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httpshujii · 23 days

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“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

With Suguru’s broad build filling up the narrow door frame, you couldn’t tell what seemed to bother him all of a sudden. What would bother him anyways considering the hotel you guys will be staying at has every fancy aspect you can think of.

An onsen, a world class restaurant, and even a whole theater that fits over a thousand people for God’s sake. So what is the issue with the shiniest hotel in all of Japan?

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m changing the room.”

“What? Why?!”

But he isn’t even listening, already dialing away on his phone, most probably calling Yaga to complain about whatever reason there is.

“Will you tell me what’s wrong or not?”

“Why won’t he answer his shitty phone?!”

“Geto Suguru!”

“Huh?”

You like him? Speaks the voice in your head. And with a roll of your eyes, you purse your lips as a frown tugs at your lips, “What’s bothering you so much to the point where you want to change the room?”

And that’s when the male’s pale skin reddens, a veiny hand covering half his face, a groan of a bothered soul escaping his throat, “There’s…there’s only one bed.”

“Huh.”

You shake your head, you didn’t hear him right…right?

He sighs and pushes you ahead of him. Now with the room in your view, your heart drops at the sight of a small couch, a desk, and a single king sized bed, “Oh.”

“Yaga I’m gonna commit heinous crimes on you.” You grit out as you hold your phone against your ear.

“Why?”

“You booked us a room with one bed! That’s why!”

Suguru plops against the bed and groans into the sheets as you continue taking your pajamas out from the mini suitcase you carried.

“I didn’t book the room.”

A long, very, extremely, uncomfortable silence lingers around you. Oh fuck no.

“I’m sorry, I’ll call you back later.”

Quickly hanging up you scroll through your contacts pressing on a certain someone’s and the call rings three times before he finally answers.

“I’m going to put you in a pit of spiky rocks then proceed to pour lava on your skinny body of nothing but paper thin skin and fragile bones.”

“You love me so much~”

Of course Gojo would book a room in the richest hotel and of course he’d put you and Suguru in one bedroom with one bed.

“When I catch you Satoru…” He giggles instead, you can just imagine that stupid smirk on his face and how he’s probably buying some sweets considering the sounds of people and cars beeping in the background.

“I’m doing the both of you a favor, you should thank me instead of threatening my existence.”

“You’re so funny, I’m dying.” You snap out, injecting as much sarcasm as you can into your comment.

“Anyways, I should get going and you, Miss I Have The Biggest Crush On Gojo’s Hot Best Friend, should go and snuggle up with him, no?”

“I’m gonna eat you.”

“Cannibalism is frowned upon here-”

And with that, you hang up and toss your phone on the bed, “And obviously he won’t change the room because we’re broke and he’s basically rubbing his money in our faces.”

“Mhm.”

Suguru finally picks himself up after a considerable amount of time, as if he’s relishing in the comfort of the bed, “I’ll take the couch.”

“Half of you won’t even fit.”

“I’ll make myself fit.”

“You’re stupid.”

“Am not.”

“Look at me?” And he does, he takes every single chance to look at you when you’re talking or not, when you’re paying attention in class or not, when you’re walking or not. He watches you whenever he can and he’ll never, ever get bored.

You point at yourself, spinning around in a slow 360, “Are you aware of my size?”

“Yes.”

“And I’d fit better on the couch don’t you think?”

“Yes but the bed is comfier.”

“Doesn’t matter-”

“It does.”

“Don’t. Don’t interrupt me next time please.”

“…”

“But it’s comfier-”

“Damn it Suguru, just take the stupid bed.”

“No thanks.” “I’ll bite your knee caps.”

“I’m older than you and you should listen to me.”

He’s so sassy sometimes.

“By a month?”

“Still older.”

“I hate you.”

“No you do-…Okay wha- what’re you doing?”

He holds back a laugh, crossing his arms as he looks down at your laying body. There you are, in all your stubborn glory, laying down on the rugged floor with your arms crossed over your chest. “I’ll sleep on the floor if I have to, you’re taking the bed.”

“You know I can just carry you right?”

“If you do, I’ll never forgive you.”

“Worth a shot.”

It’s late, and it’s settled, you’re gonna cramp yourself onto the couch. Despite the tightness, it’s kinda nice. Or at least that’s what you try to tell yourself because the brick that’s holding your body is not helping.

But you shall resist! You nuzzle into the pillow, the only semblance and replacement for your bed back at Jujutsu Tech.

“You sure you don’t want the bed? It’s warm.” Despite the sincerely concerned tone in his voice, you can’t help but feel like he’s egging you on.

“No thanks. Enjoy it.”

With your back facing him, you rely on your hearing to conclude that he’s finally going to snuggle into that cloud of a bed and enjoy a good night’s sleep. But no.

You should’ve known that with Suguru’s generous nature would not allow you to sleep on the couch peacefully, you should’ve known that he’d carry you no matter how many times you kick and squirm in his hold, claiming that he’d drop you, you should already know that he will never, ever, drop you, and you shouldn’t be aware of how painfully hard his heart is pounding against his chest but that’s a little hard considering you were basically sandwiched against him.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“You’re gonna complain tomorrow morning and I don’t want to hear it.”

That’s a lie, he loves when you complain.

“That’s not my problem.”

“Just- please? We can put a pillow in between us…”

That seems to shut you up and with a sigh of relief, you succumb to the urges. With his promise kept, he places a pillow between you. And as morning rolls around, Suguru can't help the heat that engulfs him at the sight of the pillow long gone and instead your little body nuzzling against his.

@b0nten : IM SO SORRY IT TOOK THIS LONG

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 9 months

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By: Chloe Cole

Published: July 28, 2023

On Thursday, her 19th birthday, Chloe Cole testified to Congress with a “final warning” that medical treatments to change the gender of confused children is horrific. Cole, who was given surgery as a teenager to become male and soon regretted it, said what she needed most was therapy, not a scalpel. Here is what she told lawmakers:

My name is Chloe Cole and I am a de-transitioner.

Another way to put that would be: I used to believe that I was born in the wrong body and the adults in my life, whom I trusted, affirmed my belief, and this caused me lifelong, irreversible harm.

I speak to you today as a victim of one of the biggest medical scandals in the history of the United States of America.

I speak to you in the hope that you will have the courage to bring the scandal to an end, and ensure that other vulnerable teenagers, children and young adults don’t go through what I went through.

Deceit & coercion

At the age of 12, I began to experience what my medical team would later diagnose as gender dysphoria.

I was well into an early puberty, and I was very uncomfortable with the changes that were happening to my body. I was intimidated by male attention.

And when I told my parents that I felt like a boy, in retrospect, all I meant was that I hated puberty, that I wanted this newfound sexual tension to go away.

I looked up to my brothers a little bit more than I did to my sisters.

I came out as transgender in a letter I sent on the dining room table.

My parents were immediately concerned.

They felt like they needed to get outside help from medical professionals.

But this proved to be a mistake.

It immediately set our entire family down a path of ideologically motivated deceit and coercion.

The general specialist I was taken to see told my parents that I needed to be put on puberty-blocking drugs right away.

They asked my parents a simple question: Would you rather have a dead daughter or a living transgender son?

The choice was enough for my parents to let their guard down, and in retrospect, I can’t blame them.

This is the moment that we all became victims of so-called gender-affirming care.

I was fast-tracked onto puberty blockers and then testosterone.

The resulting menopausal-like hot flashes made focusing on school impossible.

I still get joint pains and weird pops in my back.

But they were far worse when I was on the blockers.

Forever changed

A month later, when I was 13, I had my first testosterone injection.

It has caused permanent changes in my body: My voice will forever be deeper, my jawline sharper, my nose longer, my bone structure permanently masculinized, my Adam’s apple more prominent, my fertility unknown.

I look in the mirror sometimes, and I feel like a monster.

I had a double mastectomy at 15.

They tested my amputated breasts for cancer.

That was cancer-free, of course; I was perfectly healthy.

There is nothing wrong with my still-developing body, or my breasts other than that, as an insecure teenage girl, I felt awkward about it.

After my breasts were taken away from me, the tissue was incinerated — before I was able to legally drive.

I had a huge part of my future womanhood taken from me.

I will never be able to breastfeed.

I struggle to look at myself in the mirror at times.

I still struggle to this day with sexual dysfunction.

And I have massive scars across my chest and the skin grafts that they used, that they took of my nipples, are weeping fluid today, and they’re grafted into a more masculine positioning, they said.

After surgery, my grades in school plummeted.

Everything that I went through did nothing to address the underlying mental health issues that I had.

And my doctors with their theories on gender that all my problems would go away as soon as I was surgically transformed into something that vaguely resembled a boy — their theories were wrong.

The drugs and surgeries changed my body, but they did not and could not change the basic reality that I am, and forever will be, a female.

Depths of despair

When my specialists first told my parents they could have a dead daughter or a live transgender son, I wasn’t suicidal.

I was a happy child who struggled because she was different.

However at 16, after my surgery, I did become suicidal.

I’m doing better now, but my parents almost got the dead daughter promised to them by my doctors.

My doctor had almost created the very nightmare they said they were trying to avoid.

So what message do I want to bring to American teenagers and their families?

I didn’t need to be lied to.

I needed compassion.

I needed to be loved.

I needed to be given therapy that helped me work through my issues, not affirmed my delusion that by transforming into a boy, it would solve all my problems.

We need to stop telling 12-year-olds that they were born wrong, that they are right to reject their own bodies and feel uncomfortable with their own skin.

We need to stop telling children that puberty is an option, that they can choose what kind of puberty they will go through, just like they can choose what clothes to wear or what music to listen to.

Pseudoscience

Puberty is a rite of passage to adulthood, not a disease to be mitigated.

Today, I should be at home with my family celebrating my 19th birthday.

Instead, I’m making a desperate plea to my elected representatives.

Learn the lessons from other medical scandals, like the opioid crisis.

Recognize that doctors are human, too, and sometimes they are wrong.

My childhood was ruined along with thousands of de-transitioners that I know through our networks.

This needs to stop. You alone can stop it.

Enough children have already been victimized by this barbaric pseudoscience.

Please let me be your final warning.

Thank you.

Might as well call her a murtad and kufr.

"The medical industry mutilated me, maybe don't mutilate other kids," shouldn't require bravery or renouncing an ideology.

Reminder: A minor under the age of 18 is too young to agree to a cellphone contract. 🤦‍♀️

#Chloe Cole #detrans #detransition #gender ideology #queer theory #medical malpractice #medical scandal #medical mutilation #gender affirming #gender affirming care #affirmation model #double mastectomy #gender cult #sex trait modification #genderwang #religion is a mental illness

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reiding-writing · 6 months

Text

Respite [ s.r ]

Summary:

Dealing with addiction withdrawals is a horrible experience. Having to sit at a desk for eight hours and act like they weren't happening was even worse. If only someone would just ask him if he was okay.

WARNINGS: Details of addiction withdrawals, Mentions of Spencer's kidnapping, Needle mentions, Vomit mentions, Thoughts of self-induced bodily harm, Inaccurate portrayal of therapy and legal loopholes, Mentions of touch-starvedness

pairing: s3!spencer x gn!psychiatrist!reader

genre: ANGST, hurt/comfort, fluff towards the end

wc: 5.6k

masterlist!!

a/n: all the love in the world to my beta reader and loml @flowersfromautumn 🫶🫶🫶, and to those of you who followed me after my first upload, be warned, i almost exclusively write angst 😭

Spencer Reid was sat with his head in his hands, silently praying to Gods that he didn’t think existed to rid him of the enervating sensations flooding every nerve of his body.

All he wanted to do was be productive, to prove that he was still fully capable of doing his job. But no, instead, his body had decided to attack itself as though it were a foreign object, screaming at him to give in and supply it with what he most craved.

It had been six weeks since he’d returned to the BAU, and whilst he desperately tried to prove his mental stability, his physical reactions were letting him down.

He knew the statistics surrounding addiction. Of course he did. He knew that over 1.5 million people in the United States were addicted to opioids. He knew that they were the leading cause of overdose related deaths. He knew that the more he indulged in his compulsions the worse the withdrawals would get, and he knew that injecting it was the most harmful way to get the drug into his system.

His logical brain knew it was wrong; But his body didn’t care.

Knowledge wouldn’t stop the tremors in his hands. It wouldn’t stop the goosebumps littering his skin. It wouldn’t stop the ever-present lump in his throat, or the strain of his eyes as he desperately tried to absorb the information from the files on his desk. So much for an eidetic memory.

Knowledge wouldn’t stop him from wanting to claw at the skin of his elbow until his cephalic vein was exposed, or the urge to pierce the needle in so deep that it came out of the other side.

