#They're hard to get before they get all blood stained

[deunmiu-dessie]

(unedited)³ retired simon has nowhere to go, so you offer. { his pov } [ one, two, three]

she’s like a breath of fresh air. bright and cold. a gust so frigid that it sends goosebumps to shroud his skin. like the first fall of snow. was it december now? how long has it been since he’d left? how long has he wandered? adrift like a buoy at sea. but strangely stuck, straying in place. like some sort of ghost. trapped and terrified.

he thinks she’s naive. strange, even. like a child left outside without supervision. prone to being up to no good. she’s insistent in her little fiat car. her hands are covered in a pair of creme wool gloves. and when he looks close enough he notices that they’re fraying at the seam. worn. loved.

she says her name. it’s pretty, her name. it fits. she’s expectant, waiting for him to speak. give her something, anything he’s sure. she seems like a good girl. too good, too much for him, not enough for her. he hardly even knew her. but she wants to know you. she’s being nice. nothing more. simon. that’s what he tells her and it rolls off her tongue faultlessly. “well, we’re not strangers anymore, simon.” is what she says. he finds her amusing.

it’s her eyes. that’s what makes him slide into the passenger seat. they're wide. warm. nervous— despite her being the one to offer him a ride. it’s endearing, if not a bit entertaining. and the cold has already frozen his body. he can hardly feel his feet. but he deserves this. this life that he’s been subjected to.

she’s an anxious thing. her gloved hands drum lightly against the steering wheel. she’s shit at making small talk. and from the reflection of the car window, he can see the way she works her bottom lip into her mouth. he’s tempted to thumb it from within the wet heat. he doesn't.

“could be a killer.” she smiles. her eyes brighten. it’s small but he finds himself forgetting to breathe. in and out. in and out. she smells temptingly like honey and spices, all tangy and sweet. fuck. he holds his breath. “are you?” he doesn't respond. after all the killing. the blood that stains his hands. his skin. won't come off no matter how hard he scrubs. he’s a murderer. yes, i am. she’s too trusting. he wouldn't hurt her. never.

small. is how he would describe the apartment. small but homey. filled with greenery, color, and a tiny christmas tree. it’s tucked away. surrounded by lights at its base. it smells like chocolate, milk to be specific. but her as well. honeyed spices and dried fruits, tangy and sweet. the radio that he hears plays quietly. silent night in instrumental. his heart tightens in his chest.

he’s not sure how he ended up here. surrounded by her four walls. she suggests sweetly. eyes wide and sad at his destination. he declines. she isn't the type to take no for an answer. her brows are knitted. hands tightening. he’s enamored. he shouldn't stay. he should tuck and roll out the car while he has the chance. run. like he’s used to doing. too late the two pull in. she’s pleased with herself. he grins faintly beneath his mask. cute.

the couch is a bed. it pulls out into one anyway. she busies herself. shuffling to get sheets and a comforter. it’s a faded baby blue, printed with delicate flowers. and she looks proud. smiling at the cozy couch. her lips are coated in a sheen. from the lip balm she’d put on a second ago. and he adverts his eyes when she looks toward him. couldn't meet those wide eyes. sweet and nervous. he stares instead at the makeshift bed. she speaks. grins awkwardly.

“thank you.” he means it. it’s stiff. his voice hoarse from the cold but, he means it— no matter how gruff it comes out. her hands. no longer swathed by wool gloves, slide down denim-clad thighs. lips press. and her head nods. she says his name again, but scurries before he can reply, and maybe it’s for the best. he can barely speak.

click.

he shouldn't. but he finds himself amused. good girl. he was still a stranger after all. a strange man she has willingly invited into her home. he wondered briefly if she was right in the head. right to slow for him. to smile at him. she couldn't be. unsure. he can’t get comfortable. just lays there and listens to her faint voice. walls thin. voice muffled. but words clear. “die tonight.”— “…love you.” he ponders.

he doesn't remember a ring. friend? mom? boyfriend? his heart aches. he doesn't know her. he has no right to feel anything. she was nice, too good. he was the opposite, with nowhere to go. nothing to offer. why was he here? he should leave. but sleep weighs heavy on his eyes. bing crosby lulls him to sleep. he’d be gone before she woke.

i've always thought simon to have very choppy thoughts. and always being very in his head. very observant. so yeah. listened to christmas music making this! hehehe

[koolaidoverliving]

i've never written an "x reader" fic before, so i wanted to experiment. take this as you will.

NSFW UNDER CUT. MINORS DNI

A FAMILIAR FACE

✦ Jeff the Killer / Reader ✦

CW: Explicit Sexual Content, Dub-Con Elements, But The Sex Is Consensual, Knife Threat, Degradation, No Plot, Like Seriously It's Just Jeff Fucking You Into A Mattress, Gender Neutral Reader

Words: 2.5k

You're waiting for a close friend at a dingy motel out of state. But instead of your friend, you're met with the town's most infamous serial killer.

Your hands fidget restlessly between your thighs. It's been five hours since you arrived at your room — five hours and your best friend is still not here. Of course, they left later than you did, and you can't expect them to be a fast driver. But any sort of notice would do a great deal of help to you right now. You're growing impatient, tapping your foot on the ground and repeatedly checking your phone.

The motel room, with its queen–sized bed and single box TV, provides you no comfort. Without a proper job, this room is all you could afford to get. You're paranoid; you can hear it in the way your heart thumps faster than the ticking of the analogue clock; and the inconsistent buzzing of the fan doesn't do anything to tranquilise your anxiety. The walls, cheaply painted and stained, seem as if they're closing in on you. And they might just be. To make it worse, there's stray dogs outside, and they're barking at the crescendo of police sirens.

