#Screaming crying throwing up beating the walls

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷

🧬🧬🧬🧬🧬🧬🧬🧬🧬🧬

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

30 for🪷

---

“It’s nice,” he says. “And this is a great part of the city.”

Athena nods. “It is. And far from my old beat, so… It’s more relaxing for me.”

“Well, I’m glad,” Bobby says.

“Do you guys need anything else?” Harry asks. “Dinner? Anything at all? Clothes for Bobby?”

Athena shakes her head. “It can all be delivered. You need rest, too, sweetie. It’s been a long day.”

Harry nods. “Okay. Just call if you need me.”

“Thank you,” Athena nods. “We will.”

“Thank you for everything today, Harry,” Bobby says. 

Harry smiles. “Happy to. Really. I’ll see you tomorrow at Buck’s?”

Bobby thinks that Harry doesn’t need to throw himself back into the undead mystery party, but he’s doing it because he cares. About Bobby. About Buck. 

“Yeah,” Bobby says. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

---

30 for🧬

---

“I know what that feels like,” she admits quietly.

Buck nods. “I don’t think, in his case, breaking into their apartments and hopping into the shower will work.”

“Ugh,” she rolls her eyes. “How did I know when you were getting home?”

Buck smirks. 

“I’m just saying, I think we need to figure out something different.”

Maddie’s eyes narrow. “We?” 

Buck looks at her a little sheepishly. “I know I told you to drop it.”

“You did.”

“Maybe, my wise and wonderful sister, you’d consider picking it back up?”

She raises an eyebrow.

“For the greater good!” Buck pleads. “For Eddie and his sisters!”

Maddie sighs. “For Eddie and his sisters, I will help you. I’m assuming Eddie doesn’t know I’m helping you?”

Buck shakes his head. “Nope. Better if he doesn’t. Talking about it made him squirmy.”

“So we come up with an idea, then make him think it’s his idea?” Maddie asks.

“That’s an option?” Buck asks.

Maddie gives him a funny look.

“Yeah, of course it’s an option.”

---

30 for🩸

---

It’s Bobby.

The person cannibalizing someone is Bobby. The reason for the blood all over the house is Bobby. 

Bobby lets the body of the third fake officer drop to the floor like a stone. He wipes a smear of blood off his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. His eyes are wide and dark, pupils blown like he’s done party drugs or something. He’s absolutely drenched in blood, but even through that, May can see two bullet wounds on him. One on his shoulder. One in his abdomen. He doesn’t seem hindered by them.

“May,” he says, voice desperate. When his mouth opens, she sees long, bloody fangs. 

May screams. She actually screams. She takes a step back, tripping on the stairs. As she stumbles, she accidentally applies just enough pressure on the trigger of the gun to discharge it. It shoots, and for a moment, May’s terrified she’ll hit him. But she has no sense of aim, and beyond that, she wasn’t pointing at him. It hits a piece of framed art on the wall, shattering the glass and sending the frame crashing. 

“May, please,” Bobby begs. “Please, I won’t hurt you.”

She looks at him. He’s crying. But instead of tears, blood is running down his cheeks. May’s stomach churns. She remembers, suddenly, her conversation with Harry. Reddit thought there was a vampire in LA. She thought Reddit was being stupid. Joke’s on her. 

“May…”

---

[petrichor-reminiscence]

my restoration thots

everything is gonna be under the cut just incase people havent seen it yet, so uh spoiler warning under the cut!

there were a lot of things that bothered me. enough that tbh i don't remember them all, but i wanna start this off with the positives and things i liked ^^

first of all, my favourite thing ever, TEX AND CHURCH FINALLY GOT THE ENDING THEY DESERVED! i actually screamed when caboose brought back tex instead of church actually, and the whole thing also about her being brought back in their memory instead of the directors? their memory of her always kicking their ass and winning and being strong and brave and oaisjdgoasg all of that? screaming actually screaming. and her and church walking away in the memory unit thingy into the distance and jsiogjasdgiojadsgiosdg they got their happy ending that i've always wanted for them and that makes me very happy.

also, the va for caboose, let's talk about him rq. ofc it sounded wrong to me, he wasn't the og caboose, it wasn't joel, but the guy tried his best and i absolutely love that for him. i think he did a pretty good job, especially since the poor guy had 17 fuckin seasons of iconic caboose to live up to so ofc no one is going to actually live up to that. he did pretty damn good and if i see any hate about him i will cry thank you.

now, onto things that i enjoyed kinda but also were just oaijdsgioasdjg ahhhh y'know?

first, sarge's death. ouch. owie ouch ouchies ow. that shit hurt man. i think they did it pretty well though, and the fact that he died protecting a blue?! gave simmons his shotgun and told him he was proud of him?! told grif he never gave up on him even when grif himself had?! oasjdgisadjgs. he's their dad, their dad fr. it broke my fucking heart, but i like how it was handled, i was decently satisfied with it. i like how they buried him back in blood gulch, where it all started. it felt really fitting.

also, the fact that they kept church dead. tbh i'm glad they did. i was thinking with their whole talking about memories around the campfire, like if it were to bring back church, tbh i wouldn't have liked it. his death in 13 wouldn't have been as meaningful, as impactful. plus, them bringing back tex who we haven't really seen since season 10? iconic i loved it they brought my wife back and i loved every fuckin second of it.

next, something i have big big big thoughts on that i don't know how to organise: wash's ptsd and everything. first off, finding out he'd been hallucinating doc the entire time?! fucking OWCHIES :( and like at the end when lina was talking to him and reminding him that these things weren't his fault and how it came across in visions of his other beloved freelancers showing up and talking to him? screaming actually. watching wash and his mental state and how everything unfolded hit particularly close to home for me, as a ptsd-havin bitch myself ^^; the way he was treated like he was fuckin crazy in the hospital made me sick to my stomach, and then finding out oh hey wait he actually is a bit crazy he's hallucinating doc because he blames himself for his death i'm like welp okay that's oaisdjgosadjgoisgj. just seeing how they handled that reminded me so much of things i've gone through myself, and idk if i'd say it was handled well or not but it was certainly handled in a way that's for sure ^^; might just be some of my internal biases because topics like this make me feel sick for personal reasons ofc, but uh yeehaw lol yeehaw.

also, meta tucker. screaming. the flashes of him pulling through while being controlled and him like apologizing to caboose and caboose being like 'i've already forgiven you for whatever you'll do' AOIGSDAIG YEOWZERS :( my brain hurts man. and with sigma too, sadly it wasn't elijah wood, but miles luna did a phenomenal job imo, it really sounded like og sigma to me and had me convinced they got elijah for the final season up until i saw the credits lol. also, the fact that there was such a lack of meta/tucker and wash interactions??? heresy. blasphemy. illegal. i will be beating my head against the wall thank you.

ALSO. LACK OF DONUT WAS FUCKING TRAGIC. but, ADMIRAL donut? proud of our boy for working through the ranks! but i'm so upset we didn't get to see him other than a simmons flashback/vision of him in a fuckin cheerleader outfit - which honestly? iconic. at least we got something.

and the last thought of the post, fuckin grimmons. grif and simmons. i'm gonna put my head through the wall osaidjgsioadjgsdiogjsdag. the way that the first thing simmons did as red team leader was set grif free because he's always known about how much he wanted to leave, 'if you love something let it go' or whatever oiasdgjdsoiagjsd. grif deciding to stay for the fight before heading out, their goodbyes and grif inviting him to visit even though he knows it's probably never going to happen but he had to try anyways, aiojsdgoisjgoisdjg i'm screaming crying throwing up actually. they should've made out though so rip for that missed opportunity :( i enjoyed the moments we got but i also wish we got more if that makes sense, y'know?

anyways that's all i have the mental energy to blab about for now, because oaisdgjodsiag agh y'know? drained from fuckin sobbing so much all day lmao i'm just a lil guy ^^;

might post a pt 2 to this though, copy-pasting the notes i took on my phone like while i was watching lmao. fair warning though it's a MESS because i was typing without looking plus a lot of autocorrect haha. i'll probably post it anyways though because i find it really funny tbh lol

[defire]

Tropes that always give me whumperflies

Content: noncon nudity, manhandling, injuries, beating, fear, defiant/stoic whumpee

Throwing whumpee onto their knees before the enemy leader and holding them there by the back of the neck

Whumpee half-curled into a fetal position as they're being relentlessly kicked

Whumpee forced to strip. And doing so flushing and getting ashamed.

Whumpee shuddering and shaking from exhaustion caused by screaming, resisting, and fear

Wiping blood off hastily, grabbing injuries, making faces as they try not to cry

Ripping their pants down or shirt up so roughly it jerks whumpee's body

The broken sob that's kind of the end of a cry they barely managed to hold in

Whumpee feeling stupid, humiliated, even though anyone would, in their position

Sweating, swallowing, and keeping their face under control, trembling as they are inspected

Being twisted by the wrist, spun around, and slammed face-first into a wall or desk

Compromising positions like whumper sitting on their butt, in a non-sexual, violent way that just emphasizes the desperate physical struggle.

Grabbing them by the face to look at them and make snide observations about how scared they are

Slapping whumpee in the cheek

Small whumpees being thrown around and restrained physically by big whumpers

Grabbing their hair to slam them into the wall and whispering something in their ear that makes whumpee grimace

"turn around and face the wall."

Slapping a knife wound or gunshot injury and whumpee winces, cries and curls over the injury

A sarcastic remark dying on whumpee's lips as they see what whumper brought to beat them with

A stoic whumpee after a long time of taking a beating with only grunts of pain, groaning as a bone is broken, and as whumper raises their boot to kick again, whumpee hoarsely cries "wait wait, please! --please wait!"

[oystermark]

Mark variants (sinister, no goggles, mohawk mark) x M!reader (cis & trans options for all of them) MDNI

a/n: just random porn stuff, turns out no plot and just porn is more fun to write for me lol.. can u tell whos my favorite

smut without plot

intentional lowercase

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────

sinister mark

biting. just, so much biting. it’s not only just marking you as his, it’s like feeling your pulse under his teeth and tongue pierces his soul with want so ravenous that he could take you apart right then and there as you’re taking his dick with the sweetest moans (grunts & groans) ever, music to his ears!

if you don’t want teeth on your dick or cunt do not let this man give you head. if you’re a freak like him and you do want it, spread your legs and don’t forget to lock them and push him even more into your sex by his nape. he likes it when you use force, as much as you can anyway. for you with dicks, when he takes you to the base, he will  be biting down, your scream and whines just making his own dick twitch. for you with a cunt, he will be biting down on your clit. you can thrash around and pull at his hair and curse him out as much as you want, remember, “you wanted this, so stop fucking squirming and cum in my mouth already.” 

no goggles mark 

this crazy bitch loves to fuck you on his lap the most, the second position he loves more is drilling his dick into you on the floor. any position where he can bully you with his dick is his favorite.

always starts out with a…rough foreplay, lets say. he tackles you down on the floor, the wall, your bed, the kitchen counter anywhere accessible to fuck really. the ‘kisses’ are so animalistic and painful, biting and hissing and clashing of teeth as you both grind down onto each other. your grunts, groans and hissing– god he could cum just from your punches and biting, it’s so good, it’s so fucking rough and it’s just how he likes it.

such a fucking bully when you’ve been fucked dumb, gripping your face with one hand as he shakes your head, his other hand patting your cheek, “c’mon babe, don’t give up on me now, fuuck– take it,” not even stopping his hips as you cum for the nth time, your mouth opening for a scream but all you can let out is a pathetic gasp for air as the orgasm wrecks your body violently. making you shake and cry out when he pounds his cock just right hitting that spot over and over again as he giggles and bites down on your collarbones, hard enough to draw blood– then of course licks it all up, he would never let any drop of your bodily fluid go to waste after all. “give me another one, come onnnn be my good boy, you said you’d behave, do everything i want if i just gave you a good fuck, so come on. one more time. give it to me.” 

mohawk mark

teasing bastard. will give you a neck kiss when he’s just passing by you as hes beating up some random, cackling as you yell behind him. his fingers will never stay in place, either trying to go under your clothes or straight up jerk you off, no in between. you can never tell with him.

to me, his favorite thing to do while you two have sex is just, having you lay on your back as he jerks you off with one hand as his tongue or fingers take care of your hole, teasing you about how good of a boy you are, how pretty your cock is, how cute it looks when your hole clenches down on his fingers. if you have a cunt, his mouth will never stop sucking on your clit as he fingers you ‘till you cum so hard you see stars behind your eyelids, his tongue is not leaving that clit even if you bash him on the head repeatedly. so condescending in such a hot way though, “awww look who’s cumming already? such a quickshot aren’t you babe?” cackling as you throw a pillow at his face.

[noorpersona]

Pregnancy: Daichi (NSFW)

You were officially forty-one weeks pregnant.

Forty-one weeks. Not thirty-nine. Not even the neat, ominous weight of forty. No, you had blown straight past your due date like a train with no brakes and were now living in the swollen purgatory of maternity hell—bloated, achy, short-tempered, and so fed up with your body that you would’ve gladly traded it in for a paper bag and a nap.

