight. 

You didn’t stop by a reflective surface to check how many battle scars you’d earned. Badges of honor. More wounds worn like metals placed on your neck by a pleased master. Wounds, he’ll help you heal, stitch up, seal with the press of his palm to the tattered skin—stolen supplies from planets you can’t remember the name of with faces you can only remember the dead eyes of, used on the ones that don’t close up right.

The moonlight makes them look less serious. The illumination colored the dried blood and tissue into something misty. Almost tantalizing to the eye. Unlike the light of day, where you’re sure it will look less glamorizing. The ugly truth of the way your skin is going to bubble up and mold over to protect itself once the healing process begins is less glaring in this hue. 

Your toe dips into the water. It’s always warmer than you think it to be. Always welcoming you in like it’s been waiting for you to return. Waiting to wash away the grim and blood that seemed more permanent on your skin than your own flesh. 

You wade at the edge for a bit, pushing around the water with your feet. The water wading at your ankles. 

The ringing hasn’t stopped. 

It rarely does until you’ve closed your eyes and settled it. Until your body is less taut, muscles released from the on switch of fight. The power inside your veins thrumming like a wasp trying to free itself from the tissue of your bones. 

As if it had gotten stuck in there and couldn’t find its way out. Refusing to settle down or leave until you’ve maimed, avenged, and proved yourself—leaving your body and muscles in their current state. 

You’re not worried about something being in the water. If there were, you would have been able to feel it. Sense it’s beating heart and the danger of allowing it to keep beating. You’re alone as you walk further into the water, sinking into it’s depths until your body is completely engulfed. Your neck and head the only things going untouched. 

The freshly made badges on your skin burn when you scrub your thumb along the edges of them. Specks of dried blood float along the surface of the water before they’re lost to the darkness below. 

Amongst the ringing in your head, you can hear the screams of anger that tore from your lungs when the Jedi had gotten the upper hand. The green of his saber leaving red against your skin. Making your moves turn from confident to something rage fueled. 

Somewhere among the ringing, you know his scream is in there. Amongst the many cries for help and cracking bones. 

They always linger. Always hold on like a power pack to your dark side. 

You know your body won’t fully relax until you’ve stopped the ringing, though. You didn’t believe in blessings or curses. Bad fortune or good. Everyone’s life ended the same way. If you did believe in the farce, you would think the ringing that goes from the base of your skull to the drums of your ears was a curse. 

A quiet mind is a blessing. 

The buzz of the force within you too heady when you're in the throes of battle. War. Darkness. It’s always been like that. Even before him. 

It’s only gotten worse with him beside you. Like the bond the two of you had opened too much too deep and you feel everything more clearly. More unfortunately. 

He taught you how to silence it. To reign it in after the adrenaline and pace of your heart slowed. 

There were still things you had to learn. Things you were kept from knowing by your old master, the one who only saw one way to wield your power. A cowardly excuse for a master whose burial you wish you could have witnessed. 

It’s aggravating, almost. Anger inducing for sure. 

Someone not believing you are capable of knowing the truth about the power you wield. It’s criminal to not allow someone to be their true self all because of a set of rules that only benefited one group of people. One way of living, when there were so many. 

Your aggravation has faded by now. The anger is still there and buzzes through you. But you no longer feel like a part of you has been held back. Stunted and aching like your chest had for years—as if a rock had found itself in the base of your heart and took up rent there—until Qimir showed you the way. 

Your true self. 

Your full potential and all you were capable of. 

All that had been inside of you, held back for so long. 

Filling your lungs with air, you sink yourself under the water and hold yourself there. Eyes closing as you center yourself. Slow the wasp in your marrow to something dull. Stop the ringing in your ears until all you can hear is the hum of the water hitting the rock above the surface. 

Just you and the force. 

Just you and the water. 

Until you feel him. 

Until he’s there inside your mind.

Until you feel a hand at the base of your skull, fingertips brushing at the nape of your neck to let you know he’s not just in your head. He’s beside you.

Your eyes meet once you’ve filled your lungs with air again, and you wipe the water droplets from your lids. 

You watch him splash water against his neck, running the palm of his hand along the dirt and grime that clings to his skin. Cleaning himself of any traces of the deaths the two of you have left in your wake tonight. 

His calm demeanor always pulls you back from the edge. Always brings a calmness to your blood. To the beating of your heart. Even when shit has gone haywire, his demeanor never switches up. Never slips into something that could be labeled as sloppy or driven by anything other than who he truly is. What he’s made of. 

His calm seeping through your shared bond until you have no choice but to relax.

The handful of times you’ve seen that calmness turn into something animalistic, it’s made you envious, on the same hand, it’s made the space between your thighs burn. 

“You did well tonight.” 

“The smell of my burning flesh still clinging to my senses says differently.” 

The corner of his mouth lifts in amusement, “you did well.” He repeats. Ducks his head forward to wet his hair. His fingers running through the strands, droplets falling down his face. Your eyes follow them all the way down the column of his neck to his chiseled collar bones. 

It doesn’t take one wielding the force to know what your mind is projecting. Doesn’t matter that the two of you share a part of your brain. The thoughts of past nights spent together, Qimir teaching you the ways desire can be wielded and used to your advantage—or disadvantage, depending on how you look at it. 

Your face turns from him. Eyes moving up to the moon. 

Trying to hold back your thoughts the way he taught you. Even if it is futile against him.

“How do you feel?” 

Has the ringing stopped, Is what he’s really asking. Do you need another lesson? Are you still weakened by that ailment? That curse? 

Except he wouldn’t be as dramatic as that. Not with this. Not ever. Especially when it came to your power. Your capabilities. The perfect little acolyte he’s trained you to be. 

“Fine.” Your answer clipped, honest. Because you are fine, and your stubbornness will not allow you to let this turn into another lesson about you not being able to be as calm and collected as he is. No shadows of doubt lingering over who he truly is. His purpose. His wants. His desires. His darkness. 

He’s always been able to read right through you, though. Even without taking up space in your being. The force has little to do with that fact. 

You were never afraid of the darkness that lived inside of you. Never afraid of the power you could wield and the lives you could take. 

The only time you’ve felt true fear is being seen. 

Accepted. 

The potential to let someone of importance down and not withhold your end of a deal you’ve inked your name in blood just to be beside. To prove yourself to someone who’s your equal. Another half of your very being.

His face shows nothing but that calm amusement when he wades behind you. His fingers moving against your skin in an act to rid you of the spots of dirt you’ve missed on your neck and shoulders. 

Swallowing hard when his fingers scrape against past scars, he lingers there for a beat. Running the pad of them against the raised skin. A whisper in your head. 

You heal beautifully.

It’s a softness you’d never thought him to be capable of when you found out who he truly was. The man behind the mask. Even if the unmasking had been done unintentionally. 

It’s not softness you feel from his touch, though. No, his touch eases the strain in your muscles, only to gather itself in your belly. Your body burning with anticipation, knowing how this goes. 

How you’re rewarded when you impress him. 

When you do as you are told, your master is ever the generous one. 

“You’ve proven yourself tonight.” His lips brush against the tip of your spine, “killing without a weapon, not stopping until you were the last one standing. Freeing yourself from the ones who held you back for so long.” Your breath hitches in the back of your throat when his mouth presses down on that same spot at the beginning of your spine. 

A hand snaking around your throat, his palm wet and warm against your collarbones as he pulls your neck at just the right angle to have you looking at him. 

“Did it feel good?” 

“Yes.” You swallow, wrap your fingers around his wrist. “It always does.” You whisper, your eyes flashing down to the upturn of his lips. 

His nose runs along your cheek to your temple, his eyes closed, inhaling you. “I can always smell it. When you let yourself become one with the darkness. Right before you take a life.” His thumb runs a circle against the vein, which tells him the pace of your heart has picked up. As if he’d need it to know, as if the two of you don’t share something that links you completely to the other. “It still lingers. It’s distracting.” 

It’s not a question, but you nod. Your eyes flutter when he pushes his hips forward, and the hardness of his cock moves against your ass. 

He doesn’t ask permission, the two of you knowing you’re past such kindnesses, when his hand cups your mound. He knows what your body needs right now. What it wants, what it’s expecting. He can feel it too. His index and middle fingers spread your pussy, giving him access to that pleasure point on your body that only he knows how to stroke just right to have you pliant and singing for him. 

As if you were not already devoted to him. As if he were not your reason for being.

He’s your beginning, and you have no doubt he will be your end if it comes to it. 

The pad of his finger circles your clit in that slow way that lets you know he’s going to take his time with you. Going to drain every last bit of strain and tightness from your muscles, pushing that buzz between your legs and making him the only sound in your head—until he thinks you have had enough. 

Until your reward is good enough for him to be satisfied with how you took it. Until he knows your mind is back where it needs to be—here, with him. 

His mouth meets the hand at your throat, his teeth sinking into the parts his fingers aren’t pressing into. “You’re everything I could have hoped for.” His tongue laps against your pulse.

Perfect.

You may never know if he actually means the words; you can only feel what he allows you to feel through your shared connection. He’s better at blocking than you. But he knows you need to hear these praises. Knows how good and pliable it will make you. His words stoke the fire inside your soul that burns through your darkness. That allows you to become completely consumed by him and the desire to be on this side. 

Of being free. 

What he does allow you to feel lets you know there is some truth somewhere in there. You can feel it in how hard his cock thrusts against your ass when your body pushes back into him. You can feel it in the way his thoughts stream through your mind. 

So obedient.

Your cunt’s so greedy for me.

You’re mine.

The skin on your fingers stings from gripping the rocks in front of you. The pain you should feel from the heel of your palm digging into the jagged stones, lost in the haze of pleasure consuming your body. 

Qimir consuming every last part of your being. 

Taking over every dark corner of your mind and not letting you feel or hear anything but him.

Your moans become more shaky, your chest heaving as you pant and curse. The weight of the finger on your clit grows heavier, faster, deliriously good the more you near your orgasm. 

Your lips are moving in inaudible words. Words he understands, making him grin against your jaw. 

“You want my cock tonight?” You know he’s read your mind, or rather, your body. Know he can feel what you desire and crave. What your minds begging him for. “Hmm, do you think you’re deserving of that big of a prize? You spill a little blood, and suddenly you’re greedy.” He hums, “you did well. Do you think you deserve it, though? No?” 

Heat burns your cheeks; his chuckle makes you sob into the night air. The stubbornness to please and be as perfect as your counterpart wants you to be is not in favor of the mounting pressure that’s building in your pussy right now. 

“I already think you’re perfect; don’t push it.” His foot pushes easily at your ankles. Your thighs spread enough for the head of his cock to press against your entrance and thrust inside. 

“Mmm,” you whine at the stretch. Your eyes fluttering closed at your swollen walls being filled. Walls that tighten around him as he sets a fast pace. Matching the rhythm and stroke of his fingers. Sending your body on an overwhelming precipice of a carnal need to come. 

The heaviness of his breath as he says your name against your skin—the quick flashes of the pleasure he feels from being inside of you—is what finally sends you over the edge. 

Your orgasm rocking through you like a storm. Your body shaking against him, walls fluttering and squeezing around his cock, making him groan. Your throat raw and scratchy from the noise that’s pulled up from your lungs when everything in your body is set completely aflame. 

Your hand falling from the rocks, and pressing your nails into his wrist, trying to pull his hand from between your thighs. The over-stimulation of his finger moving against your clit even after your orgasm has passed makes you cry out and ripple the water around the two of you as you squirm. 

The tip of his cock hits that spot inside you that makes your vision go white. That falters your fight against his torment. 

“You can do better than one. You deserve it, don’t you?”

[elysianightsss]

Another sweet sweet price thot💋

Okay but let’s talk about Mountain man Price. He retired a few years ago and decided he much prefers the solitude of the beautiful mountains, with the tips of them all covered in snow. He likes the quiet, knowing he won’t run into anyone here. No one from the little town at the bottom of the mountains would be brave enough to hike the mountain trail.

He remembers the day he built his nice log cabin with the help of his trusty lieutenant of course. Simon helped his Captain one last time, before parting ways. Price wanted to be alone, after everything he’d experienced in the military, he wanted it to be just himself and the weather to keep him company.

He’d have the survival skills no doubt about it, but the more time he spent up there the more his social skills began to fade away. He’d have to come down every six months or so to restock his food, he make his trip down the hike trail to the little town at the bottom of the mountains and through the woods.

But the shop workers weren’t his biggest fans. He’d practically clear them out of their stock, the poor little local shop. They didn’t like his attitude either, found him strange and unapproachable. Though that’s exactly what John was going for. The less people that spoke to him, the better.

Until he met you of course.

It was only your second week at your new job, you’d just moved to the little town around a month ago and this was the only job available after some woman called Darlene went of maternity leave.

My gosh the way you’d be so nice to him having no idea the stigma that surrounded him and how suprised he’d be at the kindness you showed him. He’d actually look forward to coming down to the town.

He’d come more often as well, saying he’d ran out of supplies and yet he’d only buy a bag of fruit or some meat. Then he’d start to tidy up his appearance too, trim his over grown beard and moustache back to its former glory. The blush that would spread across your cheeks the first time you see him like that.

Hair trimmed too, you’d be able to see his perfect lips and crooked smile. It provoked a feeling in you that you’d long forgotten. Slowly but surely he’d start trying to flirt. Trying. Though you found it endearing how bad he was at it. Finally though he’d succeeded asking you out on a date and fuck the moment he’d turn up in his dark blue jeans, black shirt and dark brown leather jacket and boots. You swooned.

He had the charm turned on, especially after his phone call with his ex team. They could all hear how nervous their former captain was for this date. It made them very intrigued to meet you one day.

John didn’t miss a beat, almost as if he’d laid this date out like a mission. Going step by step to win your heart. He made you laugh so hard your stomach hurt, made you smile until your cheeks ached. Ordered the food and drinks impressively, no umming or stuttering.

He gave you butterflies when he reached over the table to grab your hand in his larger one. The skin was rough and calloused, but it felt amazing against your hand. He loved how soft your skin felt against his. He traced around the palm of your hand with his thick index finger, those gorgeous ocean eyes gazing into your soul.

After dinner, John took you to a local bar that you were pleasantly surprised with. A few drinks later you tipsily confessed how handsome you thought he was. The longer the evening went on, the more longing looks and teasing touches were shared.

The evening ended with the two of you slow dancing until last call. The way your bodies pressed together, the intimacy and warmth. The way he’d always make eye contact, almost as if he was trying to read you. The way he held you so tender yet tight, his large hands on your body. It all just felt so right.

John walked you home, looking so sad when it was time to part ways. “Please, let’s do this again sweetheart.” When your manager Billy had called you that, it made you feel sick. Had the hairs on the back of your neck standing up, disgust shivering down your body. But when John said it, damn. Your body shivered in delight, the deep mumble entangled with that delicious accent of his made you gulp back a lump in your throat. You swear your underwear was a little wet too.

You nodded leaning forward to kiss his cheek goodnight, John was quick to take your cheeks into his hands and press his wanting lips against yours. He was hungry and almost vicious when he kissed you, it made you wonder what kind of lover he was like as he pressed you against your front door and kissed you like he’d never get the chance again.

[reidmarieprentiss]

Turning Tables

Summary: The team finds you and Spencer, you come back to work after recovering, things are tense. Spencer realizes he messed up, but you're not so quick to forgive.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: angst, hurt/comfort

Warnings/Includes: suggestive content (16+), mentions of hookup culture, talks of cases, reader is heavily assaulted by unsub, broken bones, dumb man Spencer, missed signals, bad communication

Word count: 6.9k

a/n: hiii there will be a part three!!

main masterlist part one part three

The team finally found the two of you in the abandoned warehouse, but the sight they came upon was brutal. Spencer had a black eye and a split lip from being hit, his face bruised and bloodied, but you— you had taken the worst of it. The unsub had unleashed relentless violence on you. You’d been slapped, punched, kicked, spit on, cut, and thrown around like a ragdoll. The unsub’s twisted plan was clear: break Spencer by hurting you, the "weaker" hostage, using your suffering to force him into talking. But you both knew that wasn’t an option. Spencer couldn’t give the unsub what he wanted, no matter how much it tore him apart to watch you take those blows.

Every hit that landed on you felt like it was striking Spencer himself. He watched, helpless, feeling the pain of every blow as though it was his own flesh being torn and bruised. Yet he remained silent, knowing that any begging or pleading from him would only make the unsub escalate. He couldn’t give them that. He couldn’t put you through more than what you were already enduring, though it felt like it was killing him inside to watch.

When the team finally stormed in, you were unconscious, your body battered and limp as they carted you away on a stretcher to the waiting ambulance. Hotch approached Spencer, his voice calm but filled with concern as he asked, "What happened to Y/N?"

Spencer, sitting in the back of another ambulance, stared blankly ahead. His shoulders were slumped, weighed down by the guilt and horror of what had transpired. His voice was quiet, flat. “She was the target.”

Hotch took in Spencer's empty gaze, the exhaustion and anguish etched into every line of his face, and knew better than to press for more. They’d have to wait until you woke up to understand the full scope of what happened in that warehouse. But even then, Hotch feared that some wounds might never truly heal.

—

You eventually did wake up, groggy but relieved to find that, despite the brutality you endured, you had very little internal damage. The doctors assured you that your body just needed time to heal. Two weeks of paid leave were granted as you recovered, a rare gesture of empathy from Chief Strauss, who seemed to have a soft spot for you.

As the painkillers faded and your mind cleared, the questions from your team began. You sat with them, still feeling tender but able to think straight, recounting everything you remembered from that night. You and Spencer had been investigating a house, following up on an anonymous tip. It seemed routine until the moment you two split up to check different rooms. That’s when it happened—ambushed from behind, a cloth drenched in chloroform shoved over your mouth. After that, everything went black.

"I only remember waking up inside the warehouse with Spencer," you explained, your voice steady but laced with tension. The memories still fresh, the pain still vivid. "The unsub wanted me. I was the real target. They said I was more of a challenge than any of their other victims."

JJ, sitting beside you, asked softly, her voice gentle and careful. “Why did they take Spencer?”

You heaved a breath, feeling the weight of the answer on your chest. “They thought if they took him too, they could find out where the rest of the team was. They wanted Spencer to tell you all it was a dead end, to send you off on a different trail.” You paused, your breath shaking as you continued. “They said if Spencer did that, they’d release him. But they made it clear… they just wanted me.”

The room was silent for a moment, the gravity of your words hanging in the air. Your team exchanged glances, but no one said anything. They didn’t need to. You all understood what it meant—that the unsub was willing to let Spencer go, but you were never supposed to walk out of that warehouse alive.

—

When you returned to work after your leave, the atmosphere shifted. The entire team was happy to have you back, and there were warm smiles all around. Spencer, however, seemed unsure how to approach you now. Still, he smiled as you passed by, his voice tentative yet sincere as he said, “I’m really glad you’re back and feeling better.”

You returned the smile, a brief and polite response escaping your lips. “Thanks, Spencer. I appreciate it.” The exchange was short, almost too brief, and you both seemed to sense the unspoken tension lingering between you. It didn’t go unnoticed, especially not by JJ, who had grown close to you since the incident. She had been your rock, someone you confided in more and more. 

When she found a quiet moment alone with you, JJ slipped into the conversation with ease. “Hey, how’s your first day back?” she asked with her trademark smile, though there was a hint of something deeper in her tone.

You shrugged lightly, trying to mask any unease. “Same as usual, I guess. It feels good to be working again, though. I was getting restless at home.”

JJ laughed knowingly, nodding. “I know exactly what you mean.” Then, her voice dropped, softer now, as she leaned in slightly. “Did something happen between you and Spence?”

The question caught you off guard, your brows knitting in surprise. Did Spencer say something to her? You quickly tried to brush it off with a joke. “Other than, you know, getting kidnapped together? Not that I know of.”