With a groan, you fall back onto the bed. You stare up at the ceiling, the pattern of spirals reminiscent of your spiraling thoughts. Did your best friend ditch you? Leave you for someone else again? While you're miles away from home? The questions run through your head and you're unable to stop them. You need someone — anyone by your side to hold your hand and tell you you're not alone.

But all you get is ticking.

Buzzing.

Barking.

And wailing.

...Until there's a knock.

A loud knock — no, a set of desperate knocks at the door. Your heart beats at a million miles per hour, a positive rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

They're here.

"Finally," you say with a smile of relief. You spring up from the bed and hurry to the door. Your sweaty hands fumble with the doorknob. Once it's unlocked, you open it without a second thought.

However, as soon as the door swings open, your face plummets. What stands at the door looks nothing like your best friend. It's a broad man, hooded and stained with what you can only assume is blood.

Before you're able to say something, the stranger brushes past you and enters the room. He closes the door — gently to not make any noise. You open your mouth to shout, but he grabs your body and pulls you back against his chest. His hand clamps over your mouth.

You desperately thrash your arms, your cries of rebuttal muffled behind his hand. But he only tightens his grip on you. "Shhh, shhh..." the man whispers. He reaches out to lock the door. "Stay quiet for just a fucking second."

Though reluctant, you obey him, because you didn't know what he'd do if you didn't. Your muscles tense up. You're pressed so firmly against this man's chest, it almost hurts.

There's indistinguishable chatter outside the room. A cacophony of loud voices. You can't tell what's happening. Not until loud footsteps approach your room. The doorknob rattles. Your body jolts, and you almost yelp, but the stranger's palm is pushing hard against your mouth. You hear another man's voice soon after, much clearer since they're right at the door: "No one's here either."

What — were these men on some weird cat and mouse chase? You can't believe you're being roped into their shenanigans.

Before you know it, the footsteps fade into the distance. The stranger's grip on your body loosens and you use that opportunity to push away from him. "Who the hell are you?" you say breathlessly. "You can't just — You can't just come into someone's room like that — Ugh!" You stop to catch your breath.

"Calm down. I just needed somewhere to hide. You're not special," the man replies. "This room is ugly as fuck too. What are you? Poor?"

"I'm not..." you trail off. No longer in his grasp, you're able to look at him. When you opened the door, his stained hoodie was all you could make out in the dim light, but now that he's in your room, you spot all his grisly features.

Pale leathery skin; blue eyes, wide open; dark shaggy hair, tangled underneath his hood; and worst of all — two grotesque lines carved into either side of his cheeks.

You let out a gasp. The man cocks his head to the side, surveying your reaction. You saw him when you got here. That same face was plastered on the news. And that knife, that knife in his hand —

"You're —" you swallow, "You're Jeffrey Woods..."

A crooked smile forms on the man's face. He gives a subtle nod, affirming your deduction. "Who else could be me?" he says with a boastful tone. "Don't freak out now. If you scream, I'll fucking kill you. This knife isn't just for show — got that?"

"...Yes."

"Good..." Jeff mumbles. "You know. Looking at you closer, you're a pretty little thing." The comment leaves your eyes widened. Your lips slightly part as Jeff leans down and places a hand on your cheek. He grabs your face rather harshly. "I was gonna leave — no, I was gonna kill you and then leave. But now," he laughs, "now I just wanna fuck you."

You aren't able to protest Jeff's advancements when his lips meet with yours in a chaste kiss. He's particularly chapped; there's a metallic taste where his skin is peeling. Yet, he's warm, and his tongue feels oddly nice wandering in your mouth.

Jeff pulls away, leaving your mouth terribly empty. "Yeah, yeah. Definitely a pretty one," he exhales. His breath is warm against your skin.

"Wh–What are you doing?" you stammer, eyebrows scrunching. Jeff rolls his eyes at your question.

"Are you stupid? I'm tasting what's mine now, idiot," Jeff replies.

"'Mine'? But I don't belong to you — I don't even know you."

"Pfsh, everyone knows me."

A cold, prickling metal grazes up your torso. Your skin shivers at the contact. You suck in your stomach, as if that gets you away from the feeling. It takes one downward glance to realise that Jeff is lifting up your shirt with his knife.

"Come on." Jeff's gaze meets yours — his dull eyes stare you down; his knife is still ghosting over your skin. "You want this?" he asks.

The question is abrupt. The sudden change of his tone causes you to shudder — or maybe it's the blade at your skin. You don't know how to respond. He's a serial killer. No, not just any serial killer — he's one of the most infamous in town. You've seen him on several news sites since you arrived, running from one street to the next. And now he's here asking you if you want him.

But you're alone. You're so alone, and that kiss you shared made you feel warm for the first time in ages. He's being kind to you, isn't he? He could kill you — choke you underneath him and plunge a knife into you. But he isn't doing that. He's asking you... if you want him.

It might be the fear, or maybe you're genuinely attracted to him... But either way, you give him a small nod.

"...Yeah. That's what I thought. You get all this, and I'm not even making you pay," Jeff chuckles. "Go on. Take off your clothes."

You're hesitant for a second, but you listen and pull your shirt over your head. You do the same with your shorts, pulling them down and over your feet. You fidget with your hands, staring up at him with a bashful look. Jeff eyes you up and down, that twisted smile permanent on his face. You grit your teeth. You're exposing your body to a serial killer. But it isn't that bad.

"Do — Do you want my name?" you ask. Your body flushes a deep red. You can feel the stickiness of sweat between your thighs.

Jeff scoffs. "No. Why would I want your name? You really think you're more than a random slut to me?" He steps closer to you; you step back in tandem. Your heel hits the frame of the bed. "I said I wanna fuck you, not date you."