He had tried to find solace in his work, to distract himself from the cravings that consumed him. But no matter how hard he focused, the relentless ache in his bones refused to subside. It was a constant battle between the rational mind that knew the consequences and the primal instinct that sought relief at any cost.

He was so deep in his own mind that he didn’t notice you walk over to his desk, nor did he make any acknowledgement of you calling his name. It took you waving your hand literal inches away from his face for his eyes to finally turn up towards you, and you couldn’t help but notice how his pupils had almost completely overtaken the hazel of his eyes, his scleras tainted pink through the blood vessels clinging to them like ivy.

“Spence?” Your voice, usually soothing, was defiled by the constant ringing in his ears, sending a pounding ache through his head.

“Spencer…”

You wave your hand in front of his face again, each passing moment making you feel increasingly guilty for bothering him.

The whole team had noticed Spencer’s change in attitude after his kidnapping, as had they noticed his bouts of irritation and dissociation, and probably the most telling of all, his newfound habit of itching the inside of his right elbow over the sleeve of his shirt.

Sure a normal person could write off those behaviours as normal for recovering from what he’d been through, a mix of distrust and anxiety making him more irritable. But you weren’t normal people, you were a team of profilers, and as much as everyone tried to stick to the unofficial ‘don’t profile your team members’ rule, they could tell that Spencer’s behaviour wasn’t solely due to being held hostage for a few days, not even with the mental and physical torment he went through.

Everyone suspected, but you knew. Your years in medical school for psychiatry meant you could spot the signs of addiction in your sleep. You just wished you could say something.

Trouble was, under Section 4.1.2 of the FBI’s Fitness for Duty regulation, if Spencer’s addiction were to be officially recognised, he would not longer be deemed ‘fit’ to work, and no one on the team wanted that.

“hmm..?” The most Spencer could evoke was a soft hum, barely audible over the usual chatter littering the bullpen. His eyes remained static as he looked up in your direction, but he wasn’t actually looking at you, more like he was fixed on something just over your shoulder.

You have to consciously suppress a sigh as your eyes flicker over his features. His skin, already pale, seemed to have lost all colour barr the dark purple collecting under his eyes, and his face had become gaunt, shadows starting to form where his skin clung around his cheek bones. He looked awful.

“I’m sorry to bother you… Do you have the autopsy files for the most recent case?”

“Oh, yeah- yeah of course, i have a copy uh-” Your question seemed to remind Spencer of where he was, that he was sat at his desk, in his workplace, and that he should be being productive.

He rifles through the files on his desk, piling up due to his lack of motivation to actually finish any of them, and as he finally reaches the one you asked for, he pries it out from under the stack, the manilla folder shaking with the tremor of his hand as he holds it out towards you.

If only someone would just say something.

Spencer knew he was acting “weird”, he just wanted someone to say something about it. Anything.

He knew it was unprofessional, and that he had the potential of losing his job over it. Still he wanted someone to ask him if he was okay.

He just wanted someone to ask.

“…Why do you need it?” Spencer’s voice is hesitant, almost a whisper as he tries to stop himself from choking on his own words.

“I’m finishing up the medical report and i want to make sure I have all of my facts right…” You take the file from him with a frown, barely able to mask your concern through your expression. “Thank you…”

Spencer manages to give you a weak smile before he slumps back into his chair, fighting the lump in his throat that threatens force it’s way out of his mouth and spill all over his desk. He was twitching to say something. To tell you that he’s not okay. To break down in your arms and have you promise him that everything was going to be alright.

But he doesn’t. Because no matter how much he was suffering, he would never want to unload his burden onto somebody else. Especially not you. He just sat, silently praying that you would be the one to initiate the conversation. And lo and behold, you did. Albeit not directly.

“Hey uh…” You mindlessly flick through the file he’d given you, not really paying attention to any of the words on the pages as you use it to keep your hands busy and alleviate the awkward tension running between the two of you. “I- work overtime a lot… If you’re ever here after hours-”

There’s a small glint that returns to his eyes as you indirectly suggest that you’d like to speak to him off the clock. He almost spills everything to you right there at his desk, but as he sucks in a breath to speak, he catches himself, clearing his throat.

“Yeah… Thanks…”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

You watched as the digital clock on your desk turned from 18:00 to 18:01. The work day had officially ended an hour ago, and most of the agents had already left to enjoy their long deserved weekend. You however remained sat at your desk in your dimly lit office, fiddling with a 5 x 5 Rubix Cube that Gideon had given you during a case in New York, tired of the way you’d tap your fingers against the table of the jet when you got bored.

You hoped that Spencer had understood the implications of what you’d told him earlier.

Watching him suffer in silence ripped a chunk of humanity from you every time you saw him, and it was getting to the point where you could barely look him in the eye without feeling so guilty you wanted to cry.

But as the time ticked on, you feared he hadn’t, and by the time it reached 18:30 you were dejectedly preparing yourself to leave, throwing your jacket around your shoulders and packing up your messenger bag.

Your retreat home was stopped by you almost walking straight into Spencer as you opened your office door, his hand slightly outstretched as if he was on the verge of pushing open the door himself.

“Oh… uh…” Spencer stumbled over his words a little as you took a step backwards, and his eyes flickered over your frame, focusing in on the bag hanging off your left shoulder and the jacket you were half-wearing. “Sorry…”

He stepped out of the way of the door to make way for you to walk past him, but you didn’t move, remaining stood in the doorway , your eyes watching his as they desperately looked anywhere except in your direction.

“”Are you alright?”

Spencer nodded hastily at your question, pursing his lips to the point where they were barely visible and bringing his hand towards his inner elbow, itching at it through the fabric of his shirt. “Yeah- Sorry, i’ll uh- I’m-”

“Spencer.” You stop his stuttered excuse to with a raised hand, slightly relieved that he had indeed come to your office, even if it had taken him over an hour and a half to build up the courage. ”Come in,”

You gesture for him to enter with your head, to which he replies with a shake of his own.

“No- No you’re going home, I don’t want to keep you-”

“Spence… Please, come in.”

You repeat your request with a gentle insistence, cutting him off once again.

You never liked to interrupt Spencer’s train of thought, it happened all too often with the people around him cutting him off before he could get his full thoughts out, but right now it was an unfortunate necessity. You knew that if you let him continue he would pull himself into a spiral and back out of reaching out for help, so you wanted to cut off the idea before he even had the chance to voice it.

Spencer hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape route. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh and stepped into your office, his shoulders slumped with the weight of his internal struggle. It was clear that he needed someone to talk to, but despite him standing outside of your office door, he’d seemingly started to regret coming to see you.

You gesture for him to sit down on the small sofa lining the far wall of your office, and he hesitates for a moment before finally taking a seat, his eyes filled with a mixture of relief and apprehension as they flicker around the room.

Spencer had been in your office a few times, although he’d never stayed long enough to actually look around.

Of course he’d noticed the floor to ceiling bookcase behind your desk, lined with a string of dangling fairy lights, as had he noticed the large cream rug with small tassels lining its short sides, covering a majority of the exposed hard wood lining your office floor.

He’d often found himself looking over at the wall closest to your door, covered in re-prints of renaissance paintings and gold framed mirrors of different sizes, your Psychology PhD and Psychiatry Doctorate Certificates hung right in the centre, framed in a similar rustic gold.

What he hadn’t noticed in the few times he’d visited were the small stress balls of different colours littering your desk, or the paperweight shaped like a brain holding down the small pile of scribbled notes you miscellaneously taken.

He hadn’t noticed the small replica of a marble Aristotle statue tucked into one of the squares of the bookshelf, lined with fake ivy, or the framed photo of you and your parents on the day of your first graduation.

Everything about your office was warm and inviting, and he was beginning to wonder whether your home was the same.

God how he wanted to go home. To lie in his bed and sleep until his bladder forced him awake under the threat of bursting inside his body from its own pressure.

"Spencer," you say softly, breaking him out of his short-lived observation as you pull the blinds closed, ensuring privacy on the unlikely occasion anyone was still roaming the bullpen.

“Did you know that one of the great things about being a private practicing psychiatrist is that anyone can ask for a private session without any paperwork involved?”

You place your bag onto your desk chair, re-draping your jacket over the back of it. “it’s called a ‘recordless session’, and holds the same confidentiality rules without any paper evidence, the cache being that it has to be under an hour,”

As you speak, you can see the weight of his struggles visibly lift off his shoulders, and a glimmer of hope flickers in his eyes.

“Yeah I… Yeah, I knew that…”

Of course he knew that. What didn’t Spencer know?

“I, uh…can I book an appointment?” A single tear rolls down his cheek, but he dries it with the back of his sleeve before more can escape.

“Please..?”

It takes you all of your willpower in that moment to not pull Spencer’s head into your chest, to not run your fingers through his hair and rock him back and forth in your arms until all of semblance of sorrow left his mind.

Instead you settled for taking a seat besides him on the sofa, gently reaching out to pull his left hand away from his elbow, holding it between your own as you try to transfer some of your body heat to his ice-cold fingers. “When would you like to start?”

“Can we start now? Please, before I change my mind?” Spencer looks up at you with a slightly desperate expression on his face. He just needs one session, he can figure out what to do next, but for now, he needs help.

You exhale softly with a sympathetic expression as Spencer’s voice threatens to break with his words.

“Now’s perfect…” You gently rub your thumb over the top of his hand in small circles, offering a simple form of reassurance before gently pulling them away.

You pull your sleeve up a little to reveal the electronic watch on your left wrist, the face on the inside for easier access, and you set a timer for 59 minutes, just under an hour. The perfect legal loophole.

“Alright, i’m all yours…” You send him a soft sympathetic expression as you mark the start of the session.

Spencer listens to the timer tick down, suddenly hyper aware of the noise despite not having taken any notice of it before, and he clasps his hands in his lap as he tries to gather his thoughts and his courage.

“I- uh- um-“ he starts quietly. He can’t force himself to make eye contact with you, but he takes a sharp breath in and tries to push the words out. “I’m an addict,” he says quickly, turning his head away from you.

And there it was.

You give him a soft nod at his confession, but don’t give a verbal response, fearing that if you were to say anything it would scare him from opening up any further.

Spencer can’t believe he’s actually admitting it out loud. He can already feel the panic rise as he speaks about his addiction, but he needs to open up, he needs to get this off his chest.

“I- I’m addicted to Dilaudid. Opioids. I- I started when I was held captive... He would inject me with it to stop the pain, i- I don’t know how to get off it,” he pauses, trying to form his thoughts. “I-“

Spencer exhales heavily, leaning forwards to drag his palms over his face. “I don’t know what to do-”

Spencer takes a few deep breaths, glancing back up at you. “I- I know that I need help, I know I should reach out to a support group or something, but I- I can’t do that, I- have work, everyone is relying on me, and this is- this is my fault I- I kept taking it and-“

“Spencer.” You take his left hand in yours again, pulling it away from his face and bringing it down to rest on the small gap in the sofa between you and him. “I need you to slow down for me alright? working yourself up isn’t going to help…”

Spencer falls back into a quiet panic as you speaks, the thoughts going so fast his brain feels like it’s on fire. Words fly in and out of his head and he desperately tries to grasp onto them, trying to string them together in a way that makes sense.

“Slowly, yeah, yeah, slowly…” he takes a few more deep breaths, his eyes staring down at the floor in front of the couch.

“I need help.”

He looks down at his hand as it sits in yours, your palm warm and soft, a harsh contrast to rigid coldness of his own. “I can’t think about work. I- I can’t hold a proper conversation, I cant even look at myself in the mirror anymore...”

“I just- I don’t know if I can do this alone…” Spencer quietly whispers the last sentence, staring down at the floor. He stays there, sat silently for a few moments before he raises his head towards you again.

“Did you know that addicts who don’t reach out for professional help have an 85% chance of relapse within a year of trying to quit?”

Spencer always seemed to revert back to his intelligence to shield his emotions, although the waver in his tone continued to give away how he was really feeling.

“Well I suppose it’s a good thing I’m a professional then,” You reply to his statistic with a light tone, trying to keep some semblance of optimism in the conversation as you give his hand a small squeeze.

"Addiction is a ruthless battle Spencer, but you've taken the first step by acknowledging that you need help."

Spencer's eyes flicker with a mix of relief and uncertainty. "I’m just- scared,”

"I know Spencer… It's normal to feel ashamed or afraid of judgement. But remember, addiction is a disease, not a personal failing. Seeking help is incredibly difficult, and it's also essential for your well-being."