But JJ wasn’t convinced. She made a face like she wasn’t buying your casual response. “Are you sure? You two haven’t really been talking much. I guess I just assumed something like that would have brought you closer… in a weird, awful sort of way.”

You let out a short laugh, trying to deflect again. “Yeah… we didn’t get the trauma bonding memo, I guess.”

JJ still looked skeptical, her eyes scanning your face for cracks in your armor. “Okay, well… just, if you need to talk, I’m here. You don’t have to go through anything alone.”

Her offer was genuine, and the sincerity in her voice made you pause. You smiled back at her, feeling a small but comforting warmth settle in. “Thanks, JJ. I really appreciate that.”

Across the bullpen, Spencer had been listening to the conversation from his desk, his heart aching at what JJ was implying. He’d been mulling over the same thought—that the trauma you both went through should have drawn you closer. Shared experiences like that often created a bond, an unspoken connection forged in survival. But instead, he could feel the distance between you growing wider, and it tore him up inside.

He couldn’t stop thinking about how hard this must be for you, how you were facing it all alone. You were still relatively new to the team, and as far as Spencer knew, this was your first time being kidnapped. After his first time, he had shut everyone out. Granted, he’d been addicted to drugs back then, but that isolation still hadn’t been the right path. It had only deepened the pain, and he feared you might be doing the same thing.

He could only hope you were receiving the support you needed—support he wasn’t sure he could give you anymore.

—

Later that week, you found yourself in the kitchen, trying to ignore the sharp ache in your side as you reached for a mug to make tea. The pain in your ribs flared up with every stretch, the broken bones protesting loudly. As your arm extended toward the cupboard, the burning sensation became unbearable, and you yelped, clutching your side in an attempt to steady yourself.

“Y/N?” Spencer’s voice was filled with concern as he walked into the room just in time to see you wince in pain. He was by your side in an instant, his hands hovering uncertainly, as if he wanted to help but wasn’t sure how far he could go. “Are you okay?”

You grunted, trying to downplay the pain. “I’m fine, just... need a mug.”

Spencer gave a small, understanding nod before stepping in to help. He reached up with ease, grabbing the mug he knew was your favorite—the one you always used for your tea. “Here,” he said softly, placing it on the counter in front of you. “Making tea?”

A small flutter stirred in your chest at the realization that he remembered both your favorite mug and your preference for tea. It was such a small detail, but it felt significant in that moment, a quiet acknowledgment of the bond that still lingered between you despite everything.

—

You laughed as you watched Spencer pour himself yet another cup of coffee. “It’s three in the afternoon, Spencer! Who drinks coffee this late?”

Spencer chuckled along with you, lifting his cup with a playful grin. “Me! Obviously!” he said, gesturing toward the steaming mug with a mock sense of pride.

You bumped his hip with yours, gently nudging him out of the way as you reached for the kettle. “Well, some of us actually like to sleep,” you teased, your tone light and playful.

What you didn’t notice was the way Spencer had stared at you after that, a soft, affectionate gaze lingering on your face, the kind of look that held more meaning than words could express.

—

“Yeah, thanks,” you sighed, knowing you needed the help but still feeling a little self-conscious about it.

Without missing a beat, Spencer grabbed your favorite tea from the cupboard and began steeping it for you, his movements calm and precise. He didn’t ask if you needed more assistance—he just did it, like he knew exactly what you needed in that moment. It was a silent kindness, one that reminded you of the Spencer you knew before everything had gotten so complicated.

As the tea steeped, you leaned back slightly, watching him with gratitude and lingering uncertainty. The simplicity of the moment, of him helping you with something as mundane as making tea, felt like a brief return to the way things used to be between you.

“Do you need help with anything else?” Spencer asked, his gaze fixed on the steaming mug in front of him rather than meeting your eyes. His tone was casual, but there was something tense beneath it, something unspoken that lingered between the two of you.

You frowned, feeling a bit of confusion and then a flicker of annoyance rising up. Was he only doing this out of guilt? You straightened up slightly, crossing your arms over your chest despite the ache in your ribs.

“Look, I appreciate your help, but you don’t have to suck up to me because of what happened,” you said, your words sharper than you intended. You regretted it immediately, but the frustration had been bubbling beneath the surface for a while now—how careful everyone was being around you, how things with Spencer had grown so strange and distant since the kidnapping.

Spencer froze for a moment, his hand still resting on the counter as he absorbed your words. His jaw tightened, and for a second, he didn’t move or say anything. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but steady. “I’m not… sucking up to you.”

You huffed, unsure where this conversation was heading but feeling the tension building between you. “Then what is this? You’ve barely said two words to me since I came back, and now suddenly you’re… what? Trying to make up for it by being overly nice?”

Spencer’s shoulders stiffened, and he finally turned to face you, his expression guarded. “I’m just trying to help,” he said, his voice measured, like he was trying not to let his own emotions show. “I know things are… different now. But I didn’t want to push you into talking or pretending everything’s okay if it’s not. That’s all.”

The frustration in you wavered, your annoyance softening as you realized he wasn’t trying to guilt-trip or coddle you. He was as lost in this new dynamic as you were, both of you navigating the aftermath of something you hadn’t fully processed. His hesitation wasn’t about sucking up—it was about not knowing how to be around you anymore.

“I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything,” you said, your voice quieter now. “You don’t have to fix this, or me.”

Spencer's eyes softened slightly as he watched you, his own uncertainty flickering across his face. “I’m not trying to fix anything,” he said, almost a whisper now. “I just… don’t want to make things worse.”

The weight of his words settled between you, and suddenly the air felt heavy, filled with everything you both hadn’t said since the warehouse.

“Worse, right,” you scoffed, the bitterness lacing your voice before you could stop it. “Sorry I started an awful chain of events.” You could feel the hurt bubbling up again, the weight of rejection you’d been carrying ever since that day in the warehouse. It wasn’t just the physical pain—it was the emotional bruise left behind, the wound that hadn’t healed.

Spencer looked at you, his expression faltering. He opened his mouth as if to respond but then hesitated, unsure of how to mend what had already spiraled so far out of control. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said softly, his words stumbling out in a rush. “We were under a lot of stress… sometimes people say things they don’t mean, searching for comfort.”

You felt your heart drop at his words. He thought it was just a fleeting moment, something you’d said out of desperation. That stung worse than anything. You blinked back the frustration and the tears that were threatening to spill over, the pain in your side flaring as you tried to catch your breath.

Without another word, you turned on your heel and stormed out, the door to the break room slamming behind you with a sharp, echoing crack.

Spencer stood there, stunned, the sound of the door slamming reverberating in the silence. He hadn’t meant to make things worse. He didn’t realize until it was too late that you hadn’t just left the conversation—you had left the room entirely, and maybe… left something between you both behind.

He clenched his hands into fists, a knot tightening in his stomach. He didn’t know how to make this right, how to undo the damage that had already been done. All he knew was that you had walked away and it felt as if he was losing you for good.

—

Things on the team settled into a new rhythm, even if it wasn’t quite the same. Everyone seemed to accept that you and Spencer were no longer as close as you had once been, though there was an undercurrent of tension. The two of you weren’t assigned together anymore, and that seemed to smooth things out for the most part. But it didn’t go unnoticed that Spencer kept a quiet distance, while you partnered up with Derek in the field.

Spencer couldn’t shake the bitterness that crept in when he saw you with Derek. He couldn’t help but wonder if Hotch had reassigned you because he thought Spencer couldn’t protect you, that you needed someone strong like Derek to keep you safe. The thought left him feeling sour, inadequate, like he’d somehow failed. But then, just as quickly, he’d get mad at himself for even thinking that way. You didn’t need protecting. You were more than capable of handling yourself in the field. You had survived worse than most, even if he couldn’t bear to watch it happen.

What gnawed at him most, though, was how happy you seemed with Derek. The way you laughed and joked with him, talking easily like you once did with Spencer. It stirred something ugly inside him, something he didn’t want to admit. He couldn’t deny that Derek was the kind of man who seemed perfect—strong, confident, and charming. A man who could sweep anyone off their feet. He hated that it bothered him, but he’d never allow himself to admit that he was afraid you’d fall for Derek. That kind of jealousy was too much to confront.

You, on the other hand, were content with your new partnership. Derek was easygoing and didn’t pry into your personal life. He let you manage things on your own terms, only asking questions when you willingly brought something up. It was a refreshing change, especially after everything that had happened with Spencer. You didn’t want to talk about what had gone wrong. You were too embarrassed, too ashamed of how vulnerable you had felt. It was easier to leave it behind, buried where no one could see the cracks.

But despite the professional ease, there was still a part of you that missed what you and Spencer once had, even if you’d never admit that either.

—

On one particular case, you and Derek celebrated the capture of an unsub with a big, triumphant hug. In the heat of the moment, you jumped into his arms, and he caught you effortlessly, spinning you around as the rest of the team cheered. It had been the two of you who made the breakthrough that led to the unsub’s hideout, and everyone was thrilled. You were beaming, caught up in the excitement of the team.

But Spencer, standing on the sidelines, was stewing. His mind kept replaying the mistake he had made, the detail he had missed that Derek had caught. And now, it was Derek who had caught you, too. Watching the two of you laughing, hugging, and celebrating felt like a punch to his gut. His insecurities gnawed at him, building into a quiet anger that simmered beneath the surface.

The rest of the team, however, smiled at the sight of you, happy to see you so joyful and healed enough to engage in lighthearted horseplay with Derek. The dark cloud that had followed you since the kidnapping seemed to have lifted, and it was a relief to everyone.

When the team returned to Quantico, Penelope was quick to corral everyone for celebratory drinks at the local bar. You stuck close to JJ and Penelope, grateful for their company as the night went on. After a few drinks, they pulled you out onto the dance floor, laughter bubbling up between the three of you as the music played. You let yourself go, dancing with JJ and Penelope, the worries of the past few months fading in the glow of the evening.

But it wasn’t until Derek joined you girls on the dance floor that something shifted. Spencer, sitting at the bar, felt a surge of jealousy flood through him. Derek was there again, touching your arm, laughing with you, spinning you around as the girls cheered. Spencer’s vision blurred with red-hot anger, the insecurities and feelings he had been burying for weeks now boiling over.

Before he could think twice, Spencer stormed over, grabbing Derek by the arm and pulling him outside the bar. The sudden outburst left Derek confused, glancing at Spencer with genuine concern. “What the hell, Reid?” Derek asked, his voice sharp with confusion but tinged with worry. “Are you okay?”

Spencer was breathing heavily, steam practically pouring out of his ears as he glared at Derek. “Do you like her?” he snapped, his voice cracking with frustration.

Derek blinked, taken aback. “Who? Like who, Reid?”

“Y/N!” Spencer shouted, his voice louder than he intended. “You keep touching her, and dancing with her, and laughing like—like you’re trying to be with her!”

Derek’s face softened in realization, and he held up his hands defensively, trying to calm Spencer down. “Whoa, whoa, kid,” Derek said slowly, his tone measured. “You think something’s going on with me and Y/N?”

Spencer’s chest heaved as he struggled to control the emotions that had been brewing for so long. “I… I don’t know. I just—every time I see you with her, I can’t help but think you’re—”

Derek cut him off gently, shaking his head. “Spencer, man, it’s not like that. We’re friends. That’s it.”

But Spencer wasn’t ready to accept it. “Then why do you keep acting like that with her? I see it, Derek! You’re always laughing with her, touching her, like you’re… like you’re taking my place.”

Derek sighed, finally starting to understand what was bubbling beneath the surface. “Alright, Reid. What’s going on? ‘Taking your place’? You know Hotch was the one who reassigned us all. It’s just work, man.”

Spencer huffed in frustration, his foot kicking at the loose gravel beneath him. His mind raced, emotions swirling, but he couldn’t seem to piece together a coherent response. He felt like a rubber band stretched too far, about to snap, and it wasn’t just about work. He knew that much.

Derek watched him closely, reading the tension in Spencer’s body, the unease in his eyes. “That’s not what you meant, though, is it?” Derek questioned carefully, his tone soft but pressing for the truth.

Spencer’s shoulders tensed even further, his head dipping slightly as he tried to find the right words. “I… I don’t know,” he muttered, his voice shaky with frustration. He didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to confront what was really bothering him. But he also couldn’t stand feeling like this—watching from the sidelines, seeing you with Derek, seeing you laugh and smile like he wasn’t even part of your life anymore.

Derek took a step closer, lowering his voice so only Spencer could hear. “There’s more, isn’t there?” he asked, but he wasn’t accusing. He was just trying to get Spencer to open up, to confront whatever it was that had him spiraling.

Spencer clenched his fists at his sides, staring at the ground as his heart pounded. “I… I didn’t mean for there to be,” he admitted quietly, his voice strained. “It’s just… I don’t know how to be around her anymore. Everything’s different, and I—I don’t know how to fix it.”

Derek nodded slowly, understanding dawning. “You care about her. More than you’re letting on.”

Spencer’s silence was answer enough. He cared about you deeply—more than he had ever allowed himself to admit, even to himself. And now, watching you get closer to Derek while he kept his distance, it felt like he was losing you, piece by piece.

“I don’t know what happened in that warehouse," Derek began, his voice steady and understanding. "I read the report, but I’m sure there were some forgotten details… stuff that can’t be put into words.” He paused for a moment, giving Spencer a chance to process what he was saying. “If there’s something you need to tell her, just do it, Reid. Y/N isn’t the type to laugh at you or shut you out.”

Spencer sniffled, the tears coming against his will, his emotions too raw to hold back any longer. “I... I know that,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the strain. He wiped at his eyes, feeling small and overwhelmed. “I just want to go back to how things were,” he complained softly, his words sounding almost petulant, like a child wanting to undo what couldn’t be undone.

Derek’s heart softened at Spencer’s admission. He had seen this kind of pain before, knew how trauma could twist things, how it could fracture even the strongest of bonds. “That’s not gonna happen, kid,” Derek said with sympathy, shaking his head gently. “What happened to the two of you… that changes people. It changes the way you see the world, and it changes how you see each other.”

Spencer swallowed hard, feeling the weight of those words sink in. He knew Derek was right. He knew things had changed, that he had changed, and so had you. But hearing it made the ache in his chest sharper, more real.

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t rebuild together,” Derek added, his voice hopeful. “It’s not about going back to how things were, Spencer. It’s about moving forward—together. You’ve both been through hell, but that doesn’t mean it’s over. You still have a chance.”

Spencer looked up at Derek, his eyes filled with uncertainty and vulnerability. “What if… what if it’s too late?”

Derek shook his head, giving Spencer’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “It’s only too late if you give up on her. Don’t wait until you lose her for good before you try to fix things. You care about her, Reid. She needs to hear that from you.”

Spencer took a deep breath, nodding slightly, though the fear still gnawed at him. He didn’t know if he was ready, but one thing was certain—he couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t. He had to find the courage to face you, to face what had changed, and to see if there was still a chance to rebuild the connection he had feared was lost forever.

After their tense conversation outside the bar, Spencer headed home, deciding it was best not to linger. He didn’t want to ruin your night by bringing up anything uncomfortable, and the idea of watching you dance with Derek—or worse, with other men—was too much for him. The weight of jealousy and regret was already suffocating, and he needed space to figure out what he was really feeling.

It turned out to be a good thing he left when he did. After Spencer and Derek stepped outside, you were approached by a very handsome, very suave man. He had an easy charm about him, the kind that made conversation flow effortlessly. His flirtatious smile and smooth lines quickly caught your attention, and for the first time in a while, you felt yourself relax, enjoying the moment without overthinking it.

One drink turned into two, and before you knew it, the night had slipped away. The man offered to take you home, and in the haze of alcohol and the desire to forget the complicated feelings with Spencer, you agreed. You didn’t want to think about what had been left unsaid, about the tension between you and Spencer, or how much everything had changed.

That night, you went home with the charming stranger, eager to escape the weight of the unresolved emotions that had been building for weeks. But in the back of your mind, even as you tried to lose yourself in someone new, a small part of you couldn’t help but wonder if this was just another way of avoiding what you were really feeling.

—

That one night started a fire inside you, one that you hadn’t realized had been smoldering beneath the surface for so long. The realization that—even if it was just for a fleeting moment—you were wanted, desired, was intoxicating. After everything that had happened with Spencer, after feeling rejected and unsure of yourself, it was refreshing to be wanted without complications or emotional baggage.

The feeling of being desired, even if only for one night at a time, ignited something within you. It gave you a sense of control, of freedom, and it felt good—so good—to be seen as someone worth chasing. So you leaned into it. You found your place in the hookup culture, where the rules were simple and the emotional weight was nonexistent. One night, one person, no strings attached.

And it was fun. The thrill of meeting someone new, the brief connection that didn’t require anything more than mutual attraction, gave you a rush. Sure, the expense of condoms and the constant reminder to stay on top of frequent STD testing was a minor annoyance, but it was worth it for the feeling of power and liberation that came with it.

You felt like you were finally getting your fix, like the hole that had been left after your complicated feelings with Spencer was being filled—albeit temporarily. It wasn’t about love or deep connection anymore. It was about reclaiming something for yourself, something you hadn’t realized you were missing. You had found an escape, and for now, that was enough.

But then, one day, you made a mistake—a slip of the tongue in the office. You weren’t necessarily trying to keep your new lifestyle a secret, but you hadn’t planned on making it common knowledge either. Your friends and coworkers didn’t need to know every detail of how you were trying to get over Spencer, how you had buried your hurt in casual flings to escape the complicated feelings lingering from the rejection.

It happened when Penelope asked about your weekend plans in the bullpen. You casually mentioned that you were busy, but the response sparked curiosity.

"Busy? With what?" JJ asked, her eyes narrowing playfully. As your close friend, she felt like she would have known if you had something going on. She sensed something was off.

You laughed awkwardly, realizing you had stepped into dangerous territory. "Uh, just... seeing a man."

Penelope's face lit up with excitement. "You have a date?" she asked, her glee impossible to hide.

"Not exactly..." you trailed off, hoping the conversation would end there, but you should’ve known better.

Derek, never one to miss an opportunity to tease, raised an eyebrow with a sly grin. "Little miss thing, do you have a scheduled booty call?" he asked, his tone filled with mischief.

Your face flushed fiercely, the blush creeping up your neck. The small, involuntary smile on your lips gave you away instantly, and before you could protest, Penelope squealed with delight, while JJ chuckled in surprise.

"Oh my god!" Penelope exclaimed, eyes wide with excitement. "You minx! Why didn’t you tell us?"

You tried to play it cool, shrugging lightly. "I mean, it’s nothing serious. Just… you know… having some fun."

But what you didn’t notice was Spencer, who had overheard the entire conversation from across the bullpen. His face paled, and his heart sank as the reality of your words hit him like a freight train. You were seeing other people. You were sleeping with other men, and it was painfully clear—you were trying to get over him.

The girl he had always wanted—you—had wanted him back. That truth crashed into him with an intensity he wasn’t prepared for, and the weight of it left him standing frozen, unable to process how much he had lost. Spencer felt the deep ache of regret, gnawing at him with every word you spoke to your friends. You had moved on—or at least, you were trying to. And it was all because of him, because he had pushed you away when you had been vulnerable, honest, and open with him.

At that moment, Spencer couldn’t deny it any longer. He finally admitted it to himself—he wants you. He likes you. Maybe he even loves you. He always has. 

The realization of what he had been running from all this time hit him harder than any unsub ever could. He had been too scared to face it, too afraid of messing things up between you, too unsure of how to handle his own feelings. But now, watching you laugh awkwardly with your coworkers about casual hookups and hearing how you were slipping further and further away from him, it became painfully clear—he had already messed things up. 