He pushes you onto the bed. You watch as he unzips his jeans and discards his clothing the same as you did. Now it's your turn to look him up and down. He has a lean frame. You're shocked by how built it is — but now it makes sense why his chest felt like bricks. You can't avoid looking at his cock either. Jeff's cock is at your face level. It twitches in his hand, and it's one of the biggest you've seen. You're nervous now, more than ever, but it's a good kind of nervousness. Isn't it?

Your eyes flicker back to Jeff's face. He's grinning, revelling in how you check out his body. "You wanna take my dick, huh?" Jeff asks. He grabs a fistful of your hair, bringing your mouth close to the head of his cock. "I know sluts like you love sucking dick. So come on, suck me off."

His ego has no limits... You open your mouth and take in the head of his dick.

"There you fucking go," Jeff says with a satisfied groan.

He's warm and salty. You struggle to shimmy down the thickness of his cock, but you eventually build a good pace for yourself.

"Fuck..." Jeff mumbles. "It's too rare to find a nasty bitch like you out here." He thrusts his hips, pushing his cock in deeper. "Can't be too big for you, yeah? You've got a dirty little mouth, don't you?" His hand is firm in your hair and his grip only tightens when his cock reaches the back of your throat. You gag, still not adjusted to his size. But the vibrations of your gags and coughs only make Jeff hornier.

Your hands grab the bed sheets as Jeff takes control. He relentlessly thrusts into your mouth. You slobber over his length, drool now dripping from the sides of your mouth. You're nothing more than a cocksleeve to him. And god does it feel better than you expected. Your vision is blurry; your own wetness starts to overwhelm you.

Finally, Jeff pulls you off his cock. You gasp for air. "Mmh — J–Jeff —" you struggle to say. You pathetically pant like a wild dog.

"Awh, speak clearly, bitch. You're a fucking mess," Jeff taunts. "You liked that? You liked my cock in your mouth?"

The heat is rising to your cheeks. Your eyes are teary. You're so fucking shameless when you reply, "Yes... Yes, I did."

"Of course you fucking did." Jeff pushes you down on the bed. He hooks his fingers under the waistband of your underwear. You hold in a breath; he grins. Jeff pulls the garment off your legs, leaving you bare and exposed. "Wet just from sucking my dick. Holy shit, you're more of a whore than I thought."

You bite the inside of your cheek. His words burn into you.

Jeff crawls over your body. He's much larger than you; it makes you question if he'll even fit. He spits in his hand and gives his dick a few pumps before lining it up with your entrance. You brace yourself and spread your legs farther, giving him the room to inch closer. But before he pushes inside, he gives you another look, no longer smiling. Your eyes meeting his, you see a shift in the blue pools. "Tell me you want this," he says.

His serious tone sets you back to reality.

You don't even know him.

You shouldn't want this. You shouldn't let him inside you, or allow him to treat you like this, but your body is twitching with desire, and his skin feels so warm against yours. You haven't felt this way in so long. He's a serial killer, but he spared you...

"...I do. I want this," you reply, voice sounding more needy than you intended. "Please. I want this, J–Jeff."

He doesn't say anything.

But then you feel it: his entire length slams into you. You cry out a quivering moan; your back arches against his hips. Jeff pins your wrists against the mattress. "God damn..." he groans. "You're so tight. Like a fucking virgin..."

Jeff leans down and presses wet kisses against your neck. The sloppiness makes you want to cringe, but his unrelenting thrusts send jolts of pleasure surging through your body.

"Dirty slut, letting a complete — f–ffuck...! — letting a complete str–stranger use you like this," Jeff growls. He bites down on your neck; you can't suppress your humiliating moans.

He's covering you with marks and bruises, growing harder each time you wince and tense up. You can't complain as his cock hits all the right spots.

"I could kill y–you so fucking easily." He gives a harsh thrust. "But I bet you'd like that."

"Nnh — Y–Yes...!" you reply, not sure if you're agreeing with him, or referencing the sex. "Mmore — fuck me more!"

"What's it look like I'm doing, dumbass..." He lets go of your small wrists — which are now red from his tight grip — and grabs onto your shoulders.

His nails dig into your skin. He pulls you into him as he fucks you in sync. Jeff's aggressive and lacks any rhythm. He's cursing under his breath with almost every thrust.

"Fuck... Damn whore...! Fucking shit, you're tight —!" His words are there, but they go unregistered by you. You're too overcome with stupid bliss.

"Uuugh! Jeff!" you moan. Jeff's cock is buried deep inside you, stretching you out, making you feel so fucking fulfilled. A wave of ecstasy rushes through you like never before. "Jeff... Jeff..! Th–This is good — Mm'more...!"

Your entire body is trembling. Your moist walls clench around his dick. Legs giving out, your thick arousal gushes out from you and stains the sheets. But Jeff isn't done yet. He rams into you — harder, faster, mercilessly.

You're practically limp. Your head thumps against the mattress with each thrust. You lose the ability to talk, only able to whimper and moan; but the sounds of your voices are drowning out as you're intoxicated by the pleasure.

"Fuck... Fuck!" Jeff moans a final time. With a shudder of his hips, Jeff pulls out. Loads of warm, white liquid shoot out onto your stomach. You feel yourself sinking into the bed.

Jeff holds his flaccid dick in his hand, come still leaking out from the tip. He's staring down at you, both of you breathing heavily. There's a moment of silence, a mutual understanding that you need to regain your composure. But it doesn't last long.

"Ha... Hah, what a fucking night..." he mutters. Jeff gets off the bed before you do, already beginning to throw on his clothes.