You absentmindedly run your thumb over the back of his hand slowly, conveying your unwavering support. "I'm proud of you, Spencer. Recognising your readiness for change is a significant milestone in itself."

Spencer nods slowly, his eyes filled with a mix of determination and vulnerability as he looks up at you, his eyes burning into your own as the resolve that he had quickly begins to falter.

Then, he takes a deep breath. And he breaks.

“I-I… I want to relapse,” He whispers. “I want to more than anything. I’m having trouble focusing, and… I can’t get it out of my head. And I’m scared I… I might-“

Spencer looks at you with a heartbreaking expression, his breath catching in his throat as his pulse quickens. His eyes flicker, the addiction begging to be let out as his expression becomes one of utter desperation.

He needs to be clean.

But that need to be numb outweighs everything else, and it’s terrifying him.

“Hey,” You give both of his hands a gentle pull to hold his attention, letting them rest in your lap. “I want you to listen to me when i say this alright?”

Spencer gives a half-hearted nod, small streams of tears beginning to trickle down his cheeks as his emotional wall completely crumbles.

“You are allowed to struggle. You’re allowed to not feel like you’re improving, but that does not mean that you’re failing, and it definitely doesn’t mean it’s your fault,”

”You’re allowed to struggle.”

Spencer doesn’t know why, but you saying it out loud makes him feel better, and for the first time in over a week, he actually starts to calm down to a point where he doesn’t feel like he’s self-destructing.

“I’m scared….” he whispers quietly. “I’m so scared that I’m going to give in.”

Spencer sighs as he lets his head hang, small tear drops beginning to speckle the fabric of his trousers.

“Truth be told… I already have.” He squeezes his eyes shut as he says it. He’s so mad at himself.

“I only did it once, I promise. And I regret it more than anything,” he speaks quickly, trying to explain himself before you’re able to get upset.

“I’m so sorry-“

“Hey- No, listen to me Spencer,”

You tilt his head upwards with one of your hands, brushing a tear off his cheek with your thumb.

“Recovery is never a linear process. And the more you beat yourself up over it the worse you are going to feel.”

Spencer’s eyes flicker, but he doesn’t make any movement to pull himself away from you.

“I just… I can’t help but feel like I’m letting everyone down.” He sighs. “I promised myself I-“

He closes his eyes and leans his cheek against the palm of your hand as he breathes out sharply. “I’m really sorry for dumping all of this on you,” he whispers, his eyes still closed.

“I just wanted to get it off my chest,” Spencer whispers. “To tell someone something without them cutting me off for once.”

“No,” You shake your head gently at him. “No apologies, this is what I’m here for Spencer,”

Spencer nods softly against the warmth of your palm. He trusts you. And about now he’s thinking that you’re the only person he would trust with this type of information.

“Sorry,” he mumbles out another apology. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I really don’t.” He sighs. “I was doing so well, you know? It took me weeks to even start feeling okay. And then everything was so much better in the office. And I was so happy and I- and then this happened.”

There’s a few moments of silence as Spencer mulls over his self-disappointment. He’d made such an effort to better himself after returning back to work, to go back to being the Spencer that the rest of the BAU were familiar with, and right as things seemed to get back on track he’d spiralled himself into another hole.

“I want to get better. But… withdrawals are hard.”

“And… I really liked how it felt.”

Spencer turns his face to speak into your palm as he mumbles his admission of enjoying the feeling. As upsetting as it might be, it wasn’t surprising. It was the main reason that people formed addictions in the first place, enjoying the euphoric release from reality that the substance gave them.

“Can… Can I ask a question? A stupid question?” His voice is quiet, slightly muffled as his lips graze against your hand.

"There’s no such thing as a stupid question Spence,”

Spencer takes a hesitant breath. “Why aren’t you going to… you know, have me fired?” Spencer pulls away from your touch to straighten his posture, leaving your hand to fall back into your lap.

“That’s the protocol, right? If someone has a drug problem and it makes them a liability.” He stares at the floor, expecting your answer to be ‘yes’ and to be asked to leave. “I… I know I shouldn’t be here. But I really don’t want to leave.”

"What the Bureau doesn’t know won’t hurt them Spence," You squeeze his left hand lightly as it remains in yours.

Spencer is shocked at your answer. For a second all he can do is stare at your hand as it remains around his, squeezing it back. “I… but… you could lose your job. Why would you…” After a second his words trail off as the severity of your words sink in. Someone cares. Someone actually cares.

Thank god.

“Thank you.” He whispers.

Spencer’s shuddering hands finally stop. He just sits there, soaking up the warm sensation of your words, of your fingers as they held his hand in a gentle embrace.

“Why do you care?” He whispers.

“I’m here for my brains, my memory and my profiling skills. And- I can’t even do any of that right- i shouldn’t-”

As he tries to finish the sentence, his mind goes completely blank, and tears begin to slip down his face once more.

"Spencer… Those things are a part of you, but you are so much more than just that…"

Your words almost feel like a promise. A promise that no matter whether Spencer was able to hold up his ‘genius’ reputation or not, that you would still be there. That you would still care.

“No one’s ever said that to me before.” He says softly. He smiles as best he can and wipes at the tears on his cheek.

"Well, I am. you’re a human being Spencer, you should never be confined to your intelligence,"

Spencer’s heart swells hearing the words “human being”, he’d gotten so used to being utilised as a human super-computer that he sometimes feared people forgot he had emotions.

“Can I- Can i have a hug..?”

He doesn’t have to ask you twice.

He barely gets the whole question out before you’re guiding his head to rest against the curve of your shoulder, rubbing a hand tentatively down the length of his back.

He’s hesitant at first to hug you back, despite being the one to ask for the hug in the first place. Although he eventually brings himself to connect his hands behind your back, allowing himself to lean into your touch. He’s never felt so safe, so comforted before.

“I… I want the withdrawals to stop…” He says after a while, his voice muffled by your shirt.

"They will Spencer, you’ve just got to tough it out for me okay?" you bring up your right hand to run your fingers through his hair softly, gently detangling the flattened sections that he hadn’t been motivated to brush out himself.

“I never understood how hard it would be until I had to do it myself…” he says quietly. “My head feels like it’s being pushed through a giant crusher. And I… I don’t know if I can stay sober by myself.”

"You don’t have to do this by yourself Spence…" A shudder runs through Spencer’s body at your touch. He pushes himself closer into you, letting out a contented exhale.

It’s been such a long time since someone has touched him, since he’s been able to feel warm and safe. He lets out a small half laugh.

“This was meant to be a therapy session.”

"Sometimes the best form of therapy is just having someone to comfort you,"

Spencer wraps his arms around you tightly nodding into your shoulder. You can almost feel the waves of his tension fade away and turn to content relaxation under your touch.

“You smell like lavender.” He whispers after a minute. He takes a deep breath, breathing in the scent.

"It’s probably my new shampoo," You laugh lightly as you continue to gently run your hands through his hair, not at all surprised he picked up on the difference in scent. He had always been more perceptive than the average person.

Spencer hums slightly as your scent fills his nostrils, sending a wave of calm and soothing through his body. “It suits you.” He says softly.

"Thank you," You smile down at him, your eyes meeting as he looks up towards you. "How are you feeling? be honest with me…”

Spencer swallows with a small exhale. “I can still feel those waves of shakes in me, and my head is hurting.” He answers, although you can hear the relief in his voice. “But I’m feeling… better. A lot better. I can’t thank you enough for doing this…”

“Don’t thank me Spencer, I haven’t done anything, this is all you,” You carefully move a piece of stray hair that had fallen over Spencer’s forehead to fall back properly with the rest of his hair.

“No really, you-”

Spencer’s attempt at a rebuttal was cut off by the faint beeping emitting from your watch.

Looks like the session is over.

He reluctantly removed himself from the soft comfort of your arms to sit up straight again, and you press a button on the side of the watch face to stop the noise. “Well uh- I guess I should go now,”

Spencer’s tone changed back to one of slight apprehension, seemingly trying to put up that emotional shield as your watch reminds him that even the respite he found in your company was temporary.

“Hey,” You instinctively call out to Spencer as you see his face fall again, you had just gotten him to a point where he was calm, and your subconscious was taking every effort to make it stay that way.

“I’ll tell you what-” Your voice is soft but slightly rushed, the words leaving your mouth as soon as they enter your head. “I’ve got a spare room in my house, how about you stay over?”

“What?” He blinks a few times at your suggestion, turning his head to face you properly.

You almost want to kick yourself for being so impulsive. I mean sure the two of you had become close over your years working together. But asking him to stay at your house? What were you thinking?

"I mean- don’t hesitate to say no if you don’t want to-" you add, attempting to downplay your sudden offer. His surprised expression lingers, and you worry that maybe you've overstepped some unspoken boundary.

“I just thought, you know- we’re friends, and friends have sleepovers sometimes right?”

You began to dig yourself into a hole the more you tried to explain yourself. Of course the real reason you wanted him there was so you could make sure that he was actually alright, that he wouldn’t fall back into a negative spiral the second he was left alone in his own apartment.

"I- Are you sure?" He asks cautiously, uncertainty tinging his voice.

You nod, mustering a reassuring smile. As much as your impulse was making you want to eat soap in the hope that it’d force you to think through your words, you wanted to be a lifeline for Spencer, and if that meant offering him a safe place to stay with somebody to talk to then so be it. Even if it was just for one night.

"Yeah... We can uh, watch that new season of Doctor Who that just came out-“

Spencer can feel his throat tighten as he looks at you. He can’t help but smile as he sits himself up, hugging you tightly with a small exasperated laugh.

“Really?” He breathes out. “You’re really sure..?”

You give him another nod, this one more confident than the last, leaning your head on top of his as he again rests it against the curve of your shoulder. “Definitely.”

“You can stay for as long as you need…”

Spencer tightens his arms around your back in response, tears threatening to spill from his eyes again. Except this time they weren’t the type that stung his eyes, followed by a wave of grief. They were almost comforting.

“Thank you…”

God, he’s been so… stagnant during all of this, and the thought of being at your place, with you, not hiding from everyone else like some kind of ghost, fills him with a type of joy he can’t quite describe. It’s like that child-like wonder coming back to him for just a moment.

“Let’s go home Spencer…”

Spencer sighs as he buries his head against your shoulder again. Of course you’d call your house home.

Of course he’d call a house with you in it home.

“Okay,” He mumbles, his voice thick with emotion as he relaxes against you, the world fading away around you.

”Let’s go home,” he repeats, the words feeling natural as he closes his eyes.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #mgg #matthew gray gubler #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst #my poor boy needs therapy #so much therapy

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tteokdoroki · 1 year

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*ੈ🌩️‧₊˚— skeletons + sae itoshi.

૮˶ᵕ ༝ᵕ˶ა synopsis — sae doesn’t realise how much being away from home affects him, until he hears your voice again.

⭑ warnings — please read + mdni ! characters aged up to 20s, angst, hurt no comfort, long-distance, established relationship, mentions of mental health, pro player!sae, fem!reader - not beta read !

⭑ words — 2K.

⭑ notes — hi beautiful babies!! this is the first of a few fics i have queued for my week away. i wrote this a while ago and it’s based off of skeletons by keshi !! hope you like <3 - m.list ✩

in all honesty, sae itoshi doesn’t expect you to pick up. it’s way too late for you, just breaching the early house of the next morning in japan. there’s a seven hour difference between madrid and tokyo, sae knows because he’s looked it up a million times before anticipating a call or text from you. and right now, you’re probably sleeping, you’re supposed to have been sleeping.

but alas, your phone rings and you pick up on the third— voice groggy over the comforting crackle of static on the line. “h…hello?”

for a moment, the older itoshi brother listens to you and your natural ambience. he notes your deep breathing, still recovering from the depths of sleep, and the slight whines you let out with your yawns as you stretch your stiff muscles. maybe it’s weird, but sae misses all of your sounds, he misses waking up next to them— curling his arm around your waist on nights you’d snuck over to his childhood home just to see him.

“is anyone there?”

snapping out of it, sae clears his throat— fixing his voice as it sits hoarse in its base before he speaks. “it’s me, love.”

“sae!” shifting from the sheets tells sae that you’re more awake now— alerted by the symphony of his voice over the shitty landline. “shouldn’t you be asleep by now?”

“could say the same for you, it’s four am over there.” he knows that he’s wrong, you’re seven hours ahead and it’s only ten pm for him — meaning it’ll be closer to five am where you are and sae itoshi is never wrong. he was born with impressive gut instinct and a quick mind but this time he’s wrong on purpose. he makes a mistake because he wants to stall for time, keep you talking a little longer and hear your voice for a few minutes more…because maybe that’ll keep the demons away.

keep his head floating above the water he seems to have fallen in.

sae is drowning in his dreams, and if he reaches out he can’t touch them— to him, the greatest of all time…they’re unattainable.