Your body ached in places you didn’t know could ache. Your back felt like it had been used as a trampoline in the night. Your hips were stiff. Your feet looked like they belonged to someone who’d spent ten hours standing in a swamp. And your belly? Your belly felt like it had become its own planet, stretching your skin so taut you were convinced you could drum a beat on it.

Nothing fit anymore. Not your clothes. Not your shoes. Not even your own skin, if you were honest. Your maternity leggings had officially waved the white flag. Your bras were lost causes. Your wedding rings had been stashed in a drawer weeks ago, too tight to slide over even a knuckle. And the seatbelt? Daichi had to adjust it for you now, like you were precious cargo—though to be fair, at this point, you basically were. He was careful and considerate and just a little too cheerful about it all, which made it even more infuriating.

“Got everything?” he asked softly, adjusting the strap of your maternity bag over his shoulder like it weighed nothing.

You didn’t look at him. You didn’t smile. You didn’t even grunt. You groaned—a long, low, theatrical sound of suffering as you slowly lowered yourself into the passenger seat like an elephant easing into a beanbag chair.

He took it in stride. He’d stopped taking anything personally around week thirty-seven.

Still, he reached across and placed his warm palm on your thigh once you were settled, rubbing his thumb in slow, steady circles. You didn’t push it away. You rested your hand on top of his and gave him a tired look that said, If I have to live in this body one more day, I will cry.

The car ride to the clinic was mostly quiet. You sighed a lot. Adjusted the air vents. Rolled down the window. Rolled it back up. Turned the A/C colder. Then warmer. Daichi drove patiently, sneaking occasional glances at you like he wanted to say something encouraging but also very much wanted to survive the day.

The clinic’s waiting room was somehow worse than usual. The chairs were uncomfortable, the light was too bright, and the cheerful wall art—baby elephants, pastel hearts, encouraging quotes in cursive—made you want to scream. You stared at the pamphlet beside you titled “Smiling Through the Third Trimester” with a level of disdain typically reserved for war crimes.

Daichi sat beside you flipping through a magazine that he absolutely wasn’t reading, occasionally peeking at you with quiet concern while trying not to make eye contact with the receptionist, who kept looking at you like you were a ticking time bomb.

When the nurse finally called your name, you heaved yourself up with a groan and waddled toward the hallway like a warrior going into battle. Daichi followed at a polite distance, like a man who knew better than to walk too close to a woman this pregnant and this pissed.

The exam room felt like a refrigerator. You plopped down on the crinkly paper with another long sigh, then glared at the stirrups like they’d personally wronged you. Daichi sat in the chair next to the table and gently rubbed your back, his thumb tracing light circles over your spine.

“Almost there,” he murmured, ever the optimist. “Just hang in a little longer.”

You turned your head to him, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion and fury. “I swear to god, Daichi. If one more person tells me I’m almost there, I will throw something. Possibly this table. Possibly you.”

He only smiled through it, squeezing your hand like he hadn’t just been threatened with airborne furniture.

When the doctor entered, she was all serene smiles and clinical calm, her tone chipper and maddeningly upbeat.

“Well,” she said after a quick check, “good news is you’re making progress. The baby’s definitely settling into position. But you’re still not quite there yet. I’d give it another few days.”

You stared at her like she’d just told you the world had been cancelled.

“More days?” you repeated, your voice a cracked whisper. “As in, plural? Like… multiple?”

The doctor gave a warm little chuckle. “It’s different for everyone, but yes, could be a few more. You’re doing great, though.”

Your jaw dropped. You made a noise that was somewhere between a sob and a scream, your hands clenching the edge of the table like it might steady you.

The doctor handed Daichi a brightly colored handout titled “Natural Ways to Encourage Labor.” It had illustrations of smiling pregnant women doing yoga and eating pineapple.

“Try some of these at home,” she said kindly. “Spicy food, gentle movement, maybe a warm bath. You’re almost there.”

Daichi nodded like the polite, helpful husband he was, tucking the paper into your maternity bag as you stood slowly, moving with the weary determination of someone who had carried life for too damn long.

The walk back to the car was slow and tense. You didn’t speak. You didn’t look at anyone. The receptionist offered a cheery “Good luck!” as you left and you very nearly flipped her off.

When Daichi helped you into the car again and got you buckled in, you exhaled long and hard, the sound more like a groan of existential dread than a sigh.

“I’m going to die pregnant,” you said flatly, head tipping back against the seat as your eyes glazed over. “This is it. This is how it ends for me. Swollen and sweaty in the passenger seat of a Toyota.”

“No, you’re not,” he said gently, lips twitching as he reached over to adjust your seatbelt one last time. “You’re going to give birth soon, and then this will all feel like a weird dream.”

You turned your head just enough to shoot him a dry look. “A weird dream where my hips feel like they’re being sawed in half and I haven’t seen my own feet in two months?”

He chuckled under his breath, brushing your hair out of your face. “I’m just saying, you’re doing amazing.”

“Don’t lie to me,” you snapped, though your voice lacked real venom. “I look like a pufferfish and I cry every time I drop something on the floor because I can’t pick it up anymore.”

“I pick it up for you,” he said, unbothered.

“Yeah, and I still cry!” You groaned louder, tossing your head back again. “I’m like a feral raccoon in maternity leggings. I can’t keep living like this.”

“You’re not a raccoon,” he said with a straight face. “You’re majestic. Fearsome. A hormonal goddess.”

You snorted so hard it startled a hiccup out of you. “Oh my god.”

“And soon,” he added, leaning closer to kiss your temple, “you’ll be holding the baby and none of this will matter.”

You didn’t move. You just stared up at the ceiling.

“Watch me die pregnant,” you said again. “They’ll write it on my tombstone.”

--

By the time you made it home, your mood had not improved. You kicked your shoes off at the door, grumbling as you peeled off your coat and waddled into the kitchen, leaving Daichi to trail behind you, pamphlet in hand and hope still stubbornly etched into his expression.

“Okay,” he said as you slumped down at the kitchen table, head in your hands. “Let’s try some of these. Worst case, they don’t work. Best case? Maybe we’ll get things moving.”

You didn’t respond right away. Just groaned into your palms.

He set the paper down gently in front of you. “It says spicy food might help. We could start there?”

You looked up with bloodshot eyes. “I want something violent. Like pepper-spray levels of spice.”

Daichi raised his eyebrows. “I’ve got extra hot chili ramen packets. You could probably weaponize them.”

“Perfect,” you growled. “Boil ‘em.”

Ten minutes later, you were perched on the couch with a bowl of nuclear noodles while Daichi sat beside you with his own, bravely taking a bite. He lasted all of three seconds before coughing into his fist, eyes watering.

“Oh my god—this hurts,” he rasped.

You, completely unaffected, slurped up another bite. “Nothing. Not even a twinge.”

He blinked at you, face red. “I’m going to need milk. And possibly CPR.”

You sighed and set the bowl aside. “Next idea.”

And so began the ridiculous journey.

You drank herbal teas that smelled like dirt and despair. You choked down thick slices of pineapple while muttering curses under your breath. You did the hip-opening stretches the pamphlet suggested, groaning with effort and telling Daichi that if this didn’t work you were going to shove a yoga ball down the stairs. He helped you do slow laps around the living room, hand on your lower back while you walked in increasingly impatient circles.

You even tried the dreaded castor oil. One teaspoon. Two. Mixed into orange juice so it wouldn’t taste like paint thinner. You gagged, glared, and gagged again. Daichi looked horrified but held the glass steady like he was assisting with a medical emergency.

Hours passed. The sun dipped lower in the sky. You had tried every single item on the pamphlet short of hiring a witch to chant over your uterus. And yet—nothing. No contractions. No discomfort. No sign the baby had any plans of evacuating. Just the same heavy weight in your belly and the constant ache of your ribs.

You threw yourself back onto the couch with a long, miserable sigh, your belly rising and falling like a dramatic mountain of defeat.

“This baby,” you declared, voice scratchy with exhaustion, “is never coming out. This is it. They’ve made a permanent home. They’re going to graduate college still inside me.”

Daichi, kneeling next to the couch, chuckled softly and leaned over to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Can you blame them?” he murmured. “You’ve made them a pretty amazing home.”

You blinked at him, half-touched and half-annoyed. “That’s not helpful.”

He grinned and sat back on his heels, picking the pamphlet up again with exaggerated patience. “Well, if they’re not leaving on their own, we’re gonna have to evict them.”

You groaned dramatically. “We’ve tried everything. I’ve eaten enough pineapple to singlehandedly wipe out Hawaii’s exports. I drank that weird tea that tastes like boiled weeds. I took castor oil, Daichi. Castor. Oil. Nothing works.”

He hummed, eyes skimming down the page.

Then he paused.

You watched as his brow arched just slightly.

“…What?” you said slowly.

He cleared his throat. “Well, technically… we haven’t tried everything.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What do you mean?”

He turned the pamphlet toward you and pointed at a single line with a very straight face.

“Intercourse may help induce labor.”

You stared. Then looked at him. Then back at the pamphlet.

Your eyes narrowed, your lips pressing into a line as the wheels in your head began to turn. For a long moment, you didn’t say a word. But something changed—visibly, unmistakably. Your posture shifted. Your breath stilled. Your entire demeanor settled into something focused, determined, just a little bit unhinged.

Daichi saw it immediately. He watched the transformation like someone witnessing a weather shift, like a man who’d seen the sky turn before a storm. His back straightened. His eyes went wide. He held up one hand as if you were a wild animal and he needed to de-escalate the situation.

“Babe—let’s just think this through—”

You sat up slowly. Deliberately. Every movement a signal.

Your voice dropped, calm but commanding, your eyes locked on his.

“…Get upstairs.”

Daichi followed you up the stairs like a man walking toward something both holy and terrifying.

You didn’t speak. Just kept your back straight, your breath steady, your feet deliberate on the steps. Every part of you radiated heat—rage, desperation, need. By the time you reached the bedroom, you were already tugging off your shirt, grumbling under your breath as it got stuck around your chest. You were a force of nature, belly full and breasts heavy, skin flushed with exertion and irritation.

“Help me,” you snapped, voice breathless.

Daichi was at your side in a second, pulling the fabric over your head, his hands lingering for just a second too long on the bare curve of your shoulder. It had been a while since the two of you had made love—between the fatigue, the constant discomfort, and the way your body had become less your own and more a vessel of life, intimacy had taken a quiet backseat. You missed it. Missed him. And he missed you—his touch tentative and reverent, like he was savoring the moment as much as you were. You turned to him, eyes burning.

“This baby is coming out tonight,” you said, voice low and deadly serious. “So get on the bed.”

He hesitated—not because he didn’t want to. He wanted to. God, did he want to. But his eyes kept flicking to your belly, the way it rounded out so full and taut, the faint sheen of sweat already glistening along your collarbone.

“Are you sure?” he asked, hand resting against your waist, careful and reverent. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” you said, grabbing him by the wrist and guiding him toward the mattress. “And if you do, I won’t care. I need this.”

He let out a shaky breath as you pushed him down onto the bed and climbed over him. The tension between you was thick, every inch of skin electric. Months of abstaining made everything heightened—your nerves tingled where his fingers grazed your hips, and his breathing hitched every time you shifted above him. His hands went instinctively to your thighs as you straddled him, palms warm and wide and trembling just slightly.

You leaned down to kiss him, hard and fast, teeth scraping his bottom lip as you ground your hips against his crotch. He gasped, his body already responding beneath you.

��Fuck,” he groaned, pressing his forehead to your shoulder. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Good,” you muttered, dragging your fingers down his chest. “Then we’ll die together.”

He chuckled breathlessly, then hooked his fingers in your waistband, easing your underwear off your hips with slow, reverent care. When he touched you, his fingertips sliding through the wet heat between your thighs, he exhaled like he was in awe.

“You’re soaked,” he whispered, voice tight, eyes dark with restraint.

“I’m ready,” you breathed, rolling your hips into his touch.

He didn’t argue. He pushed his boxers down and kicked them off, his cock thick and flushed against his stomach. He gripped it at the base, ready to guide himself in, but you brushed his hand aside and positioned yourself with shaking thighs.

“Let me,” you murmured.

And then you sank down, slow and deep, the stretch sharp enough to make you gasp. Your hands clutched his shoulders, fingernails digging into his skin as you took him all the way in, inch by aching inch.

Daichi groaned, low and guttural, his head tipping back against the pillows. “Jesus, you’re so tight—fuck—”

You paused, hips resting flush against his, just breathing. The fullness was overwhelming, perfect, exactly what you needed.

When you started to move, it was unhurried. The sensitivity of not having touched like this in weeks made every motion feel magnified—every grind, every squeeze, every brush of skin set fire to your nerves. You both gasped more than once, surprised by how much you'd missed this, missed each other. Deep, rolling thrusts that had you grinding down with every motion, drawing small sounds from your throat as your body adjusted to the rhythm.