Spencer clenched his fists at his sides, his mind racing with the weight of what he'd been denying for so long. He wanted to be the one you turned to, the one you laughed with, the one you came home to after a long day. He wanted to be more than your friend, more than someone you used to be close to. He wanted you in his life, in every possible way.

—

Spencer had always been on your speed dial—back when things were simpler, back when you called him almost every day, your friendship close and easy. So when his phone buzzed after 11 p.m. on a Saturday, his first instinct wasn’t concern. But after everything that had happened between the two of you lately, the timing made him uneasy. This wasn’t normal anymore. He hadn’t heard from you in weeks, not like this, and certainly not at this hour.

His heart pounded as he grappled for the phone, his mind racing. If you were calling him this late, something had to be wrong. He didn’t hesitate for a second, fumbling to answer as quickly as possible, already imagining the worst. “Y/N?” he called out into the phone, his voice tense with worry. “Y/N, are you okay?”

But instead of your voice answering, what he heard stopped him cold.

It was faint at first, a muffled noise, but as he strained to listen, the unmistakable sounds of… pain? groaning? It left him on edge, his panic rising. His mind raced, thinking the worst—had you been hurt? Were you in danger? He called your name again, louder, more frantic this time. “*Y/N!*”

But still, no response from you. Just the sounds, growing clearer, louder.

And then, it hit him like a punch to the gut. Through the haze of sounds on the other end, he heard a man’s voice, moaning your name.

Spencer’s breath caught in his throat as realization dawned painfully, his stomach twisting. You hadn’t called him on purpose. You had buttdialled him during a hookup. The groans, the noises that he had thought were of pain—they weren’t what he had feared. They were… something entirely different.

His hands shook as he stared at the phone, the pit in his stomach growing. He could hear everything, the intimacy, the passion—things that weren’t meant for him, things he should never have been privy to. The knowledge of what was happening, of who was with you right now, left him reeling.

He hung up, the phone slipping from his grasp onto the bed. Spencer sat there, stunned, trying to process what had just happened. It was the harshest reminder of what he had lost, of what he had pushed away. You were moving on. You were finding comfort in someone else. And here he was, on the other end of a phone call that was never meant to be made.

For the first time, Spencer felt the full weight of what he had done. He had pushed you away, too scared to face his own feelings, and now he was watching—no, hearing—you slip further away from him. The girl he had always wanted, the one who had wanted him, was now with someone else. And all he could do was sit there, helpless, with the sharp, bitter taste of regret heavy on his tongue.

—

You were blissfully unaware that you had called Spencer the night before. After a fun, carefree night with a man whose name you couldn’t even remember, you woke up feeling satisfied and content. It wasn’t until the next day, when you went to call Penelope, that your heart stopped. Staring at your call log, your eyes widened in horror as you saw the call to Spencer. A call that had lasted for several minutes. 

You quickly checked the time. It had definitely been when you and what’s his name were together. Oh god. A pit formed in your stomach as the realization hit you—did Spencer hear anything? Your mind raced, mortified by the idea. You hadn’t spoken to him much lately, and now, this? It was beyond awkward.

By Monday morning, you were terrified to face Spencer. The embarrassment gnawed at you, and the thought of seeing him after that accidental call made your stomach churn. When you arrived at the office, you tried to keep your head down, praying the situation would somehow blow over. But as soon as you made it to your desk, Spencer stormed over, his face set in a hard, unreadable expression.

“Y/N,” he said lowly, his voice tense, “a word.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach. You nodded silently, following Spencer into the hall, the weight of what you feared was coming making it hard to breathe.

Before he could speak, you blurted out, “Listen, Spencer, I’m sorry—” You didn’t even know how to finish the sentence, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. 

Spencer’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he looked like he was grappling with something—whether to be angry, hurt, or simply frustrated. “You called me,” he said, his voice calm but tinged with something else you couldn’t quite place. “I heard... a lot.”

Your heart sank even further. He did hear. “Spencer, I didn’t mean for that to happen,” you said quickly, desperate to explain. “It was an accident. I wasn’t trying to—”

“Just…” Spencer interrupted, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked away, clearly uncomfortable. His voice was quieter now, but the tension between you was palpable. “Please don’t do that again. It was horribly uncomfortable.”

You winced, guilt washing over you. The last thing you had ever wanted was to make Spencer feel that way. “I’m really sorry, Spencer,” you said, softer this time. “I didn’t realize I had called you. If I had known...”

He nodded, still avoiding your gaze. “I know. It’s just… hearing that, knowing what was happening, it was…” He trailed off, the words hanging unfinished in the air.

"It was what?" you pressed, sensing that Spencer was leaving something unsaid, something important.

Spencer glanced away, his expression tense, and then, as if the weight of his feelings could no longer be held back, he blurted it out. "I was jealous, okay?"

You blinked in disbelief. “Jealous?” The word left your mouth before you could stop it, confusion swirling in your mind. How could he be jealous after everything that had happened between you two?

“Yeah, Y/N,” he sighed, finally meeting your eyes, the vulnerability in his gaze clear now. “I was jealous.”

You shook your head, still baffled by his confession. “Spencer, you rejected me,” you reminded him, your voice sharper than you intended. The hurt from that moment still stung, and hearing him say he was jealous felt like a twisted irony.

“I know,” he said quickly, guilt flashing in his eyes. “I know I did, and I’ve regretted it ever since. I was scared. I didn’t know how to handle what you said or what I was feeling, and I pushed you away. But hearing you with someone else, knowing you’ve moved on… it hit me harder than I expected.”

You stood there, staring at him, processing his words. Part of you wanted to lash out, to remind him of how much his rejection had hurt you. But another part of you, the part that had always cared for Spencer, softened at the sight of him so open, so raw with his emotions.

“Spencer…” you started, your voice gentler now, “you don’t get to be jealous. Not after everything. You made your choice.”

“I know,” he whispered, his eyes full of regret. “And it was the wrong choice. I didn’t realize how much I wanted you—until it was too late.”

There was a pause as his words hung in the air between you.

“Well, I’m sorry it took you so long to realize it,” you said, the hurt still lingering in your voice despite the calm exterior you tried to maintain.

Spencer nodded slowly, his expression full of regret. “Me too,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked at you then, his eyes filled with all the things he hadn’t been able to say before, the weight of his hesitation clear now that the truth was out.

The silence between you stretched on for a moment, heavy with everything that had gone unsaid for so long. You could feel the weight of it pressing down on you, the hurt and confusion swirling around inside your chest. This was what you had wanted once—to hear Spencer admit that he had made a mistake. But now that it was happening, it didn’t feel as satisfying as you thought it would.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Spencer continued, his voice breaking slightly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just… I didn’t know how to deal with my own feelings. And now I’m scared I’ve lost you for good.”

You stared at him, unsure of what to say. There was no quick fix for what had happened between you. His apology was genuine, but the damage had already been done.

“I don’t know what to say, Spencer,” you admitted. “I’m not going to pretend like this doesn’t hurt, or that everything can just go back to how it was.”

“I understand,” he said softly, looking down at the floor. “I don’t expect things to go back to the way they were. I just… I wanted you to know how I feel. And that I’m sorry.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath. “I appreciate that. But this doesn’t change everything.”

“I know,” he replied, his eyes meeting yours once more. “But maybe… maybe it’s not too late to figure it out. If you’re willing.”

You hesitated, the rawness of the conversation still fresh. You didn’t know if you could open that door again—not yet. But maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance to rebuild what had been broken.

“We’ll see, Spencer,” you said softly. “We’ll see.”

And with that, the conversation hung in the air, fragile and uncertain, but with the faintest glimmer of hope.

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

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[greatunironic]

eddie wakes up in a strange room. this was not particularly unusual for him, historically: he’d spent most of his twenties waking up in new and interesting places (including a handful of jail cells). but after eddie, the label, and the los angeles superior court system decided it would be best if he stopped drinking and doing blow, it stopped being such a regular occurrence.

so it’s almost alarming to him, now, to be blinking up at an unfamiliar cement ceiling with the raging bitch of all headaches and generally feeling like he got hit by a truck, got whiplash in a crash with the way his neck aches. he’d think he was hungover like all those times before except for how sharp the pain is, bright.

he worries, briefly, he’s relapsed, or someone’s slipped him something. but he remembers what him and the boys had been up to, before this, and he thinks it’d’ve been a strange night indeed if someone roofied a c-list (b-list if he’s feeling charitable) musician at a fucking frozen four game.

because yeah, eddie remembers: they’d been third row, watching the wisconsin ladies clean up and cheering for jeff’s kid sister like she was about to get olympic gold. (she probably would, someday. her and that mayfield girl who played defense were looking down the barrel at a 2026 run apparently.

eddie’s been to a handful of games over the years, when touring and recording allows them to go. he’s resolutely never been a sports guy but he’ll admit, when pressed, that live hockey is pretty dope. to say nothing, of course, of how jeff would probably murder them all in their sleep if they didn’t rep the red and white for lottie.

(and also — and this is between eddie and his god alright — but lottie’s coach? standing back there in his suit, hair styled and dialed, snapping his gum, yelling at the refs? kind of doing it for him, okay. worth the price of admission, even if the tickets weren’t free.)

when he thinks harder — which hurts too — the last thing he clearly remembers was someone from the beavers scoring, bringing their lead to 5-1, and a slapshot from the other team getting out over the boards and nearly taking out some lady’s popcorn. someone behind them in the seats said, “jesus they’re getting desperate, eh?”

then shit goes dark on him, not even a fade to black, but a full on smash cut, roll credits black, and the post-credits scene is where ever the fuck eddie is at the moment. it smells like human and cold and icy hot, so obviously, he thinks, he died and went to hell like all the church ladies said he would back in hawkins, or probably just a locker room. what the fuck?

he blinks at the ceiling, at an interesting water stain on the cement texturing. he’s in the middle of wondering where the rest of his band has gone if he’s here alone, fucking abandoners, when a sweaty redhead with the bitchiest expression he’s maybe ever seen enters his field of vision.

“you’re alive,” she says.

eddie blinks again. “why do you sound so disappointed?”

“yo coach!” she shouts, already on the move away from him. “he’s alive!”

he tries to sit up, but that makes the pain in his head worse, and also draws attention to the fact that his back also hurts. he squeezes his eyes shut and makes a truly embarrassing noise of pain — if pressed, he’d call it a whimper — and a pair of big hands land on his shoulders.

“out, out ladies i got this! hey!, hey, man, don’t move just yet,” says big hands.

“yeah, no problem, i don’t want to anymore,” eddie says. he stirs up the will to open his eyes again and very nearly slams them back shut. because of course the person staring down at him is fucking coach hottie snackycakes himself. he’s even better looking in person, too, big droopy eyes, lips as pink as his bubblegum, and shiny, jesus christ. he’s still got eddie by the shoulders, hands warm through the thin cotton of his flannel and tee — because eddie’s always been more fashion than sense, wayne always said, and it’s even worse now that the paps are on him—

“oh, fuck this is gonna be all over tiktok later, isn’t it?” he moans.

“maybe not.”

“don’t lie.”

“listen, eddie — it is eddie, right?” asks coach hottie. “i’m steve. coach harrington. faughnsie — lottie, i mean — she said you’re eddie. her brother’s guitarist? what do you remember?”

“more like he’s my singer,” he says, “but sure. and not much.”

“well, you’re gonna be okay,” says coach hottie — steve. “it really wasn’t that bad, and it was probably too fast for anyone to get it, unless they already had a camera on you. you took a puck to the head when one popped up. i’d apologize but it wasn’t one of my girls who did it, so. anyway — you weren’t out for long, which robbie says is good — she’ll get a look at you in a second — but you got your bell rung pretty good. and you’re gonna have quite the shiner, trust me.”

“speaking from experience?”

“oh, yeah. closer and faster too.” he gently raps his head with his knuckles. “too many concussions too early ended my nhl days, in fact.”

“oh. oh shit, sorry, i—“

“don’t worry about it, man, it happens,” he says. “and if it hadn’t, i wouldn’t be here.”

“at the frozen four.”

“yeah, sure, that too.”

“what?”

“what?” steve waves him off. “anyway, i’m just glad to see you up, ish, and talking. looked pretty scary, from the bench.”

“i really don’t remember,” says eddie. “but i’m sure i’ll see it on tiktok later, like i said — at least, my unconscious, bleeding form.”

“i got up there pretty fast, so i doubt it,” says steve.

eddie blinks, twice. “you—?”

“you were behind my bench, and you. well,” he says with a shrug, but he’s clearly a little embarrassed, finally putting those hands away — weapons of eddie destruction, he thinks — and shoving them into his pockets of his tight slacks. “i should be getting back out there.”

“do you? you’re murdering them pretty good, unless i black out and missed them getting four more goals,” eddie says.

the corners of steve’s eyes crinkle when he smiles. eddie thinks he might just pass out again. “no, we’re still gonna cinch it, i think. looks bad, though — first time coach missing the final period so’s he can hit on the cute musician who got his clock cleaned by the biscuit.”

“oh,” he says. swallows. “uh.”

steve’s crinkly, smiley eyes go wide. “unless—“

“no less!” eddie shouts and then immediately winces. at a better, less damaging to his more than slightly concussed noggin, volume, he says, “more, actually. because pretty sure i shouldn’t be left unsupervised, and i’ve clearly been abandoned by the band, so—“

“so,” says steve.

“coach, two minutes!” someone calls.

“so, i was hoping maybe i could keep hitting on the hot hockey coach back at his?”

“i’m at the ramada inn,” he says, “and i got tape to watch for the finals.”

“i live for room service,” eddie tells him seriously. “and i’m suddenly very into wisconsin sports teams.”

“coach! go time!”

“yeah?” he asks.

“yeah.”

“COACH!”

he jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “i gotta — but, uh, later?”

“pick me up in twenty?”

“probably more like half an hour, with stoppage,” he says.

someone bangs on the door. “COACH!! let’s boogie!!”

with one last look, wide eyed and smiling, steve leaves. eddie watches him go. he’d heard hockey players were caked up but lord — eddie is about to convert to a new religion, or maybe found one, over the stretch of those slacks.

“damn,” he says quietly.

“gross,” a woman says. eddie startles and looks to the side, where a lanky brunette with a bob and an undercut is staring at him, unimpressed. she’s in some get up that screams athletic trainer, and there’s a white board in her hand.

“how long have you been there?” he asks.

she raises an eyebrow. “long enough, and honestly, i don’t know if that counts as a you rule for him, or a you suck for you,” she says and does not elaborate when he asks. “also don’t look at him like that. it’s steve. he’s basically my sister.”

“yeah? any tips then?” asks eddie. “i promise i’ll only use them for good. well. mostly.”

“god,” she says with an expansive eye roll. “you’re gonna be a nightmare, aren’t you?”

a cheer goes up outside the room as the teams, presumably, take the ice again. eddie, head throbbing, concussed, embarrassed, grins. “sure hope so,” he says.

[illnessfaker]

tw: black+trans death

from the_yvesdropper on instagram:

our beautiful black trans brother, 35 year old Righteous Torrence "Chevy" Hill, was murdered in Atlanta, GA this weekend.

he went by his nickname 'Chevy' he was originally from Macon, GA. he owned Evollusion, which is a black/ queer owned LGBTQ+ salon in Atlanta that provided and dedicated full service to specializing in hair, nails, barbering and makeup. growing up as young black queer boys/kids, the barbershop experience can sometimes be a tricky space to occupy, this was something that Chevy understood and wanted to cultivate a space of safety where you can also get the affirming look and style you want, and he did exactly that.

Chevy was a beloved son, brother, partner, and father.

one of his last posts that had a photo of himself said :

"if you truly know me, you know i am a humble, modest, private man, that i love my community, i have the love of God in me and will give the shirt off my back to any soul in need, also i never post pictures of myself, legaey give myself credit, that stops today, i am my legacy!"

(a close friend of Chevy asked if i could share more then one photo of Chevy, since he never posted photos of himself and in recent years he got the confidence to want to share more photos and now he won't get the chance to)

Chevy, hey king, hey brother, hey angel, thank you for everything, i lové you, we lové you, i'm so sorry. there are a lot of photographers in heaven who will be able to photograph you as the glorious black trans angel that you are.

there will be a homegoing service/memorial for our brother

there aren't many details about what happened but apparently he was shot by a family member last wednesday, the 28th (at least this article was the one linked in relation to his murder.)

judging by both the IG post and the comments section he was well-loved by many people and those people have many good memories with him and nothing but good things to say. this is a comment that was left by tirajmeansgolden which was hidden by IG for some reason:

I started testosterone in February 2020. I hit this man up at the end of 2019 after numerous Google searches for an LGBT-friendly barber near me (and by near me... he was a good 35-40 minutes from the rural area I was in outside of Atlanta: but when I found out he was a trans man and that his business was the first and only LGBT hair bar, I knew it would be worth the trip). I was a dysphoric mess in his DMs one Sunday. I hated how my hair was growing out. I never had a "masculine" hairstyle before but decided one day I would buzz it all off myself, then allowed it to grow out a bit... I sent him a video and despite him being closed on Sunday, he told me to come through. I got my hair braided and he gave me my first really masculine fade. Explained the different terms. Lined me up. Was asking me about my decision to transition and provided some helpful advice + guidance. I told him how I was a therapist and he was hype and said he talked with a group of trans men and he would love for me to stop by and also give some mental health tips. So whoever said he was humble - wow, what an understatement. Such a community man! Made me feel SO comfortable because barbershops were a source of major trauma and triggers for me. They were such an integral part of my early transition (I just celebrated 4 years later week). And he was such an integral part of the Atlanta Queer community with hosting events like Queer Con. How I found so many other great resources + queer businesses/artists. May you rest in peace, Chevy. You'll be missed. You've made such a different in the lives of countless people. You definitely were living your Purpose + left a legacy behind ...

[anonymousicecream]

(Quick)ie (Wonyoung x M Reader)

"And so, b square equals....." the voice of your teacher explaining fades as you groaned, trying to keep your focus from your all-so distracting classmate and mortal enemy, Jang Wonyoung. She's currently dressed in a blazer and a sleveless dress shirt with a tie, as well as a VERY short skirt, maintaining her image as the queen bee of the school. However, beneath all that, she is quite possibly the sluttiest girl you knew. Your knowledge however, did came as an accident, as you found her masturbating at a fitting room in a Chanel store. You were about to close the door but she pulled you and gave you a blowjob to silence you. Ever since then, you two have been involved in this heavy push and pull, providing oral and hand pleasures to each other, without penetration.

Now is one of those times, where she sets her hand on your thighs, while stroking your cock through your jeans, making it hard, and making you struggle to focus. Her strokes got faster, and it didn't take long before she unbuttoned your jeans, lowering them before moving her hands under your boxers. You felt her warm hands, making you groan, which made her smirk, as she starts stroking your cock. You decided to give up on your focus and give her the same pleasure, as you moved your hands under her skirt, setting her panties aside before inserting a finger into her pussy. She gasped, throwing her head down, before glaring at you as you smirked.

You felt her wet pussy, playing with her juices as you finger her, making her groan even more. It didn't take long before you start increasing your pace, fingering her even faster. She followed suit, stroking your cock even faster. Because of your massive hard-on, and how good she was stroking you, it didn't take any longer before you got close, starting to throb. However, at THAT exact moment, she stopped stroking you, pulling out of boxers and act as if nothing happened.

You got frustrated and abruptly pulled out of her pussy, before tidying your trousers up. It took you a few moments before you abruptly got up and grabbed Wonyoung by her wrist, grabbing her as you guide her out of the room and into the hallways. "S-STOP! WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" Wonyoung shouted at you, while you paid no attention to it, continuing your walk to the varsity locker room.

As you entered the locker room, you went through the whole room to make sure it's empty before locking it. You then dragged Wonyoung to your locker, which was at the furthest end of the room.