“five actually, and my alarm is meant to go off soon. i thought you were it and then i saw your contact…” you manage to say through a yawn, rubbing your eye’s unbeknownst to your boyfriend since he’s halfway across the globe. if he could see, if he was there—he’d probably call you cute, wipe your eyes for you and force you back down to sleep. but he’s not here and he can’t see because there’s a distance between you that can only be fixed by grainy face times on your cells.

“i wanted to call.” the midfielder clarifies, cutting you off sharply but his words coat the inside of his mouth like cotton, as if they’re hard to say — melting over the line like rice paper on his tongue.

“okay,” breathing slow, you hug your knees to your chest and let your silence tangle with the crackling static. “you don’t usually call first.”

“i needed to hear your voice.”

“i’m here. i miss you. do you want to switch to facetime?” sae has half a mind to tell you no. if you switch now, you’d worry— you’d see how hollow he’s become, how sleep deprivation eats at the pink tinge to his flesh and clings to the undersides of his dulling aquamarine eyes. you might think that he’s dying and perhaps he is. the pro player feels like he is. every day is harder, his bones feel heavier and his muscles weaker — he needs medicine. he needs you.

you’re the only drug sae would ever inject into his veins— your smile, your laugh, your heart. they make him better, make him feel alive. so he relents, “gimme a sec, i’ll call you.” he grunts and taps the button to video-call, waiting for you to pick up again.

“there you are, handsome. tell me about your day.” blue light from the early morning filters over your skin— the footage of the FaceTime call is grainy, probably because it’s still a little bit dark outside for you but you’re beautiful. to sae you’ve always been beautiful.

the elder itoshi brother makes a small effort to smile at your compliment, the expression blooming on his cheeks which you mirror, happy to see him — he misses you too. “i don’t wanna talk about it. you do the talking. i just want to listen to you.”

“alright well… i worked today— yesterday. sorry! timezones,” you miss the way sae winces at the mention of your time difference, the invisible divide between you both, as you settle back into your bed to admire him. “my shift sort of sucked, you know how it goes.” your boyfriend listens to you intently, makes faces at the complaints you make about customers, clients and coworkers alike.

sometimes, the midfielder doesn’t understand you how you devote your life’s work, your beauty and intelligence to an industry that chews you up, spits you out like dirt and drives you to the edge of falling to pieces. sae doesn’t doubt you, he knows that you’re talented and wishes you saw the same value in yourself that he did.

you deserve better. so much better.

perhaps he’s the same as you, working for someone else until he breaks and he’s better than everyone else— all in the name of becoming the best in the world.

“you hate your job. quit. i earn enough money to take care of you.”

“and you hate yours. but you won’t come home where i can take care of you.”

sae rolls his eyes at your quip because of how easy it is for you to read him despite the way he hides his emotions behind a clay mask. he’s always been like that, but he feels the need to tuck away the uglier parts from him even more of late— even if you’ve seen it all before. the late nights where he’s feeling sad and goes to bed, sae wakes up feeling even worse. especially without you but even now with your face on a screen, beaming at him the same way you have all your life— he doesn’t feel any better.

you’re meant to be his solace.

quickly changing the subject, sae nods his head as if to push you in a different conversational direction. “tell me about what you did after work.”

you hesitate, peering into his ocean eyes for a split second. “i went to see rin at blue lock. he’s…he’s doing really well, you know. you should come see him sometime. you’d be proud of how far he’s come since we were little.”

it’s not that he doesn’t care about his younger brother, but the relationship between rin and sae itoshi is probably long past any attempts at repair. you’ve been stuck in the middle for as long as you’ve known them— pulling them close despite the boys repelling each other like polar magnets.

you were the glue when they were kids, keeping the three of you together and to this day you still tried to manage the gap between the two brothers, despite their disputes. their differences.“can we please not talk about that half-ass piece of—“ you glare over the phone from across the globe and sae silences himself, pursing his lips to avoid scrutiny from the love of his life. you.

“you know, you never told me what happened when you first came home from Spain.” you blurt after a moment's quiet. “but i think i’ve always sorta known.”

“yeah?” the magenta haired midfielder challenges, brushing a hand over his tired face.

“yeah…” nodding subtly, you shift and roll onto your side— a solemn expression dancing across your features. “you changed. you hurt him, sae, real bad. rin changed too.” you say hoarsely, as if the words you’ve uttered burn at the insides of your throat like bitter liquor. “you’ve not shown that same fate to me, you know better than to lash out at me. but you’re different. you don’t smile anymore. not with your eyes like you used to — i miss that.” i miss you. is what you really want to say. not just physically, but emotionally. you want your boyfriend back, not the empty shell of skin and bones you have now.

even sae picks up on the hidden meaning behind your words— he doesn’t smile at you like he used to.

for once the eldest itoshi decides to be honest with you. he thinks to tell you how stressed out he is, how he’s scared his plan for this soccer thing might not even work out. he decides to be honest in words that he knows best and not all the details because he doesn’t want you to break over him.

“talk to me, itoshi.” you cut through his thoughts like a knife through butter.

“i’m afraid of myself, and i hate it.”

“then come home, sae.” it’s a nice offer, a tempting bribe. to be home with you when sae knows that would be the closest thing to giving up. he knew you wouldn’t get it. you wouldn’t understand how much soccer meant to him but you can’t be blamed for that. the thing you love most in the world isn’t your career— it’s him. “come home and be with me.”

your wish would be as selfish as his — you don’t want him to give up soccer for you and he doesn’t want to leave soccer to feel better with you like he knows he would.

“i need to make it to the end of the season — i have to.”

“sae, you’re tired. you look like a ghost.”

“i don’t even know if i’m going to make it.” he snaps, desperate and pleading with you not to make this more difficult than it already is. “but if i don’t try. then all of this will be for nothing. my goals have changed, but i worked hard for this and i will get what i want.” he spits out as if there’s acid on his tongue, burning through the little solace of love you’ve tried to wrap him up in. sae runs a hand through his silken locks, sighing as he briefly looks away from your crumpled face on the screen. “so stop asking me to come home for you because i won’t. it’s not worth it. you’re not worth it.”

you gasp, tears flooding your eyes. you know he doesn’t mean it, or maybe he does — it’s been difficult to read sae recently, he’s slipping from your grasp like sand between your fingers and you just have to let him. another beat of silence echoes between you both — but neither of you make the effort to speak. sae doesn’t correct himself and you don’t force your hand to make him apologise.

you care enough for him not to make him fight— to make sae choose his own battles. you’d never ask him to pick soccer over you, because you know what his answer would be regardless… but that doesn’t mean it hurts you any less to watch him destroy himself for it and to lose the boy you grew up loving to a sport you may never understand.

though, that doesn’t stop you from lashing out and bearing your own fangs either — if he was going to throw salt in your wounds, you could do that too.

“i have to go, itoshi. get some rest, you look like shit, but you that’s what you want, right? it’s worth it to you.”

you hang up before he can say a word and sae can’t bring himself to message and apologise. because he knows that you’re right, you’re telling him to pick soccer because he can’t make that choice for himself.

sae itoshi is a pro player now. he’s gotten what he’s always wanted — he’s achieving his dreams as the corpse of the man he once was. the one who loved you proper.

but that doesn’t matter anymore, whatever his team wants out of him they get.

since his skeleton’s out for the taking.

#blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae x you #itoshi sae angst #itoshi sae imagines #sae itoshi x reader #sae itoshi x you #sae itoshi imagines #sae itoshi angst #blue lock x you #bllk x you #bllk angst #blue lock angst #blue lock imagines #bllk imagines #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing #tteokdoroki

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she-is-ovarit · 4 months

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I'm over the term "gender equality", and the way in which it is being used and advocated for by the mainstream, status-quo left.

"Men and women are equal" operates under the bias that men are the default standard of equality, which women are then sometimes required or expected to meet. Usually statements like "women are just as strong as men", "women are just as capable as men in sports" act as support.

It intentionally is meant to be cheered on as liberating, but the reality is it's a derivative of "I don't see race I just see people", "no race but the human race", "not disabled just differently-abled", etc. It's a form of sexism that ignores sexism. It's "I am going to ignore biological differences based on sex" when the reality is being of the female sex shapes both my material and lived reality in extremely complex ways and can have dangerous consequences when ignored.

The average woman is not is strong as a man and it often takes a deliberate amount of persistence, training, and/or testosterone injections for us to come close to or meet the male default. "The muscle strength of women indeed, is typically reported in the range of 40 to 75% of that of men". The average man could easily kill and overpower me, and if I were an athlete a man who trained equally to me would defeat me in competition.

Women are 47% more likely than men to be injured in a car accident. Cars were designed for male drivers. In 2011 was when "female" crash dummies were introduced into measuring car safety in the US, however sometimes organizations in the US and UK just used "scaled down male dummies" to test car safety for women. As this article explains, we are not scaled-down men. We have different muscle mass distribution. We have lower bone density. There are differences in vertebrae spacing. Even our body sway is different. And these differences are all crucial when it comes to injury rates in car crashes. And what about pregnant women?

We have different needs and different experiences than males and the world around is us designed with males in mind - from housing to automobiles, to entire economic systems. 85% of women will eventually be mothers. When women take maternal leave to care for a newborn while the man continues to work (or returns shortly later), he effectively advances his career and over time earns more promotions and pay. His schedule is to focus on his career growth and then come home for a few hours in the evening to play with their child (or play videogames). Mothers pay a significant wage penalty for having children from being months out of the labor market.

This list could really go on.

"Gender equality" is utilized by men to distract women from focusing on only women's rights and needs to men's rights and needs. It's used to shoehorn in arguments of "men too" and sympathizing with men on "men's mental health" (while neglecting the fact that men are overwhelmingly and in shocking numbers responsible for violence done to both sexes - and are additionally unlikely to want to work on themselves mentally).

Reframing and enfolding "violence against women", "women's rights", "male violence", "female liberation", and "women's oppression" into the vague language of "gender equality" is a deliberate act of obfuscating the power dynamics between the sexes - in which men globally exploit and oppress women on the axis of sex.

And as vague language, carves a place for people to have the opportunity to shift the responsibility and blame onto women and girls for the suffering that men wield onto their own sex.

Women and girls do have advantages and strengths over men and boys due to our biological differences - yet this, too, goes ignored under the vague concept of "gender equality" and the cultural belief system it evokes, which treats man as the mold that women should fit.

#gender equality #gender #feminism #radical feminism #gender critical feminism #female liberation #women's rights #women's oppression #misogyny #intersectional feminism

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dreamescapeswriting · 1 year

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BTS Head cannon || Breeding Kink [M]

BTS x Fem!Reader

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - January 2023

⤜MASTERLIST

⤜ MINORS DNI! Mentions of sexual acts/descriptions of sexual acts

A/N: I am still new at breeding kinks so I hope this is the right way of doing them haha

SEOKJIN::

Jin is going to ask your permission every time just to make sure you want this just as badly as he does as he never wants to do something you don’t

He adores the way he gets to watch everything spill out of you and down onto the sheets, constantly praising how good you look with it running down your legs.

“Such a good girl, look at the way you take so much of me”

The idea of getting you pregnant after it drives him buck wild, sometimes his hips will stutter to a stop just at the thought of it

Sometimes he’ll sound needy when he really wants to go raw with you

“Fuck you always feel so good wrapped around me”

1000000% wants to put a baby into you just so he can see how good the two of you will look mixed together.

YOONGI:

It wasn’t even his thing until you’d fucked without a condom one night since you were all out. The two of you had agreed that it was fine to go without a condom and ever since he’d turned into a dog with a bone constantly wanting to fuck you raw

“Please…F-Fuck I need to feel you wrapped around me,”

Whenever he’s close you can tell by the way his hips move faster and yet sloppier at the same time as though the whole thing gets him too excited to control himself

Don’t be mislead though if you spill even a drop out of you Yoongi is fucking it back into you

“Don’t want my precious baby to waste a single fucking drop” he moans out as he begins to thrust back into you, ignoring the fact that he was over sensitive

HOSEOK:

Man isn’t going to stop until his balls are empty and you’re full. That’s as simple as it can get

As much as he tells you he’s “going to get you pregnant” the thought of being a father scares him a little which was why you have some form of contraception weather that be the pill, the injection or the implant but never bring it up as it’s a mood killer for the both of you

Sex with him when he’s grunting and moaning about how badly he wants to fuck a baby into you drives you both wild, it doesn’t matter if you’re home or in his studio. The two of you go crazy for it

“Gotta get my girl nice and knocked up for me,”

When the two of you eventually have kids in the future it’ll only amplify his kink and make him want it more, turning into a needy mess

NAMJOON

110% wants to put a baby into you, is obsessed with the fact that he wants to get you pregnant with his child so he can start on his family already

Whenever he’s about to cum he holds your hand tightly in his, looking deep into your eyes as he promises you that this time it’s going to work

“I can feel just how badly you need this too baby, fuck it’s going to work.”