Daichi’s hands moved to your waist, holding you steady, thumbs stroking gentle circles along your skin.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice shaky. “You’re carrying our baby, and you still want me like this?”

“I don’t want you,” you corrected breathlessly. “I need you.”

Your pace picked up, just slightly, each roll of your hips drawing gasps from both of you. The bed creaked under the rhythm, your swollen belly brushing against his chest every time you leaned in to kiss him, desperate and messy and aching.

He slid one hand up to cup your breast, thumbing over your nipple until you arched into him. Your moan was sharp, needy, your body clenching tight around him.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groaned, fingers tightening on your hip. “You’re so—god, you feel so good.”

You chased the friction, riding him harder, faster, the pressure building between your legs in thick, pulsing waves. He met your thrusts now, his hips lifting off the bed, his face buried against your neck as he groaned into your skin.

When your orgasm hit, it slammed through you like a tidal wave, your body locking up around him as you gasped his name, trembling all over. He held you through it, rocking you gently, murmuring praise into your shoulder until your shudders turned to aftershocks.

Then he flipped you gently onto your back, careful with your belly, bracing himself above you as he drove into you with long, deep strokes, chasing his own edge.

You watched him through hooded eyes, heart racing, mouth parted in a soft, dazed smile. He looked wrecked—sweat-damp hair, flushed cheeks, jaw clenched with restraint as he fucked you slow and deep.

“I’m close,” he warned, voice fraying. 

You cupped his face, nodding, heart still thudding from your own climax. “It’s okay. Come inside me. I want to feel you.”

With a broken sound, he buried himself to the hilt, groaning your name as he came, thick pulses filling you, his body trembling with release. You wrapped your arms around him as he collapsed slowly beside you, one arm still curled protectively across your middle, his breath hot against your shoulder.

Neither of you said anything for a long while. The room was warm and quiet, filled only with the soft sounds of your breathing. His hand smoothed over your belly, the rise and fall of it still unsteady. You were both flushed, glistening with sweat, chests heaving.

You turned your head toward him slightly, letting out a huff of a laugh. “Well… at least I feel better.”

Daichi huffed a laugh, his voice still rough. “Honestly? Same. Not sure if we jumpstarted labor or just obliterated our spines, though.”

You both lay there for a beat longer, catching your breath, limbs tangled, and the faint hum of calm settling over you.

Eventually, you shifted, groaning softly as you sat up on your elbows. “Okay,” you said, voice still breathy, “I should probably clean up—”

And then it happened.

A sudden, warm rush.

You blinked. Froze. Looked down.

“…Oh my god,” you whispered. “Daichi.”

He sat up slowly, still half-lost in the afterglow. “Hmm?”

You stared at the sheets beneath you, soaked through in a way that was definitely not from sex.

“My water broke,” you said, blinking again. The shock in your voice cut through the air.

Daichi’s head snapped toward you.

“My water broke,” you repeated, louder this time, voice rising in panic. “Daichi, my fucking water broke.”

The adrenaline that had left your limbs warm and loose now twisted into pure, electric panic.

He was moving before you could spiral further, sitting up and cupping your face with both hands.

“Hey, hey—look at me,” he said quickly, steadying your breathing with his voice. “It’s okay. We’re okay.”

You nodded, dazed, still processing the rush of adrenaline and disbelief. Just moments ago, you had been begging for something to happen—for anything to finally signal the end. And now that it had, now that it was really happening, your heart felt like it might explode with the sheer weight of it. You had wanted this so badly. You had cursed the waiting. And yet now, the second it arrived, you were caught somewhere between terror and awe.

“I wanted this,” you whispered, almost to yourself. “I wanted this to happen.”

Daichi brushed a strand of damp hair away from your face, smiling warmly. “You did. And now it’s happening.”

You exhaled a shaky laugh, voice cracking. “I’m terrified.”

“I know,” he said, cupping your cheek with a hand as steady as his voice. “Me too. But we’re ready. You’re ready.”

You nodded again, tears welling in your eyes, this time from joy—not just from fear or exhaustion. You were going to meet your baby. Tonight. Maybe in just a few hours.

Daichi pressed a kiss to your forehead before swinging his legs off the bed, already grabbing the overnight bag he had packed and repacked a dozen times.

“Let’s go meet our baby,” he said, voice warm and certain.

And this time, you smiled through the chaos. Because it was finally happening—and you weren’t doing it alone.

[isasweetie]

currently my favorite writer U ARE SO TALENTED 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ goshhh js thinking about rafe locking reader inside the room cause she’s having a tantrum ! :( (lwk that one scene with him and sarah)

aww i adore u!

⋆˙⟡ in which rafe locks you in a room during a tantrum.

rafe wasn’t a difficult man to piss off, per say, but usually he’d just yell at you and maybe punch a wall. arguments would always end in sex from him as an apology, and adding on that, you would apologize easily too. unfortunately, tonight was a bit different.

he’d been following your stomps around the house for a while now. you were crying and he was yelling. all you wanted was a moment to gather your thoughts, but rafe wasn’t having it tonight. he was proactive, he wanted to talk to you right then, force some sense into your mind and get you to apologize for him. it never once crossed his mind that maybe he should calm down and apologize himself.

“rafe, leave me alone, i wanna be alone!” you cry as you rush down the stairs to go back to the living room from the bedroom.

he scoffs, and you can hear his shoes stomping behind you. “stop throwing a fuckin’ tantrum and actually speak to me like a human, then!”

“you never listen!”

that’s his trigger. without a second thought, he grabbed you by the back of your neck as if you were some puppy, making you yelp and cry harder, as he drags you downstairs to the wine cellar. “oh, you want me to fuckin’ listen, huh? yeaah, be a good boyfriend and cave to your every demand? you got it, babe,” he says angrily, obviously sarcastic as he stands in front of the wine cellar with you. “now, you wanna talk, or you want your alone time?”

your eyes are fuzzy with tears, unaware of what his plan is, even though he’s trying to insinuate it. “want alone time,” you cry.

he scoffs and shoves you in the wine cellar, closing the heavy door, locking it, and resting his back against it.

you blink, looking around. there’s a beat of silence where you’re confused and registering what happened, and he’s taking a breath of relief, thinking his plan worked. then it hits, and suddenly you’re worse than before, sobbing and screaming and wiggling the doorknob desperately.

“rafe!” you cry, distressed and nervous. “rafe, let me out!! this isn’t funny!”

he sighs, squeezing the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “shuuut up, not letting you out until you get a fuckin’ grip, baby,”

“not fair!” you yell, trying to yank on the door. “rafe, let me out! being such a jerk!”

he wants to argue that stupidly innocent insult badly, but he chooses to be quiet so you give up and calm down as well.

the crying goes on for longer than he thought, until you’re coughing and sitting down because you’re so tired from the screams. you’re reduced to nothing but sniffles, and your knees are hugging your chest for some support.

eventually, thank goodness, light floods the room as the door opens. it must’ve been at least half an hour, but it was still too long.

“hey, baby,” rafe sighs, ears admittedly ringing from how loud you were earlier. “how are you?”

you’re quiet, mad at him now. he sits down beside you.

“jesus,” he sighs under his breath. he puts a heavy hand on your shoulder. “had to do it. see how calm you are now, baby?” he waits for a nod from you before continuing. “yeeah, exactly. you wanted alone time so i gave you that, it’s fine, hm?”

“…it was scary,” you admit gently, voice still trembly.

“didn’t know i’d scare you, had to act on impulse to get you nice and quiet,” is his explanation as he starts rubbing your shoulder. he always knows what to say, it seems.

you nod gently, and he stands up. “c’mon, up,” he nods his head, taking your hand. “you ready to talk now?”

“mhm,” you hum softly, shaky legs standing up as rafe steadies you.

he walks you back through the basement, and for the first time, you hear an, “i’m sorry for scaring you,” come out of his mouth.

those five words make you much more at ease to talk and cuddle for the rest of the night, even if he might not of meant them.

taglist🪽— @dearapril @popou61 @suncove @hittmeandtellmeyouremine @dollyfiles @wtfdudesblog @yktayy9669 @nixcyrr @st6ined @girlwhorizzed

[merakidoll]

HAPPY VALENTINE DAY DADDY ! and to you guys too <3 this real self indulgent yall know this my baby

everyone knew that mr.yeager was a big flirt. he exuded sexual tension making ladies, - and men cower under his intense stare. you knew this even before you started dating him. news articles of the model playboy and how everyone was quick to fall to their knees for him, but that still did nothing to stop the desire. you and eren getting together was shocking, you not usually being his normal type but everyone could tell how deep in love he was in. he had you on his arm at any giving moment, flashing you and trying to get you on campaigns he knew he would be doing.

you were his everything. but even in that the man couldn’t contain how just naturally flirty he was. smiling in other women’s faces, while you sat pretty with a necklaces that had his initials around your neck. you burned holes into his large form, shaking you head and downing the glass of champagne storming out. of course the news made headlines, and of course eren followed you. asking what could he have possibly done wrong? and you told him, screaming out how he did it so carelessly that he just had to show the world you were his.

“r-rennieeee f-fuck baby!” you legs shook against his neck. his mouth devouring your pussy, slurping- licking- plunging his pierced tounge into your hole shocking you. the camera shook in your hands shakily capturing everything that was happening. “come’on mama” he slapped your thigh green eyes burning into you. “stop shaking - mmm. and show them that daddies all yours” his words had you crying out. your hole gushing with your orgasm throwing your head back against the expensive pillows and closing his head in. “wait wait waittttuhh” opening your legs and pushing his head away. the camera was now somewhere lying on the bed.

grabbing it himself. he put your legs over his broad shoulders, cock sliding up and down you fat pussy lips before sliding into you smoothly. thick, long cock sliding through your slippery walls slowly until the tip touched one spot in you. “n-no daddyy! toom-muchh” rising the camera to be above you. it got see all over your faces of pleasure. your tits bouncing with each impactful thrust. his cock going in and out, cream patches painting it’s tan - veiny skin driving him wild. “w-whos dick is that princess?”

he bit his lip watching your eyes roll to the back of your head. your pushed as his six pack your orgasm just a the peek. eren only pushed into you deeper. “WHOS?” he now yelled, looking at you through the view or the camera. “y-YOURSSS” you screamed squirting everywhere. your heart beat vastly legs quivering. “that’s right” he spoke lazily. his thrust got fast but slow - he was so close, and by the heavyness in his balls eren knew tonight you were gonna be giving him his child. his stuffed your cunt to the brim. making you hold your legs in the air so no cum could fall out. he made your shaky hands send the video to each women who made you feel insecure your relationship. he ignored the buzzes from his instagram kissing your soft skin while you both drifted off.

[at-this-point-i-dont-even-know]

Always and Forever (2/?)Jack Abbott x Reader

About: Jack Abbott lost his wife in the war, and her memory haunts him for six years, three months and twenty four days.

Warnings: MDNI- smut and angst ahead - I don't know anything medical or anything military so everything is just a guess

A/N: I have split this in half because this chapter was getting away from me, this half is already 8 pages long.....

tag list: princessjayll

part one/part three

It was so noisy when you awoke, the sound of blades banging over head, richocing through your pounding head. You tried to sit up and grab your aching skull, as if you could calm it with your touch. 

Ice fills your veins as you pull against the soft restraints that hold you in place.

God please not again you cry out, either internally or vocally, you no longer knew the difference. 

Please just let me go, you sobbed over and over again.

So time passed and your grief came in waves.

The first few weeks (you guessed), you were calm, saying only what you had been told to in training. You told them your name, your rank as a Field Doctor and your ID number. You repeated it over and over again, as they tried to get anything further out of you.

After that came the rage, you swore at your captors, screaming, calling them all the worst words you knew under the sun. And since you knew three languages fluently, and all the swear words of two others, it kept you entertained as the beatings finally stopped.

You skipped over bargaining, there was nothing you knew that would give you your freedom, and depression, well that stage stayed from day one until now.

You had no idea how long you had been a captive for, there were no calendars to tell you the passage of time, and all the movies that show prisoners scratching out days on the walls lied. No captor would give a captee anything strong enough to mark up a wall. Then they had let you out, freedom as long as you didn’t run. You stayed, helping the women and the children. You think the war may have ended in the time you were there but you didn’t know. You didn’t speak their language and they didn’t speak yours. So you nursed the sick and helped the injured, then curled up in the tiny bed you were given and mourned the life you had known.

The only thing that kept you sane, was the memory of him.

Doctor Jack Abbott, your best friend and husband.

It was his memory that kept everything at bay when the pain came too much or the darkness too dark. 

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

You hated him at first, he was arrogant and talkative from the moment he walked into your medi-tent. You were hands deep in a civilian, who happened to be on the wrong side of the road when an IED went off, when he sauntered in, flashing you a cocky grin before one of the nurses strapped a mask over it. 

“Who do we have here?” he asked, looking at the patient instead of you. Your hackles were up, besides you and your sister there was only one other female surgeon in the area, so you were prepared for him to treat you like a nurse besides the fact you were the one running the operation and the one with blood up to your elbows. The last doctor who had worked alongside you had done that, and the one before, you were sick of the arrogance of male doctors.