"...Jeff?" you say, sitting up. "Are you leaving?" You don't know why you're asking, especially with such a soft tone.

"No shit," Jeff replies. "But," he pulls his hoodie down, "I might have to tell old man Slender about you." Again, he grins.

"Old man who?"

"Nothing, nothing."

Jeff heads to the window. Your heart sinks as he fiddles with the locks. This stranger — local serial killer — is leaving you... and you, for some sick fucking reason, don't want him to. You want him to stay. Maybe you wish you could feel his warmth for longer. But you can't control his actions. You couldn't even get your friend here — so why would this man stay for you? Jeff's already crawling over the windowsill, and you're achingly empty.

But before he leaves, he turns to look at you. And he says, in a hushed tone that makes your heart flutter —

"Just know you'll be seeing me again."

[rin-may-1103]

The Wrong Robin Au (part five)

Previous | Master Post | Next

Danny sat back with a wince, watching as Bruce and his butler (The man introduced himself as Alfred) collected themselves. Jason's book was now sitting on a shelf, displayed for everyone to see. Bruce's desk was moved back into place, and the chairs were repositioned. There wasn't any evidence of what had just occurred.

"would you like me to get you a rag, young sir?" Alfred asked, turning to glance at Danny with a raised brow.

Danny lifted his hand and gently touched his nose, hissing when it stung and throbbed. Pulling his hand back, Danny found his fingers covered in blood.

Well, that was going to be hard to explain later...

"yeah, thanks." Danny finally agreed, moving his hand back to hopefully keep more of his blood from staining his hoodie. His ectoplasm was just begging him to heal it, but he held back, watching as Bruce turned to face him.

The man was no longer crying his little emo furry heart out or blinded with rage. Instead, he was standing still with a calculative gleam in his eyes. Danny just knew the man was going to do a background check as soon as Danny left. (Or when Danny wasn't paying attention, he was Batman after all. Who knows what he was going to do?)

It's a good thing there was nothing that connected him with Phantom. Besides the drop in grades and convenient absences, but that can be excused by the trauma of his accident and all the ghost fights. Otherwise, Danny would be screwed.

No one besides Jazz and Wes has been able to figure it out, and he'd like to keep it that way, thank you very much. He's retired now, or well, was retired. He might be getting back into the crime-fighting part again, but he was going to do everything in his power to keep from getting pulled back into ghost-fighting and dealing with the occult every day.

He could handle following Batman around at night and punching a few goons here and there, but the ghost fights? The world ending catastrophes? The annoying cult summoning? He didn't think he could handle it again. And sure, if there was no other option he would go out and protect the world. (It would be very shitty of him not to if he could do something when no one else could. He lived here too, you know.)

But that's not his job anymore. No, that's what the Justice League is for. (was for... He had forgiven them for not being there for him when it mattered. They were here now. So it was fine. No, it wasn't) They're the ones who are protecting Earth now. They're the ones who have to drop everything and help save the world. Not him. Not anymore.

Maybe he could think of this as a really shitty vacation? Then once he's sure Batman is stable and that Tim won't do something stupid, Danny could go back to Amity and figure out what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. Maybe he could even go to college?

"Why are you here?" Bruce asked, his calculated eyes still boring into Danny's head. Danny, having gotten used to ghosts popping up and speaking to him at all hours of the day, didn't flinch as he glanced back up at Bruce.

"To keep you from killing yourself, seriously dude. Did you not hear when I told you earlier?" Danny spat, pointedly wiping the blood off his chin.

Bruce barely even moved, but Danny could tell he had winced. Sensing people's emotions was going to become one of the more useful powers he had, wasn't it?

...

How long was his nose going to bleed, again? Didn't broken noses stop bleeding after a few minutes?

His core flared in annoyance, finally making him remember a very important fact.

He was half dead. As in his body doesn't heal or change without the influence of his ectoplasm. This means he's going to keep bleeding until he either doesn't have any blood to bleed or he lets his ectoplasm heal it.

Great.

That's not going to make Bruce suspicious at all. Nope. Definitely not.

Focusing on his nose, Danny let his ectoplasm rush to the area and start healing it, but held it back before it could do more than stop the bleeding.

Alfred entered the room not even a second later, "here you go, young sir. Just hold it there for a minute while I prepare my med kit."

Danny grabbed the rag handed to him and pressed it to his nose, ignoring the sharp pain. He watched as Alfred placed his med kit on the side table and started digging through it. After a few minutes, Alfred leaned back and pulled on some gloves.

"let me have a look," he demanded, turning to kneel in front of Danny. Danny sighed, removed the rag, and leaned forward to let Alfred get a closer look. The man clicked his tongue, but gently grabbed his face and studied the injury.

Bruce shuffled awkwardly in the background, looking like a child waiting to get scolded. Good. He was a grown-ass man for crying out loud, he should get scolded for breaking Danny's nose.

"Alright, this will hurt," Alfred said, moving his hands to gently rest next to Danny's nose. Danny, having dealt with many broken noses before, looked away from the older man and stared Bruce dead in the eyes.

With sure but quick movements, Alfred straightened his nose with a loud crunch. Bruce's eyes narrowed as Danny bit his tongue, keeping any other sign of pain to himself.

"There," Alfred sighed, "it was a clean break, so you'll only have to keep some gause on it until you go to the doctor. Master Bruce?"

Bruce grunted, before finally looking over to his butler. "I'm fine, Alfred."

"good," Alfred nodded, "then I shall put on some tea. In the meantime, I recommend you two have a civil conversation."

Danny leaned back, taking the wet rag Alfred handed to him, and cleaned his face. Now that his nose looked normal, Danny allowed his ectoplasm to start healing it. He didn't plan on seeing Bruce again anytime soon, so any bruises or swelling he should have, won't matter.