Constantly cooking and gushing to you about how much of a great mother you’re going to be and how amazing you’ll look when you’re “knocked up”

Doesn’t want to waste anything so if you happen to spill out he’ll just push it back into you, smirking down at you as he promises that he isn’t going to stop until you’re carrying his kid

JIMIN:

Jimin wants a family with you there’s no denying it

When he first came into you without protection it was like he’d had sex for the first time, not lasting long enough to please you but you didn’t care it was heartwarming to see…though he did keep going multiple times through the night

“Just to be sure.” He would moan out as he thrust back into you already overstimulating himself

Will fuck you anywhere, anytime if you told him you wanted to feel him breed you or even to just be filled by his cum, this boy will drop everything he’s doing to come and take care of you ;)

Even when you’re overflowing he’ll keep filling you up, again “just to be sure.”

TAEHYUNG:

It was like a weird instinct to breed you and protect you, neither of you knew where it came from with him but you weren’t complaining either

Sex without a condom with Tae was like pure bliss, something you never wanted to stop doing

The dirty talk with him while he’s in the mood is unreal

“I’m going to make sure you’re nice and bred for me”

“Not going to stop until you’re leaking all down your pretty legs.”

“Think of how good you’ll look when you’re fucked nice and full”

After you’d finished he would press you close to him, reminding you how beautiful you would look if you carried his baby

JUNGKOOK:

It wasn’t a secret how badly Jungkook wanted a family with you, how could he not? You were the love of his life

Man goes FERAL - like he loses complete control whenever hes inside of you and he can hardly control himself

The first time the two of you were talking about it he nearly came on the spot at the thought cumming inside of you

After a while it becomes a NEED for him, something he cant go without

Always in missionary together, he wants to look deep into your eyes as he fucks a baby into you

“You’re going to look so beautiful,”

“You look so good with my cum leaking out of you.”

Riding him is completely not allowed, he always needs to be on top of you

Tagline: @chiisaiblog @rjdy-367 @tinyoonsblog @sw33tnight @taestannie @cherrybubblesandvodka @army24--7 @acciocriativity @mitzwinchester @heyjiminnie @kimahnjung98 @halesandy @jin-from-the-block @aerastus @namjooningelsewhere @psychosupernatural @lyoongx @laylasbunbunny @royallyjjk @crissq @lenfilms @btsiguess-kpop

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everythingelseisextra · 9 months

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David and Goliath

Part Sixteen: Cain (Tommy's POV)

Description: Tommy fucks up. :) Warnings: references to rape, references to suicide, language, minor self harm Word Count: 3490 Tag List: @theshelbyslimited @ttaechi @weaponizedvirtue @Majesticcmey @Optimisticsandwichgladiator @zablife @princesssterek @mm0thie @callsignvenus @ay0nha @mgdixon @fairytale07 @dreamy-caramel @ce1iat @algae-tm @dragonsondragons @trentknd @nothingofsimplicity @babayaga67 @shelbydelrey @globetrotter28 @look-at-the-soul @notalxx @chaengist

Arrow House sits in silence, only half sane. The ghosts of the Shelby family haunt the entrance, their shouts echoing in your ears. The commotion in the entryway reached you, even as you sat in the master bedroom, and Polly’s cries and Arthur’s yells and John’s indignant roars fill the quiet room. You close your eyes, and you can imagine the police, Moss in their midst, forcing them into the darkened, freezing cells that you yourself sat in only a few days ago. And Tommy at the edge of it, watching his family taken from him as a consequence of his own actions, an unforgivable choice he made.

You expect him to join you when he’s ready. It tugs on you, the sense that you need to protect him from himself, but you have to trust that his ability to fight his own mind will hold out. You trust that your presence in the house is reason enough for him to keep the gun in its drawer.

You think that this will be another thing he buries so deep that he forgets there’s anything underground. This will be too painful for him to keep in his hands, and it will trickle out between the cracks of his fingers until there is nothing to hold. His family is his core, the glowing ember of warmth that lives next to the heart he likes to pretend is stone. Now, he’s lost them. Now, all he has is you.

It’s some time before he enters the room. He doesn’t look at you, just sweeps past, heading into the bathroom. He closes the door behind him and water runs softly from behind it. You wait in silence, leaning back in your chair and closing your eyes, listening to the impure silence. The water stops, the door creaks open, and his footsteps slowly walk across the room. You open your eyes to find him heading towards the door, eyes set on the wooden floor in front of him. Your eyes narrow. There’s a hesitation to each step he takes, a slight pause, a tilt of his head. You’re waiting for him. He’s waiting for you.

“Tommy.” You stand and walk over to him, your bare feet cold on the wood. Part of you wants to inject some playfulness into your words, but the rest of you knows that, after something like this, that might be his breaking point. “Hey, come sit. Take a second to talk to me.”

His gaze stays on the floor, but, almost imperceptibly, he nods. You step back and lead him over to the chair you’d been sitting in, in front of a small desk that you’d claimed as yours the past few days. You sit on the bed, facing him, hands on either side of you. Soft light flows from the window next to you, and the sunrays seem to gentle your gazes on each other, creating a sort of barrier. It’s warm on your face and reflects in his eyes, which refuse to look at you.

“I would give you a pep-talk,” you start, nervousness slowing your words. “I would tell you that you’ve had high highs and low lows, and that the pendulum will swing back up again, but I won’t. I respect you too much for that. You and I both know that life tends to kick you while you’re down. We know that there’s no such thing as rock bottom, it’s always possible to go lower. So, all I’ll say is this; I’m here. I’m not leaving. As complicated as I’m learning your life is, I’d like to try to be simple together. If you want to be alone, that’s okay. If you don’t, I can be with you.”

He leans back in his chair, sighing. Exhaustion tightens his skin over his bones, his face drawn, his eyes a little glassy. “You’re not leaving.”

“No.” You furrow your brow, confused. “Why would I?”

“My family is gone. My boy is back. I’m a new man.” He slides a small metal container from his pocket, opens it, and pulls out a cigarette. “I have no room in my life for a woman who sets no store for a man’s needs.”

You nod slowly, almost incredulous. “You’re telling me that, after all this, you want me to leave because I won’t fuck you.”

He inclines his head, reaching out to offer you a cigarette. Your jaw clenches and you ignore his hand. Your next words are clipped. “My horses are literally in your stables. I’m not sure what kind of crisis move you’re making here, but it feels like one that’ll be… how should I say this in a way you’ll understand? Bad for business.”

He lights his cigarette and takes a long drag. He speaks on the exhale. “Bad for business is a woman I can’t explain living in my house. You’re not a whore, you’re not my wife, you’re not the mother of my son.”

You chuckle. “So you’re telling me I either become your whore, marry you, or become a nanny for Charles.”

“I’m telling you to leave.”

“And then, months later, hear that you’ve blown your brains out, because no one, including me, would pick up the phone.”

“Curly will start moving your horses in the morning. I’ve covered the cost of transportation.”

“How kind of you.”

“In the meantime, you’ll pack. You’ll prepare yourself to leave.” He wiggles his cigarette at you, eyes dull.

“And what if I say no?” You lean forward, almost mocking.

“If you say no, then, unfortunately, I may have to get the authorities involved.”

“‘Yes, hello, I’d like to report that a woman who I said I’d protect and invited to live with me is living in my house. Has she committed a crime? Yes, she won’t fuck me when I want, because I’m a teenaged boy who needs to get off every thirty minutes.” You let anger slide into your voice, let it bite. “Jesus Christ, listen to yourself.”

He blinks blankly at you, then rises with a soft groan. “There’s work to be done. Please collect your things.”

“Thomas.” You stand, hands curling into fists, then relaxing. “You send me away now, you’re sending me back to the life I used to live. If you understand that, you’re as bad as the men who sold and raped me.”

His eyebrows raise in an infuriatingly bewildered expression, then he shakes his head. “I am. I apologize if that wasn’t clear from the start.”

—

Night falls. Fog fills the air around you, rises from the warm bodies of the horses. Unlike your own barn, Tommy’s is lit, and you can see the confused, wide, liquid eyes staring at you from within the stalls. Draco nickers quietly, throwing his head. He’s been your rock, your shoulder to cry on, the only comfort to you on nights where your body felt as battered and broken and abused as it had during those awful years of horror.

It’s not him you stand with, though. It’s not his mane you bury your tears in, not his warm body you lean against to carry your shivering weight. Iris had one more month of recovery before he would be able to be ridden again, and now, you have to apologize to him. You have to apologize to all of them, in time, for being unable to care for them. For forfeiting the safety you thought you had. For failing.

You would be brought back to your own property in an hour. Your horses would trickle in after you. You’d feed them, slip back into the routine of caring for them, and the timer on your life would start to count down. You could fight. You would fight. You’d fight tooth and nail, use every bit of strength built up over years of manual labor, shoot straight and fast and confident, and still, you know you’ll lose.

Iris turns his head to blink at you as you stand by his side, leaning your weight on his shoulder. You wipe your face of tears and draw yourself up, pulling your shoulders back and squaring your legs to your hips like a soldier. You stand strong. Right now, you’re a survivor. Your quiet claim to life is that you fought for it. Like David with Goliath, you stood against a gargantuan opponent and managed to live to tell the tale. And, here you are, with your bags packed, ready to walk yourself back to that Goliath and allow him to smash your skull. You have no slingshot. You have no rock. There is no God on your side.

Your fingers gently pull through the knots in Iris’ mane. You should be angry. There should be a burning anger in you that threatens to overwhelm. You should feel it in your bones, in your heart and veins, and you should act in some sort of way on it. You should set fire to his garden, release his horses to the wild.

Truth is, you don’t know how to be angry with someone. All your life, you’ve been taught to stand down, to take whatever comes without question, and to continue despite it all. You’ve been trained to cower, to take each hit without protest. A cornered animal will always bite, but an abused pet will flinch away, fearful, all the teeth beaten out of it. You weren’t meant to fight as hard as you do.

You close your eyes, and like Tommy said for you to do, you prepare to leave.

Your body has a master and it is not you, and it is not God. Caged by a twisted form of humanity, you will be an animal at a zoo. You will gawked and stared at, poked and prodded, and, behind the scenes, you will be used for all your worth. This body you were born in ripples with scars from the years of prostitution and mental torture, and it’s a cold sort of hell. So much touch and so little care. You are only worth so much. You know the literal price of your life. You know how much this body of yours sells for.

When you open your eyes, the world is in black and white. You will not see the blood they rip from your veins. You will not see the color of their bare skin. Your hand moves from Iris’ mane to your upper arm, and you press down on it, your fingernails biting into your skin. There’s an echo of pain somewhere in you, but your skin is so thick that it’s separate, a step away from your consciousness. You will not feel the penetration. You will not feel the hands grabbing at your flesh, you will not feel their bodies pressed against you. A horse calls and the sound bounces away from you, not quite touching you, and you take a deep breath. You will not hear their moans or the heated lies they tell you in the dark.

This body that is all you have will no longer be yours. It is only a matter of time.

The rest of the night crawls past you as a blur. You know you are steady. You know that you step with purpose, your head held high, with no connection with what you feel or how you will survive this. You lift your suitcase and walk down the elegant, well-lit stairs, the portraits of Tommy’s late wife staring down at you with a gaze that tells you that you are lesser. You haven’t seen him since he left the master bedroom. There’s a murmur of emotion in you when you think of him, but you brush past it in your mind. There is no room for you in his life.

A car waits out front for you. You take a deep breath and look up at the stars. When you were younger, before the world turned against you, you thought you would reach out and touch them even if it burned. Now, you know you could, and the fire would eat away at you, and you would feel nothing. You thought you’d been as close to death as you could be without dying, but this emptiness in you, this blurred vision, this hollow chest is proof that you can stand hand in hand and not die. Maybe, you think, maybe you would rather die than become a commodity once again. There is a gun in the kitchen drawer.

You slip into the back seat of the car, and, at least, it is warm. The driver glances back at you in the mirror. He says something that washes over you and away, and you turn to look out the window, then twist to look back at Arrow House. A single light shines from the drawing room, the curtain pulled back, and you know he is watching. Despicable and traitorous, he watches you crawl back to a life you said you would never live again.