“Female, late forties, shrapnel in chest and upper thigh, uncontrollable bleeding in the gut, unknown origin.” you call out the situation without looking at him, your fingers expertly running the intestine looking for any nicks or damage.

“Have you checked no man's land?” His question has you rolling your eyes and you can’t help but pause your work to look at him through your eyelashes.

“No- I just thought I would run the bowel for no fucking reason.” you hissed and he laughed.

He fucking laughed and you curses.

“Who the fuck are you?” 

“Doctor Jack Abbott, it's nice to meet you.” Even with the mask on you could see him smile through the material, and it makes you want to throw something at his face. This was no place for smiling.

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

You feel yourself dozing off again, energy gone from your bones as the sound you hear finally connects with your long forgotten memories.

Helicopter. 

You were in a helicopter. You hadn’t been in one of these since your captor, so either those who had you had finally advanced their situation beyond anything they had had before, or you were rescued.

You were not dumb enough to fall for the idea of a rescue. 

That would be idiotic. 

And childish.

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

“What’s your favourite colour?”

“What?”

“Your favourite colour, what is it?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because I think we are going to be together for a while, and I want to know your favourite colour.”

“No offense Dr Abbott, but fuck off.” You turn away from him mid scrub and finish up at a different basin, feeling his eyes on you.

“I’m just trying to get to know you.”

You scoff and he laughs. The sound isn’t as jarring as it should be. You ignore that.

“I don’t need to get to know you Dr Abbott, I know your type. You signed up for the army so they could do what? Pay off your school fees? Get you away from your wife? You look like you have one tour in you, then you’ll go to the reserves and then once you’re Stateside in a cushy job in a private hospital you can tell tales of your time in the Army over drinks with your friends who will all think you're hot shit for being so brave.”

Your words stopped him in his tracks and he turned to look you straight on.

“You’re wrong, on all fronts, I’m here because I want to help, and as for a cushy job stateside, I did my internship and residency in Emergency Medicine at John Hopskins. I’ve seen my fair share of bloodied and bruised bodies. I have spent days in an OR stitching back woman and children that have been attacked in their homes by ICE, or gangs, or their own fucking flesh and blood, long before you even finished your senior year of high school. I came to this god forsaken place to find a reason for it all. And as for tours, I’m on my third and I’m here as long as they will have me. Is that good enough for you, sunshine?”

You nod, taking it all in, this man before you with his salt and pepper hair aging before his time and his eyes that lit up with fire behind them with every word.

“And-” he said, with that shit eating grin back on his face, “I’m not married.”

You nod again and run your hands under the limited water you have.

“My favourite colour is Lavender, it's also my favourite smell and flower.”

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

You awake again, still strapped with the soft restraints but this time as you throw your head back to take in your surroundings you don’t hit rock or cement but a pillow.

A fucking pillow.

That's all it takes for a sob to rip through you and for you to finally register where you are.

It is a helicopter, now on the ground, with english signs above the door and american voices coming from the cockpit.

“Fuck-” you breathe out and then flinch as the voices become louder, a body coming towards you, bending to not hit their head on the roof.

“It's good to see you Doc!”

You look up at the young face of the soldier before you, he has freckles over his nose and a boyish look that you can’t help but smile at.

“Is this real?” your voice is crackly and exhausted from only three words.

“As real as it can be.” the young soldier promised, “We are heading to Germany for a quick check up with a doctor there and then hopefully by the end of the week we will have you back on American soil!”

Home.

To your sister.

To Jack.

You can’t stop the laugh that breaks through.

It's over.

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

“I was wrong about you.” you laugh as the afternoon finally settles.

You and Jack have been juggling patients for over three hours, what started out as a simple clinic day had ended with two amputations and one soldier heading home early without his spleen. 

So as you scrubbed out, you can’t help but enjoy the sight of Dr Abbott losing a fight with his mask, the knot not breaking against his strength and his fingers too exhausted to complete the simple action he finally just dragged it over his face, a crinkle forming between his brow.

“Really?”

“Yeah- I was awful when you joined, I’m sorry.”

You might be a bitch, taking after your oldest sister, but you knew when to admit when you were wrong and your first impression of the cocky doctor before you was very wrong.

He was still cocky, but he was smart, quick thinking and kind. So much kinder to all, you had forgotten what kindness was after your own two tours.

He was a breath of fresh air in the warm desert climate, and you couldn’t help but enjoy every moment with him.

“Do you want to get a drink?” 

You raise a brow.

“Did a new bar open up in downtown Nowheresville that I didn’t know about?”

“I have two warm American Cokes in my bag that I think have our names on.”

You laugh and he smiles, and god you want to see him smile more. It was like someone turned on a light after you had spent years in the dark.

You stop suddenly, your heart beating in your throat.

Oh.

Oh.

You have a crush!

Fuck!

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

“Physically other than dehydration, she’s fine. She has a few broken bones that have healed at angles that are not fantastic but as long as she is okay with not running some marathons in the next few months, I can’t see any reason for keeping her here.”

The heavily German accented doctor was talking to someone on the phone when you awoke, the soft restraints gone and now your hands are free and you're laying back down on a mattress, a hospital mattress that feels too soft against your exhausted body.

“Doctor-” 

“I have to go Doctor Walsh, your sister will be on the next plane out of here to Pittsburgh tonight.”

Your sister! You hold your hand out, trying to grab at the phone before the doctor hangs up but he turns away from you and leaves the room without a word or even a glance at your outstretched hand. 

Emery! You wanted to talk to her, to hear her voice. 

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

Jack kissed like he performed surgery, with a passion that had your knees buckling and your body falling into his.

He pulled her closer, and they fell backwards into the thankfully empty med tent.

The whole camp had cleared out earlier that day, except for  you two and a handful of soldiers who were too busy losing all their money to each other in poker to notice as you and Jack slipped away.

You two had been skirting around each other for months, stealing glances or touches like you had stepped out of one of your Victorian Mills and Boon novels. 

Tonight was meant to be a quiet night, where you would pack up your kits and be ready to leave the next morning, but after you beat Jack in poker and then made one or two meaner comments on his manhood, the tension between you both was tangible.

“Lets get some air.” he had growled into your ear, sending a cold shiver down your spine. 

You nod, not trusting your own voice at this point. 

“Do you have something you need to tell me?” He asked as soon as you were out of earshot of the others.

You only smirk, and push him lightly on the shoulder, the words you want to say are lost on your tongue as his eyes reflect the full moon above you.

You didn’t have the words to explain what you had to tell him, how do you tell someone that he walked into your life when you were at your lowest, when you were so disillusioned by the entire concept of life and while you were not looking for an escape you were also not looking for a saviour. How his incentent chatter during clinic hours, surgeries or even dinner had turned from irritating to a calming balm against your own demons. How he was your favourite reason to get out of your bunk every day.

You stare at him, and stop walking, stopping just before your tent door and grab the lapels of his shirt.

“I like you.” you admit, the words heavy between you and he just stares so long at you that your stomach drops and you let go, stepping away. 

He doesn’t think the same as you immediately think and you start to turn away, your face flushed with embarrassment before he grabs you, pulling you back to him.

“Thank god-” he breathed out, “I thought it was just me!”

The taste of him was like coming home, you moaned against his lips, unable to stop yourself.

The sound was Jack's undoing and his hands, now entwined in your hair, dug into your scalp and he pulled your head up slightly.

He was taller than you, so with this new angle you look up at him, and he bites gently at your lips.

Your hands don’t stop roving over his body, ripping away his jacket and undershirt, you are desperate for skin, to feel his warm soft skin against your calloused hands.

He kisses you again, his tongue fighting yours as you both burned for each other. Jack lets go of our hair and his hands now snake around your body, grabbing your ass and lifting you into the air. Your legs immediately wrap around his waist and you can't stop the moan as the friction of your pants tightening around your heat.

“Fuck- Jack.” you say against his ear as he kisses down your neck.

“That’s the plan, babe.”

“Ew! I hate babe!” you laugh as he nips at your collar bone.

He grounds into you, and you cling tighter as he moves you both to the cot, with one hand holding you in place he throws all his packing onto the dust covered floor.

You laugh as he tosses you onto the now empty bed and steps back, looking at you like you are prey and he is a hungry predator.

You were not a virgin, not even close, but you had never had anyone look at you like that. 

He moves slowly, his fingers trailing over your body as he unbuttons your simple uniform shirt, you help him shrug it off before he grasps your trouser button and rips it off. The moment is almost cinematic until you both realise you had forgotten to remove your boots.

Suddenly the magic of the moment is gone and you are both laughing as Jack struggles to remove them.

“Seriously! How do these even fit you!” he hisses as the boots refuse to move.

You push him out of the way before getting up to kick them off. Jack leans against a crate of boxes, his eyes tracking the movement as you dance around the tent trying to get the boots off.

“I should sell tickets to this show.” he muses out loud and you stop, cocking your brow and putting your hands on your hips. It would be a formidable look if you were not topless, with your trousers around your ankles with only one boot on.

“You want others to see me like this?” 

“God no!” he growled before pulling you to him, your lips colliding as he kissed away any further protest.

You both fall back into the cot, your body wrapped around each other as you grind against the length of him, still wrapped in army issued trousers you whine against the friction.

You needed him in that moment, in every moment, your body ached for more.

Your tongues tangle, and you could feel his heartbeat against yours, before he broke the kiss, causing another whine form your lips. You blush at how vocal you are with him, but he only smirks and nips at your bottom lip.

“I could listen to you all day.” he purred before shifting down the cot, his face now level with your crotch.    

As your eyes locked, he slid a finger into you, pumping it in and out agonisingly slowly as you pushed up into his touch.

More you begged, internally or externally you were not even sure any more as Jack took his time, laughing as you tried to take his finger deeper.

“Patience.” he purred again, this time his breath against your inner thigh, you flinched at the contact of cool air against your now vey sweaty skin, and he licked your leg, before returning to his minstations, adding another finger.

You rode his hand, grinding into him as he cursed your name, your mind scattering into oblivion as your body bowed off the cot as you succumbed to the climax screaming his name.

He didn’t stop to give you a moment, his tongue now joining his fingers he pulled you immediately into another earth shattering ending, your body now screaming for a release from the enjoyable torture.

“Gods-” you said as he finally let you go, your body already missing his attention as he crawled into the cot next to you, pulling you to his chest as you felt sleep overtaking you.

“You didn’t-” you tried to say, to argue that he didn’t get his own happy ending, but he just kissed your temple and told you to get some sleep.

“There is plenty of time for me." he promised.

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

The flight from Germany to America was somehow both long and short at the same time.

You were given a shot of something in your now always present IV bag that had you falling asleep before the young soldier who had now been with you for multiple days could even get your gurney wheeled onto the carrier. 

Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean you had awoken from your drug induced sleep with a start, screaming from a nightmare that you couldn’t quite remember as you tried to readjust to reality.

The young soldier, who once again told you his name and then you promptly forgot it again, had handed you an ipad with a newspaper app open.

“It might be good- to see what's been happening.” he said, his accent twanging on each vowel.

“Where are you from?” you asked, quietly, your voice still not really back.

“Arizona, Madame.” he said before turning back to the magazine he had been reading.

You smiled weakly, “I bought a house in Arizona with my husband,” the boy turned and looked at you, “It has a wrap-around porch and big windows that look out over the Tucson Mountains.”

“Did you love the sunsets? I miss the sunsets when I’m away.”

You sigh and look up at the roof of the plane, “I never got there, we bought it when we were shipped out. I was about two weeks away from going home when I was-” you can’t bring yourself to say the rest, “But I hope to see it soon.”

“I hope you see it too Madame.”

[imsojules]

Imagine surviving a zombie apocalypse with JJ

Hey y’all! So I had a dream a few weeks ago after binging The Walking Dead and The Last of Us, and it inspired me to get back to writing after a long time! While I’m working on the actual fic (I would like to make it into a series), I’d like to share with you some headcanon teaser-imagine-type thing. 1.2k

Any feedback is really appreciated!! ♥

TW for typical zombie apocalypse violence, established relationship, mentioned extreme violence/death, hurt/comfort, Pogue fem!reader, English is not my first language!

series masterlist

• The day they announced it as a pandemic, JJ rushed home and waited for his dad to come home; he never did.

• When everything went to hell, JJ was already running on instinct. He heard the news, saw the panic, and didn’t even stop to think. He found you in your driveway, confused and holding your phone like it still mattered. He didn’t even say hello, just grabbed your wrist and said, “We need to go. Now.”

• His voice was shaking. JJ Maybank does not scare easy — so when he looked at you like the world was ending, you believed him.

• John B hotwired a truck. Pope showed up with a first aid kit and four cans of soup. Kie had a machete and murder in her eyes. Sarah was already screaming at rich people to get off their yachts. And just like that, the Pogues became your apocalypse family.