Alfred finished placing his medical supplies away and held his hand out for the rags, once Danny gave them to him, the man swiftly left the room. bruce will probably want to test his blood later now that Danny thinks about it. Well, that's definitely something Batman would do, Danny thinks.

Oh well, it's not like his blood would reveal anything. It's literally just his human blood. Now if he was bleeding as Phantom? This would be a whole other problem.

"Who are you and how do you know who I am?" Bruce grunts, stepping closer to Danny in an attempt to be intimidating. And it would have been if Danny hadn't just watched the man breakdown ugly crying not even thirty minutes ago.

Rolling his eyes, Danny leaned back in his chair and huffed, "I told you this already. My name's Danny. I'm here to keep you from killing yourself. And it's pretty obvious who you are if you just think about it." Because it was obvious. Once Tim pointed it out to him, that is.

He wasn't about to just tell Batman that though, Tim didn't deserve to have the man breathing down his neck just for being smart enough to figure it out.

Before Bruce could respond, Danny's phone rang once, twice, then stopped. Glancing at the clock, Danny found it was only six. This meant, it was either Sam texting him to figure out where he was (which wasn't likely, since he usually disappeared in the mornings) or it was Tim.

Grabbing his phone, Danny unlocked it and was met with a message from Tim.

TIM: thanks for listening to me.

Before Danny could send a response, another text came through.

TIM: when did you want to meet up and discuss a plan? DANNY: tomorrow, after you get some sleep. TIM: I did! I took a nap! DANNY: not a long one. TIM: I'm not tired though! DANNY: Then pretend to sleep or something, I don't care. Could you just make sure you sleep before I text you tomorrow? please, kid? TIM: whatever. you're not even that much older than me, you know that right? Danny: sure kid.

"Who is that?" Bruce suddenly asks, making Danny glance up at him.

Shit, uh... "The kid I'm babysitting later."

You know what? That works. And it's technically true.

Bruce just hummed, allowing Danny to turn back to his phone.

TIM: I'm thirteen! DANNY: Yeah? Well, I'm seventeen, almost eighteen. Anyone under the age of fifteen is a literal baby. which makes you? that's right. a child. and what do children need? Sleep. They need sleep, Tim. TIM: I'm not a child! and if you've forgotten; I still have all the evidence proving that you're Robin. I'm petty enough to release it. DANNY: Go ahead. If it'll make you sleep at night.

Tim left him on read after not responding for a few minutes. Bruce had wandered over to his desk to work on something, probably Danny's background check.

Sighing, Danny sent a text to Sam letting her know he'd be busy for the rest of the morning and to let Tucker know. Once that was done, he shoved his phone into his pocket and stood up. Bruce glanced at him for a moment before going back to what he was doing, leaving Danny to look around the office.

Pictures were hanging on the wall, books covering the shelves, and random objects covering everything else. Basically, Bruce's office was filled with all sorts of things. Things that could give Danny an idea of who Bruce was as a person. Something he was going to need to know if he planned to stick around and help him. which he was. because he'd promised Tim that he would.

Reaching out, Danny picked up one of the photos and examined it. It was Bruce, Alfred, and some boy Danny didn't recognize, though they looked eerily like him. They could even pass as his clone if you squinted.

"Hey, Bruce," Danny started, "Who's this?"

Next

[valkyriexo]

Hey there!

I loved Jinnie's you get your period story 🥹it was so heartwarming and made me feel really loved and happy!😊 I was thinking, could you maybe do a version for Chan?

Thank you so much!

You get your period | Bang Chan Vers.

ᑉ³pairing; Bang Chan x Reader

ᑉ³genre; Sickfic, Comfort, Fluff,

ᑉ³warnings; Reader has their period, Mentions of blood, mentions of staining, embarrasment

ᑉ³Authors Note; A little different than the other one. thank you for your request :)

As you lie entwined with Chan on the bed, the soft glow of the TV casting flickering shadows across the room, you feel utterly content. His arms envelop you, offering a sense of security and warmth that you find nowhere else. The movie plays on, but your attention is solely on the man beside you, his presence more captivating than any screen could ever be.

The movie, a classic romance, fills the room with the sound of sweet dialogue and sweeping orchestral scores. As the plot thickens, drawing you deeper into its embrace, you find yourselves caught up in the drama unfolding on screen. 

You're wearing his clothes, the scent of him enveloping you like a familiar embrace. It's one of those rare moments where the world outside fades away, leaving only the two of you in your own little world.

"Excuse me Y/N, but I do believe this popcorn was meant to be shared," he jokes, his voice carrying a hint of feign hurt as he reaches into the nearly empty bowl.

"Yeah? If only you hadn't eaten all of it, we'd still have some," you reply with a playful eye-roll.

Chan chuckles, the sound rich and infectious, his eyes twinkling. "Hey, I was just testing its quality control! Can't let any bad popcorn ruin our movie night," he retorts, his grin widening as he leans back against the headboard.

You can't help but smile in return. "Well, next time, try not to be so thorough with your testing. I might actually get to enjoy some," you tease.

Chan's grin softens into a warm smile. "Alright, alright, fair point. How about this? I'll go get us some more popcorn and maybe a couple of drinks. What do you say?" He said as he rises from the bed and presses a soft, lingering kiss on your lips. 

"Thank you," you murmur softly, a gentle smile gracing your lips as you watch him gather the empty bowl and head towards the kitchen.

Chan's smile lingers, a warmth in his eyes that speaks volumes. "Anytime," he replies softly before disappearing from view.