You turn back as the car begins to move out of the driveway. You close your eyes and a tear rolls out. You sit in the darkness and shrink into your mind, sitting in the back of it, watching through as your body breathes and shifts and lives apart from you, without you. You wipe the tear and, eyes still closed, you melt into the atmosphere and become nothing.

The car jerks to a stop and you open your eyes. The driver lets out a slow breath and glances back at you, then looks back through the windshield.

Lit by the headlights in sharp relief, Tommy stands, breathing hard as if he’d run to stop you. You watch him, expectation in his eyes, and you see a spoiled little boy who enjoys playing games.

“Keep driving,” you say, voice hoarse.

“Ma’am, I can’t. He’s—”

“Go around.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Hesitantly, the driver inches the car forward, turning to move around Tommy, who’s eyes widen slightly.

He reaches underneath his coat and pulls out his gun, pointing it at the driver.

“Ma’am, I—” Panic fills the driver’s voice. “I’m sorry, this isn’t—”

“It’s okay. Stop the car.”

He does as you say, and, slowly, you open the door and step out into the night.

You stay where you are in the darkness, letting Tommy stay in the light. You wait for him to speak first.

“You forgot something.” His voice carries over the sound of the engine.

You cross your arms, trying to warm yourself from the cold. “Oh, did I? Please, enlighten me.”

“Come into the light, and I’ll show you.”

“No.”

He looks up at the black sky, then steps out into the darkness, coming within a few feet of you. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small square box, rounded corners, velvet wrapped. Your heart goes cold. He opens it and holds it out. A sleek, silver ring glints in the light from the headlights, golden highlights sparking. You shiver and look up at him.

“Not a whore, not a mother.” He smiles faintly. “Yet.”

You slap him. Not hard, but enough to make your point. Then, without a word, you turn and walk down the long driveway back to the house. In your periphery, you watch him reach up and touch his cheek where you hit him, then slowly close the box and place it back in his pocket.

—

He waits an hour before he seeks you out. You’re curled in the fetal position, lying in one of the spare bedrooms. You stare blankly at the wall across from you. There’s no color to your vision. The pillow has long since dried from your tears.

He knocks on the door, waits a full minute for a response. When he doesn’t get one, he quietly lets himself in. His footsteps are bare and light. He sits on the opposite side of the bed, sighing, and you close your eyes again. You’re not sure you want to hear what he has to say.

“I’m not a good man.” His voice is quiet, almost shameful, and he speaks to the ground, faint to you. “I’ve made that clear tonight. You never heard about me cause you were never in Birmingham. If you had, you’d know, I’m not a good man.”

You clench your jaw and stay quiet, wait for him to say what he thinks will make up for the pain and terror he’s caused.

He clicks his tongue, almost wincing. “Lost my family today. Decided that meant I needed a fresh start. Needed to move away from all this— this Peaky Blinders shit and focus on more gentlemanly matters. I felt possessed to get away from it all. From any reminder of it. That included you.” He takes a slow breath, sighing it out. “You reminded me, as you should have, that a better man would never send you away. I would be sending you and your horses to death or worse. It took me far too long to remember that, and for that, I am sorry.”

You open your eyes, blinking hard, trying to stop tears from rolling out once more.

“You saved my life. I can’t return the favor, not in the same way, but I can preserve yours. That I will do. I won’t try to send you away again. I understand now how misguided that was.” You feel his gaze on your back and you try to smooth out your breathing, steady yourself so he can’t see that you’re human, that you’re affected by him.

He’s quiet for a moment, then, voice weak and childish, he manages two words you never truly expected him to say. “I’m sorry.”

You sniffle and croak out a short, shaky sentence. “Am I worth anything to you?”

“Yes.” His response comes immediately. “You are.”

“Then why don’t you act like it?”

“I told you that first night. Something in me has been broken since the war. Maybe since my mum. I don’t have the words for it. You’ve seen it, now. You’ve seen it.”

You nod shakily. “You were ready to watch me drive off to my death.”

“I would never have let you leave the driveway.”

“But you let me think you would.” A tear leaks out and you angrily wipe it away. “You let me think that you cared so little about me that you would watch me go back to a life I couldn’t survive.”

“You know what I think?” He shifts towards you, turning his body so he faces your back.. “I think that you’re the first person to see the fucking rotten part of me and still stay in this house.”

“I have nowhere else to go, Tom.” Your voice breaks. “You realize that. I have nowhere else to go, and you can’t decide whether you want me or not, and I’m worthless unless I sleep with you or marry you.”

His voice drops to a mere murmur. “I want you.”

“You didn’t an hour ago.”

“I told you I was sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t enough!” You sit up, fully crying now, and face him. “You fucked up, and I don’t know where there is to go from here.”

“I do. I know where to go.” He reaches back into his pocket and pulls out the ring box. “I—”

“Stop! Stop with the fucking ring! I don’t want to belong to you, I don’t want—”

“Listen. You can say no. Just fucking listen.” His hand shakes slightly as he holds it in his lap. “I’m not a good man. I try to be, but I’m not. But you— you make me think I can be if I try. That’s a rare fucking thing. You will never belong to me. You will never belong to anyone. It’s a shot in the fucking dark, and things like this come and go as they please, but if I can, if I could, I’d like to be that shot in the dark. If it’s up to me, it’ll be us in the end. I’m not a good man, but I promise, I will be good to you and for you. Love is far, far away, but it gets closer when I’m with you. So, I’m asking you, because I need you with me, to look past the way I hurt you and see that I do care for you. I do think you’re worth something.” He reaches out and gently wipes a tear from your cheek, hand trembling. “I’m asking for a selfish thing. I’m asking for you to see the blood on my hands and love me anyway. I’m asking you to marry me.”

He is broken promises and shaking fists, and you know, he did not mean to be cruel, but that doesn’t mean he was kind to you. So, you take a breath, trying to stay steady, and you open your mouth to reply.

#only the wild ones #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders imagine #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #peaker blinders fandom #peaky blinder imagine #tommy shelby fanfic #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby fanfic #peaky fucking blinders #peaky blinders fanfic

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carionto · 6 months

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Hyperbrake Racing

Everything in Human ships has a manual override. They love automating all processes and reduce any workload to nothing, but also have this compulsive need to be able to take direct control if so desired.

They also have emergency off switches for everything. Yes, including life support. Don't ask, you'll just get a variant of:

"But What If!?"

Obviously, this applies to things you should never under any circumstances shut down preemptively, such as a Hyperspace Jump.

The earliest space-faring civilizations quickly discovered that if a Hyperdrive has a power interruption even for a nano-second your atoms will get dispersed across a few light months. This is why all Hyperdrives have an internal chargeable uninterruptible power supply unit.

Humanity, however, did not allow "Not having any reason whatsoever" to stop them from figuring out a way. Utilizing their ridiculous quantum computer speed and the ability of their fusion reactors to charge a Hyperdrive mid-jump, and with an injection of a disgusting few million lines of hack code that manipulate all related pieces of hardware in just the most nauseating sequences, they created the Hyperbrake.

Also, not a metaphor - braking literally causes Humans to feel nauseous, sometimes throw up, rarely even pass out. Not a single volunteer crew member aboard joint vessels from any of the other Coalition species has dared to "test" what happens to them.

As with nearly all things Humans come across or invent, they will find a use for it should one not occur normally.

_____________________

Near Neptune

Daniel, Samantha, and Nicholas Schreier were three siblings ages 17, 19, and 20, respectively. Today they had "borrowed" their dad's General FordStar mark 980-MZ HaulerHound, a civilian grade transport typically used by small business owners. Dad, however, was an enthusiast, and had modified the "Hound Dog", as he calls it, with a military grade reactor and computer core. He's always been that guy who knows a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy who can get the thing legally enough.

There is a nearby research station that the kids often visit due to their mom working there, but today she was not. Instead, what they are doing, is racing against each other to set the best record. Well, technically the opposite of racing - coming to a halt.

Using the Hyperbrake, they are competing to see who can stop the closest to the stations outer point-defense range without entering it or you automatically lose. After Samantha's turn, they were suddenly contacted by the station. It was Yakovskii, one of mom's colleagues and a frequent guest at dad's barbecues, so they were on sorta good terms. Not by the tone voice coming through the comms rights now though:

"What in the Hell are you thinking!? At first I thought you were just messing around and accidentally did that, but TWICE now!?! I checked the trajectory, if you had stopped a half-second later, you would've ended up mere meters from Neptune's upper atmosphere! Did you account for the possible sudden gravitational pull? Can you maneuver that lumbering ship fast enough to not get pulled down? Not to mention Hyperbraking severely impairs your cognitive abilities for a moment? A moment that you need to be clearheaded for or risk DEATH!?!"

The three siblings could only hang their heads in shame and mutter out some weak apologies. After a moment of silence and reflection, Yakovskii speaks in a warmer tone:

*sigh* "Look, I understand it's a fancy new toy and you want to see what you can do. I get it, I really do. Me and my brother used to play vertical hockey the first time we got our hands on a surplus gravity field generator. But we first figured out how to make sure we didn't break our bones in case it failed. Seriously, never forget to consider your own safety first before you try out new things in a peaceful environment. You're not being chased by pirates or trying to avoid the law or whatever.

Take your time, pick a starting position that's further away and keeps Neptune and any of its moons to the side of the station, then aim for an area of space that only has the outer range of the defenses and empty space ahead from your point of view. And please set the regular Hyperjump destination within Sol, don't just pick a random place. The Hyperbrake sometimes loops in on itself and never executes the brake and can only be reset once out of Hyperspace. You don't want to get stuck in a pointless jump for hours do you?"

After this admonishment, the siblings apologized more energetically and took his advice to heart. They spent the next hour competing until all three were down to single meter differences and kinda got bored, so they docked at the station and hung out with the off-duty staff, played some poker, but then dad barged in and dragged them all home. They were not invited to the barbecue gatherings for two weeks, but only because mom told him to. Personally he was excited about all the data his kids had unknowingly given him with all their jumping and braking, a real stress test for his beautiful Hound Dog.

#humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #humans are deathworlders #humanity fuck yeah #carionto

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so-mordor-itis · 11 months

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Black and Blue, Still Singing For You

Inspired by @scariusaquarius 's series Unlikely Salvation (Go check them out pls-) I hope you guys enjoy! I actually felt pain writing this...mmmm pining

“To be careful with people and with words was a rare and beautiful thing.” -Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe, Benjamin Alire Saenz (@leonskillshot ;) )

The cold air of the lab brushed over your neck. You held back the urge to shiver as you passed through the mechanical doors, clipboard in one hand, coffee cup in another. This would be another long day, but at least you wouldn’t be bothered by anyone else–the lab was yours and only yours. You wouldn’t have to deal with judgmental looks or scowls from your peers as you jotted down notes on your latest subject.

“Having a rough day already?”

Said subject’s voice echoed from his glass chamber. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, a tired expression on his face as he attempted to greet you. His cheeks and rims around his own eyes were crowded with black streaks from the Plaga parasite in his chest. The whites of his eyes a milky yellow color, his pupils–which were once a radiant, icy blue–now a dull grey. Leon was sitting on the ground of his (you honestly would have called it a prison cell at this point) chamber, his legs criss-crossed as he patiently awaited whatever you needed him for. Your heart ached with pity every time you saw him now, but you couldn’t allow it to show. Leon didn’t want to see it.

You sighed, scanning over the papers you were given just an hour prior. “You know how it is. The higher-ups just love working me to the bone.”

“Oh yes,” Leon huffed a laugh. “They make you think you’re free, but suddenly you find a 500-page document on your desk the next day.”

“Mhm, story of my life,” you replied. Squinting at a string of sentences. Experiments were placed on hold for a week after realizing just how tender the parasite was. A single cut through it would sever Leon’s nervous system and kill him instantly. You didn’t want that, and the people in the chairs higher up certainly didn’t want their weapon to perish under odd circumstances. It was a risky situation all around. One you desperately wished was in someone else’s hands. Leon Kennedy was an asset, not just to the DSO, but to the President. Anything going wrong, from him dying due to the Plaga, or to him going absolutely feral and escaping, would lead to your job being thrown out the window. Or worse, you could die in his hands, and there would be nothing anyone could do to stop him.