• You’ve all got roles. Pope’s the tactician. John B’s the scout. Kiara’s the fixer. Sarah’s the backup. JJ’s the shield. You? You’re the glue. You’re the reason they haven’t splintered. You remind them there’s still something worth fighting for. Even if it’s just each other.

• JJ's survival strategy? Vibes and violence. He’s got no long-term plan, no route on the map, just a baseball bat, a stolen switchblade, and the promise he made to you: “I’m not leaving without you.”

• You’re in charge of rations, because JJ is not to be trusted around the food, and he’s not too proud to admit it.

• He deadass wants to go live in the mountains until all this has passed, and you’re like ?? “I’m not starving to death, Jay, forget it.”

• You constantly have to remind him he’s not Bear Grylls.

• He names his weapons. It’s dumb, but you let him have it. The bat is "Lucille 2," and the knife is “Karma.” You once caught him talking to them like they were teammates. “Nice work today, Karma. You really showed that corpse who’s boss.”

• You once found an abandoned community center with an old projector. Pope rigged it to work off a car battery. You all watched The Goonies while eating expired popcorn. It was the first time you saw JJ cry. He blamed it on “zombie dust.” No one called him out.

• Every new safehouse, he carves a tiny mark into the wall. A tally of the days survived. He never talks about it. You only saw it once—his name, yours, and a little plus sign between them.

• He taught you how to throw knives using an old road sign as a target. You beat him once. JJ claimed the wind was emotionally targeting him. “That was sabotage. Atmospheric betrayal.”

• Kiara taught you how to use a crossbow. JJ said it was hot. John B agreed. Sarah threatened to throw both of them into a walker pit if they kept being annoying. They shut up. (But JJ kept sneaking glances.)

• You kept a Polaroid JJ found—two strangers, smiling in some sunny-before-time. You call them "the ghosts." It’s silly, but sometimes you imagine they made it somewhere safe. That you will too.

• If there’s a tree in your path, you bet JJ’s going to fucking climb it. Passing an abandoned playground? Before you can blink, he’s on the jungle gym like “Look at me!!”

• He will insist he’s “scouting.”

• And it’s the little things that keep you sane.

• You both use humor to cope with the world.

• He can joke about the end of the world all day, but when you’re laughing, you’re reminding him that there’s still some piece of it left.

• You joked once about who’d be the first to die in a horror movie. “Definitely me,” he said without hesitation. “I’d trip saving you and get eaten with zero regrets. Classic heroic dumbass move. Five stars.”

• You started calling yourselves Team Cockroach—because no matter what came at you, you were still standing. JJ said it made you sound invincible. “Sexy little apocalypse cockroach power couple.”

• He made up a game called “Guess That Gunfire!” where you both guess what kind of weapon is being fired in the distance. Winner gets a protein bar. Loser has to cuddle him during night watch. You always lose. Mysteriously.

• You keep a small, battered notebook filled with sketches of places you’ve passed and letters you’ll never send.

• When things are quiet, the Pogues talk about what they miss most. Kie misses her garden. Pope misses his dad’s pancakes. Sarah misses showers. John B misses his freedom. JJ says he misses peace. You know he means it. He means you’re the closest he’s come to finding it again.

• At night watch, JJ exercises to stay awake. Like, you wake up in the middle of the night because you think you heard a zombie groan, but it’s just JJ doing sit-ups next to you.

• He senses you stirring and starts muttering, “Hundred and six, hundred and seven, hundred and—” but let’s be real, he only did like twelve.

• And you’re like, “How? Why? You’ve only had a can of tuna to eat in two days, where do you even get the energy??”

• “Gotta stay in shape if I’m gonna keep saving your clumsy ass.”

• JJ is the king of petty, spite-fueled motivation. “I’m not dying before I get to punch Rafe one more time.” “I didn’t live through the end of the world to starve to death. Not happening.” “I got bit by a duck, babe. A duck. I’m surviving out of spite.”

• He is terrified of losing you. Every time you two are apart, JJ is borderline homicidal.

• “I need to know you’re breathing. That you’re right there.” If he loses sight of you for more than ten seconds, it’s search mode activated. No one’s allowed to joke about it.

• There’s a comfort in knowing he’ll always fight for you. When the others doubt, when they hesitate, JJ’s always the one who steps up first, his fists clenched in a promise he’ll do whatever it takes to keep both of you alive.

• When you get to shower for the first time in a while, you suggest you just shower together and make the best of what little water you have.

• Imagine cuddling for comfort and warmth.

• Or patching him up after another close call.

• You once told him he was your home. He didn’t say anything, just looked at you like it physically hurt to love someone that much. That night, he held you like the world was ending all over again.

• You forget what day it is. Once, after spotting wildflowers sprouting through asphalt, you decided it was your anniversary. You didn’t know the real date, but you both agreed it felt like love.

• You have to be the responsible one, the decisive one, but in return, JJ will be your rock, your protector, steadfast and strong. Not even the weight of the world ending can faze him when he has you to worry about.

• When he says “I got you,” it’s never just words. It’s a promise. It’s a prayer. It’s a desperate, messy vow he’s never going to break—even if it kills him.

• After almost losing you once, he confesses that without you, he doesn’t have a reason to keep going. He survives to protect you.

• Never whines that he’s hungry or tired because he knows you are too, so whenever you ask if he’s alright, the answer is always going to be that he’s “okay if you are.”

• You once asked him what he’s fighting so hard for. He didn’t even blink. “You.” Then added, with a grin, “…and, like, definitely revenge on the duck.”

[dewberrydusk]

I luv ur writing it makes me throw up violently so therefore I request ajax angst because I HATE him :D

hi anon! thank you so much haha here you go <3

➷ pairing(s) : childe x gn!reader

➷ warning(s) : death, mentions of blood, this is angst no comfort

➷ author's notes : i was giggling when i was writing this

➷ word count : 1143

You had promised him you’d be here when he got back, the same way you always were—without fail, without question, no matter how late the hour or how blood-soaked his coat, no matter how many hours he’d spent buried in violence and war—you always waited, eyes soft, hands open, heart brave enough to love a man the world called monster.

You had always been his home.

And that was the first thing that struck Childe as wrong.

There was no warmth coming from inside the house—not even the faintest flicker of candlelight through the windowpanes, not the comforting glow that usually spilled across the curtains when you knew he was near, not the scent of your cooking or the low hum of your voice singing to fill the silence until he arrived, not the sound of bare feet hurrying toward the door just before it swung open—there was nothing.

Only quiet. Only cold.

And something distant, sharp, and metallic in the air that had his blood running colder with every step.

He paused at the threshold, gloved hand resting on the doorknob, a strange sort of stillness pressing down on his chest—like the house itself was holding its breath, like the walls knew what he didn’t.

���Darling?” he called, softly at first, almost teasing, his voice betraying nothing of the unease now beginning to spread through his gut like ink in water.

He pushed the door open, and it creaked—just barely—and the smell hit him.

Iron.

Heavy. Familiar. Wrong.

Childe froze in place. His eyes scanned the dim entryway, the kitchen beyond, the hallway that led toward the living room—everything looked… off. Not ruined. Not yet. But not right.

The second time he called your name, it was louder. More urgent.

Still no answer.

His feet moved before his mind did, boots slow but certain as he crossed the blood-warm silence of the room, tracking faint smears of red that had begun near the carpet and dragged inward—each step drawing him closer to something his heart already seemed to understand, even if his brain hadn’t caught up.

And then—

He turned the corner.

And saw you.

You were lying there on the floor, your body twisted at a strange angle that made something inside him scream even before his voice caught in his throat. There was so much blood—so much—it soaked the carpet, clung to your clothes, pooled beneath you and stained everything it touched. Your limbs were still, your chest unmoving, your eyes closed in a way that did not look like sleep but something far, far worse.

“No,” he said, but it wasn’t really a word. More of a breath. More of a pained cry.

He stumbled forward, knees hitting the floor with a thud, the pain not even registering as he gathered you into his arms, his hands shaking as they cupped your face—your cold, too-cold face—and brushed hair from your forehead like it would help, like it would undo what had already been done.

“Please,” he whispered, voice breaking, cracking, shattering into a thousand pieces. “Please, open your eyes. Say something—anything. Tell me I’m late again. Tell me I tracked blood in. Tell me this is just one of your cruel jokes—just wake up—wake up—wake up—”

But you didn’t.

You didn’t move.

You didn’t breathe.

You just lay there, heavy in his arms, silent and gone.

His tears fell before he could stop them, hot and fast, slipping down his cheeks and landing on yours, as if he could give you back some of the warmth you’d lost—if he just cried enough, maybe you’d feel it and come back.

The room blurred.

Everything slowed.

He held you tighter, as if holding you hard enough could undo the reality in front of him, as if pressing you against his chest might jumpstart your heart again, make it beat in time with his, the way it always had.

But the blood was already dry around the edges. Your skin had already gone cold. It had happened long before he got here.

And then he saw it.

A note—folded neatly—tucked between your fingers like a cruel gift, as if whoever had done this wanted him to find it, to read it while holding your broken body in his arms.

He reached for it with hands that didn’t feel like his anymore, fingers numb and stiff as he unfolded the paper.

The words were short. Simple.

“She was holding you back.”

A sentence that ripped through him worse than any blade ever could.

Beneath the note, lying beside your body, was something else—a gleam of silver catching the dim light.

A Fatui insignia. His insignia.

Not his specifically, no—but one of theirs. One of his own.

Someone he trained with. Fought with. Bled beside. Someone who knew him—who knew you. Someone who had to understand exactly what they were doing when they made the decision to come here, to enter this house, to raise their blade, and leave you like this.

Your death wasn’t a mistake. It was a message.

The paper trembled in his hands, and for a long moment, he couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think.

“She was holding you back.”

As if they had done him a favor.

As if you weren’t the only reason he still had anything worth fighting for, the only reason he still believed in something beyond blood and death and duty. You, who gave him softness when the world demanded cruelty. You, who taught him how to laugh again. You, who waited every time. Who never turned away.

His chest heaved. His mouth opened.

And the scream that tore from his throat was raw and feral and endless, shaking the house down to its bones. It wasn’t grief. It wasn’t even pain. It was something more. Something ancient. Something breaking. Like the last fragile thread of humanity inside him had just snapped.

He collapsed over your body, pressing his forehead to yours, his tears soaking your skin, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“You were everything.”

He sat there for hours. Days. Time didn’t move.

The sun fell and rose again, and he didn’t blink.

Eventually, with hands like stone, he placed the note into his coat pocket. He picked up the insignia and stared at it for a long, long time. Then he stood.

He didn’t look back.

There was no one left to come home to.

But there was someone out there who had taken you from him—and when he found them, they would beg for mercy. He wouldn’t give them that. He would laugh in their face, cold, emotionless.

And then he would make them pay.

With everything they had.

With everything he had left.

────•⋅⊰༻♥༺⊱⋅•────

@dewberrydusk 2025 | do not re-upload, copy, translate, etc. my works on any form of media.

[tmnt-l0v3rrr]

Punishments

Yan! Rottmnt x Reader Headcanons

Warnings!!

Kidnapping, loss of privacy, being watched, forced touch, unhealthy relationships, abuse, beatings, Obsession, shock collars, and overall yandere and unhealthy topics.

Raphael

Now, he really hates seeing you upset. But, part of him remembers that if you don't learn now you never will, he is an older brother after all.

His punishments aren't near the worst of the bunch. Raph's punishments are more inconvenient than anything, not being allowed to leave his room whatsoever, doing laps around the lair, are the minor ones, they do progress the worst of the action you do.

If you try to run away you lose all and any privacy you had. Zero time alone at all, it's suffocating.

It's time for you to shower? He's right outside the curtain the whole time, he isn't afraid to look in if he hears something out of the ordinary. Bathroom? He's looking away but you can even lose that. Changing? Unless it's undergarments his eyes aren't leaving you.

You aren't allowed to face the door when you two sleep, you're kept facing the wall cradled by Raph, he'll chain you to the bed if he has to.

In summary, privacy loss is one of his most used punishments. He'd never hit you, on purpose….

Leonardo

Now, he isn't super sure how to punish someone humanely… He just isn't sure on how else to get you to listen.

For the little things, like talking back or refusing to do a dumb activity with him, he can be cold or manipulative. He could spit something at you like “Really? All I want to do is love and spend time with you and all you ever do is ignore me or be ungrateful! All I want is to love you, let me love you, dear.”

He will also pinch you for small mistakes, like say you say something he doesn't exactly agree with, Leo will simply pinch, normally on the neck, it works, his pinches hurt like a bitch. Or he'll flick you, those also hurt.

He worries, alot, so if you try to run away?

He throws a fit, screaming, crying the whole ordeal. He will get to you, lock the door on his train car. Yell, so loud your ears ring. Screaming about how mad he is, how you should never do that and how dangerous it is.

In his fit of rage, it will likely get physical.

Maybe grabbing you by the collar… throwing you against the wall, screaming at you, he'll kick your legs and bash until they bleed and are bruised.

He didn't mean to, he is just too worried about you, he can't let you leave. No matter how much it hurts.