"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT ALL ABOUT?" Wonyoung shout at you ragefully. "This." You replied, pushing her towards the wall aggressively, putting your hand behind her head as you leaned in to kiss her. She didn't waste any time replying to the kiss, following your aggressive kisses, leaving no gaps to kiss. You moved your hands down onto her body, caressing her midriff and thighs, earning gasps and moans from her. "F-Fuck, gimme your cock, please." Wonyoung begged between kisses, hands moving onto your cock, groping them. "No. Do you know how hard it was to not bend you over, fuck you, make you cum, scream my name?" You said lustfully, making Wonyoung groan even more. "W-well, what're you gonna do about it?" Wonyoung teased. "This." You said, pulling out of the kiss abruptly, changing places as you moved down to kiss on her neck, before moving onto her shoulders as you loosen her tie and unbutton her dress shirt, exposing her toned midriff and black lace bra.

"L-let me take this off first." Wonyoung said, gasping between moans. "No. You look beautiful in this, just keep it on unless you feel uncomfy." You told her, moving down to start kneeling as you moved your kisses onto her toned abs while your right hand went under her skirt, removing her panties while your other hand goes onto her tits, fondling with them through her bra.

"Fuck you're so wet. Are you sure you want this?" You asked for confirmation in between kisses. "Yes, please. I've been waiting for this for so long." Wonyoung begged, making you leave final few kisses before standing up. You leaned in to kiss her while she unbuttons your dress shirt, and at the same time you decided to unzip and unbutton your trousers, not forgetting to grab the condoms from your pocket before you let your pants drop. Wonyoung then pulled out of the kiss and gasped, before saying "W-wait, do you have condoms?" You then showed her the condom, making her sigh in relief, before she took it from your hands. She then switched the two of you around, making you lay on your back.

Wonyoung then leaned onto your torso, kissing her way down from your collarbone onto your chest and toned abs, before she fully kneeled, getting face to face with your boxers. She lowered them, removing them completely, exposing your hard cock which hit her face, making her gasp in surprise. "You've never been this hard before." "You never made me edge this bad." You said, making Wonyoung chuckle. She then grabbed your cock, stroking it a few times slowly, before setting it on her lips as she stick her tongue out, licking your tip a few times. "Just get on with it will you?" You groaned in frustration, making Wonyoung smirk at you. She then spat on her hand before stroking your cock a few times as she inserts your cock into her mouth. You groaned, feeling her warm mouth all around your cock. She put it in and out of her mouth a few times before she starts hollowing her cheeks, sucking your cock. She hollowed her cheeks even more, making you harder after each time she sucked you, before she pulled your cock out of her mouth. She then grab the condom and tore the pack, before grabbing the condom and placing them on her mouth, putting them in between her lips. She then leaned in again to suck you, this time going deep in one go as she wraps the condom on your cock. It took her a few attempts before she managed to wrap the condom fully on your cock.

You then grab her by her wrists and pulled her up, kissing her again before you guide her onto your locker seat, which is a couch where you can sleep. "On your back." You told her, and she obeyed immediately. You then got on her, aligning your cock with her pussy, playing with her folds repeatedly, making her groan. "Just fucking put it in." She said. You then pushed into her hard, making Wonyoung gasp from the size of your cock. You didn't give her time to adjust as you start thrusting in and out of her at a slow pace. Your thrusts got deeper after each thrust, allowing the two of you to enjoy the warmth. You also didn't stay idle, leaning in to leave kisses on her neck and collarbone, while she wraps her legs around your hips and arms around your neck.

"Faster, please." Wonyoung ordered you, and you obeyed, as your thrusts got faster and although it's not as deep, the strength of your thrust is enough to make her moan. It didn't take long before her juices started leaking out. "You're close huh?" You teased Wonyoung, before she nods aggressively, trying to hold her orgasm. "Ride me." You told her, pulling out of her before flipping the two of you over. You laid on the couch as Wonyoung got onto your lap, aligning herself with your cock before lowering herself, bottoming out as she starts riding you up and down.

She perfectly alters between riding you and grinding on you, helping you get closer to your orgasm. Unbeknownst to you however, she was actually closer to HER orgasm, a few seconds away actually. "A-A-AHHHHH FUCKKK FUCKKK FUCKKK!!!!" Wonyoung bottomed out on your cock as she reached her climax, cumming hard on your cock. You thrust up gently, meeting her juices as you fucked her softly through her orgasm, helping her increase the intensity of her orgasm, as well as prolong it. After a few moments, you stopped thrusting into her as you caressed her, helping her come down from her orgasm.

"F-fuck, that was great." Wonyoung said, gasping for air. "Did you cum?" Wonyoung asked. "No." "Fuck. Alright then." Wonyoung then got off you and took off your condom, throwing it away to who knows where. She then spat on her hand, before stroking them on your cock. She waste no time to lube your cock up, before she inserts your cock into her mouth as she starts sucking on it. Her pace was fast from the start as she intelligently made use of her small mouth to hollow her cheeks, making her mouth feel even tighter.

"F-Fuck I'm close." You said as you felt your cock start throbbing inside her. "I know, just cum, surprise me." She said, increasing her pace and intensity, making you closer to cumming. You eventually did, as you pulled out of her mouth and set it on her face as she strokes your cock while you cum on her face. The spurts went onto her eyes, lips and cheeks, as she enjoys the load you gave her. After you finished, she then scooped your cum into her mouth, before swallowing all of it, and then winking at you.

"We better get dressed." Wonyoung said, before you interrupt her. "No, we can shower first." Wonyoung was about to say something but you threw a towel at her and she smirked, before undressing herself as you two showered. Safe to say, it took a while for you to finish showering as there were LOADS of activities done which includes pleasuring each other.

[reidelight]

Wake Up Call

summary: when the heat breaks down at the hotel you’re staying at, you suggest sharing a bed with spencer to keep warm throughout the night

genre: a twinge of smut and fluff

cw: 18+ MDNI, gn!reader, afab!reader, pet names (darling, love, pretty boy), slight sub!spencer if you squint hard enough, mutual pining, fade to black sex

wc: 1.8k

note: hi! this is my first fic on here :) there's def potential for a part two if y'all want it. enjoy!

You regretted not bringing a sweater to sleep in. 

While it made complete sense that the weather cooled as the sun went down, you couldn’t help but complain as the cheap motel informed you all that the heating was unfortunately down in some of the rooms. Ever the lucky ones, you and Spencer stepped foot into your shared room and are welcomed with a deceptively kind wall of chilly air.

“You’d think that with all the BAU does on a daily basis, we’d get a decent room to hunker down in,” you huff, setting down your duffle bag on the farther bed.

“Just you wait until you feel the thickness of the duvet,” Spencer chimes in, which results in a dramatic sigh falling from your lips.

It was only a matter of time before you had suggested sharing a bed to gather as much heat as possible. Seeing as Spencer was a walking heater, it made perfect sense when he crawled into your bed and even more so when you huddled close together.

Despite the good doctor’s opinions on the amount of germs passed through physical contact, he found that you bypassed any and every one of those thoughts. Simply put, he didn’t mind your germs. After the three years you two had worked together at the BAU, Spencer had developed a bit of a soft spot for you, and you for him. 

“Pretty boy,” Morgan smirked as he watched you enter with Spencer, treats in hand and the brightest smiles on your respective faces. “About time you two got together.”

“What?” Spencer squeaked, the heat rising to his cheeks. “No, they just brought me a coffee this morning.”

“Just you?” Derek turns to you, “What about me? I like coffee too, and don’t get me started on donuts.”

“So does the rest of the team, and everyone else in this office building. I can’t exactly afford enough for everyone,” you laugh, taking a seat at your desk.

“Not my fault the coffee machine broke down and maintenance hasn’t gotten around to fixing the damn thing,” Morgan groaned, tilting his head back.

“I’ll bring you one tomorrow, but it’s going on the company card,” you reply, flashing a smile to Morgan.

“Not a chance,” Hotch says as he passes through the bullpen.

Your conversation faded away as Spencer set up his desk far from your own. He couldn’t help but stare at the little heart drawn next to his name on the cup. You were his best friend, but he couldn’t help but allow his heart to flutter at the prospect of something more. Of course, he had weighed the pros and cons of asking you out, but ultimately decided it wasn’t the smartest idea. 

It was all around bad timing. You had just gotten out of a rough relationship and swore off dating for the time being. Spencer watched as men and women alike pursued you each time you’d gone out on BAU bonding nights. It made perfect sense. You were the most beautiful person Spencer had laid his eyes on, of course other people would see that too. 

Spencer had done his best not to let the idea of you in relations with another get to his head. Hell, he had spent so long trying to push away his own feelings for you. It’s not like workplace relationships were prohibited– Penelope and Kevin’s relationship was given nothing but support from the beginning. To him, there was simply no way that you would ever see him in that light. 

Apparently he had been wrong, specifically about what kind of feelings you had for him.

When he had woken up in the middle of the night, Spencer found that the blood not only rushed to his cheeks at the state of your position, but to his crotch as well. You had unknowingly curled up against his front, your head tucked underneath his chin, legs tangled together. 

For a moment, Spencer stopped breathing. You were so calm, completely unaware of the lewd thoughts running throughout his head. He felt ashamed for wanting to pull you closer and hear your sickly sweet voice moan his name. 

“Y/N? Wake up, I’m sorry,” Spencer mumbled, trying to wake you.

Instead of opening your eyes, you had moved impossibly closer to his body, placing pressure onto his already aching cock. Spencer winced, simultaneously cursing and thanking whatever god above that allowed this to happen.

“Darling, I need you to wake up,” Spencer shook you again, sighing in relief once he saw your eyes flutter open.

“Was there another murder? What’s going on?” you grumbled, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“You really shouldn’t be rubbing your eyes like that. It increases the possibility of small scratches on your cornea, leading to redness, light sensitivity, and irritation,” Spencer spits out, trying his best to evade his evident nervousness.

“I just know you didn’t wake me up to tell me that,” You were slightly more awake now, still unaware of your (in Spencer’s opinion) compromised position.

“I’m sorry, I just need to get up,” Spencer rushed out, gesturing to your proximity. “Right now, preferably. I-I’m so sorry.”

Eyes wide, you shuffle away from him, apologizing profusely for moving around in your sleep. In your defense, the beds weren’t exactly the roomiest, and definitely not built for two people to sleep in comfortably at once. And he was just... so warm.

Spencer scrambled to get out of your shared bed, doing his best to cover his crotch with his hands. Already embarrassed enough, he finds himself bolting to the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He rubs his hands on his face, ignoring the statement he’d spat out to you minutes prior. 

Unbeknownst to him, you had noticed his evident hard on as his lanky figure stumbled into the adjoined bathroom. Knowing your history, you’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t think of the prospect of a hypothetical relationship blossoming between you two. Before you could overthink the idea, you found yourself following his lead and stopping at the door of the bathroom.

“Spence?” you knock gently, trying to listen for any movement beyond the door. “Are you okay?”

“Yep!” he replied rather quickly.

“It’s completely okay, you know. You shouldn’t be ashamed for… that,” you say softly.

“Can we please forget about it? This is highly inappropriate, and I truly am sorry for making you uncomfortable.”

“Oh, Spence. Who said I wanted to forget?” Spencer feels his breath fall short. “Can you let me in, love?”

How could he even begin to say no to you?

Unlocking the door, you’re greeted with a disheveled looking Spencer, cheeks flushed a deep scarlet. 

“What’s going on there, pretty boy?” you begin, taking a step closer to him.

“Look, I’m really sorry about this. I really didn’t mean to,” he begins, “W-what are you doing?” his voice falters to a whisper, afraid to speak any louder.

You placed your hands onto his wrists, gently pulling them away from his middle, allowing the view of his clothed erection on display.

“You really have nothing to be embarrassed of, Spence,” you smile, socking your head to the side. “Do you need some help taking care of that?”

“I-I couldn’t ask you to do that,” he mumbled.

“Why not? We’re friends, yeah?” Letting go of his wrists, you bring your hands to rest around his neck.

Spencer nods, instinctively putting his hands on your waist, pulling you closer to him. 

“And friends help each other out,” he groans, shutting his eyes. “Say the word and I’ll stop. I’d never want to make you uncomfortable.”

“No!” he exclaims, gripping your hips tighter. “I’m just nervous.”

“Of what, darling? It’s only me,” you pause, holding his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. “You have done this before, right?”

“Minimally, yes, but it's not just that. This could change everything. I don’t want to lose you as a friend if anything goes wrong. A-and the team! How are we going to explain any of this to them?” Spencer rambles, trying to avoid your gaze.

“We are the ones in control of this. It’s really our own prerogative to figure it all out. Either way, you’re still my best friend,” your voice fades away, lips pursing at all the thoughts running through your head.

“I am? I thought Penny was?” he spoke just above a whisper. 

“Of course you’re my best friend, dummy. You make it difficult to not love you.”

What? Spencer’s jaw drops, struggling to process the words spilling out of your mouth.

“I can understand if you don’t feel the same way–” your sentence is cut off by soft lips pressing against yours.

Following his lead, you kiss him back just as eagerly. Spencer hums into your mouth as you gently tug at the roots of his hair. You took this as a chance to slip your tongue against his, nipping at his bottom lip. He was desperate, unable to get enough of the taste of your lips. Pulling you taut against his body, you let out a shaky moan feeling his erection press against your belly.

“March 13, 2011,” he says, taking a breath. “Exactly two months after you joined the team, you didn’t seem like yourself. You were really in your head, not even Penelope could cheer you up. It also happens to be the day I worked up the courage to invite you over to mine for some wine and movies to take your mind off everything.”

You hum, taking a pause to press a short kiss to his lips. “Yeah, I remember that. It was the first time we had hung out outside the office.”

“It took every fiber in my being to not kiss you while wine drunk,” he laughs, toying with the hem of your shirt. “I think that’s the day I realized that I fell in love with you.”

“Oh, Spence,” you coo, brushing the hair from his eyes. “I probably would’ve kissed you back.”

“You’d just broken up with your partner. I couldn’t do that to you. I wanted to be a safe place, not just some guy that wanted to get in your pants.”

“I’d like to think that both those statements can exist at once.”

Spencer purses his lips, trying to hide his smile. His heart was beating out of his chest. He’d never felt lighter than he did right now.

“What do you think about letting me help with this, hm?” Spencer moans as your hands travel down his body, hovering just above his bulge.

“I don’t think we can just be friends after this,” he whispers, leaning into your touch.

“Sounds like a plan.”

[jinwoosbabyboo]

"Safe and sound....Kinda" pt. 2

You went M.I.A. and the LADS Men are stressed!

Xavier

"It's been almost a week Jeremiah we need to check places the hunter association won't look" Xavier was already on the move heading towards the first No-hunt Zone of many. Jeremiah trailed behind him almost jogging trying to keep up.

"I understand that Xavier, but you're not in the right head space to-" Jeremiah swallows his words when Xavier whipped around abruptly getting in his face. "to what? Find the love of my life? I'm done waiting around twiddling my thumbs she could be out there dying for all we know"

Xavier turned on his heels and continued on his path "If your way of helping is planting seeds of doubt then don't follow me"

After two days of non-stop searching he did it. In the deepest parts of the forest Xavier found himself at the tip of your Hunters sword nearly taking his head off. His eyes widened in shock just as yours did when you realized who you were looking at "Xav......?" Your words faded as you dropped your sword and fell into his chest almost knocking him over.

"Where have you been? What are you doing in this zone its dangerous"

"I got pulled into rift I've been fighting alone for five days" Your breathing was labored before you began to cough. Xavier flinched from the death grip you had on his arm as you tried to keep yourself upright. That's when he noticed your ripped clothes. Since when was your uniform so short and revealing?

It wasn't.

You'd been tearing you clothes to bandage your wounds, but they weren't doing so well considering they were soaked through in old and fresh blood. Your shoes were missing along with your socks. "I kept fighting because I knew...." A cough tore from your chest making your throat burn as you coughed up blood. "....I knew you'd find me" Your grip loosened as you went slack in his arms.

"Of course I'd find you" Xavier managed you wrangle you onto his back as he sent his coordinates to Jeremiah to come and pick the two of you up. "Just hang on a little longer"

Sylus

You dragged your shoulder along the wall of a back alleyway before dropping falling flat on the ground. You don't know how many days it's been since you told Sylus you'd be back in less than a day. Your vision blurred as your head swam from exhaustion and dehydration.

"I see her!" That voice sounds familiar....

You feel two sets of hands on you pulling you into a sitting position, but your head is so heavy. "Just let me sleep for a while"

"No you have to stay up Boss is almost here" Luke?

"Stay with us" Kieran?

You felt that comforting red and black mist engulf you and soon you were cradled in Sylus' arms. If you didn't know any better you'd say Sylus looked as if he'd been crying. His eyes seemed bloodshot, but what do you know you can barely keep your eyes open. You're probably seeing things.

"Why didn't you call me?"

"I dropped my phone & a wanderer shattered my watch .... along with my wrist .... I figured if I got close enough to the N109 Zone .... you would find me" A weak smile graced your lips. "Looks like I was right"

"Let's get you home" He whispered and it was the last thing you heard before your head bobbed one last time and darkness consumed you.

Sylus made sure you had the best medical care money can buy while staying in the comfort of his king sized bed. He wouldn't leave your side as you slowly recovered. "Were you crying over me?"

"Shut up and take your pain meds"

Sylus is hard to write because that man got Mephisto on our ass 24/7

Zayne & Rafayel here ♡

[bodybaggage]

Shadows in Gotham

---

Gotham’s twilight sky was a patchwork of purples and reds, a fading canvas that gave way to the inky blackness of night. The city was alive with the usual sounds of distant sirens, honking horns, and the underlying hum of danger that never quite left its streets. For Danny Fenton, now in his early twenties, Gotham was supposed to be a fresh start—a place to lay low and raise his unconventional family.

His daughter, Danielle, Ellie, as she preferred—skipped ahead on the cracked sidewalk, her energy boundless despite the long day. She looked about ten years old, though she was technically more of a clone than a traditional daughter. She had Danny’s black hair but with an unruly curl to it, and her bright blue eyes sparkled with a mischievous light. Beside Danny, holding his hand, was a boy who looked no older than eight. His hair was tousled, and his expression was a strange mix of innocence and the haunting wisdom of someone far older. This was Dan, Danny’s de-aged evil future self, a living, breathing reminder of what could go wrong if they weren’t careful.

The trio moved through the narrow streets, Danny’s senses on high alert as they made their way back to the modest apartment they now called home. He had retired from the life of a ghostly vigilante, focusing instead on keeping his small family safe and hidden from the relentless pursuit of the Guys in White (GIW). To the world, they were just another struggling family in Gotham. But beneath the surface, their existence was anything but ordinary.

“Can we get pizza tonight?” Ellie asked, her voice full of hope as she glanced back at Danny.

“Pizza sounds good,” Danny replied with a smile. “But it’s Gotham, so let’s hope the delivery guy makes it to our place in one piece.”

Ellie giggled, and even Dan let out a rare smile, though it was fleeting. The moment of normalcy was interrupted by the sound of a scuffle up ahead. Danny’s instincts kicked in as he pulled his kids closer, eyes narrowing at the scene unfolding just around the corner.

A man, clearly desperate, was trying to rob a woman at gunpoint. The woman’s purse dangled from his shaky hand, and fear was etched across her face. Danny knew he should keep moving, that getting involved could blow their cover, but he couldn’t just walk away.

“Stay here,” Danny whispered to Ellie and Dan, his voice firm.

Before he could intervene, a shadowy figure dropped from the rooftops, landing silently behind the mugger. The man didn’t stand a chance as a blur of red and black moved with lethal precision. Within seconds, the mugger was disarmed and unconscious on the pavement.