Left alone, you take a moment to bask in the quiet comfort of the room, reaching for your phone on the nightstand. But as you shift, a sudden realization hits you. Beneath you, the sheets feel damp. Your heart skips a beat as you pull back the covers, dread creeping in as you confirm your fear.

You've stained the bed.

Panic sets in as you frantically inspect the damage, hoping against hope that it's not as bad as it seems. You can't let Chan see this. Not now. Not when everything feels so perfect. With trembling hands, you begin to rip the sheets off the bed.

Your mind races, a million thoughts swirling as you struggle to comprehend what has happened. The embarrassment is suffocating, your cheeks burning with shame 

As you hastily toss the stained sheets into a corner of the room, trying to hide the evidence of your mishap, you hear Chan's voice from the kitchen. "Did you want candy too? I have some sour gummies here."

His footsteps draw closer, and panic surges through you as you realize that if you stained the bed, you've obviously stained your clothes as well. And worse-

They're Chan's Clothes

Tears well up in your eyes as you run into the bathroom, desperately searching for a way to clean yourself up. Your hands shake as you scrub at the stains on your clothes, the water mixing with your tears as you try to salvage the situation.

But no matter how hard you try, the stains remain stubbornly in place.

You lock the bathroom door, the sound of Chan's footsteps drawing closer with each passing second. Your mind races, searching desperately for a way to fix the situation before he discovers the truth.

Suddenly, the bedroom door creaks open, and Chan steps inside, his brows furrowing as he takes in the sight before him. His eyes widen in surprise and concern as he sees the disheveled bed and the discarded sheets in the corner.

"Y/N? Baby?" He says hesitantly. You hear his footsteps move further into the room.

"What happened?" he asks, his voice laced with worry. "Y/N? Where are you?"

His footsteps draw closer, each one echoing in the silence of the room. You can feel the weight of his concern hanging in the air as he knocks lightly on the door. "Y/N, are you in there?" he asks again, his voice soft yet filled with worry.

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggle to find the words to explain. "No, Chan, don't come in!" you call out, your voice trembling with embarrassment. "I-I'm fine, just give me a moment."

But Chan's concern only intensifies. "Y/N, what's going on? Are you hurt?"

The panic surges through you, the weight of your embarrassment nearly suffocating. "Please, Chan, just... just wait outside," you plead, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'll be out in a minute."

But Chan refuses to leave, his concern for you outweighing any discomfort he may feel. "Y/N, talk to me," he urges gently, his voice soft yet persistent

"No, it's embarrassing," you had murmured, your voice choked with tears.

"Y/N, please let me in," he implores, his tone filled with genuine concern. "I hate to see you like this.

"I'm gonna go home," you declare suddenly, your voice shaky with emotion. "Don't worry, just leave me alone, and I'll fix everything."

Chan's brow furrows in confusion. "Did I do something wrong?" he asks, concern evident in his voice. "Did I make you uncomfortable? I'm so sorry if I did."

You shake your head quickly, your voice soft but firm. "No, Chan, it's not anything you did," you reassure him, your heart aching at the thought of him blaming himself for your distress.

"Then what is it?" he asks softly, his voice almost pleading.

"Just go, please," you whisper, your voice barely above a murmur, laced with embarrassment and desperation.

Chan stands there for a moment, his heart aching with concern and confusion. "Y/N, I don't want to leave you like this," he says, his voice breaking slightly. "Please, just let me help."

There's a heavy silence, the weight of your distress palpable in the air. A few minutes pass, the silence stretching between you like an invisible barrier.

He hesitates, the pain of hearing you so distressed evident on his face. "Okay," he says softly, his voice filled with reluctance. "But I'll be right outside if you need me. I'm not going anywhere."

You can hear his footsteps as he moves away, giving you the space you asked for. Your sobs echoing softly in the silence of the room. Tears stream down your cheeks unchecked, the embarrassment and shame weighing heavily on your shoulders.

And then, without a word, Chan approaches the bathroom door once more, his footsteps tentative as he knocks softly once again.

"I left... some clothes by the table.. near the door if you need them," he says gently, his voice filled with a quiet understanding.

You hear him take a deep breath before continuing, his voice soft but steady. "Y/N, I just want you to know that I love you. Nothing could ever change that. You're not alone, okay? I'm right here for you."

"You don't have to come out until you're ready," he continues, his tone gentle and patient. "Take all the time you need. I'll be here when you're ready to talk or if you need anything else."

As Chan's footsteps fade away, leaving you alone with your thoughts, you feel a wave of emotions wash over you. With trembling hands, you reach for the door and unlock it, taking a deep breath to steady yourself.

Slowly, you step out into the room, your eyes falling on the clothes Chan left for you by the table near the door. You clutch the clothes to your chest, feeling a pang of guilt at the thought of facing Chan after what happened.

With a deep breath, you gather your resolve and quickly change into the clothes Chan left for you. But as the reality of the situation sinks in, the floodgates of your emotions open, and you begin to cry harder than before.

You know you have to face Chan eventually; you can't hide in the bathroom forever. So, you unlock the bathroom door and step back out into the bedroom.

Chan is seated on the edge of the bed, his gaze soft yet concerned as he looks up at you. There is a fresh set of sheets on the bed.

The tension in the air is palpable, the weight of the unspoken conversation hanging between you.

In an instant, he's by your side, pulling you into his arms with a tenderness that brings a fresh wave of tears. But instead of finding solace in his embrace, you feel a surge of embarrassment so intense it's almost suffocating. Mortification courses through you, rendering you stiff and unresponsive in his arms.

You can't bear to face Chan, to let him see you in such a vulnerable state. The shame of what happened weighs heavily on you, and the thought of him witnessing your distress only adds to your humiliation.