Donatello

By far he Is the worst, he knows what you did is wrong and won't feel bad, you did this to yourself. It was your choice.

Now, almost all of his punishments are with a shock collar he made, one like he made for Leo awhile ago, but it has different settings and is remote controlled. (He can also control it with his tech gauntlet) Based on what you do is how bad the shock will be, it is normally at a 2 for small mistakes. A quick zap is it.

Now, if you try to escape? That's where it gets bad. What were you thinking?

Once he finds you, you're in big trouble. The collar will go off, the highest setting. Over and over. You'll be lugged back to where you started being shocked and yelled at.

Like his blue coded brother, he isn't too sure how to be humane. Whatever he does, it's gonna leave a mark.

Mikey

He is somewhere along with Raph, he's more disappointed than anything when you mess up badly. He is rare to punish, he doesn't want to see you in pain or upset. It's just hard for him to see. It hurts.

For small mistakes he'll give you a small scolding and that's it. Nothing to scare you. He doesn't want to scare you anymore then he already has.

If you try to escape, he reminds himself that you're human, you're scared. Your world was torn apart by him. He had to be gentle.

He will take you back to the lair, tied up with his mystic chains, leaving no room to squirm. Along with his older brother, you'll lose privacy and with Mikey, you'll be treated like a helpless child.

You can't do anything alone or without help. It's truly embarrassing. You're not allowed to even brush your own hair. Pretty much everything is taken away from you. It sucks.

[futbolfatale]

Injury

Pairings: Leah Williamson x Reader, Katie McCabe x Reader, Kyra Conney-Cross x Reader

Tags: Broken Bones, Minor Angst, I think thats all

Summary: You convince your partners to come to the trampoline park only for there to be a "minor" injury.

WordCount: 1.0K

It’s taken months of constant nagging to get all of your partners to agree to go the the trampoline park together. You hadn’t been since your childhood but when one opened up down the street from you it was almost certain you would be going. “These waivers are intense.” Leah scrolls through the paragraphs of rules for her to sign. “But it will be so worth it just think of all the fun.” Leah rolls her eyes but signs the waiver. “Alright let's do this.”

“Come on Ky let's go” You snatch Kyra’s hand and the two of you race off towards the trampolines. There are rows and rows of square Trampolines. You jump onto the one closest to you and let out help as Kyra joins you. “Ky that’s against the rules. You're gonna get us kicked out already” You laugh as you too jump in Union. “They aren't even watching” Ky gestures to the teen who is supposed to be keeping an eye on you but instead has an earbud in and is mostly likely watching TikTok. “Hey, what do you suppose you're getting at? Follow the Rules” Leah gives you her signature captain glare and Kyra quickly moves to the trampoline next to you.

“Look they have a fucking rock wall we have to go and try” You jump off the trampoline and run to the wall but quickly slow to a jog after yet another warning look from Leah. “Katie I bet I can get across before you” You tease sticking your tongue out in a way that you know pisses her off.” you two have to go one at a time,” Leah calls after you. “Will you at least time us” You can’t help the annoyed look on your face she is kind of being a buzz kill. “Yes let me get it pulled up.” Leah smiles and god your heart melts a little. Maybe she isn't such a buzzkill after all. You press a kiss to her cheek before hurrying to the rock wall. “Do you want to go first” you question Katie. “I'll wait I want to find out what the time to beat is” She teases. “You ready” You nod in confirmation. “Ready, Set, Go”

The rest of your hour there passes in a blur of laughter and light scolding from Leah. “Five minutes then we need to get going so we can pick up our takeaway.” Leah reminds you. “Thai” you question as you head over to the question. “Yep, I going to go and order it now”. ‘Have I told you how much I love you?” you press a light kiss to her lips. “Not today”. You yep as Ky pulls you back to the square trampolines. “ Hurry we only have five minutes left”

Yet again Kyra is jumping on the same tramp as you but this time her logic is that Leah has gone to the waiting room to order your takeaway. It only takes one wrong-timed jump and suddenly you are lying on the ground clutching your ankle in pain. “Holy Shit are you okay” You can’t bring yourself to respond as a wave of pain washes over your body. You let out a scream as Ky kneels down next to you. “ We were gone for bloody two minutes what happened” Katie shouts the anger clear in her voice. It only stresses you out more and you let out another cry of pain. “Shitttt Leah is going to hang me” Katie pushes the hair from her face before kneeling on your other side and gently prying your ankle from where it was clutched in your hands. A whimper escapes you as she prays away the sock to show your already swollen ankle. “That's really bad” You cry out throwing yourself back into the ground. “ Girls What is going on” Leah shoots the urgency in her voice clear. “It's broken” Katie explains. “You two were fucking jumping together after I told you not to weren’t you.” Ky at least has the good sense to look sheepish.

“Okay, I will pull the car around Katie carry her outside gently. Kyra go get the last of our stuff and meet us at the car.” Leah orders before taking off. “Here Babe” Katie leans over scooping you up and effortly standing up. It’s so annoying how strong she is but good it's also so hot. “Do you think we can still pick up dinner?” You ask as Katie carries you out of the building. “I doubt Leah would go for that.”. “Do you think if I started crying more she would say yes” You question watching as Leah pulls up in front of the building. “You can try” Katie laughs

So there you are lying in a hospital bed eating thai food and about to get a cast on your ankle. Katie sits next to you on the bed playing some dumb YouTube video on her phone while Leah’s dragged Kyra out to the Hall to lecture her about rules or something.  You can’t help but giggle as the girl on her phone pushes herself down a flight of stairs in an attempt to make an at-home roller coaster. “Hello, they” The doctor startles the both of you so badly that Katie nearly falls off the bed. She lets out a muttered “Bloody hell” before standing up. “Good news it's a clean break and it should heal in the next couple of months as long as you stay off of it.” The doctor explains their eyes barely leaving their clipboard. “ How much longer till we can go,” Katie asks her annoyance quickly growing. “At least an hour possibly two depending on how long it takes to get the cast on. I have to get going know so many patients and all. If you have any questions feel free to ask the nurse.” they leave as quickly as they came.

Three hours later you sat in the car driving home. The air is so thick you could cut through it but you're too hopped up on pain meds to really care. “Soo… Can we get a milkshake on the way home?” You ask. “Are you sure that's a good idea? The doctor said you shouldn’t have milk for a couple of hours.” Leah reminds you from the front seat. “Fuck that doctor let's get milkshakes” Katie pipes up. “Ya milkshakes” Kyra shouts pumping her fist excitedly. Maybe the day wasn't a total disaster after all.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Blood Singer, Prologue

Pairing: Jasper Hale x human!reader (Blood Singer)

Warnings: injury, swearing, intent to kill, angst

Blood singer - Series Masterlist

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

Begging was never part of her plan.

If death were to come, she’d imagined she’d face it with her chin up, spine straight, a final breath drawn with dignity.

But she never imagined Death would have eyes like molten gold and a voice that melted into her skin like a curse.

Death, she realizes now, is beautiful. Terrifyingly so.

And he’s looking at her like he’s starving.

She stumbles back, heart trashing wildly in her chest seeking a way to break through and hide from the one who seeks to stop its beat. “Don’t,” she breathes, voice cracking.

“You smell so…” A sadistic smirk spreads across his face as he appears mere inches before her at an inconceivable speed. “…divine.” He’s close enough for her to breathe him in, and he smells like the forest in spring, just after it rains.

Her blood runs cold, chin trembling. “Please,” she croaks as he presses her into the wall. Her entire body is shaking, no sign of bravery she hoped she’d muster up, because there’s no avoiding it – she will die, alone and afraid in a dark alley…Such a cliché.

He laughs, low and wicked and she flinches as sharp needles trail across the soft skin of her neck, not kissing or biting. He’s taking his time, breathing her in like a man on the verge of ruin, as a shiver runs up her spine.

“I’ve never understood it before,” he murmurs, and the accent is subtle, southern silk laced with pain. He tilts his head, eyes glazed with hunger.

Her eyes fly open as his fingers gently tilt her chin. The contact sears like ice, but she can’t pull away.

“They spoke of the way it sings,” he whispers, voice trembling with dark wonder. “Of the mouthwatering smell.”

Her lips parts. “What are you?”

The words falter. She’s looking into his eyes, those golden, haunted eyes, and for a horrifying moment, she forgets to be afraid.

He’s beautiful.

Dangerous.

Deadly.

“You need to run,” he chokes out, suddenly, his jaw clenched. His body shudders like it’s tearing itself apart. “NOW.”

With a ragged gasp, he throws himself back, away from her, as if it physically hurts to let her go.

She doesn't wait for a second warning. She bolts. Heart screaming. Lungs burning. Blood singing.

If there’s anywhere she’ll be safe now, it’s next to Chief Swan. She’s almost there, just a few more minutes and she’ll be safe. She’ll have escaped certain death.

A small smile makes its way to her lips as she speeds up. She laughs breathlesly as her hand touches the police car, breathing heavily.

But the world spins.

A blur.

A hand like iron wraps around her waist, and she’s gone.

Crying out as her back hits something solid, she falls to the ground with a grunt. Heaving, she instinctively grabs onto the left side of her ribcage. Inhaling sharply, her eyes dart around the darkness surrounding her, realizing she’s in the forest, far from the safe haven she believed she’d reach in time.

“Owh,” she grimaces, trying to pull herself up.

Turning around, she finds she’s alone. She can’t trust it. Not when she’s seen Death moves faster than her, than anything human.

She’s not alone.

She never was.

“I know you’re there,” she rasps. “Show yourself.”

He does.

Perched on a rock beneath the twisted branches, pale and perfect and fractured by guilt, he watches her. His chest rises and falls, though she knows he doesn’t need to breathe.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m trying so hard to control it, but this is…a test I’m not sure I can pass.”

Frowning, she licks her trembling bottom lip. “I don’t understand,” she huffs. The pain in her ribs is blinding, but she forces herself to stand despite the agony. “It’s not too late to walk away. I didn’t see your face properly. You can still make the right choice.”

He chuckles, a sound so otherworldly, she can’t help but wonder what this creature is. He’s certainly not human and if he were Death he’d have taken her by now.

“You did,” he says softly. “You just don’t know what you saw.”

He stands, stalking forward like a panther, every movement measured, unnatural. She backs up instinctively, but it’s useless, he reaches her in an instant, fingers ghosting over her cheek with an intimacy that ignites something she never felt before.

“You’re a drug and I’m not sure I want to resist.”

Daring to touch him, her fingers graze his icy cold jaw and she holds her breath. His hair is longer, wavy and almost down to his shoulders. It seems as golden as his eyes do, glowing faintly in the moonlight. He’s towering over her, his smile is hypnotizing. She had the good sense to run before, yet she’s studying him now.

“What are you?” she whispers

“I’m someone you never want to know. Someone you shouldn’t love.”

She blinks. Love?

Nodding, she reaches out again, cupping his cheek as he’s done to her. His skin isn’t only cold, but impossibly hard – alike stone.

“Are you going to kill me?”

“I,” He falters, eyes flickering with pain. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t I deserve to know the truth about you, then? If I’m to die…Bury me with the truth.”

Silence. And then he speaks.

“Ever heard of vampires?”

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. “You’re going to drain me dry? Is that it?”

He flinches, and it almost looks like shame. “It’s not that simple,” he sighs. “You blood…it sings to me. It’s like you were made for me. Like the song it sings is written for me alone”

“What?”

“I haven’t fed on humans in a long time,” he admits, “but you’re incredibly hard to resist.”

“Me specifically?”

“Yes,” he says through gritted teeth, his lips inching closer to her face and she struggles to maintain her composure.

“What makes me different from others?”

“I don’t know. No one does,” his nose brushes hers and he seems to be holding his breath as well. “Fate, some would say.” He forces a smile, “Bad luck, I’d say.”

Her heart aches with the knowledge that this kiss might be the last thing she ever feels, and yet she craves it. She’d choose it to be her end.

Before his lips touch upon hers, he’s gone.

She barely has time to scream before golden eyes flash in the dark. “Are you hurt?”

Instead of answering, she looks around wildly for traces of the vampire who nearly gave her the kiss of death.

“ARE YOU HURT?!” It’s a girl’s voice repeating the question.

“Yes,” she gasps, “my ribs.”

“Fuck,” the girl turns to someone Y/N can’t properly see in the dark. “She’s going to need Carlisle.”

“We can’t,” the male answers grimly.

“She already knows.”

“I don’t! What do I know?!” Y/N shrieks, panic taking over. And yet… she wasn’t scared before. Not like this. Not when he held her, so close she could feel his restraint bleeding through his every breath.

Now she feels truly hunted.

“We’ll help you, but once we do you will leave and never looks for us. Understand?”

She frowns, “You’re like him.”

Her words are ignored. “We will take you to the hospital, but once you’re cleared you will leave this town and never look back.”

“I live here!” she snaps.

The girl remarks coldly, “Not anymore.”

Shaking her head, Y/N bites her lower lip. “I know you.”

“You don’t.” The girls begins to lead her away from the scene of the crime.