Red Hood stood over the man, his stance relaxed but ready, as if this was just another routine night in Gotham. He turned to the woman, who quickly grabbed her purse and bolted, muttering her thanks. It was only then that Red Hood noticed Danny and the kids standing just a few feet away, watching the scene unfold.

Danny tensed as the vigilante’s eyes—hidden behind that crimson helmet—seemed to study them. He instinctively placed a hand on each of his kids’ shoulders, ready to flee if things went south.

“You alright?” Red Hood asked, his voice rough but not unkind. He seemed to soften at the sight of the kids, his posture relaxing ever so slightly.

“Yeah, we’re fine,” Danny replied, his tone cautious. “Just heading home.”

Red Hood’s gaze flicked between Danny and the children, and Danny could almost feel the wheels turning behind that mask. This was Gotham, after all, a city full of dark secrets. A young man, barely an adult, with two small kids in tow—it wasn’t hard to jump to conclusions.

“You live around here?” Red Hood pressed, the curiosity in his voice making Danny’s stomach tighten.

“Not far,” Danny answered, hoping to end the conversation quickly. “Just trying to keep my family safe.”

Red Hood nodded slowly, as if weighing his next words. “Gotham’s not exactly the best place to raise kids, especially if you’re... alone.”

Danny’s jaw clenched, recognizing the underlying question. “We manage.”

Before Red Hood could probe further, Ellie stepped forward, her usual boldness taking over. “He’s the best dad ever! And we don’t need any help, mister.”

Red Hood chuckled softly, the sound almost disarming. “I’m sure he is, kid. But just in case, you should know there are people around here who can help... if you ever need it.”

Danny forced a tight smile, grateful for Ellie’s fierce loyalty but wary of the attention they’d attracted. “Thanks, but we’re good.”

Red Hood seemed to accept this, though the suspicion in his stance didn’t entirely fade. “Take care of yourself,” he said finally, before turning and vanishing into the shadows as quickly as he’d appeared.

Danny let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. The encounter had been brief, but he knew it wouldn’t be the last. The Bat Family had eyes everywhere, and their curiosity was piqued.

“Let’s get home,” Danny murmured, guiding Ellie and Dan down the street with renewed urgency.

They reached their apartment without further incident, the familiar creak of the stairs a welcome sound. Once inside, Danny locked the door and sagged against it, the weight of their precarious situation pressing down on him.

Ellie flopped onto the worn couch, her earlier bravado replaced with concern. “Are we in trouble, Dad?”

Danny ruffled her hair affectionately. “No, Ellie. We’re just... being careful. That’s all.”

Dan sat quietly at the kitchen table, his eyes distant as he processed the night’s events. “He was one of the Bats, wasn’t he?”

Danny nodded, joining Dan at the table. “Yeah, Red Hood. He’s... complicated. But we should be alright if we keep a low profile.”

The night passed uneventfully, but the encounter with Red Hood lingered in Danny’s mind. He knew that living in Gotham meant constant vigilance, but the thought of the Bat Family watching them added a new layer of stress.

---

Meanwhile, across town, the Bat Family gathered in the Batcave, the massive space filled with the glow of computer screens and the quiet hum of machinery.

“Interesting case tonight,” Red Hood—Jason Todd—began as he removed his helmet, revealing the slightly tousled dark hair underneath. “Ran into a guy with two kids. They seemed... out of place.”

“Out of place in Gotham?” Dick Grayson, quipped from where he was perched on the edge of the Batcomputer’s console. “That’s pretty much everyone.”

Jason shot him a look. “Not like that. The guy was young, barely in his twenties. The kids were ten and eight, maybe. And something about them just... felt off.”

Bruce Wayne, Batman, looked up from the screen, his expression unreadable. “Off how?”

Jason hesitated, searching for the right words. “I don’t know. There’s something he’s not saying. And those kids—they’re attached to him, but it’s like they’re all trying to stay under the radar.”

Damian Wayne, the current Robin, scoffed. “Plenty of people try to stay out of sight in this city. It’s not our problem unless they break the law.”

“Yeah, but...” Jason trailed off, running a hand through his hair. “There’s a chance that guy’s a victim. The way the girl talked about him, it was like she was protecting him.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “Do you think the children are in danger?”

Jason frowned, shaking his head. “Not from him. I think they’re all running from something.”

Silence settled over the Batcave as they considered the implications. Bruce stood, his presence commanding as ever. “Keep an eye on them. Gotham has a way of uncovering secrets, and we can’t afford to overlook anything.”

---

Back at the apartment, Danny lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The shadows played tricks in the dim light, reminding him of the life he left behind. He had taken on more than just the role of a father—he had become a protector, a shield against the darkness that sought to consume them.

But Gotham was relentless, and he knew their time in the shadows was running out.

---

🧌

[misted-dream]

DOPAMINE ﹒⌗﹒💒﹒౨ৎ˚₊‧ 제노 + fem!reader

in which . . . you and jeno are both too secretive and oblivious for your own good.

. . . BE MY LITTLE SECRET

content&warnings | MDNI smut, profanity, fwb dynamics, reader gets picked up, stomach bulge, kinda angsty kinda fluffy, unprotected sex, idk lmk if something’s missed

word count | 3k

notes | inspired by giselle's dopamine! this kinda went off track from what i wanted but oh well!

. . . KEEP IT HUSH HUSH, BUT I THINK I’M IN LOVE

it’s not the first time you find yourself at jeno’s doorstep this late into the night—and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. but it is the first time that it’s taken him this long to answer the door.

granted, you didn’t send a prior heads up like you usually do, but you didn’t plan on coming here either. you didn’t plan on being stuck outside jeno’s apartment waiting for a response that you’ve half-accepted isn’t coming.

still, you can’t bring your feet to move away from the entrance, like they’re glued to the floor.

you would be feeling ashamed right now if it wasn’t for the fact that you think you’re beyond feeling shameful tonight. which is what exactly led you here, to jeno.

and as if god took pity on you, your ‘resilience’ is rewarded when you hear shuffling from behind the door. the door creaks open and jeno stands behind it, craggy probably from being awoken well past midnight.

his hand cups the back of his neck, stretching his shoulders as he takes in who’s standing in front of him. “yn?” instinctively, his body steps to the side, allowing you space to step into his home.

the second the last syllable of your name dropped from his lips, you find yourself nothing short of lunging at him, arms wrapping tightly around jeno’s neck.

“woah,” he stumbles back, ultimately steadying himself before slowly running a hand down your back. “hey,” he murmurs softly next to your ear, “it’s okay.” his palm continues moving over you as a way of solace, gently pushing the door shut behind you simultaneously.

you didn’t notice how quick he was to offer comfort; not even knowing what ‘it’ was before telling you that it was alright.

you stay wrapped around jeno for what you wished was eternity, but more so like a few minutes. him staying completely silent as you inhaled deep breath after another, attempting to gain composure back.

jeno finally decides to break the silence, “wanna talk about it?”

“no,” you’re quick with your response, though your voice is slightly wavering.

“okay,” jeno faintly whispers, so quiet that you barely hear him.

you unravel your arms around him, pulling yourself away to look him in his eyes. your faces inches apart, “i just need you.”

jeno flickers between your eyes. he presses a delicate kiss onto your lips before taking in a deep breath, “i’m here.”

the ever-so-familiar all-consuming urge takes over you as you crash your lips onto his, breathing him in like he’s the very oxygen you rely on.

as if by habit, jeno immediately reciprocates. his hands positioned over the small of your back, supporting you as you lean back from the sheer force of jeno kissing you back.

the way you take each other in it’s like you haven’t seen him in years. a certain desperation tasting sweet on your lips as jeno presses himself firmly against you.

he hums into your lips before pulling away to catch his breath.

your thumb rests in the place between his ear and jawline, pulling his face closer until your foreheads meet.

through a shaky breath, you whisper, “i want you.”

“i can give you that,” jeno hauls you up into his arms with ease, like all the other times before this. gently pecking your lips as he carries you into his bedroom.

the room is lit only by the warm orange lamp in the corner. his bedsheets a faded black.

jeno reaches the end of his bed, dropping you onto the soft mattress and towering over your body.

he doesn’t say anything, instead letting his eyes tell you everything he’s thinking. they roam all over you, until his gaze finally fixes onto your face.

his breath hitches before he evens it out again. crawling over your body, you can see the muscles in his arms stretch and pull as he moves, caging you inside of him.

he leans down towards you, attaching his lips to your neck. rather than his usual penchant to suck on your skin as hard as he can so as to leave marks all over you, his lips are soft and fleeting against your neck—leaving a fluttering trail of kisses all the way to your collarbone.

you arch your back into the warmth of his lips.

jeno mumbles against your skin, “tell me what you want.” his breath fanning onto your chest.

your fingers lay flat on the planes of his face, the side of your thumb brushing over the corner of his mouth. jeno leans into your touch, tilting his head upwards to look at you.

you meet his gaze, both equally dark and lustful.

“i need you…”

there’s a second part to that sentence that you didn’t voice, but you’re sure jeno can fill in the blanks for himself.

on any other given night, jeno would’ve asked you to finish that statement. but not tonight.

his fingers hook into the hem of your shirt, quickly lifting it up and over you as if it’s the easiest thing to do in the world. he tosses the shirt over his shoulder somewhere—you don’t pay attention. immediately, he continues his trail of kisses down onto your chest, over your heartbeat.

his kisses get sloppier by the second, hands tugging at your waist like you can get any closer physically than you already are.

you can’t help the moans that rasp from the back of your throat as his hands make their way up your torso. the warmth of his palm covering the soft flesh of your chest as he hooks a finger into your bra strap.

he pulls his lips away from you, levelling his face with yours again.

jeno runs a hand down your hair, cupping his fingers over your cheek, “you’re so pretty tonight.” his voice coming out as a low, gravelly whisper.

you try to ignore the skip in your chest from that.

technically, he’s not breaking any rules, or rule. the rule being strictly no pet names. jeno thought it strange when you proposed that no matter what, no pet names are allowed to be used, but nonetheless, he went along with it.

“only tonight?” your eyebrows quirk upwards; not passing up on the opportunity he set up perfectly for you.

he subtly rolls his eyes, taking away his hand and planting it firmly into the mattress next to your head. jeno lets silence fill the next two moments, staring at you with an expression you haven’t seen from him before. much more serious than all the other ones you know.

“you’re always pretty. you know that.”

his words knock you speechless, staring at him half-blank and half-stunned as to how you should even respond to that.

you land a soft blow to his chest, “what is wrong with you?” you tease with the slightest hint of a nervous smile on your lips, trying to cut through the tension you’re feeling all over. “i came to get fucked, not… whatever this is.”

“oh, god forbid i be nice for once,” he sighs, causing you to slap your hand onto his chest once again—him chuckling lightly as a result. “who said i wasn’t gonna fuck you as well?”

he presses a faint kiss just off of your lips before moving down to work the buttons on your trousers.

his fingers tug impatiently at the waistband once the button is undone, pulling the fabric off of you. the cool air blankets your bare thighs, and the feeling is quickly replaced by jeno’s hand kneading your muscles underneath his fingers.

"you want to feel good?" jeno kisses your inner thigh, a heat sparking from where his lips touched your skin. "i'll make my pretty girl feel good."

he pushes the elastic band of his pajama pants down, revealing his lower stomach lined with hard packs of muscle.

jeno kneels in between your legs, hand wrapping around the base of his dick—slowly hardening as he pumps his hand up and down his length.

you watch him, flitting between his hand and his expression. jeno sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth. just the sight of his cock in his palm is making your hunger pool in between your legs, knees pressing together as you feel the pressure build.

you don't notice jeno watching you as carefully as you were him until he lets a chuckle fall from his lips. "you do need to get fucked, don't you?" he teases with a smile.

your teeth has been sinking down into your bottom lip even without you knowing. growing desperate just at the sight of him kneeling over you.

"so, are you gonna do it or not?" the restlessness ringing in your voice. you feign reaching for your pants slid halfway down your legs, "'cause i can go find someone who—"

"no, no," jeno grasps the wrist that you reached down with, pulling it back up and pinning it to the pillow over your head. "you're staying right here."

he takes your other hand, joining it with the one above your head. though only one of his hands are holding your wrists together, his grip is so tight that you don't think you can break free even if you wanted to.

he leans in, caressing your cheek with his thumb—so close that you can see each individual eyelash lining the edge of his eyelids. "and who can fuck you the way i do?" his eyes travel to your cheekbones, brushing over it with his fingers, "hm?"

"that's a bit cocky, don't you think?" you say, tilting your head to the side and dropping your gaze onto his lips.

his rosy pink lips curve into a cresent shape. "just asking a question, pretty girl."

you're starting to think jeno may be teetering on the borderline of your rule, but you don't bring it up.

"so?" jeno widens his eyes at you slightly, and you meet him with a mirrored expression.

"what?"

"you haven't given me a name."

truth is, you haven't slept with other people since you started sleeping with jeno. and it's not like you're going to anytime soon. even if you did, you know they simply don't compare.

and the worst thing is you know he knows this, too.

"you're so annoying," you want to nudge him away, but he's got your hands trapped.

jeno only smiles an innocent smile, amused at the sight of you writhing to break away under him to no avail. "i'm not going to do anything to you until you answer the question."

you stare into his eyes, and you’re sure he can see the frustration evident in your own.

“really?” is the only response you can give, dipping your chin and cocking your eyebrows up. the tone of your voice telling of your annoyance.

jeno nods, still with that smile on his face—not giving you anything more.

you roll your eyes.

“no one,” your voice low, almost on the edge of being sheepish.

“sorry, what was that?” he tilts his head, turning his ear towards you.

he’s having way too much fun teasing you like this.

you let out a groan. “fuck you,” you spit bitterly, your voice back up to a normal volume.

he chuckles lightly, “you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

before you can even think of a witty response to his comment, you feel the friction of him dragging the tip of his cock over your clothed cunt.

“it’d be so easy to just put it in,” his fingers slipping into your underwear, “when you’re this wet.”

he pulls his fingers away, leaning into your face once again. “come on, pretty girl,” he brings his hand up to your lips, pushing them through and letting you suck on it, tasting yourself on his fingers. “tell me who can fuck you better than i can.”

he slides his fingers out, dragging along your lips before completing removing them.

“no one,” you mutter, trying to hide the desperation in you with a breath.

he smirks, “good girl.”

he looks down, bunching the fabric of your underwear to one side before grabbing the base of his cock and lining it up with your entrance.

you’re seeing a side to jeno that you haven’t seen before. usually, sex between you was a quick release. half the time it’s like he’s rushing to get through it with how hard and fast he’s pounding himself into you.

but slowly he pushes himself in you—being gentle with you, almost. moans erupting from his throat before he finally fills you up, as evidenced by the outline of his cock bulging up out of your stomach. the sight of it drives jeno fucking crazy—which is why he always fucks you like a dog in heat.

tonight, though, he’s determined to set a different pace.

his hips stills as your pussy swallows the entire length of his dick. no matter how many times you do it, it’s never something you can fully get used to. your back already arched into him, nails digging into your own palms.

“you always feel so fucking good,” jeno rasps, letting go of his grasp on your wrists and placing it on your waist instead.

he pulls his hips back at a steady pace. you feel every inch of it as it drags against your walls.

with your arms freed, you quickly wrap them around jeno’s neck.

he thrusts into you again, hips stuttering as he lets out a breathy moan. his head falls into the crook of your neck, hot breath fanning over your skin.

you hold back a cry as he bottoms out, fingers holding furiously onto his shoulders.

jeno builds a steady rhythm, sliding his cock in and out of you—following each thrust with a grunt.

“fuck, jeno,” you whine, thighs clamping tight around him.

he groans, his entire body responding viscerally to his name falling from your lips. and he can’t hold back anymore.

his hips picking up speed as he pounds himself deeper and deeper into you. fingers gripping tighter on your waist and pushing you down on his dick, meeting his thrusts halfway.

he unravels one of your arms from around his neck, laying it out over your head.

“fuck,” jeno lifts his head, leaving your faces mere inches apart. he spreads open your palm, threading his fingers through yours and holding your hand tightly as he keeps up the pace of his thrusts.

your bottom lip is pulled back by your teeth, trying to contain the whimpers and cries that are threatening to escape. you feel the pressure within you building, and creeping dangerously close to its release.

jeno lets out a string of curses, feeling you starting to tighten around him. “baby, i’m gonna—”

with a sudden choke of his words, jeno pulls out. his cock twitching violently as his cum shoots out from his tip, painting your stomach in streaks of white.

the sudden halt of friction leaves your body aching, desperate for sensation again.

your breathing begins to slow as you watch jeno throw his head back, cock still throbbing. looking down, you can see the ribbons of his cum covering your entire torso.

jeno drops his head, seeing the mess he made all over you.

“i’m sorry,” he pants, “i swear to god, you…”

you watch the bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face for a moment.

“‘baby?’” your voice taking on a questioning tone, ignoring your body’s pleading for attention.

“it just came over me, i know—” he breathes heavily, giving your hand a squeeze. “i know you don’t like it.”

“then, why’d you say it?” you sounding more defensive than offensive, surprising even yourself when your voice rings in your ear.

“i don’t know, i—” jeno untangles his hand from yours, pushing his hair back from sticking onto his face. “yn, are we really gonna do this?”

“you broke the rule.”

the bluntness of your statement forces jeno to look you in the eyes.

in all honesty, you’re not upset at this. but just the principle of him breaking the rule makes it appear like you are.

“you have to know,” jeno simply mutters.

“know what?”

“god, yn,” he shuts his eyes, turning his face away from yours for a brief moment. “you think i fuck everyone like this?”

he continues when you don’t respond—how could you even respond?

“you think i even fuck anyone who’s not you?”

jeno’s chest swells as he speaks. he pushes a strand of your hair back, tucking it behind your ear. “i wasn’t being mean earlier when i asked you that question, i—i wanted to know.”

you bite down hard on your lip.

the feeling of not knowing what to say has never settled well within you.

“jeno, i thought we—”

“i know what we agreed on,” jeno cuts you off. “and i’m sorry i crossed that line. you don’t have to—”

“i like you.”

your voice cuts through his. his eyes fixed on yours as he takes in what he just heard.

“what?” jeno’s voice is weak, his face telling of him being caught off guard.

you cup his cheek in your palm, thumb lightly grazing over his cheekbone, “i like you.”

“i thought—”

you press your lips firmly onto his, breaking off the rest of his words. when you pull away, jeno chases after your lips with his own, kissing you like his very life depended on it.

“fuck,” he mumbles against you, letting out a soft chuckle. “you like me.”

you hum as he pulls back, lips glossy under the dim lighting.

“are you saying this is one-sided?” you rib.

a small smirk turns up the corner of jeno’s lips. “you haven’t cum, yet, have you?”

the sudden turn in topic draws your eyebrows together.

jeno moves lower down your body, hands running down the sides of it, until his mouth is hovering over your bare cunt.

“i guess i should show my pretty baby just how much i like her.”

[after-witch]

The Morning After [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Title: The Morning After [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Synopsis: You wake up in a room you’ve never been in to the sight of a man you’ve never met.

Word count: 3500ish

Notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, degradation, drugging

Memory and time and the world itself are fuzzy, gray things as you wake up. Before the abrupt, awful, heavy awakening, there was nothing--just a dull blackness where you did not exist. 

Yet there’s a dim sense as the world returns to you, as your heavy eyes struggle to open, that you are, indeed, alive. 

Alive and a person, you remember that, too. Alive and a person and... somewhere. You must exist somewhere, that is a basic tenant of existence, isn’t it? But as your eyes finally open and the world above you is stark white, too bright, you can’t quite remember where somewhere is.