"Y/N," Chan murmurs softly, concern etched in his voice. "Hey... its okay." His voice is a gentle caress against your frayed nerves, but you can't bring yourself to look at him.

"Chan," you whisper, your voice trembling with embarrassment, "I-I can't... I can't face you right now." Your words come out in a choked whisper, barely audible over the sound of your own racing heartbeat. Every fiber of your being aches with humiliation.

"Y/N," Chan says softly, his voice filled with understanding, "it's okay."

You shake your head, unable to meet his gaze. "No, Chan, it's not okay," you whisper, your voice choked with tears.

Chan's arms tighten around you, his grip firm yet gentle. "It's not the end of the world, baby."

"It is to me. This is so embarrassing." The words spill out of you, raw and vulnerable.

In a desperate attempt to escape the suffocating embarrassment, you try to break free from Chan's embrace, your heart pounding with the overwhelming need to erase the evidence of your humiliation.

Your movements are frantic, fueled by the desperate urge to hide, to fix things, to make it all go away.

With tears still streaming down your cheeks, you push against his arms, your mind consumed by the urgency to flee.

Your hands press against his chest, your breaths coming in short, panicked gasps.

But Chan holds you firmly, refusing to let you go. "Y/N, please," he pleads softly, his voice filled with concern. "Don't run away. Let me help you."

All you wanted was to break free. To grab the stained sheets and make a beeline for the laundry room.

"Y/N, look at me," he commands softly, his tone soothing yet authoritative.

Reluctantly, you open your eyes, your vision blurred by tears. Chan's face is inches from yours, his expression one of love and concern. His eyes, filled with empathy and understanding, lock onto yours.

"It's okay," he repeats softly, his thumbs continuing to brush away your tears. "You're okay. We're okay."

You begin to calm, your breathing slowing as his words and touch soothe your frayed nerves. Your hands, which had been pushing against his chest, slowly relax, resting against him instead. The urgency to flee starts to ebb, replaced by the comfort of his presence.

"I'm sorry," you manage to choke out, your voice trembling with embarrassment. "I just feel so.. gross right now."

Chan's expression softens, his eyes reflecting understanding and empathy. "Y/N," he begins, his voice gentle yet resolute, "nothing about you could ever gross me out. Accidents happen, but they don't change how I feel about you."

"I love you," he continues, his voice a soft declaration of devotion. "Every part of you, even the parts you consider imperfect. Especially those parts."

He pulls back slightly to look at you, his eyes filled with warmth. "I already threw the sheets in the wash," he says gently, "and I'd like to take care of the clothes, too. Just let me help you, okay?"

Chan leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as if imprinting his love onto your very soul.

Your heart swells with gratitude, and you nod slowly. "Okay," you whisper, feeling a bit more at ease.

"Now, let me take care of those clothes and let's get you settled back in bed, okay?"

He helps you lie back down, tucking the clean sheets around you with gentle hands. Chan gathers the stained clothes and heads out of the room. You hear the washing machine start up, and after a few moments, he returns. Once you're comfortable, he climbs in beside you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. "I've got everything taken care of," he murmurs soothingly. "You just relax and rest."

You snuggle into his embrace, feeling safe and cherished.

With the clean sheets enveloping you and Chan's comforting presence beside you, the tension of the earlier mishap begins to fade away.

Chan reaches for the remote and starts the movie again, the soft glow of the screen casting a warm ambiance in the room.

"Open your nightstand door," Chan says suddenly, his voice a mixture of excitement and care.

You look at him, puzzled and startled. "Why?" you ask.

"Open it," he replies with a gentle smile.

Curious, you reach over and open the nightstand cabinet door. Your eyes widen in surprise as you take in the contents. Inside, neatly organized, are all the things you use and love: your preferred pads, medications, a heating pad, wipes, and even your favorite snacks. You can't help but feel overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness of it all.

You stare at the items, not believing your eyes. "Chan... what is all this?" you ask, your voice trembling with emotion.

He smiles tenderly, his eyes sparkling with affection. "I wanted to make sure you had everything you needed, especially during times like this," he explains softly. "I care about you deeply, and I want to make things as easy and comfortable for you as possible."

Your heart swells with gratitude, touched by his thoughtfulness. You can't help but marvel at how he always seems to know exactly what you need, even before you do.

But what catches your attention most are the unopened letters and notes, each one bearing Chan's familiar handwriting, neatly stacked and waiting to be discovered. You reach for them, fingers trembling with anticipation.

"What are these?" you inquire, a curious smile playing on your lips.

Chan's smile widens as he watches you tentatively. "Those are for you," he replies softly. "Letters and notes filled with my thoughts, feelings, and all the reasons why I love you."

You look at him in disbelief before you slowly pick up one of the letters, fingers trembling as you hold it delicately in your hands.

"I wrote them for you to read whenever I'm away.... I know i tend to be busy but... I want you to know that even when I'm not physically here, you're always on my mind, and my love for you never changes."

You look up at Chan, your vision blurred by tears once again but your heart overflowing with love. Without a word, you wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. His arms envelop you in return, holding you close as you bask in the comfort of his love.

You take a deep breath, feeling the overwhelming sense of love and support from him. "I don't know what I'd do without you," you whisper, your voice filled with sincerity.

"You'll never have to find out," he replies softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Chan holds you close, his own voice filled with emotion. "I love you so much," he murmurs softly.

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[shuenkio]

Dirty Boy | ▹ Lhs

▹Paring: Heeseung X male!reader. ▹Genre: soft smau.

▹Cw: mentioned masturbate, cum, dirty, cursing, public masterbation.

▹Synopsis: Your buddy wants your help.