A year ago, he was sent to Spain to retrieve President Graham’s daughter, who had been kidnapped. She was taken by a cult, one that worshiped a parasite they had discovered underground. A lot of the details were classified, and for some odd reason, you were given only a handful. Ashley Graham had been injected with the same parasite, but thankfully, he was able to get it removed before it evolved into the next stage. Leon, having been dealt the same card, wasn’t so lucky. He wanted hers removed first, placing her safety above his. Just as the parasite was about to be removed from his own chest, it evolved. Apparently, according to the Las Plagas files, Leon maintained his humanity somehow. Perhaps his will was too strong. Or he was just too stubborn.

Either way, your nerves were calmer, knowing he was somewhat in control of himself.

“What’s on the schedule today?” He asked you. He was trying to sound bored, but a part of his sentence felt wary. You didn’t blame him. You wouldn’t exactly be ecstatic to be poked and prodded with knives and injections. “I’m guessing more parasite testing.”

“Actually, you just got a new treatment,” you told him, now facing his direction. “Gonna try a new type of medicine.”

Leon blinked in surprise. “Will it work?”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out.” You tried to give him a hopeful smile, but knowing how resistant the parasite was to other treatments, you didn’t want to give him any false aspiration. “That’s not until later, so you get to keep your superpowers for now.”

“Yes, because that’s so exciting,” he drawled, crossing his arms. “Get to be friends with the little fucker in my chest some more.”

You snorted. “Other than that, I’m just here to take notes,” you groaned a little at the idea. “Again.”

“You get to keep me company for a little while longer, huh?”

“Yep, lucky for you.”

You turned around in your chair to get started before hearing his voice again. “I’m glad it’s you, today.”

You bit back a smile. “Like my company?”

“More than you think.”

I.5

The treatment proved to be fatal. Leon had coughed up blood as it was injected into his veins. The parasite wiggled in his chest, moving his ribcage back and forth as it fought against him. You stopped the medication right away, sighing with defeat.

“Sorry, Agent Kennedy, I guess you’ll have to hang in there longer.”

“Not your fault,” he said, wiping the blood from his mouth. You wished you were allowed to give him a tissue. “And you’ve known me long enough that you don’t need to be so formal. Just call me Leon.”

II.

You had met Leon a few times before all of this happened. Moreso just passing by him in the main office while delivering notes and progress reports. Despite his rugged exterior, he was charming. He had asked you if you’d like to join him for dinner once, but you had to decline due to a project you were assigned to then. Part of you worried he would be upset, but he was immediately understanding.

Fate was truly an evil mistress.

It was an awful feeling, not being able to actually interact with him. You felt as if you were watching a hamster in a cage. He slept, ate, breathed, did everything in that glass chamber, and all you could do was observe. It made you feel as if you were a part of the problem, part of the reason he was trapped in there, part of the reason he wouldn’t be able to smell fresh air again. Wouldn’t be able to feel another’s touch.

“Got something on your mind?” His voice interrupted your thoughts. He was standing now, leaning against the back wall, perhaps occupied with thoughts of his own.

You shook your head. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

“Well, considering you’re the person who has to be here, watching me, noting down my behavior, I can’t help but worry it is about me.”

“Actually, it’s not.” You paused, thinking if what you were about to say next was wise. “For once.”

“Am I on your mind a lot or is it the Plaga moving around?” He’s teasing you now, and you honestly appreciated the distraction.

“You know, I was gonna compliment you but now I’m just gonna ignore you.”

“Ow. Harsh.”

“You started it.”

You turned your back to him and you can’t help but wonder if he’s pouting. You wanted to know what he was thinking, if he also appreciated a distraction from what future experiments he would be subjected to.

“You don’t have to eat lunch here, you know.”

“Well, technically, I do.”

“No, I mean in front of me.” Leon scowled a little as he casted his glance at your food. “It’s rude, honestly.” He wasn’t actually upset, jealous maybe, but not angry.

“You can’t eat normal food anymore anyway.” You brushed him off.

Leon sighed. “I know, but still. Doesn’t mean I don’t miss it.”

You felt a little terrible. “I’m sorry. I guess I felt like I…actually nevermind.” You stopped the words from flowing, but you didn’t stop his curious gaze.

“What? You can’t say that and just expect me to ignore it.”

“It’s stupid.”

“Just say it. Can’t be more stupid than half the shit I’ve said to you the past few months.”

“Half of that was you high on pain meds.”

“It still applies.”

You gnawed on the inside of your cheek. “I felt like I owed you a date.”

“Owed me a date?” He echoed.

“You asked me to dinner at least a few times, and I couldn’t say yes to any of them.”

Leon blinked, realization slowly clouding his expression. “Oh. Well, if you think this is equivalent to a date…I’m a bit worried about how low your bar goes.”

You rolled your eyes, attempting to remove yourself from the spot on the floor. Your legs had started to cramp anyway.

“Hey, wait,” he said. You tilted your head in confusion.

“I didn’t say I wanted you to leave.”

You gaped at him, heart fluttering in your chest. You glanced at the office clock, your lunch break ended in five minutes. This was so stupid, getting close to your subject simply because he was a man you once knew, once thought you had a small crush on.

Though you supposed sometimes the most unwise idea was the best one.

You sat back down and somehow he no longer looked miserable.

III.

You had been transferred to another lab, away from him. You knew this would inevitably happen, not even for personal reasons, but simply because they needed you in a different department. Yet, part of you couldn’t help but believe it was because you started treating Leon more as a human than as what your co-workers saw him as: a test subject that needed to be tested. Needed to be worked on, carved into their image.

Four months went by before you finally saw him again.

You were informed by your superior that they finally found a treatment that made the parasite lose its grip on his system, but they still wanted to keep him in that chamber. To watch. To observe. To keep him as their little guinea pig. All you had to do was keep watch for the final time. You had the best notes, after all. Had known him the best before this all blew up and caused such a ruckus.

Leon looked almost the same as the last time you saw him. The black lines on his face and hands had slowly faded, but the ones on his chest and biceps still lingered. The medication was working, but slowly. Once he saw your face, his eyes lit up, his heart monitor beeped a little faster and you couldn’t help but find that endearing.

“Been wondering where you’ve been,” he commented. You could tell he didn’t want to say he missed you, but you knew him well enough to know the undertones of his words. Leon wasn’t the best at communicating, but his actions always spoke louder. “They transfer you out of state?”

“Something like that,” you approached the glass, not wanting to admit he was more handsome now. His face was less sickly and his eyes were no longer sunken into his skull. His cheekbones were more defined. He was getting better. “I hope they didn’t treat you too poorly while I was gone.”

Leon shrugged. “I mean it was the same, besides hearing your voice every other day.” His eyes met yours now and you felt your heart flutter again. “I kinda missed your stupid jokes.”

“Oh, my jokes are stupid?”

“Very.”

“Have you heard the words that come out of your mouth?”

Leon laughed a little and suddenly the room felt brighter.

“Well, lucky for you, you get to hear me all day.” You said, poking the glass as if you were trying to poke him.

“Yeah,” he said, his gaze not wavering away from yours. “Lucky me. You still owe me another date.”

You rolled your eyes, sticking your tongue out at him. He only smiled again and you peel yourself away from the glass to sit in that all familiar office chair, and the all too familiar feeling of Leon’s gaze was once again glued to your back.

You wondered how long it would be until you could actually tell him you hated the way he made you feel. If you ever could.

If there would ever be a timeline where you two could actually go on a date, and he could kiss you the way you wanted him to.

Tags:

@seraphiism , @uhlunaro , @izuniias , @honeyfict , @konigbabe , @airanke , @muffimtv , @justonemore-fic , @mandalhoerian , @tosuckmyweenis , @boundinparchment

#resident evil x reader #resident evil imagines #resident evil 4 #resident evil #leon kennedy resident evil #leon kennedy imagines #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #plaga leon #plaga leon x reader #non feral plaga leon #leon x reader #leon x y/n #leon x you #emmy yells

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girls4liyah · 10 months

Text

welcome to my world ︴ning yi zhuo

ning yi zhuo x female reader ⬳ pair.

ningning gets dared to visit a cemetery, but she doesn’t expect to find a scary, horny demon with a penchant for getting into trouble there. she doesn’t expect to fuck you, either. ⬳ sum.

noncon to dubcon, demon!reader, dom!reader, human!ningning, mentions of murder, intoxicated ningning (this is mentioned once and never brought up again), cheating, anal sex, tentacle sex, none of this is ethical behavior ⬳ content.

3k ⬳ wc.

“And one more thing,” Yeji starts, throwing you a strict look.

You groan, throwing your hands up in irritation, “I know, I know. Don’t get into trouble. You do not have to give the monologue again.”

“Do you know? Maybe I should give it again, y’know, for safe measure,” Yeji huffs, arms folded. Her yellow eyes are glowing in exasperation as the memory of the last time you went off-script unfolds behind them. “The last time we let you meander outside the underworld, you killed a human.”

“So? People die all the time.”

“You bit her. With your teeth. Injected venom into her bloodstream.”

“I’m still not seeing the issue.”

“We have unique teeth and venom from, say, earthly beings,” Yeji snaps, “People will get suspicious. You’re lucky we have connections or your ass would be hot. Literally.”

You throw her a wry smile. So maybe you got a little carried once or twice. Possibly five times. No big deal. At worst, all those humans would just start to believe in vampires. It’s not like they could prove random pretty girls were being targeted by horny demons.

Humans don’t know anything about demons at all. There’s so much more to you than evil red horns and sinister faces. You live in a society with other demons and you’re much more familiar to humans than they believe.

“Relax,” you chirp in a way that has Yeji running her hands through her hair, frustrated. When you say it like that, she can’t help but not relax. “I’ll be an angel.”

Yeji visibly recoils at that word. Not the word itself, maybe, just the fact that it leaves your mouth of all people. “Just get out of my sight. I can’t save you if Hyungwon finds out you killed another girl.”

You scoff, “What’s he gonna do? Kill me? I’m already dead, babe.”

“Don’t press your luck,” a masculine voice says in a clipped tone from behind you.

You turn, spotting Hyungwon, grim as always. You’d say it would kill this guy to smile, but he, too, is already very dead. “Hyungwon!” you sing, “The man of the hour and just the guy I wanted to see—”

“Save it,” Hyungwon spits, having none of your acts, “You have twenty-four hours. If you’re not back by then, I revoke your privileges for a year. If you kill another human, I revoke your privileges for a year. Am I clear?”

You bite your lip to fight an irritated scowl, not one to be bossed around, but you suck it up. “Crystal, sir.”

Ningning waves the flashlight around loosely. It’s pretty thick; heavy, makes her wrist hurt. But it was big and she was surrounded by nothing but pitch black darkness and dead people who were probably a mere heap of bones by now.

She hates her friends. All of them. She hates Karina for suggesting they play truth or dare. She hates Giselle for daring her to go to a creepy, dark cemetery after the sun has already set and she can’t even see the clouds. She hates Winter for not agreeing to come with her, letting her wander all alone.

You won’t be alone, she said. You’ll have a handy-dandy flashlight, she said.

On the bright side, despite the fact that Ningning can hardly see anything at all, the cemetery doesn’t look like something completely out of a horror movie. It’s not foggy out and the moon isn’t full. It’s not cold and the trees are thick with leaves that she’s sure are green. Instead, there are no stars and the moon is concealed by dark shrouds of mass.

Which might be a little worse.

Just an hour. She only has to withstand this torment for an hour and she can go back to Winter’s apartment—maybe without any severe trauma, she hopes. Checking her watch, the one her boyfriend got her last year for her birthday, she notes that she’s been here a grand total of five fucking minutes.

I’m not gonna make it, Ningning tells herself, losing all hope within the first few minutes. I’m not gonna make it, I’m not gonna make it, I’m not gonna make it—

She hears a rustle, immediately turning on the balls of her feet, and lets out a tiny, shocked squeak. She waves the flashlight around but sees nothing. Because why the fuck would anyone be in a cemetery at three in the fucking morning? Hell, she shouldn’t even be here her damn self.

It’s probably just some random critter, like a squirrel or whatever the hell else roams around at night. Maybe it’s a bird. Are they nocturnal? Ningning doesn’t really know. Bless her heart.

She doesn’t even know why she agreed to this. She could have easily said no, though of course they would have made her down an entire bottle of disgusting beer and she’s already had three—so it’s even worse that she’s intoxicated in the middle of nowhere by herself, but it’s not like anyone in their right mind would be here.

There’s another sound. Ningning turns again, shrilly shrieking out in terror, but when she tries to use the stupid flashlight it only flickers before rendering itself entirely useless. “Fuck,” she groans, throwing the flashlight.

“Ow, shit!”

Ningning startles when she hears a string of profanities, because she’s not the one to say them. She can’t see at all now, but just the knowledge of someone being there alone has her shuddering.