Underneath your head, there is a body. That, too, feels heavy. So you flex it, or at least you try. Your fingers feel like fuzzy sticks but perhaps they are moving when you try to curl your hands. The fuzziness extends all the way through your body, like you’ve rolled around in pins and needles and have yet to shake them off.

Breathing--you’re breathing, too. That is a sign that you are alive, that you have returned to the world. Even if your mouth feels dry and sticky, and there is an awful taste in it. You open and close and it almost hurts; there’s a vaguely wet smacking sound, and the awful taste is amplified by the trace spit that registers against your tongue.

Your head hurts. Your neck, too--specifically one point. There’s an instinctive desire to reach for that point, and your arms obey, feeling like heavy lead, until your hand slaps against it. Why does it hurt like that? 

It’s a small point of pain, like someone had stuck a needle into your--

And there. There. It all comes flooding back to you. Your name, your life, your world, the moments before it all went dark. 

You worked the day it all went dark. It was an ordinary day of work, a bit stressful, with moments of reprieve. Your lunch had been soup and rice and a treat: blue raspberry soda from the vending machine. After work, you went grocery shopping--you needed something for dinner--and returned home to your apartment. You remember the sound of the key turning in the door, the surprise that there was a light on in your kitchen--hadn’t you turned it off that morning?--and then… and then…

The pain, in your neck. That small point. An awful prickling, like being stung by a bee. Only there was no time to swat it away, and you fell into darkness, the bags of groceries hitting the floor before you did.

That was… however long ago. How long had the world been gone? A few hours? A day? Days?

With the returned sense of self, your body seems to want to catch up with your mind, and the sense of buzzing heaviness fades away enough for you to push yourself up onto your elbows. The material underneath you is soft: a bed, a mattress, with plain white cotton sheets.

You’re in a bed. In a bed, in a room with plain white walls. There is sparse furniture: two wooden dressers, a table, two chairs. There looks to be a folding door--a closet?--and two more doors, besides. 

Are you in a hospital? Did you pass out, and some kindly neighbor heard the thunk-thunk-thunk of your body and bags falling to the ground, then called for emergency services? It would explain the sparse room, although there’s no IV in your arm, no machines monitoring your heart rate. 

It would explain, too, what you’re wearing.

You’re not wearing the clothes you fell down in. Instead, you’re wearing a cotton nightgown, made from a thick but relatively soft material. There is lace on the collar, which is strange (but not impossible, your mind reminds you) for a hospital. Still. It makes sense. You pry away a thin comforter with still fuzzy hands and see that your shoes are gone; your feet are clad in only soft white socks. That, too, makes sense. You wouldn’t be put in a hospital bed with work shoes. That would be silly, and silly things did not belong in hospitals--which must be where you are.

Even though there are no IVs hooked into your arm, and no machines monitoring your heart and blood pressure and many more things, besides. Even though this appears to be some private suite, and you were sure that no hospital would put someone who fainted into a fancy room like this. You weren’t wealthy or notable, just a nobody who lived in a mediocre apartment and had a mediocre job and--

The door opens, and a doctor walks in. Or he must be a doctor, because who else would walk in wearing a tailored black suit and a face mask, if you had woken up in a hospital? Which must be where you were--despite all the confusion, and the strange details, and the fact that you had neither the wealth or status to be in a private room like this.

He stops when he sees that you’re sitting up. He must be surprised to see you awake, or perhaps he’s looking you over for signs of continued injury, because the way he stares is a bit unnerving.

You want to ask where you are, and what happened, and if anyone called your emergency contact. But your head still feels heavy, a little cottony, and all that comes out is--

“Um.” The word comes out all dry and croaked, and you’re suddenly aware of your dry, parched throat.

“I’ll get you water,” the mystery doctor says. He has dark hair and his voice is low, almost neutral. Well, it would be, wouldn’t it? Doctors probably had to practice speaking like that; like nothing was wrong, even if you’d clearly had some awful medical episode that required some sort of specialized care with a private room.

He steps away from the door he entered--locks it, too, and isn’t that strange?--and walks to the only other door in your suite. When it opens, you realize it’s a bathroom. Just as white and sterile-looking as the main area. There’s a squeak of a tap being turned on, and a rush of water, and before long he walks up to you.

Your heavy hands move forward to take the glass, but he takes one look at the trembling and tsks.

“I’ll hold it,” he says. The thought makes your stomach squirm but, he would know best, wouldn’t he? 

So you don’t protest when he raises the glass lid to your lips, and tips it back so you can take a drink. He doesn’t hold it there for long. Just long enough for your throat to feel soothed and damped. Then the glass goes away, and he sets it down on the nearby table before grabbing a chair and placing it near the bed.

He sits.

You stare.

Shouldn’t he be taking your vitals, or something? The thought comes softly. He’s not like any doctor you’ve ever seen. And this is not like any hospital room you’ve ever been in; even a private suite should have… something, right? An IV bag trailing into your arm, a heart rate monitor in case something went wrong. 

The sense of wrongness hangs in the air as he begins to speak.

“I’m glad you’re awake. I had to guess at your body weight, so I wasn’t sure if I had the correct dosage.”

Your brain feels heavy as you ask--

“The correct dosage…” Dosage, of what? “You mean, medicine?”

He blinks impassively at you. Then there are wrinkles around his eyes, like he might be smiling. 

“The sedative.”

The sedative? The sedative--

Memories come back slow, unwillingly, like dragging your feet through heavy gray slush in the winter. 

When you opened your apartment door, the kitchen light was on. The kitchen light was on and when you turned, there was something; no, not something. Someone. A man with no mouth--a mask--and cold eyes and there was a glint of silver before it plunged right into your neck.

This wasn’t a hospital.

The man in front of you wasn’t a doctor.

If you had been hooked up to a heart monitor, it would have no doubt gone haywire in the next moments, as you forced your leaden body to shove back against the wall, your trembling legs getting stuck on the cotton sheets of the bed. There was nowhere to go; the bed was pushed up against the wall and he blocked the only exit.

“You--you--” The words come out stuttered and tingling, like they aren’t even coming out of your mouth. “You kidnapped me.”

He eyes your sudden skittering with nothing more than a moment of raised eyebrows.

“I acquired you,” he corrects, as if that was a correction to be made at all. “To keep you safe. To keep you away from the filth.”

His words barely register as your breathing speeds up. You’ve been kidnapped. Kidnapped and redressed and taken to some bizarre room by someone who was clearly out of his mind. So you do the only thing you can think to do in an awful situation like this: you bargain.

“Please,” you say, and the dryness in your throat comes back and makes your words crack. “Please let me go. I won’t tell anyone. If--if it’s money you want, I don’t have much, but I can--”

He raises a gloved hand.

“Please, this has nothing to do with money. I won’t be letting you go.”

You shake your head, like that matters. 

“Who are you?” You ask, not sure if you really want to know.

The lines around his eyes crinkle again.

“Chisaki Kai. That’s what you may call me, anyway.” He sighs, a soft, almost imperceptible sound. “Very few have the privilege of doing that, you know.”

You’d rather have your freedom than this thing he calls a privilege, but you don’t have the wordpower to voice that particular thought. 

Your fingers cling to the only thing they can: the cotton sheets underneath you. Tighter and tighter, until they almost feel like they’ll cramp up.

“Why did you bring me here?” There are tears in your eyes now, and you can see his gaze begin to follow them as they trickle down your cheeks.

“To protect you,” is all he offers, before slapping his thighs and standing up. “Now, it’s time to get up.”

A million awful scenarios rush through your head at once, leaving you feeling sick. What is he going to do to you? Is he going to hurt you? Kill you? Are you just one in a long line of people he’s brought to this room, all drugged and hazy, before he kills them and does who knows what with the bodies?

You shake your head.

He tsks from behind the mask. There are no crinkles around his eyes, now.

“Get up,” he orders. Softly, yes, but there’s a finality and firmness to his tone that makes your wobbly legs push towards the end of the bed as if you were an automaton. 

“Why?” You squeak out. If he’s going to kill you, will he tell you, first?

He turns around and repositions the chair so that it’s back at the table, and pulls out the second. His hands hover around you as he guides you on jelly-like legs to sit down. 

“It’s time for breakfast.” A simple answer, like you had met him on the street and asked the time. Like he didn’t just admit to drugging you and kidnapping you. 

“I’m not hungry,” comes the automatic answer. You’re not. Your stomach feels empty, but it’s wrenched; from fear and stress and gallons of adrenaline.

“You will eat breakfast,” he says, just as automatically. “You will eat everything on your plate, as well. I’ve calculated out the perfect nutrition for your needs.” There’s a bit of a smile to his voice, even though it doesn’t seem to reach his eyes.

The wooziness in your body, the fresh horror creeping from your skull down to your toes, keeps you rooted to the chair while he briefly leaves. When he returns, he’s carrying a tray--it reminds you of a hospital tray, despite everything--with a modest amount of bland, healthy looking food on it.

Your stomach turns.

--

The rest of your day comes in awful little vignettes, all blurry black around the edges, only becoming clearer when he explains the rules to you. It’s an awful form of clarity.

He doesn’t call them “the rules,” but that’s what they’re meant to be, certainly. He lays them out so simply, almost sickly sweet. Like you’ve been brought to some boarding school and are getting shown the ropes.

The thought of ropes makes you feel sick. But he hasn’t tied you up, and that’s some small relief.

Or it would be, if it weren’t for the rest of those black-rimmed vignettes that fill up your day. 

When he picks out an outfit--a simple dress, a pair of clean underwear, and soft socks--and turns around, telling you to get changed. He won’t look, as long as you behave; as long as you don’t make a fuss.

When he shows you the dresser, the closet, the bathroom, the empty shelves. Tells you that if you behave, you’ll get rewarded; with books and paper and pencils. That the better you are, the happier you’ll be here, he says. Like you had any control over the situation at all.

When he makes you eat lunch and tells you to chew your food more slowly, more thoroughly. It helps with digestion, he says. You’ll get an upset stomach otherwise. As if you aren’t fighting the urge to gag with every bite you take--as if the reason you’re feeling queasy isn’t sitting in front of you with a mask on his face.

When you tell him, teary eyed, that you want to go home and burst into sobs but he merely waits until your hiccuping shoulders have ceased to move and tells you: “This is your home now. I’ll take care of you. Crying is only going to work you into hysterics.” 

When you refuse to eat dinner--your first act of rebellion, such as it is--and he simply sighs, leans back, and tells you that if you refuse to eat, you will go to the clinic and be fed through an IV.

“Would you like that?” Honey drips bitterly from each word.

You would, in fact, not like that. 

The spoon trembles when you lift it, but the soup goes inside your mouth, all the same.

--

“But why do you have to watch me?” The words come out dry and scratched. If you were home, you would brew yourself a cup of tea and drizzle in a modest amount of honey for good measure. You, however, are far from home.

“It’s my job to look after you.” Even if he wasn’t wearing the mask, you’d have no idea what he looks like right now, because you can only manage to stare at the tiles on the bathroom floor. Below you are your bare feet, feeling shakier than ever; above, your cheeks are burning so hot it almost hurts. 

“You don’t have to… I’ve always--what I mean is--I can do this myself,” is what you manage, fists clenching at the soft fabric of your dress. It felt flimsy enough all day--how much flimsier, then, if you were to pull it over your head and let him see you bared? 

“I’m sure you think that.” There’s something like a smile in his voice, and it’s a smile you hope to never see. “But the reason you’re here is that you can't take care of yourself. Now,” he says, with an air of finality. “Remove your clothing and step into the tub.”

There’s no room for argument. No room for pleading, no room to change his mind. There’s only one thing that you can do to end the situation, and that's to do exactly what he wants: take off your dress, your underwear, even your white padded socks, and sit in the clear water while he stares at your naked body. 

“I’ll turn around while you get undressed.”

It’s a wonder that you don’t burst out laughing. 

Instead, you fight back tears and look up, staring at the still back of the man who has turned your world into a frizzy, confusing mess in a matter of 24 hours. 

Despite the warmth of the water steaming up the room, you shiver. Your heart might as well be in your ears, for how well you can hear it pounding. That haziness from the morning returns, a sort of numbness as your fingers clench the fabric of the dress and you pull up, up, up, slipping it over your head and dropping it on the floor. 

The underwear takes longer to remove. So long that you worry he’ll turn around, and that’s what finally has you yanking the fabric down, has you stepping out of them and then--like an automaton cranked too tightly--rushing to step into the tub.

Water splashes around you as you settle, pulling your knees up to cover what you can.

He turns around and, of all things, kneels next to the tub. If he touches you--if he reaches for the sponge and tries to wash you--you think you’ll scream.

But his hands stay where they are, resting on his knee.

You look at his hands, and not his face. There’s nothing you want to see less than his eyes right now.

“Most people don’t know how to bathe properly,” he tells you, as if instructing you on something of high importance. And it probably is, to him. You can sense the beginning of some long speech, a list of things you must do in the bath, just as he gave you a list of things you must do when dressing, when eating, when everything.

“I know how to wash myself,” you mumble, feeling hot around the ears.

He doesn’t bother acknowledging you, and a further rush of shame flushes through your chest and threatens to jump out and migrate to the wobbling knees pressed against it. 

Instead, he points--you follow his hands, still unable to look anywhere else--to a line of cloths and brushes hanging from hooks on the wall of the tub. 

“They’re color-coded,” he offers, almost cheery. “Pink is for the initial scrubbing, to slough away the initial dirt and dead skin. Blue is for cleansing with antibacterial soap. Purple is for rinsing.” His fingers tap the brushes. “The same for the brushes, for your back.”

There’s a moment where you think he might actually grab the cloth and wash you, but thankfully, his hands return to their former position. 

A moment more--two or three, at least--and he clears his throat.

“Start with your legs. Most people do not scrub their legs well enough, and it leads to an excess amount of dead skin.” There’s a bit of distaste in his voice at the mention of dead skin. Your thoughts go to the gloves on his hands, the mask, the insistence on making sure you get clean enough in this tub of his.

You grab the pink cloth. Dip it in the hot water, and start scrubbing at your knee.

He clears his throat again, and your stomach drops.

“Put your legs down. Scrub under the water, so the dead skin doesn’t accumulate on the cloth.” 

No. No. No-no-no-no-no. It’s what you want to say, a simple word, a clear word.

But the word is stuck in your mouth, and you’re left with nothing to do but let your knee slide down, one, then the other.

He can see you. He can see you.

The thought makes the held-up tears finally come, bubbling out like soap. Something childish in you glances at him, then, hoping for pity--for disturbance, for him to wonder if perhaps he’s doing the right thing.

But the only thing you see in his eyes is a flash of impatience.

“If you take too long,” he says, over your sniffles, “the water will not be hot enough to disinfect. We’ll have to start over, at that point.” Start over and--would he want to take over, fed up with your clear incompetence? 

And so you get back to work, the colored-coded cloth scraping at your skin, and you can only hope you’re doing it well enough to avoid dragging out the bath any longer than possible.

“Don’t forget behind your knees,” he murmurs. Despite not looking at him, you can feel his eyes on you. Watching. Assessing. 

And that’s what he does: assess. Because the comments don’t stop, even as you move on to cleansing and rinsing and everything else he’s ordering you to do.

Wash this. Scrub that. Do it gently, do it harder. Use this soap and only one pump--don’t wash your hair like that, it causes breakage--let me test the water to make sure it’s hot enough. 

--

That night, on clean sheets, in a clean nightgown, with a clean body, you cry yourself to sleep. 

And in the morning, when you wake up, you’re still here.

And Overhaul still comes in through the door, breakfast tray in hand, a smile hidden behind his mask.

[bumblesimagines]

His Love to Keep

Request: Yes or No

Summary: Prince (Y/N) Targaryen and his cousin-wife, Princess Rhaenyra, have never truly seen eye to eye after she replaced his father as heir and removed him from line of succession. They both find lovers to keep their beds warm but with age and time comes the desire to redo things.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical GoT/HOTD warnings, mentions of marital SA, affairs/cheating on all sides rlly, moon tea usage, mentions of religious guilt?, implied rhaenicent, love triangle trope, canon divergent/AU, sexual/suggestive content, Targcest (Cousins), Rhaenyra is described with her book accurate appearance/body type