“I know you,” Y/N grits out. “Chief Swan’s daughter. You married the Cullen boy.”

Tightening her hold on Y/N’s wrist, she pulls her closer and lowers her voice. “You will forget all of this and leave. You finished college, right? You went to Columbia, from what I remember. Go back to New York and stay there. Never come here again and if you hear of the name Cullen, run as far as you can.”

Trying to yank her wrist out of Bella’s hold, the grip on her wrist tightens, then cracks.

Agony explodes.

She collapses, but she feels it again. That presence. His presence. Like calm slipping into her bones.

She knows he’s here before she even sees him.

In seconds, the familiar calm settles in her chest and she knows…He’s here and he is the reason she wasn’t afraid before.

Her vision is blurry, the aftermath of pain in her wrist as well as in her ribs, but she’s certain he’s there.

Two men hold him back, Edward and Emmett, but his eyes burn only for her.

“I remember now,” she whispers, almost laughing through the pain. “Edward,” her eyes flicker to the other man, “Emmett,” before her gaze finds him. “And Jasper.”

“I’m sorry it’s come to this,” Jasper breathes. “If I had better control, if I were stronger… we could’ve been what Alice said we’d be. But now…” his voice cracks. “I don’t trust myself to stop.”

Alice steps forward, her eyes shimmering like starlight. “The future is set,” she reminds him. “For you both. It doesn’t change, even with this choice.”

Shrugging meekly, his eyes never leave Y/N. “Do it,” Jasper says, voice heavy with sorrow, and her eyes narrow in confusion. “Now.”

Edward nods, letting Alice take his place. Moving toward Y/N, Edward kneels. “I haven’t done this much,” he sighs. “I’ve only recently realized I can do it at all.”

“What?” She tries to peer over his shoulder to see Jasper better, but Edward blocks her view immediately.

“I can make you forget.”

“No.” Her voice is weak, desperate.

“You’ll forget any of this happened.”

No.

“I’ll forget any of this happened.” She repeats, unable to fight the alluring tone he’s commanding her with.

“You fell,” he whispers. “That is how you’ve injured yourself.”

Lies.

“I fell,” she repeats blankly.

“When you feel well, you will leave Forks.”

Stop this!

“I will leave Forks.”

Sighing contently, Edward exchanges a look with Bella before adding one more command. “Now sleep.”

The world fades. But before everything disappears, she hears it, soft, aching, and full of things left unsaid:

“May we never cross paths again, my beautiful Siren.”

And then darkness swallows her whole.

PART 1

[bettelaboure]

⊹Devil's night⊹ Choi Seung-Hyun

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

⊹ Pairing: Choi Seung-Hyun x Reader

⊹ Summary: In the neon-lit underbelly of Seoul, a world-famous musician reunites with his underground racer best friend on Devil’s Night, where the thrill of speed collides with years of buried tension. As the night escalates into a fever pitch of desire and vulnerability, their bond is tested in the fire of lust, memory, and unspoken longing

⊹ Warnings: sexual content, rough sex, dirty talk, emotional vulnerability, power dynamics, intense language, public sexual acts (implied)

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

You hear his voice before you see him.

"You're really gonna race tonight?"

That deep, husky sound that still curls around your spine like a velvet rope. Seung-Hyun, in all his post-tour, post-fame glory, leans against your garage wall like he owns the place. He doesn't. But then again, you never stopped him from acting like he did.

You arch a brow without looking up from the wrench in your hand. "It's Devil's Night. Of course I am."

He steps forward, slow, unhurried, like he’s got nowhere else to be. And when he's around you, that’s the truth. He crouches beside you, close enough that you catch the faintest trace of his cologne—something expensive, smoky, warm. Unmistakably him.

"Let me ride shotgun."

You pause. That gives you a beat. He’s never asked before. Never seen you race, not in the flesh. And certainly not from the passenger seat.

Your lips curve. "You sure you can handle it, Superstar?"

His smirk is sharp, almost cruel. It sends heat straight to your stomach. "Sweetheart, I can handle a lot more than your little car."

Before the engines, before the spotlight, before either of you knew how to be reckless with your futures, there was a streetlamp and a cracked sidewalk in a forgotten corner of Seoul.

You were twelve, maybe thirteen, knees scraped from trying to drift a rusted-out bike, furious with the world and even more furious with yourself for crying when you fell. He found you like that—teeth clenched, fists balled, refusing to let the tears win. He didn’t say anything at first. Just sat beside you and offered a Chupa Chups lollipop with the kind of nonchalance only kids like you could master.

You took it. Eventually.

That was the first night you shared silence like a secret.

He was the quiet one in the apartment above yours, always humming to himself, head nodding to beats only he could hear. You were the storm beneath him—loud, fast, fire in your veins. He watched you tear up the alley on anything with wheels, and you listened to the deep, mellow rhythm of his voice when he sang behind closed doors.

You grew up parallel, orbiting the same concrete and broken neon. When his group got signed, you celebrated with stolen soju and a rooftop dance at 2 a.m., him spinning you until you laughed and almost forgot he was leaving.

"Don’t change," you told him, breathless, hair tangled from wind and stars. "Not for them."

"Only if you promise not to slow down," he said. "Not for anyone."

And neither of you did.

Years passed. He rose. You dove.

But every time he came back, no matter how long he’d been gone, he ended up on your doorstep. Like clockwork. Like gravity.

Because you weren’t just the girl from the alley.

You were the reminder. Of who he was before the screaming fans and flashing lights. Of what it felt like to breathe without a camera watching.

And he? He was the only one who ever saw through the speed and fury—to the ache beneath.

The air at the starting line is thick with tension and smoke, as if the entire block is holding its breath. Seoul’s underworld gathers like shadows come alive—faces partially masked, voices low and excited, a hundred stories written in leather, chrome, and adrenaline. Neon lights pulse from shop signs and parked bikes, throwing jagged colors across the street like stained glass in a cathedral of speed.

Engines snarl. Tires growl against concrete. Music pounds from subwoofers in nearby trunks—dark, pulsing beats that thrum in your veins. You roll your neck once, cracking it loose, then slide into your custom-tuned machine—a midnight-black muscle built for sin. The moment you fire the ignition, it growls like a caged beast, vibrating through your bones.

Seung-Hyun slips into the seat beside you. The car is tight, claustrophobic by design, all heat and metal and proximity. His thigh presses into yours. You don’t move. Neither does he.

"This thing is a monster," he murmurs, gaze sweeping over the custom gauges, the carbon fiber, the worn steering wheel. He smirks. "She built like you—dangerous and a mystery."

You glance at him, tongue dragging slowly across your bottom lip. "Buckle up."

He does, eyes still locked on you.

Tires screech ahead as a car burns rubber, the scent of it mixing with gasoline and sweat. You rev your engine in response. It roars. The crowd stirs. Phones lift. A chant rises from the back of the mob—your name, followed by a rumble of wild anticipation.

A girl in leather shorts and fishnets saunters into the middle of the road, arm raised. The racers go still. All sound narrows. Your heart, your machine, the beat in your chest—they sync.

One finger.

Two.

Three—

GO.

Your car leaps forward like it’s possessed. The back tires fishtail for half a heartbeat, smoke coiling behind you like dragon’s breath before you grip and bolt. Seung-Hyun jerks back in his seat, a breathless laugh leaving his lips, but you’re already gone—mind locked, senses sharpened to a needle’s point.

The world blurs into colors and motion. Neon streaks past your windows like a dream unraveling. The wind howls, the engine howls louder. Every shift of the gear is muscle memory, every turn a dance.

You downshift and take a brutal curve, kissing the edge of a stone wall close enough to peel off paint. Sparks fly. Your focus never wavers.

Seung-Hyun curses beside you, not in fear—but awe. "Holy shit. You drive like the world owes you something."

"It does," you growl, glancing at the red car gaining beside you. "And I’m collecting."

The red Nissan roars up on your right, trying to box you in before the roundabout. You play chicken with him, feinting toward the inner lane, then drop a gear and swerve hard into a back alley barely wider than your car. You know this street like you know his voice in a crowd—intimately.

The alley is a blur of graffiti, forgotten trash bins, and narrow clearance. Your mirrors skim walls. You slide through the chaos with inches to spare. Then you’re back out—like a bullet tearing through the night.

You beat him to the final stretch by a heartbeat.

Seung-Hyun's eyes are wild now, hair tousled, breathing like he just finished a concert. "Shit, shit, shit. You’re insane."

You smirk. "You knew that when you climbed in."

The finish line looms ahead, lit by red flares. You shoot across it with a triumphant scream of tires, smoke curling around you like victory’s kiss.

Chaos erupts behind you—cheers, curses, money exchanging hands.

But all you hear is the sound of your pulse still racing—and his.

But tonight, it’s not the race that has your pulse jackhammering in your throat—it’s him. Seung-Hyun sits beside you, skin practically humming with the same charged adrenaline that’s still burning in your bloodstream. The city glows around you, ghost-like and endless, but it’s the weight of his stare that holds you hostage.

His voice is a rasp of dark silk. "Now show me how you drive when no one's watching. When it’s just you, the night, and whatever demons keep you hungry."

You cut him a look, lips parted in a crooked smile. "You ready to meet them?"

"Sweetheart," he murmurs, dragging the word slow and sinful, "I came back just to watch them play."

Your foot slams down. The car launches forward, tires crying against the pavement. Wind tears through your hair as the skyline smears into streaks of silver and neon. You drive like a storm, reckless and raw, veins alight with pure heat.

Seung-Hyun doesn’t flinch. Instead, he leans in—voice low, dangerous. "Faster. I want to see how wild you get when you think no one's judging."

"You asking or begging?"

His smirk is feral. "Begging comes later. Right now, I’m commanding."

You laugh—sharp, breathless—just as his hand slides over your thigh, warm and sure. He knows exactly where to touch, and how. You nearly lose control.

"Eyes on the road," he growls. "You’re not allowed to fall apart yet. Not until I say."

His fingers slip beneath the edge of your skirt, dragging slowly, purposefully, up—until they find heat. He exhales a curse.

"Already wet for me. Of course you are."

You grit your teeth, white-knuckling the wheel. "Keep talking like that and I’ll crash us both."

"Not a crash," he murmurs, voice thick. "A climax."

His fingers dip between your thighs, confident and commanding. He strokes slow at first—circles, teasing pressure that makes your hips twitch—before pressing harder, deeper, drawing soft, broken sounds from your lips. You’re gripping the wheel like it's the only thing keeping you tethered to the physical world, trying not to crash straight into neon blur and wicked temptation.

He doesn’t let up. If anything, he doubles down, mouth at your ear, breath hot. "That’s it. Just like that. You feel how soaked you are for me? Can’t even pretend you’re in control anymore."

Your body jerks as he curls his fingers inside you. You swerve hard left—too hard—tires shrieking, the car skidding with delicious violence. He chuckles low in his chest, cocky and dark.

"You like playing with danger, baby? Or is it just me that gets you like this?"

Every nerve in your body is a live wire. You’re gasping now, cheeks flushed, pulse everywhere at once. The city lights blur around you like heat haze, but the only thing you can feel is him—his fingers, his breath, the smirk pressed against your jaw as he works you mercilessly with his hand.

You bite down on your bottom lip to stop yourself from moaning. Fail.

"Don’t hold back. I want to hear you. Scream for me while you’re doing eighty through Seoul. Come for me with the whole world watching and no one knowing how filthy you really are."

Your hips rise, stutter. You're falling apart, melting right into the seat as the pressure bursts, white-hot and consuming. And through it all—you’re still driving, teeth bared like a feral thing, high on speed and ruin.

"You’re driving like a goddamn maniac," he says, lips against your ear now. "And I love it. But I want you to come while you’re flying through these streets—prove you’re still the baddest thing in this city."

You try to focus. Try to breathe. But his fingers don’t stop, and neither does his voice.

"Let go for me, baby. Show me how wild you get when you can't hold back."

You do.

With a guttural sound torn from your chest, your hips jerk, the world tipping sideways. Your body shakes against the seat, and still—you drive, barely holding it together as ecstasy crashes through you like fire through gasoline.

Seung-Hyun watches, eyes blown wide, lips parted like he wants to devour you.

He pulls his fingers back slowly, deliberately, then slides them between his lips, tasting you with a groan.

"Fuck. You taste like danger."

You’re panting, knuckles white on the wheel.

"Told you," he says with that smug, ruined smirk. "I could handle it."

You glance at him, voice hoarse. "And what if I’m not done yet?"

His smile is all hunger. "Then don’t stop, baby. The night’s still ours."

You don’t stop driving till the sky starts bleeding into dawn.

You park on a secluded overlook above the city, where the skyline glows like scattered embers beneath the early light. The engine ticks as it cools, the only sound now the wind whispering past the car and the sharpness of your still-unsteady breathing. You stare straight ahead, hands still gripping the wheel, heart refusing to calm down.

Seung-Hyun watches you in silence, like you’re the aftermath of a wreck he never wants to walk away from.