“Who’s there?” she asks, glancing around, trying to find the source of the noise, but she doesn’t really know where she is.

Suddenly, the flashlight flickers back on, but she’s not the one holding it. The light is shining at her. “You forgot to turn it on, dear. See, like this,” you demonstrate, “On, off. On, off. On—”

“I’m not stupid,” Ningning hisses, crossing her arms.

You snicker, coming into view, “Could’ve fooled me.”

Ningning stills when she sees you, actually sees you. She sees your completely black eyes, lacking any color at all. She sees your long braids. She sees your horns protruding out of your head. She sees the lines on your skin that look like vines almost, and it chills her to the bare bone.

She steps back, eyes widening, “What are you?”

“Nothing important,” you mumble, focusing on your prize. She’s got to be the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen — human or not. She has the prettiest round eyes, the sweetest quivering lips. You’ve been observing her in half amusement, half curiosity for the past ten minutes, and you have no clue why this random human girl is wandering around a cemetery in short, tight pajamas, but you won’t get caught complaining.

Your tongue passes your teeth, and Ningning sees your eyes shoot pink with hunger. It frightens her.

Ningning tries to run, but one of your braids fly out to grab her, pulling her back to you. She glances at you, cheeks wet with fresh tears and she frantically begs, “No, no, no. Please let me go.”

Had Hyungwon and Yeji not gotten on your last nerve earlier, you might’ve showed her some mercy — no you wouldn’t have, but having them to blame your urges on makes you feel better — but you’re just so angry, and she looks like the perfect way to blow off some steam.

Swiping a tear out of her eye with your thumb, scalding hot skin and sharp talons gently brushing against her cheek in a way that makes her tense, you coo adoringly, “What’s your name, pretty?”

“Ningning,” she sniffles softly.

Even her name is cute. You’re going to have a fun time with this one.

Setting her on the dirt, watching her trying to get away again, you chuckle at her naivety and restrain her with the rest of your brains without moving a finger. You lower yourself to her body, ignoring how she squirms and pleas for help. Your attention is drawn to how the tight tee hugs her breast and you poke a hole into the shirt with your claws, stretching it until her tits pop out.

“Stop!” Ningning cries. “I have a boyfriend!”

“That’s cute. Don’t worry, I’ll send you back to him in good shape,” you whisper carelessly. Then your head tilts in thought, wondering if you can keep that promise. “Probably.”

Your uncertainty doesn’t console Ningning in the slightest, but she has to admit, it’s a little hot that you’re a… whatever you are. She’s never seen anything like you. She’s scared to death, but also a little turned on.

Her tits are so soft, you realize while fondling them. When your fingers pinch her nipples, she accidentally moans, and she would cover her mouth if she wasn’t fully restrained by your braids. If she wasn’t powerless.

She wonders why your hands are so warm, it feels like you’re burning her skin whenever you touch her. You wonder why you didn’t spot a find like her on your past visits to earth, but it’s probably a good thing. You, though not on purpose, would have killed her. She’s too perfect to die.

Thinking about the girls you happened to have killed makes you remember why you’re so angry in the first place and you start to get irritated. It’s not your fault if you lose control sometimes when you’re fucking these girls. Fuck, not when they look so pretty, with their scared eyes and cute faces. Not when they taste so good and they’re so tight—now you can’t help but think of how Ningning tastes and how small her pussy must be.

Ningning moves to her hands and knees but not on her own accord, but because your braids move her. “What are you doing?” She asks innocently.

“Don’t worry, Ningning,” you say, grinning cheekily. “It’ll feel so good.”

Ningning gasps when you rip her tiny shorts off, then her panties, and you find it so cute that they’re so wet, sticking to her cunt. Before you ripped them to shreds, at least. Ningning, against her better judgment, gets excited at the thought of you fucking her, wiggling her ass a little.

You growl, a sound that makes Ningning giggle, although a little terrifying. She’s oblivious, though, when you grope her cunt and damp your palm with her wetness, just moaning at the feeling of being toyed with. She’s oblivious when you spread her juices all over her ass. She’s oblivious when you slide down your pants, freeing a tentacle from your underwear.

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” you warn while sinking to your knees, which is nice enough, although you’re feeling anything but.

Ningning’s visibly anticipating it, her pussy still leaking with all her wet fluids. So much for her having a boyfriend. To be fair, though, the poor guy wouldn’t believe you if you told him that his sweet girlfriend was slutting herself out to a demon — in a cemetery, no less. So, really, there’s no point in confessing to the act.

She’s disturbed when she feels it, the slick rod slithering around her rim, confused as it dips inside her ass and not her pussy. She gasps, but you don’t have the patience to stop, impaling her on your long tentacle, fitting as much as you can in one swift go. It’s too long for her pussy, especially as tiny and frankly tight as it is.

Conflicted, Ningning stills in shock. She doesn’t know whether or not she should ask you what the hell that is inside her, or tell you that you’re in the wrong hole. She writhes, seeming to forget that there’s nowhere to go, trapped by every inch of you as you force her into a cage of yourself.

“Where you going, pretty?” You ask, laughing at her desperation. You like that nickname on her. It’s fitting.

“Wrong hole,” she exhales with half a breath, like you knocked the wind out of her. “No, pull out! Wrong—”

“Right,” you hiss, already drawing yourself in and out of her, face twisting. “It’s the right hole, baby.”

Tears prick Ningning’s eyes as you fuck her unprepared ass, her hand slipping out of the dirt as she reaches behind herself to make you quit it, but her arm is grabbed again by one of your braids that obey your every command like little serving serpents.

“B-but,” she stammers, evidently worried. “I’ve never… I’ve never been fucked there before.”

Something about that just lights up the biggest spark in you. “Never?”

Ningning shakes her head, and you wish you could see her eyes, knowing that they’re so round with innocent twinkles.

“Fuck,” you hiss loudly, but it’s not really an issue. What, are you gonna wake up the dead? “Guess I’ll have to break you in, huh? Send you back home with a couple of pointers for your boyfriend.”

Ningning only blinks at the mention of her boyfriend that she’d seemingly been so loyal to only moments ago, and she seems to remember for the first time in a minute that she’s vowed to a commitment, but it’s forgotten in the same instant as she feels you press inside her fleshy ass and her head tips back, a sweet-sounding, light noise filling your ears.

Her ass is so pretty and tight, and it’s all that you can think about. It’s such a shame that her boyfriend’s never fucked her there, but not for you. Matter of fact, you love that you’re her first. You love that no one’s ever felt what you’re feeling right now, like it’s something especially reserved for you.

You don’t want to send her back to her boyfriend, really. You want to keep her with you like a pet, take her to the underworld and fuck her holes whenever you please. Yeji and Hyungwon would never approve, though — guardians of the underworld and all — and somehow that only upsets you even more, fucking her sloppy holes rougher.

She arches her back, and it’s the prettiest arch, too. The prettiest arch you’ve ever seen. You hiss, slapping your palm against her ass. Ningning cries out, and you’ve heard that blend of pleasure and pain before, recognize it as something all too familiar. It comes with the territory.

You ease up, letting your braids slacken, knowing she won’t try to get away from you anymore. Not with the sinful sounds that sound like music to your ears and how she lets you use her ass, lets you have your way with her entirely, like every rational thought has been fucked out of her fuzzy brain and the idea of preserving herself for survival doesn’t even occur to her anymore.

Instead she’s more focused on being such a slut, reaching behind herself again, not to stop you, but to spread her ass for you. The sight is something out of your dreams, you’ve never been more thankful for your excellent vision. That’s when you know she has you, and from her giggles, she knows it too.

“You’re such a nasty little thing,” you chide, smacking her ass again. She whimpers, her soaked pussy tightening around nothing. “Spreading yourself for a demon?”

Finally able to put a name to the monster she’s exposed to, corrupting her. You’re so deep inside her, as deep as you can go, because if you could go any deeper without hurting her too much, you would. She knows that you have more to offer — she accidentally felt your slippery, slick tentacle when she reached behind her back. It’s raw and slimy, gushing inside her ass. She loves it so much now, babbling about how full she feels.

“Yeji and Hyungwon don’t know what they’re talking about,” you rant mindlessly, not caring that you’re exposing your world. Ningning can tell that you’re upset from the tone you ramble in, she could tell from the pace you fuck her with. “I can protect you. Other demons would only destroy your precious soul in minutes, I would take care of you. I’d never let anything take you.”

Ningning’s not sure what you’re going on about, but she’s gone too dumb to care, just agreeing, “Uh huh, y-yeah. Please.”

“Shit,” you curse, because she’s so much, but not enough. You extend another four tentacles that Ningning didn’t even know you had, stuffing two up her soaked pussy and forcing one inside her mouth. The other one joins the one in her ass, because they’re not too thick for her to take, too thin.

Ningning’s noises are muffled against your tentacle, but if she could, she would go on and on about how full she is. She thought she was full before, but that was nothing compared to now, how over occupied she is. You’ve filled all her holes and she feels like she’s floating. It hurts, but it doesn’t. There’s something so mysterious about it. Something so enigmatic that she’ll never understand.

You desperately want to bite her, but for once in your life, you try to have some control. She can’t die. Not after you just went on your whole spill about how you would protect her, and you weren’t just saying words, you really, really do want to keep her safe. Even if it means from yourself. Yeji would be proud — if you left out all the other details of this tryst.

In fact, there’s only one real reason why she’s less strict than Hyungwon.

Ningning gets the most surreal feeling and it’s not just the knot in her gut, growing with every thrust. She’s getting off to being fucked not just by some stranger, but by something she thought she’d only see in her dreams. A demon with horns and slimy tentacles that stroke her in all of the right places. Her pussy is gushing around you, her tongue is warm and flat, and her ass is so tight and small.

No human has ever gotten her this aroused. She’s dripping onto you and it’s borderline embarrassing, because all she can think about is the fact that you’re a demon using her holes. Fuck, she doesn’t know why, but that thought alone is making quick work of her.

She shoves gently at the tentacle occupying her mouth, because she doesn’t want to hurt you, and asks sweetly with a hoarse throat, “W-what’s your name?”

“Y/N,” you whisper.

And she almost screams it. The last push hits, the waves come in, and everything breaks loose, and she cries your name in between a string of expletives as her pussy spasms around your tentacles in orgasm. It’s the most intense one she’s ever had, making her whole body quiver and the world around her reel as she starts to feel lightheaded.

You’re not finished, though. She notices that immediately. It drives her mad, the overstimulation. She’s so sensitive that she thinks she can’t handle it, whining, “Too much—”

“Take it,” you order sharply.

“I can’t.”

The tentacle is back in her mouth in a matter of seconds to shut her up, your braids back to restraining her as she attempts to sneak away, but you won’t let her go. Not before you’re finished with her, done using her. Ningning’s not used to this. Not used to the stretch, not used to pleasure to this extent, not used to the overstimulation. She just feels like a set of holes for you to fuck.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, pretty,” you convince her. “You can take it for me. It’s what you were meant to do.”

Ningning hums, bobbing her head around you as she sucks you off greedily. Gobbling is a better word. It keeps her attention while your thumb massages her ass, and she grinds her ass back against you, too. The most inconsistent girl in the world.

She’s like a rot, corrupting you from head to toe. It makes you burn, makes you wish you could fuck her forever, because you would. She’s perfect, and you don’t throw that word around loosely. She’s making you lose your grip in a different way than any other mortal has, in a way that’s probably dangerous, too, but you can’t be bothered to care.

Thoughts of keeping her consume you alive. That’s all it really takes for you to blow your load, a couple more slams before you halt entirely, moaning her name too loudly. “Shit, Ningning—”

She moans, too, you feel it around one of your tentacles. It fills her everywhere — sticky, gooey cum, seeping into her ass and her pussy and her mouth. Ningning tries to swallow all of your cum, but it’s too much, dripping down her chin messily. It’s why she doesn’t feel empty when you at last pull out of her holes, because this icky substance is keeping her nice and full.

“Oh my god,” Ningning whispers. She’s ironically never felt more alive. “That was so…” Perfect.

Her chest heaves, her entire body drenched in sweat and slime and goo. It’s nasty, she feels nasty, but she likes it, too. She doesn’t think of how she’ll get back to Winter’s apartment when she looks the way she looks and her clothes are nonexistent. Thanks to you.

Then it hits you, after climaxing. It wouldn’t matter, really, if Hyungwon banned you from visiting earth, if you snuck Ningning to the underworld.

Your world.

“C’mon, pretty,” you say with a coquettish grin, helping her stand. “I just had a bad idea.”

#ningning smut #ning yizhuo smut #aespa smut #aespa imagines

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