About fucking time I did one of these. fuck team black and team green I'm team milf 💪

~~~

"Must you truly go?"

"It is my duty, Alicent."

"Those boys are bastards," Alicent spoke softly, the cup in hand warming her palms as the subtle smell of tansy and mint drifted from the steam brushing along her skin. She watched ripples form in the tea with the slightest of movements, unable to swallow down the nerves beginning to bubble up underneath her skin. "You are not bound to them. They are not your sons."

"I scarcely see them and they still burst with excitement when I visit." (Y/N) strode forward to close the distance between them, his fingers reaching out to brush aside a curled strand of her auburn hair. Alicent lifted her head toward him, the ghost of a smile gracing her lips when his palm pressed against her cheek and she leaned into it. "They may not be my sons by blood but they are by marriage. They must at least feel cared for, even if once every few moons."

Alicent pursed her lips, her big brown eyes peering up at him. "Would you travel to Dragonstone more often if they were yours?" She asked tentatively, gingerly setting the moon tea on the table and rising from her chair. He watched her, his arm encircling her waist when she grew closer, the soft fabric of her thin nightgown rubbing along his arm. "Or would you return to me as you so often do?"

(Y/N) chuckled breathily, his (E/C) eyes crinkling with amusement and his free hand rising to cup her cheek once more. He leaned in and kissed her gently, their eyes fluttering shut as they exchanged breaths. Alicent's arms slipped around his shoulders and pressed her body close to his, eager to soak up whatever she could before they'd be forced apart again by duty. The back of her hips met the side of the table and she leaned back against it, her leg lifting off the ground as her heel dug its way up his calf and thigh until she hooked her leg around his waist. 

"Do not go." She asked pleadingly when they pulled apart for air, her hold on his shoulders tightening briefly when he lifted her up and set her at the edge of the table. Her fingers tugged at the laces in the front of her dress and the sleeves went slack, slipping off her shoulders and threatening to go past her elbows. "You can correspond through ravens." She told him, the pout that'd formed on her lips being kissed away.

His hand slipped beneath her nightgown, forcing it upwards until it rested around her hips. He squeezed the flesh of her thigh where fading marks resided, his lips ghosting over her throat and collarbone. "I have visited Dragonstone plenty of times, Alicent. You have never been against it before." He reminded her, his lips pressing against the valley between her chest as the dress slipped further down until it fully pooled around her hips. 

Alicent's head tilted backward, her soft curls tumbling past her shoulders and grazing along the table. She braced her elbows against the smooth wood, unable to find any excuse apart from worry and a hint of jealousy but her inexplicable mind hardly allowed her to comprehend who exactly she was jealous of if tides shifted between the couple; Rhaenyra or her lover. Ser Harwin had passed some years prior and she'd heard little of Rhaenyra growing close to anyone else since then. It both filled her with dread and intrigue. 

"I have been against you allowing yourself to be seen playing father to those boys. She makes a mockery of you." Alicent said breathily, her legs parting and revealing herself as bare as the previous night when she'd gone to him in hopes of convincing him to remain in Dragonstone. It'd been a fruitless yet enjoyable attempt. 

"She makes a mockery of herself and her father." (Y/N) rebutted swiftly, his hands briefly leaving her thighs to unbutton his loose pants. 

A shuddering breath escaped Alicent when she felt him push inside, the act so familiar yet it still felt unknown to her. Viserys had never cared for her comfort or pleasure during acts of 'passion', only chasing his own pleasure whilst her mind drifted elsewhere. But in the arms of a lover who truly desired her, everything felt different. Every touch felt electrifying, every kiss left butterflies behind, and every thrust sent a jolt of pleasure up her spin. She remained mindful of the early hour in the morrow; many courtiers and servants had the habit of rising with the sun and traveling through the halls of the castle. 

Her arm curled around his neck when he buried his face into the nape of hers, her other hand digging into the fabric of his shoulder and crinkling it as her nails pressed through to his skin. Quiet and soft pants, sighs, and moans escaped her parted lips, her teeth digging into her lip whenever her voice edged toward a louder volume that would alert those passing by the doors to her bedchambers. She'd already instructed her trusted handmaiden to send away those who wished an audience but she'd hardly be a match for anyone alerted by the noise. 

Alicent's hand slapped down on the table, curling her fingers around the edge to stabilize herself and the creaking furniture. Part of her felt guilty for engaging in the sinful act of laying with another while bound by the vows of marriage; guilty for betraying the lingering love she held for Rhaenyra and the trust the kingdom had put upon her shoulders when she wed Viserys. She'd pray in the sept later in the day, asking to be absolved of her sins but the prince was too addicting to give up for Gods she found herself straying further and further away from. 

Her back arched with her abrupt high and he claimed her lips before she could cry out, muffling the noise and the ones that followed when he continued. She clung onto him, and perhaps clung to the idea he'd be tempted to remain at her side as well, the air escaping her lungs and legs caging around him in a tight hold. Her mind grew clouded from the pleasure and near overstimulation, filling her head with thoughts of carrying his child and finally giving him a proper heir to Runestone, but she would not sully him with another bastard as Rhaenyra had. Perhaps in another time, her children would've been his and they would've been happier far from the suffocating walls of the Keep.

She thought of that life often, and it plagued her when she watched his dragon disappear over the vast sea while the horrid taste of the moon tea danced on her tongue.

Despite having her darling sons to keep her company and the occasional visits from her uncle and young cousins.. nothing ever changed the heart-aching loneliness that'd clawed its way into Rhaenyra's chest following the Year of the Red Spring. She'd lost the three people closest to her, the few who knew her secrets and worries. It pained her to know she'd never feel Harwin's warm embrace or hear Laena's mischievous laughter or watch the way Laenor's eyes sparkled when he spoke of his lover. She had few friends in the Keep and even fewer on the isolated island of Dragonstone. 

Rhaenyra wrapped her arms around herself, the sleeves of her dress providing little warmth against the natural chill of Dragonstone from the sea breeze. She strode down the halls in contemplation, although she likely appeared more like a lost ghost forever forced to wander. The letter that'd arrived the previous day had been short and with little details but it'd been from her husband informing her of his arrival to visit 'the boys'. 

Her lips quirked and she sighed through her nose. 'The boys', always 'the boys' or 'your sons but never 'our sons' despite the fact he was the only father they'd ever known. Harwin had been forced to play the part of a friendly uncle figure, forced to watch his children scurry to the feet of a man who treated them with polite affection over genuine love. Rhaenyra hardly found blame within herself. He'd left her alone in the Keep after their wedding, and it'd only been through a letter begging him to return that he'd begrudgingly flown back to see her. The irritation on his face when she explained her newfound predicament- the possibility of being pregnant- had nearly enraged her but he agreed to pretend as if the boys had inherited their brown hair and softer features from his late mother. 

Her attention tugged away from her thoughts and onto the long shadow along the floor peeking out from the balcony, her step quickening slightly to have a peek at the person standing there. She smiled immediately upon seeing Luke with his arms braced against the stone railing and his head tilted toward the clouds in the direction of King's Landing, a bright sparkle in his vibrant eyes. She approached him, settling her hands over his shoulders as she pecked the back of his head. 

"Will you ask him, Mother?" Luke questioned, pressing himself further against the railing as he combed the clouds for any sign of (Y/N) or his dragon. 

"If you can travel with him to Runestone?" Rhaenyra chuckled at the barely contained excitement in his voice despite the ache and tug at her heartstrings. The mere thought of parting with her sweet boy filled her with longing, and they'd yet to even ask (Y/N) if it'd be alright. "I will ask him, Luke. I am certain he'll be more than pleased to show you Runestone and its many ports. You must pay close attention. You will rule it someday."

Luke grimaced at that. "Wouldn't that mean Father has died?" His head turned to peer up at her with those big striking eyes of his; eyes she'd never be able to deny, now more than ever when they reminded her of the shade of Harwin's. 

"Oh, my darling," Rhaenyra cooed, running her fingers through his soft curls. "Ruling does not always entail someone has died. Does Princess Rhaenys not rule Driftmark as her husband's regent while he recovers from his injury? If your... father were to fall ill or sustain an injury that confines him to his bed and you are of age, you would rule in his steed with the help of your great-uncle. You would rule if I were to fall ill and your father had to rule as regent in King's Landing." 

Her words seemed to ease Luke, his hair flopping lightly against his forehead when he nodded and his lips tugging into that smile of his that could brighten the dullest of days. They both turned toward the skies when a deepened screech echoed through the quiet afternoon air and they watched a large figure descend from the clouds and skim the water with its wings. Suvion released another cry when he drew closer, one that seemingly roused his mother and son. In the distance, Rhaenyra faintly made out Silverwing and Arrax's cries in response.

"Father!" Luke leaped away and hurried into the hallway, his feet slapping against the stone floor as he raced toward the entrance leading into Dragonmont. 

Taking a deep inhale, Rhaenyra released it in a sigh and followed after her son, hands clutching the deep red of her skirts and lifting the ends to quicken her pace. She couldn't help but chuckle at Luke's excitement despite the way her heart twisted at the knowledge he'd never have a chance to be excited over his real father. She caught Luke taking Joffery's small hand in his and tugging him further into the entrance of the cave system where (Y/N) would dismount, and found Jace lingering with twisted lips and sullen eyes.

"Jace," She called softly, releasing her skirts to place her hand on his arm. "Are you not excited to greet your father?"

"Is he excited to see us?" Jace asked glumly and Rhaenyra winced. "He has resided in King's Landing for days and has not spared us a single visit in moons. Must he make it any more obvious that we are of little importance to him?" 

Before Rhaenyra could respond, Jace stalked inside, ever the polite one even in his disappointment and anger. She sighed once more and followed him inside, squinting through the light pouring into the cave from the opening on the side and blinking until her eyes adjusted. (Y/N) climbed off Suvion and cooed quietly to his dragon as he slipped his gloves off, handing them to the nearby servant. Suvion chirped softly and dipped down, disappearing into one of the many tunnels within Dragonmont. 

Luke stopped a few feet away from him and dipped his head in respect before releasing Joffery's hand and lunging himself forward. He swung his arms around (Y/N)'s waist and pressed his cheek into his chest, a gleeful smile on his face. Little Joffery clumsily bowed as well and shuffled forward to cling onto (Y/N)'s leg. (Y/N) chuckled at their affection and patted Luke's head, murmuring some words Rhaenyra couldn't hear and leaning down to take Joffery into his arms. 

"Husband," Rhaenyra greeted when he approached, the word still foreign on her tongue despite the many years since their wedding. She hoped to remedy that for the sake of her sons and before loneliness could consume her whole. 

"Rhaenyra," (Y/N) nodded, his brows twitching at the use of his martial title but his face smoothed over into a polite smile when he turned to Jace and offered him Joffery. Rhaenyra felt thankful, in a way, that the years he'd spent attached to her father's hip had eased him into a calmer man. She feared what would have become of him if he'd only been raised by Daemon. 

Gingerly taking his little brother, Jace bowed his head, his lips pulled into a thin line. "My Prince." He greeted and Rhaenyra hoped her sharp inhale had gone unnoticed by her younger sons. "I hope your flight was well." 

"It was, though I am in need of a bath and some rest." (Y/N) told them, his hand brushing over Luke's head one last time before he slipped past them and began heading toward the castle. "I'll see you at supper." He called over his shoulder. 

Rhaenyra bit her inner cheek and spared her children a glance, her legs turning and catching up with her husband. She caught his arm and slipped hers around it, glancing over her shoulder at her boys. "Your belongings in the Sea Dragon Tower have been moved to my bedchambers." She told him quietly.

"And why so?"

"Because you are my husband." Rhaenyra scoffed. "Is that not reason enough? Must I get on my knees and beg for my husband to sleep in the same room as me?"

"You only wish to sleep in the same room as me when you are pregnant with another man's child, Rhaenyra. You ought to learn to ask for moon tea when you sleep with a lover. You've already doomed your two eldest." (Y/N) tugged his arm free from her hold, his lip curled slightly in irritation. "What is it now?"

"It is as I said. It is truly so absurd to desire time with the man I married or do you detest the idea so much you'd rather humiliate me by refusing?" Rhaenyra questioned, her voice rising in volume and eyes fiery as they both stalked toward her bedchambers. Servants clumsily bowed and stepped out of the way from them, their eyes wide with exchanged glances. "When will you grace us with an inch of maturity, I wonder, or will you forever act as a scorned child? It was your father whose ambition and loose tongue stripped him of his title as heir!" 

"It is amusing to hear you speak of maturity, Rhaenyra; it is like a jester speaking of dignity." (Y/N) spat back.

The doors to her apartments were opened hastily by the guard and swiftly shut behind them. (Y/N)'s strides were broken when he took a moment to observe his surroundings, only moving once he noticed the pitcher full of wine and filled a cup to the brim. Rhaenyra watched him drink from it, her chest heaving from her annoyance. She took a deep breath in hopes of calming herself and felt the emotion ease down whilst he rid himself of his riding clothes. 

"We recently learned of your long stay in King's Landing. They will question you as to why you have not come sooner... and I would like to know the answer, too. I know my father's health has been steadily worsening through the years but I doubt you are of any help to the maesters dedicated to ensuring he heals." Rhaenyra approached him from behind, her hands resting upon his shoulders and helping slip the undershirt off his body. She let it drop onto the pile of clothing on the floor and inched closer, the palms of her hands running along his warm skin. She felt a subtle small bump, her brows furrowing as she traced it and quickly recognized it as fading scratch marks. She stilled. "Unless there are other reasons for your visits..." 

He only exhaled through his nose and remained silent. Rhaenyra staggered backward at his lack of response, her widening eyes watching him shed the last of his clothing and step into the warm water within the tub. Her mind flickered through the various courtiers she recalled resided in the Keep prior to her departure to Dragonstone.

It was hypocritical, she knew, to grow so uneasy at the thought of him with another. He'd been indifferent to the years Harwin spent at her side and while she'd always wondered if he'd taken a lover of his own, she always believed it'd be someone from one of the lesser houses in the Vale over someone just a ride away. There were many beautiful ladies residing in the Keep but as always, Rhaenyra's mind lingered on her old friend. 

"I suspected the reason you never cared for Harwin was because you had your own lover waiting in Runestone... yet now I am led to believe that lover calls King's Landing home. What would Queen Alicent say, I wonder, if she grew to learn of your doings beneath her nose and watchful eyes? She's always been so righteous... I am certain even with the animosity between us, she'd ask of you to return to your wife." Rhaenyra swallowed thickly, watching him as he cleaned himself. "Who is it? You knew of mine, I wish to know of yours."

"I find it hard to understand you, Rhaenyra." He muttered. "You always pined for freedom and adventure yet accepted the title of heir; you defended your inheritance yet fled the Keep because of mere court gossip; you never longed for children yet allowed the seed of Breakbones to sprout life three times; you never desired this marriage yet now wish to keep me close after years. Who I lay with is of little interest to you when any other man would have found grounds for a divorce all those years ago."

"You never gave us a chance or have you forgotten you climbed atop Suvion the morrow after our wedding and abandoned me to be in Runestone?" A hot flash of anger jolted through her body, her fingers curling into fits. She often thought of that morning, of rising after a night of angry passion only to discover her new husband had left without a word. It'd been the only time they'd properly been with one another and she'd been left wondering if she'd disappointed him enough for him to believe the marriage was merely an inconvenience. 

"Would you have rather I missed the funeral of my mother?" (Y/N) shot her a glare over his shoulder and tossed aside the sponge, satisfied with his bath and rising to dry himself.

Rhaenyra's swift anger stilled, unable to stop her eyes from wandering. It'd been long since she'd last seen him fully undressed, and even then the memories of their only time together were a whirlwind. He'd always been a fine-looking prince, especially in his youth when he still carried the air of youthful arrogance befitting of a prince. He'd certainly grown into a handsome man, one with mixtures of Targaryen and Royce features that melted together perfectly. 

Rhaenyra forced herself to swallow the spiteful words ready on her tongue and she turned, retrieving a maroon-colored robe with golden designs and approaching him. He eyed her but nonetheless allowed her to help him dress. "I would have rather you spoken to me. I may have been.. reckless and rebellious in my youth but I would not have refused to accompany you. I could have been convinced into waiting for your return but you made your opinion clear. Did you truly never long for a wife all those lonely years in Runestone? Did you never long for.. what could have been?"

"We were children, Rhaenyra. I was a child forced into an abrupt marriage and then forced to deal with the passing of my mother while my family spoke of their suspicion of my father killing her. I had little time to think of a wife who disliked me when I had to learn to rule Runestone and sedate the thirst for revenge in my family. Perhaps these past few years I've thought of having true children that are mine but we've made our beds, Rhaenyra. What's done is done."

"You speak as if I am not still your wife." Rhaenyra released a huff of amusement, her hand smoothing over the front of the robe and feeling the soft fabric. Her fingers dipped beneath the robes and roamed until her thumb brushed over the trail of hair leading further down. He made a noise in the back of his throat but when he did nothing to push her away, Rhaenyra found victory. "I am still of childbearing age, (Y/N). I too have longed for a babe in recent times. I've desired a girl for much time now that Jace and Luke will soon be man-grown and beginning their own families." 

(Y/N)'s eyes jumped away from her, his brows slightly dipping together and jaw subtly ticking. She wondered if he thought of his lover and how she would react to the news, and Rhaenyra felt a hint of satisfaction despite the curiosity swirling around her chest. She wanted a name and a face to put to the woman who'd likely cloud her mind for the rest of her life. It'd always been expected of ladies to tolerate the mistresses of their husbands but Rhaenyra could hardly see herself allowing such a thing

"I am certain this is the very reason my lover did not wish for me to come here." (Y/N) sighed and Rhaenyra blinked at him, unable to comprehend why then he'd flown to Dragonstone if the person he did care about asked of him otherwise. Her heart fluttered at the possibilities. 

She pressed her hand to the nape of his neck and pulled him closer, bringing her lips over his and sighing in relief as their lips moved together. "She will have to understand and bring herself to forgive," Rhaenyra said, already breathless and eager. It'd been so, so long since she'd last felt the touch of another. 

He grunted into her mouth when her fingers curled around him and pumped him slowly, delighting in the feeling of him fully hardening against her hand. She'd always been a lustful creature, she supposed, always hungering for the feeling of pleasure and power over someone else in such intimate acts.

(Y/N) had always been someone out of reach, both literally and figuratively, so having him shuddering against her and grazing his tongue against hers only fueled her desire. Rhaenyra savored each grunt, hiss, and needy kiss as she stroked him, running her fingers along the slit and coating her skin. 

Her dress loosened when he undid the laces at the back of her gown with expertise. She relished the quiet, muffled huff that left him when she retracted her hand to peel the sleeves off her arms and allow the dress to slump down at their feet with her undergarments quickly following. He leaned back to observe her, his eyes taking in the newfound curves of her body she'd obtained from age and multiple pregnancies. Much of the weight from bearing children had remained, remolding her body into something new and far from the girl he'd consummated his marriage with.

Rhaenyra grinned at the flicker of hunger in his eyes before the grin vanished with a gasp as he latched onto her neck and pulled her closer. She shuddered and wrapped her arms around him, quiet sighs and gasps leaving her with each nip and suckle at her throat. They stumbled back toward the bed and Rhaenyra pushed at his shoulders until he sat at the edge, parting briefly with each other before she settled on his lap. 

Cradling his face in her hands, she pressed another kiss to his lips. "Today and every day til I am with child, you are mine and mine alone."

[endless-ineffabilities]

chemical override (9)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: this was tricky to write I won't lie. I wanted it to be sweet but not unrealistic. Tension and angst filled but fair to our protagonists who have struggled through a lot. Oh well, you'll see. Enjoy!

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

We find out what happened at the end of the reader's date with Matt. Can Ewan and his darling still mend their rift or will things be too far gone?

Matt sits next to you on your couch, as you enjoy one of his favourite films on the TV. He’s close – not too close that he’s flush against you – but enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him. His arm is casually draped on the back of the seat, and his other hand often reaches up to run through his perfectly tousled hair.

As the film plays on, you can’t help but remember the intensity of last night’s kiss. Every time he turns to you, his disarming smile draws your gaze to his lips, lingering on the memory of their softness. 

The kiss had grown heated, leading him to press your back against your door. With a soft, frustrated growl, he had fished your forgotten key from your hand, unlocking your front door himself, while keeping a firm grip on your face, as if afraid the moment would fade if he let go. 

“Come here, love,” he had half-demanded, half-pleaded once you both entered the apartment. In a swift motion, he had picked you up in his arms and threw you down on the couch – the very same couch you two are lounging on right now. His touch had been intoxicating, his lips trailing hungry kisses down your neck while his hands roamed eagerly over your chest, your hips, and eventually, your backside. His muffled moans brought a heat to your core that almost made you let go and abandon all your inhibitions. Yet, as if on autopilot, or perhaps due to the image of a certain someone lingering in your mind, you pressed a hesitant hand to his chest and asked him to wait. 