He finally speaks—low, intimate, dangerous. "You always did like playing with fire. But damn… you just set the city on fire with me inside it."

You slowly release the steering wheel and turn to face him. Your legs are still shaking, body hot and buzzing, and your voice is husky when you reply, "Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy every second."

He leans in, closing the last few inches between you, fingers brushing your jaw. "Oh, I did. I still am. But it’s not enough."

"What more do you want, Seung-Hyun?" you ask, defiant but breathless.

He brushes his lips just barely over yours, not kissing—just tasting your anticipation. "Everything. All of it. The speed. The fury. The way you come undone and try to pretend it didn’t ruin you. I want to see you break again. This time, slow."

Your breath catches, your lips part, and this time, you don’t hesitate. You kiss him like the road’s still racing beneath you—hard, hungry, a crash you both welcome.

And Seoul keeps sleeping beneath you, unaware the city’s most dangerous pair just ignited again—high above, in the heat and shadows of the coming morning.

But the fire between your legs, and the storm he lit inside you? That still burns under your skin.

By the time you reach your apartment, the sun’s just brushing the city’s edges with gold. The streets are quiet, Seoul still half-asleep, but your blood is awake—thrumming with aftershocks.

You unlock the door and let it creak open. Seung-Hyun follows you in without asking, without hesitation, his eyes raking over the space like he’s been here in dreams but forgot how real it feels. The scent of oil, leather, and something sweet clings to the air—burnt coffee, maybe. Old engine grease. You.

He closes the door behind him with a soft click. And just like that, the tension coils again—hotter in this silence than it was under the roar of your engine.

You toss your keys on the counter and kick off your boots. His gaze follows every movement, like he's cataloging them. Memorizing.

"This is where you hide?" he murmurs, voice lower now, raspier.

"This is where I breathe," you reply, peeling off your jacket, revealing skin still flushed from the night. "Where I remember I'm not always a weapon."

He steps closer, deliberate, his hands finding your hips like they belong there. "You’re still a weapon. Just… sheathed."

You smirk. "Not for long, if you keep touching me like that."

His eyes burn into yours. "That’s the idea."

Then he kisses you again. Not like in the car—not rushed, not desperate. This is slower, deeper. All tongue and teeth and tension melting into want. His fingers find your spine, pulling you against him until there’s no space left to breathe. Until you forget what silence even feels like.

Clothes peel away between kisses—wet, heated, hungry kisses that drag over skin like they’ve both been waiting years to happen. His jacket hits the floor with a heavy thud. Yours slides down your arms as his hands roam beneath it, rough palms mapping the curve of your waist. Your back finds the wall, and then the hallway, and then he’s walking you backward toward your bedroom like he's reclaiming territory.

When your shoulder hits the doorframe, he pauses, breath heavy, lips swollen. His eyes rake down your half-naked form with a slow hunger.

"You look at me like I’m the danger," he rasps.

You grin, breathless. "You are. But I’m worse."

His chuckle is dark, primal. "Prove it."

You push him, hard. He stumbles back just enough for you to grab his shirt and drag him over the threshold. The door kicks shut behind him. You press him against it, straddling him the moment his back hits the wood. His hands grip your ass like he's starving.

"You want it rough?" he growls.

"I want it real."

He flips you effortlessly, caging you between his body and the door now, one thigh slipping between yours as his mouth finds your neck—biting, sucking, claiming. You moan shamelessly, grinding against him, your nails digging into his shoulders through the thin fabric of his shirt.

"Fuck, I missed this mouth," he mutters, dragging his thumb across your bottom lip before replacing it with his tongue. "Always so smart until I fuck the words out of you."

You tug his belt open, smirking into the kiss. "Then shut up and do it."

The rest of your clothes hit the floor in a trail of want. He lays you back on the bed like he’s worshipping a sin he’s about to commit. His fingers trace your ribs, your hips, before sliding down and finding you again.

"Still dripping," he murmurs. "You stayed wet for me this whole time, didn’t you?"

"Maybe I just wanted to feel you ruin me twice in one night."

His groan is guttural.

And when he finally slides inside—slow, thick, stretching you with unbearable heat—you gasp his name like it’s the only thing you’ve ever prayed to. He moves hard, deep, every thrust designed to make you remember just how dangerous he really is.

"You feel that? That’s mine now," he growls against your ear. "You take me like you were made for it."

Your body arches beneath him. "Then fucking claim it."

He does.

His hips slam into yours with relentless rhythm, each thrust angled just right, designed to split you open in the best way possible. His grip on your thighs is bruising, possessive—like he's trying to carve his name into your skin with every movement. The headboard thuds against the wall in time with his pace, sharp and constant, but you barely hear it over the ragged, broken sounds you're both making.

"Look at you," he grits out, sweat dripping from his temple as he leans over you, one hand pressed to the mattress beside your head, the other sliding down your body. "Taking me like you’ve been starving for it. Like you can’t breathe unless I’m inside you."

You gasp, legs locking around his waist, dragging him deeper. "You think you ruined me? Baby, I’ve been wrecked since you walked into that garage."

He growls—low, possessive—and slaps your thigh before gripping it tighter, angling your hips upward. You cry out, the pleasure sharp and devastating. He doesn't let you recover, doesn’t give you a second of mercy. His cock hits a spot inside you that makes you keen, your nails clawing down his back.

"Say it," he hisses. "Say who owns this pussy."

"You," you moan, desperate. "Fuck—it's yours. You own it."

He bites your shoulder, not hard enough to break skin, but enough to claim. "Damn right I do. And I’m not done yet."

He pulls out almost all the way, slow and torturous, then slams back in so hard the bed shakes. You scream—pure pleasure—and his hand covers your mouth, muffling you as he thrusts harder, faster, deeper.

"Too loud, baby," he whispers hot against your cheek. "Wouldn’t want the whole building to know how wrecked I’ve got you. Or maybe you’d like that. You want them to hear how dirty you sound when I fuck you like this?"

Your eyes roll back, body arching. He feels you tighten around him, feels your climax building again.

"That’s it. Cum for me. Messy and loud. Let me feel it. Let me hear how good I make you feel."

You shatter. Harder than before. Your entire body convulses under him, back bowing, mouth open in a silent cry that breaks into gasping moans as he fucks you through it.

He curses, low and feral, losing rhythm for a heartbeat as your walls pulse around him. He grabs your hips, holding you in place as he chases his own release, each thrust growing sloppier, needier, more desperate.

Then he spills into you with a growl, head dropping to your neck, body shaking with the force of it.

You lie there, tangled and sweat-slick, your chests heaving together like you’ve run miles. He doesn’t pull out right away—just stays there, buried deep, breathing you in.

"Still think you’re worse than me?" he murmurs, lips brushing your collarbone.

You smirk, voice hoarse. "No. I know I am."

He laughs, soft and low, before rolling to the side and dragging you with him.

Neither of you say anything else. You don’t need to.

The way he holds you afterward says it all.

The silence that follows isn’t empty—it’s full. Full of everything you never said, every night he was away, every second you spent pretending he didn’t haunt your bones. He brushes your damp hair from your face, gently now, his fingers trembling just slightly as if the calm is harder to survive than the chaos.

You exhale slowly, your cheek resting on his chest. "You leave tomorrow, don’t you?"

There’s a beat. And another.

Then, quietly, "Yeah."

It shouldn’t sting. But it does. You nod, tracing lazy circles over his ribs, grounding yourself in the heat of his skin. "You always come back."

"Because you’re here. And you never make me ask for forgiveness."

You pull back enough to meet his eyes—dark, tired, open in a way few people ever get to see. "Do you want it? Forgiveness?"

He’s quiet again, then presses his forehead to yours. "I want you. In whatever fucked up, impossible way this keeps working. I want the part of me that only shows up in this room. With you."

Your throat tightens. You swallow it down. "It’s not perfect."

"No," he murmurs, kissing your eyelid. "It’s better. It’s real."

Your fingers drift up his chest, curl into the chain around his neck. You hold it. Hold him. "Don’t make me miss you longer than I have to."

His arm wraps tighter around you. "Then don’t let go."

And for that moment—messy, breathless, vulnerable—you don’t.

Taglist: @redhoodedtoad @mirahyun @sherrayyyyy @sherxoo @dilfismz @breakmeoff @janie-osuih @forevervibezzzz1 @kuinnoa @juliskopf @maskedcrawford @szonyix6277

[stlllle]

Chishiya Shuntaro – NSFW Alphabet

Note:I hate him… but I also love him…

Masterlist –[link]

Masterlist alice in bordeland

---

A = Aftercare

Cold? Yes.

Caring? Also yes.

This man will grab a warm towel, clean you up without saying a word, throw one of his oversized shirts at you like it’s a charity project, and then pull you to his chest like "ugh… fine… stay here."

Will call you an idiot for overdoing it… while running his fingers through your hair like you’re made of glass.

---

B = Body part

Your mouth.

Your voice. Your smile. Your kisses.

Especially when you argue with him while being out of breath.

He lives for that.

---

C = Cum

Possessive. Disgustingly possessive.

Inside, preferably.

But he also loves seeing you messy…

So don’t be surprised if he finishes on your face or stomach just to admire his “work”.

---

D = Dirty secret

He has jerked off thinking about you crying for him.

Yeah… that one time you fought and got emotional?

He used that memory.

Rotten to the core.

---

E = Experience

Very experienced.

Not a big body count… but when he does it…

He does it RIGHT.

Technical. Calculated. Perfect even in bed. (Ugh… of course.)

---

F = Favourite position

Missionary with your legs over his shoulders.

Because he loves seeing your face, your tears, your struggle to breathe.

If he’s feeling mean?

Bent over, with your face in the pillow while he ruins you.

---

G = Goofy

LOL… no.

Maybe a sarcastic smirk…

And dirty, degrading little comments like:

"I thought you could take more than that…"

---

G = Goal

To make you addicted.

Simple. Clear. Cruel.

He wants you trembling at just the thought of him.

---

H = Hair

Silky. Always smells good. Always perfect… until you ruin it.

Down there? Trimmed.

He’s too much of a clean freak for anything else.

---

I = Intimacy

Pretends he’s not romantic…

But the way he looks at you?

Like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

Especially when he’s buried deep inside you, breathing heavy, hands shaking just a little.

---

J = Jack off

Yes. A lot.

Especially after arguments…

Or when you’re ignoring him on purpose.

Lying in bed, shirt pushed up, hand between his legs…

And thinking about the way you moan for him.

---

K = Kink

Degradation kink.

Loves seeing you break.

Teasing you until you cry (from pleasure, of course).

Control kink too…

Pinning you against walls… making you beg…

Yeah.

---

L = Location

Anywhere risky enough to make you bite your fingers to stay quiet.

Hallways. Public bathrooms. His car.

But… his bed is his throne.

Because nothing beats seeing you sprawled out on his sheets.

---

M = Motivation

Your voice.

Your needy eyes.

The way you bite your lip when you’re nervous.

Basically… everything you do that screams you’re his.

---

N = No

Fake drama.

Fake moans.

And above all: you trying to emotionally manipulate him.

He can read you like a damn book… so don’t even try.

---

O = Oral sex

King of oral.

Soft teasing kisses first… then absolutely devouring you until you scream.

Receiving?

He’ll hold your hair, watch you from above, smirk…

And won’t let you stop until he’s fully satisfied.

---

P = Pace

Starts slow… maddeningly slow…

Then goes rough and fast enough to leave bruises.

Switches between worshipping and destroying you.

Mental illness behavior? Yes.

---

Q = Quickie

Loves them.

Especially in risky places.

Corner of a hallway, during an event, bathroom at a party…

The more dangerous… the better.

---

R = Risk

This man thrives on emotional adrenaline.

Public sex? ✔️

Surprise you mid-conversation? ✔️

Playing with the risk of getting caught? ✔️✔️✔️

---

S = Stamina

HE CAN GO FOR HOURS.

At least 3 rounds, no problem.

And even when he’s spent…

He’ll tease you into wanting more.

---

T = Toys

Yup.

Small vibrators, plugs…

Maybe even handcuffs.

But only when you’re in the right mood.

---

U = Unfair

He lives to tease you.

Will start something and then leave you hanging.

Neck kisses, hands wandering down…

Then… stopping.

And smirking.

---

V = Volume

Low… but filthy.

Raspy moans, heavy breathing, and whispered filth like:

"Look at the state you’re in… just for me…"

---

W = Wildcard

He once jerked off in front of the mirror…

Imagining you on your knees behind him.

And if you find out?

He’ll just laugh and say:

"So… what are you gonna do about it?"

---

X = X-ray

Lean but long.

With a noticeable vein running along the shaft.

Slight curve…

Perfect for hitting all the right spots. (Suffering.)

---

Y = Yearning

Acts like he doesn’t want you…

But inside?

Desperate.

If you go missing for a few days?

He’ll crave you like an addict off withdrawal.

---

Z = Zzz

Afterwards?

Pulls you close from behind…

Plays with your hair until you fall asleep…

While he stays awake…

Thinking about how you’re his.