His pupils were shot black, his lips swollen red, revealing the depth of his desire. He had reluctantly complied, burying his face in your neck and releasing a frustrated laugh that rumbled through his chest. You could see it - the figure of Ewan standing in the corner, arms crossed and lips curled in disappointment. Tsk tsk, he seemed to chide, leaning against the wall, judging you.

Oh sod off, you almost grumbled aloud, covering it up by running a hand down your face. This is my moment. 

And that moment came and went. The night had drifted away as you and Matt talked for hours, the connection deepening with each passing minute. He left early in the morning with a promise to return in the evening, bearing food and wine. “I just enjoy being in your company,” he had shared, and he was true to his word. 

Now, as he reaches for your bare knee, you thank your lucky stars that you chose to wear shorts.

“Where were you just then?” he asks, his smile playful.

“Hmm?” 

“You were lost to me for a moment there,” he says, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Care to share what occupies your thoughts?”

Your phone buzzes on the side table, cutting through the tension. It’s a sudden lifeline – an excuse not to come up with some witty response that doesn’t reveal how fixated you had been on the kiss that nearly turned into something more carnal. Or how it had been the thought of Ewan that kept you from pulling him into your bedroom. 

You give Matt a look, silently telling him to hold on a moment, then you glance down at the screen which displays that all-too-familiar Ewan One-Eye, and you realise that you might need a longer while.

Matt raises an eyebrow. “Are you going to get that?” His tone is light and teasing, but something darker flashes across his gaze, something you haven’t seen in him before – it seemed like suspicion, or maybe even jealousy. 

You push it out of your mind, convinced you are just getting ahead of yourself.

You try to match the intensity of his gaze for a second before letting out a sigh. “Yeah, give me a minute.”

“A minute,” he echoes, index finger held up as if to confirm your time limit. 

With the phone pressed to your ear, you retreat into your bedroom, leaving the door open just an inch. Your hello barely stumbles from your lips before the familiar sound of Ewan’s voice greets you, rougher than usual.

“Darling,” he breathes, his voice low and raspy, “I think we need to talk.”

His tone is sombre, so unlike the usual cadence of your late-night calls, made for the usual purpose of making good on the arrangement. Those calls inevitably result in the two of you stumbling blind into the night, tangled in sheets and each other’s arms. 

“What is it?” you respond, unable to mask your nerves.

“About us,” he says, his voice slurring somewhat. Is he drunk? “We need to talk about us,” he repeats, as if he needs to convince himself just as much.

“What do you mean?” you ask quickly, getting defensive. You have a feeling that this isn’t going to end well. “What is there to talk about?”

“You know exactly what,” he snaps, unable to keep his emotions in check. “This… whatever we are.”

“Do we have to do this now?”

“Yes, now. Why not? You’re not busy, are you?”

“No… no, but – ”

“Okay then,” he presses on. “Let’s talk. I’ll start with… the fact that it didn’t sit right with me, seeing you on that date with Matt.”

“How did you see – ” The realisation dawns on you. “ – of course. Photogs.”

“Like I need their photos to know what’s happening. I know it was a date,” he spits, each word laced with frustration. 

You shut your eyes for a moment, trying not to let him get a rise out of you. “Yes, because I told you. I’m not hiding anything, Mitchell.”

“Is that supposed to make it better?” His voice rises, the bitterness sharper now. “You think honesty makes it hurt any less? You’re everywhere with him. It’s like... you don’t even care.”

The ache in his voice catches you off guard. You clench the phone, fighting back the surge of guilt threatening to overwhelm you, reminding yourself that you have nothing to feel guilty about. “What do you want me to do, Ewan? Push everyone away? Completely ignore this person who shows me genuine interest? Is that what you expect?”

“Stop,” he interrupts, his voice cracking slightly. “Just... stop.”

“You’re the one who made the rules, remember?” you snap, your own anger rising to meet his. “You were the one who said I wouldn’t be yours. That’s exactly what I’m doing. Not being yours.”

“Fuck,” he hisses under his breath, “I know that.”

“Then why are you acting like this? Like I’m betraying you?”

“Because,” he says finally, his voice raw, trembling. “Because I want you to be mine. Goddamn it, I want you to be.”

The air leaves your lungs in a single, sharp exhale, your heart pounding in your chest. You stand frozen, the words echoing in your mind, too much and too little all at once.

“What?” The word barely makes it past your lips, but it’s all you can manage.

A hollow laugh escapes him, strained and bitter. “It was stupid of me to say otherwise,” he murmurs. “I never stopped wanting you, not once. Not since you first smiled at me. I’ve always been yours.”

The confession hangs between you, finally out in the open. You let out a pained breath, and grip the phone tighter, needing to anchor yourself to something.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Ewan,” you whisper.

“Say you’ll let me fix this,” he breathes. “Say you want me too.”

Your mind reels, torn between the ache for him and the reality that Matt is waiting just outside the door. But in this moment, it’s Ewan’s voice that consumes you – the yearning in his voice, the raw confession of someone who’s done with pretending not to care. 

“I – ”

“Hey, love.” Matt’s voice cuts through your thoughts like a blade, and you see him casually leaning against the doorframe. His tone is light, but the look in his eyes says he knows something is off. “I thought we said one minute.”

“Who’s that?” Ewan’s sharp question cracked through the phone.

“It’s – ”

“Why don’t you kindly tell Ewan that it’s rude to keep you from company?” Matt approaches slowly, his voice growing more pointed with every step.

“Matt?” Ewan’s voice is icy, his frustration palpable even through the phone. “Matt’s there?”

“Hey there, mate!” Matt calls out, loud enough for Ewan to hear, his tone overly cheerful, completely at odds with the atmosphere thickening in the room.

Your stomach clenches. The situation is getting out of hand. Fast. 

“Your date was yesterday,” Ewan mutters, the pieces starting to fall into place. “Did he stay the night? Is that why he’s still there? Did you – ”

“Yes,” you blurt out, the truth tumbling from your lips before you can stop it. Panic flashes through you. “I mean, yes, he stayed the night, but it’s not what you think – ”

“I don’t think you owe him an explanation, love.” Matt’s voice drops into a low whisper, leaning into you as if staking his claim. 

Ewan’s voice darkens, the sarcasm biting. “Not what I think? Really? So... what? He didn’t touch you? He didn’t – ” His words falter, but you can feel the unspoken questions twisting the knife deeper. Did he fuck you? Did he lay in your bed, his arms around you? Did he touch what was mine?

You feel the heat rise to your face, the sting of his accusations sharper than you expected. “Listen, Ewan, we just went on a date, that’s all. He came back to mine, but we didn’t – ”

“I get it,” he cuts you off., the bitterness dripping from his words. “I understand, darling. Like you said, this is what I signed up for. Who am I to stop you?”

“That’s not fair,” you whisper. “You can’t make me feel wretched for simply going – ”

“For what? For living your life?” Ewan interrupts, his tone bitter but resigned. “I told you I wouldn’t stand in your way. So go on, enjoy it. I’ll leave you to it.”

“Ewan,” you sigh, blind to Matt’s disapproving look. “Just wait.”

Ewan’s voice is soft now, almost too soft, like he’s already slipping away. “It’s alright,” he murmurs, but the hollow sound of his reassurance feels like a knife twisting deeper. “We’ll talk another time.”

The line between you feels like it’s fraying, each second stretching longer, heavier, with neither of you able to say what you really mean.

“Okay,” you whisper, though it feels like a surrender.

“Okay,” he echoes, the finality settling in the silence that follows. 

For a few excruciating seconds, neither of you hangs up. You can hear his breathing – steady but strained – and in your mind, you see his face, that familiar frustrated pout tugging at his lips, the way his jaw clenches when he’s trying to hold something back.

But Matt is standing right there, his gaze piercing through the quiet moment you’re desperately clinging to. With a trembling hand, you lower the phone, ending the call. 

“Sorry, Smithy,” you weakly smile, in considerably lower spirits than before you entered your bedroom.

Matt studies you for a moment, his face unreadable, and the weight of everything you’ve left unsaid presses down on your shoulders. “No need to apologise, love,” he says, gently slinging an arm around you and pulling you to him. “Let’s go, you’re missing the best parts of the film.”

The next day, the events from the previous night still weighed down on you. Ewan’s words echo in your mind when you go about your routine. 

When you wake up and brush your teeth – “Darling, I think we need to talk.”

When you make your cup of morning joe and help yourself to some breakfast – “... I want you to be mine.”

When you try to focus on the scripts for season three, settling into the worn comfort of your couch. – “Say you’ll let me fix this. Say you want me too.”

By late afternoon, a call with Phia offers some reprieve. You confide in her about the recent happenings with Ewan and Matt. She alludes to being in contact with Ewan, and ‘making sure his head is screwed on straight’.

“He can’t be like this,” she passionately exclaims. “He can’t act all macho and possessive when he’s been treating you like a throwaway lay in the sack. I mean, no offence, I love you but you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” you laugh despite yourself, already feeling lighter.

“You do you, my darling,” she reassures, before reminding you, “But listen, he told you his truth. More or less. I think it’s your turn to tell him what you really think, don’t you?”

“You’re right, Phi,” you admit quietly. “I guess I’ll have to start from the beginning.”

An hour after the call, you find yourself laying down on your bed. Sansa, curled up on Ewan’s side, is doing little to help. She nestles on top of his pillow, her paws digging into the soft fabric as if to anchor herself to his memory. Either it’s due to the events that transpired, or your mind is playing tricks on you, but she reminds you of Ewan with each passing day. 

Ewan, with whom she quickly decided to replace you as her favourite human the moment she got a good sniff of his hoodie. 

She meows softly, as if privy to your thoughts, as if to say that she misses him too. The little squishball of a traitor. 

Then she suddenly raises her head, in that feline manner of being alert to something that eludes you. She scrambles out of the bed, her small form darting out of the room with a purpose, her persistent meows filling the apartment. You’re about to tell her to shush, when the buzzer rings. Your heart skips a beat. Someone has been let up already – someone familiar enough to bypass the usual formalities. 

You pad to the door in your worn pyjamas, exchanging a knowing glance with Sansa, who waits by the entrance like a sentinel.

“Meow,” your turncoat companion looks at you briefly, then at the door. Open the door, you silly human, is what you’re certain she would demand if she could form the words. 

“I know, I know.” She follows close behind as you unlock your door to reveal your visitor. Sansa’s favourite person in the entire world. 

When the door swings open, there he is – Ewan One-Eye. Standing tall in his black leather jacket and worn jeans, his hair returned to his natural, darker shade you prefer on him. Your breath hitches, your gaze dropping to the delicate bouquet of white roses he holds in one hand.

“Hello, darling,” he murmurs, that familiar smile tugging at his lips. “I come bearing a white flag.”

Before you can respond, Sansa lets out an elated meow, bounding toward him like he’s a long-lost friend. Ewan snorts softly. “Hey, Sansa,” he greets her, crouching slightly to give her a small scratch behind the ears. Then, with a glance up at you, he adds, “Think you can convince your mum to let daddy inside?”

You roll your eyes, unable to fight the smile that’s already tugging at your lips. One smile from him and your resolve is at risk of unravelling completely. 

“A white flag, huh?” you ask, stepping aside to let him in. But you barely have time to close the door before he leans in, catching you by surprise with a firm kiss. It’s not rushed or desperate, but there’s a weight to it – a need that hums beneath the surface.

When he pulls back, you realise he’s slipped the bouquet into your hand. You stare down at the roses, his symbolic white flag.

“These are for you,” he says, his voice soft but insistent, his eyes searching yours. “I, uhhh, I wanted to apologise for being… you know.”

“A dick,” you tease, raising an eyebrow. “I know.”

He scoffs, shaking his head with a small grin. “Well, don’t hold back, darling. But yes, I shouldn’t have gotten on your case over… him.”

“Him?” you ask playfully. “Don’t worry about it, One-Eye. I always knew you and your uncle had bad blood.”

His eyes narrow, his smirk faltering for a second, and you watch as his gaze flickers down your body, slowly taking in the sight of you in your comfortable attire. It’s a familiar look – the way his eyes sweep over every patch of exposed skin with barely veiled hunger. Normally, he would’ve made a move by now, reached out to brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear, or run his thumb lightly across your bottom lip. But today, his gaze lingers longer than usual – right at your neck and exposed collarbones, like he’s searching for something. Or someone else's unwelcome mark.

You can practically see the gears turning in his head, the surge of jealousy he’s trying so hard to suppress. But the way his jaw tightens gives him away.

“Why aren’t you dressed?” he asks casually, breaking the silence.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh well, this is fine, I suppose.” He shrugs, eyes flashing with mischief. “You look beautiful in pyjamas… or a fucking ball gown.”

“Wait, what are you talking about?” 

“I’m taking you out. We’re going on a date, my darling.”

You openly gape at him, stunned by the sudden shift of events. “I’m sorry, did I miss your memo or – ”

“It’s a surprise,” he cheekily grins. “So, you know… surprise! And all that.” 

You cross your arms, trying to suppress the warmth blooming in your chest. “So you’re fine with taking me out on dates now?”

“Mhmm.” He takes another step, and his voice drops lower, the teasing edge in it sharp enough to make your breath catch. “I realised you deserve a little more than I’ve been giving. The bloody arrangement we have isn’t enough for me. It never has been. I’ve been too stupid to see it, and maybe I’ve got competition now, but you better believe that I’m not backing down easily.” 

He leans in slightly, adding in a sarcastic tone, “Especially not to Daemon Targaryen.”

“Took you this long to come to your senses, huh.” you say, biting back a smile. “It took another man successfully sweeping me off my feet – ”

“Okay, now,” he looks away, his lips curling. “No need to rub it in.” 

You can’t help but laugh softly at his wounded pride. “So what now?” you ask. 

“Why don’t you let me sweep you off your feet this time?” he offers. “With each and every single string attached.”

He offers something real, something more. Something resembling what you once shared, and perhaps even better this time. 

“Fine. I’ll get dressed,” you relent, backing toward your bedroom.

“Can I watch?” The boy has the audacity to call after you, his signature smirk in full display. 

“Ewan Robert Mitchell,” you click your tongue in mock disapproval, eyes narrowing at him, “why don’t you buy me dinner first?”

The cab rolls to a stop in front of a familiar modernised brownstone, and you turn to look at him suspiciously. “You brought me back to your place?”

Without a word, he slides out of the cab, quickly ambling to your side and opening the door for you. “My lady.” He offers his hand and you take it with an amused look in your eyes, still awaiting an explanation.

You ask again, “Mitchell, did you just lure me back to your apartment?”

“Yes, you’ve cracked it,” he smirks. “But don’t worry, I won’t just be seducing you into my bed. As tempting as that might be.”

He leads you inside, and when you step into the elevator, you notice he presses the button for the topmost floor – not his apartment. Your brow furrows. “What are you up to, Mitchell?”

“Patience is a virtue, darling,” he quips, his hand massaging the small of your back. 

The elevator dings to signal that you’ve reached your floor. He says, “Remember our first date? Up on that roof in LA?”

“How could I forget?”

“Well, I thought we could pay tribute to that memory.” The doors open and you’re met with the sight of a breathtaking rooftop pavilion, softly lit with hanging lights strung between metal beams, casting a golden glow that dances across the polished stone floor. It feels like an amplified echo of your first date, everything sharper and more vivid.

A small table for two sits in the centre, adorned with candles and more flowers, the atmosphere far more intimate. A bottle of wine sits in the centre, already uncorked, with two delicate crystal glasses waiting beside it. 

You blink, surprised and touched. “You did all this?”

He comes up behind you, his hands resting on your shoulders, his breath warm against your ear. “Did you really think I’d just settle for my couch and Netflix?”

“Honestly? I did,” you tease, leaning back slightly into him.

He chuckles, low and deep. “Well, I have to keep you on your toes, don’t I?” Then, more seriously, he adds, “I wanted to make up for weeks of mere stolen moments, you know?”

He moves to stand in front of you, and he asks, “Do you think I could steal a kiss, darling?” he asks, still teasing, but with an undertone of vulnerability. Do you like it? Do you approve of everything? his eyes seemed to say.

Slowly, you close the gap, your lips brushing his in the softest of touches.

It’s tentative at first, as if testing the waters, but then his hand comes up to cradle the side of your face, deepening the kiss. There’s no more teasing now, just raw, unfiltered emotion in the way his lips move against yours.

“I guess I didn’t need to steal it after all,” he whispers, a hint of a smile in his voice.

“No,” you say, mirroring his expression, “that one was all yours, baby.”

After dinner, which was nothing short of extraordinary – Ewan had gone all out, employing the exclusive restaurant from the ground floor of the building to cater the night’s meal – the two of you settle into the rooftop’s plush seating area. 

The conversation shifts naturally, easing into shared memories and playful banter. You both laugh about that disastrous karaoke night during your first press tour together, and how he barely made it through his favourite ‘For Whom The Bell Tolls’ without collapsing into a fit of embarrassed and drunken giggles. Tom, of course, relentlessly made fun of him for it, stepping into his role like an actual older brother. 

You wish you could stay in these moments, ignoring all the things left unsaid. But the weight of those things hangs heavy, demanding to be addressed.

“Listen, I have to tell you something.” The words almost catch in your throat as you search for the right way to begin.

“What is it, darling?”

“When I… When I broke things off between us, I wasn’t entirely honest with you. I know I said I wanted you to take on the film, and I did, I really did. But when I mentioned that thing about Jacob, about wanting to see where things would go with him, about feeling something for him… none of that was true. I just needed to say something that would convince you. Something that would keep you away, and hopefully change your mind about taking on the film.”

His expression turns stony. “You lied to me.”

“I lied for you,” you say, trying to keep your voice firm. “I know how important acting is for you. It’s been your dream ever since you can remember, and I didn’t want you to jeopardise that dream for my sake.”

“That wasn’t your choice to make,” he snaps, his voice tight with frustration. “I gave that up for us.”

“I never asked you to!” you nearly shout, the weight of it all spilling over. “You did that for me, I know you did. And you didn’t even tell me.”

“I would do it all again. I would make that same choice again. For you.”

“You made that choice all about me, without even consulting me,” you shoot back, the hurt evident in your voice. “If something went wrong with your career, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. Knowing that I caused it.”

“You wouldn’t have,” he says, shaking his head, “But you were wrong to lie to me.”

“And you were wrong in not including me in your decision,” you retort, the back and forth bickering reminding you of playground taunting.

“So? You did the exact same thing.”

“I guess we’re both fucking hypocrites, aren’t we? Anyway, things fell into place. You’re all set for that franchise. And soon you have to play at being in love with someone else.”

“I don’t want to – ” he starts, but you cut him off. 

“You’re not quitting,” you say in finality, “Not for me.”

“Look at you now making decisions for me. How bloody generous of you,” he says venomously, all traces of softness gone from his voice. 

You stand in a huff, unable to take the arrogance he is showing you. 

The silence that follows is heavy, almost unbearable. It’s a silence filled with the unspoken frustrations and regrets of two people who thought they had control over the situation, only to find themselves in a web that is already far too tangled.

“I’m sorry,” he says, now standing close behind you.

“I’m sorry too,” you echo his sentiment weakly, casting your gaze to the night sky to find some solace and finding none. The only comfort would be in his eyes, but they might be a bit too cold for your liking at the moment. 

“I have to be in LA in a week,” he says in a flat line. “Pre-production for the film.”

“Ewan… I can’t just stand by while you have to be someone’s pretend boyfriend. We both know that these things have a way of making things messy.”

“Hmm,” he says, blankly staring out into the distance. “It's too late for me to quit anyway. Already signed on the dotted line.”

“So I guess we both know where we stand.”

“I guess we do,” he responds, his tone almost resigned.

“Matt asked me to be his date to his friend’s film screening,” you reveal, “and I think I’ll go.”

“Do you really… you and him, is that… ?” His question hangs in the air, fraught with unspoken jealousy and hope.

“I do like him,” you admit, holding back from the expanded truth, the addition of ‘but I love you’. 

“And you’re not just lying again for my sake?” he presses, eyes locking onto yours.

You glare at him. “Really?”

“Right,” he mutters, his shoulders slumping. “My bad.”

“I wish I could say I’m sorry for proposing no strings attached between us,” he starts, turning to face you, his voice tinged with regret. “Maybe I am, because I see now how it hurt you. But the truth is, I needed you – desperately. I needed you, but I couldn’t let go of my pride. I don’t regret having you, feeling you, holding you... even if it was all wrapped in that fucking mess. It was all I could manage, darling, and I’m sorry.”

You don’t even notice the stray tear that slips down your cheek, but Ewan is quick to brush it off with his thumb. His eyes also well with tears, and he smiles ruefully. 

You keep his hand pressed to your face, shutting your eyes for a moment. He leans in until his forehead meets yours, and the two of you stay there, two hearts hanging on the line.

“So you’ll go,” you say.

“I’ll be back in a few weeks,” he replies.

“We’ll be okay, Mitchell,” you say, leaning back to look at him. No matter what, in whatever capacity, you want Ewan in your life. Even if circumstances dictate that you can’t be with him. 

“Hmm.” His gaze sharpens. “And Matt? What about him?”

You hesitate, grappling with the truth that you’re not even certain of. “I can’t just push him aside. I owe it to myself to see where things go.”

He sneers, his eyes narrowing. “You think a few weeks away will change how I feel? If you want to explore things with him, fine, but don’t expect me to just back down.”

You meet his gaze with equal intensity. “And don’t think that things will just magically fall right back into place between us.”

“No.” He nods just the once. “But remember something, darling.”

“What is that, Mitchell?”

“You were my Alyna first.”

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Some notes in the margins...

When I said sweet, I hope you know that this is what I meant. Sweet.. and bitter, essentially. Like a good cocktail. A balance is needed 🍸

Cut scenes include whippets, TGC, and the next Matt x darling outing which is mentioned at the end here. You'll see those in part 10.

Well, well, well... now that everything has been laid out on the line, it's open frickin season, babies!!! Anything can happen. Woohoo 🤍

PS. this doesn't show the true outcome of THE poll (which I have already made up my mind over). That's still to be written. Watch out :)