▹Non proof read|▹wc:1.6k

▹Eng is not my 1st lang | do not copy.

▹Aln: I'm still improve how to write a good SMAU one, so I'm making a way to make it please don't expect too much :').

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻

Been a buddy for life ever since you were young together with Evan Lee or Ethan Lee. That's what everyone called him.

Whenever there's a party or hangout, even if it's not related to you, he'll still ask you to invite him just so you can socialize and accompany him. He just loves to awkward you with the outside environment.

Later on, coincidentally, both of you and Hee got into the same college with the same major and the same dorm. And you were glad that you didn't have to live with the new face because you were an anti-social human. To your surprise, the Heeseung you've seen every day was the half-surface of him from his inside.

He was actually the most unpredictable man you've ever met after living with him for a few months. You thought man would always be man, even though you are also a man, but politely dirty. For Evan? He was two times worse.

There was a time you saw his stained underwear splattered all over the floor, his sweaty shirts, and his unwashed pants, just like teenage kids. No matter how hard you've tried to scold him or tell him those, he was free to care about your words. Laterally, water spilled on a duck's head.

Not long after, this is getting worse. You have known that Heeseung was a gamer addicted and would play in front of the computer screen for hours; however, instead of playing games, sometimes you hear a moaning, whimpering noise echoing through the ceiling from his room to the kitchen. And it's none other than his alone time, masturbate.

It's not like you were disgusting, yet it's just bad timing whenever he faps his meat. Your mom was face-timing you while you were cutting the vegetable for lunch, but the huffing sound was so loud that your mom got suspicious of you, and in return, you had to end the call in a sec. That's one of the memories you still left traumatized.

For now, you've made up your mind to have a conversation with the growth-ass man, Heeseung. Once you finished your work, you quickly dragged your feet to his room before knocking, in case you interrupted him again.

You enter the room, and while he was sitting back facing you, both of his hands were placed on the mouse and keyboard, as his ear was covered with a headphone, blocking all the noise.

"Hey EVAN!" You yelled, holding your waist as your blood boiled in response to the silent response.

"..." Unable to wait any longer, you take off his headphones suddenly before you unplug the computer. The moment you did that, you've now gotten all the attention from him.

"M/N, what's your problem? I'm in the middle of the  game." He fired out as he spoke, almost shouting at your unexpected move.

"We need to talk!" You reply back with the seriousness in your expression, which calms the nerves in the Heeseung vein in a blink of an eye.

"Talk about what?" Exhale the deep breath out as he lay on his palm on the table, still holding on to his non-care attitude.

"I need you to change your childish behavior, Evan! Not only did you pressure me, but the whole damn dorm started to smell like you." You spoke, and as a result, you got an eyebrow raise from him.

"I live here."

"THAT'S NOT THE POINTS—ok, let's say this, you're dirty!" You implied honesty; speak out what's on your mind. Straightforward to the point this time, as he was a little taken aback by your comment.

"You never wash your laundry, your clothes, especially your damn underwear? Are you even an adult at this point? I'm telling this because it's for your own  good." You scolding, all the bad things he had done that drove you nuts, but they're still in the basket. Heeseung seemed to be quite after these; his gaze didn't even focus on you, lingering on the shorts you were wearing, probably daydreaming about something you clearly couldn't imagine.

"HEY HEY! Are you even listening? At least be guilty for your action."

"I don't know, but that short look better be off; it's distracting."

"You pervert, STFU, what got into you, ugh?"

////

A week had passed, and Heeseung started to change because of your nagging all day. And it turned out pretty well. He then began to wash his clothes, do the housework, clean his room, and do many other things. It's brought a smile to your face to see him being a good friend or human for once, maybe.

Today at the weekend, since your groceries have been out ever since yesterday, you suggest Heeseung come with you for shopping, which he can't decline.

All he did was carry the groceries and nothing else, while you were having a hard time choosing the food that both of you needed and wanted to eat for a week.

Finally, you're done with the shopping. After you finish paying for the items, you feel like you want to go to the restroom.

You then told Heeseung about it; if it's happened, he'd be looking for you or waiting for you because of you. Nevertheless, he also wanted to go to the restroom, which made it awkward.

In the bathroom.

Making your way into the room, you couldn't wait to unleash your pee, which you've been urging to release into the urinal toilet. You believe that Heeseung will give you privacy; he will pee across from you, although the next thing you know, he is seen beside you.

"Oh, for god's sake, do you not feel ashamed or embarrassed? I'm peeing!!" You claim, almost irritated by his unpredictable action, did he want to show his dick or what?

"We're friends; there's nothing to hide anyway, even this!" Heeseung responded by stepping back a little so you can see his full aroused cock, spring-free from his underwear. And it was... Dripping—

"What in the actual hell?" You are speechless at what you encounter. Is that your friend's cock? In front of you? In a public space like this? No fucking way.

The size of his full, hard cock painted a messy red blush stain on your face. His balls were round and stretched with those little hairs. Meanwhile, his mid-size cock was uncut, and the ash pink head is pecking from the foreskins, and it's twitching from your point of view. Kinda smells (all men smell from their hormones).

Fail to make any word out of your mouth, you look around before looking at his face in disbelief. Why did he blush? His eyes were half-lidded. As if he were holding on to something.

"Are you out of your mind, Evan?" We're in public!! Not at  home." You quickly look away, pin both of your visions to the entrance, having an anxiety that someone could come in, misunderstood to this.

"M/n... Could you spare me a hand? I can't go out like  this." He covered his eyes; his tone was almost desperate because he couldn't take any longer to pleasuring.

"Why can't you?"

"I would, but I want your hand instead," he finally stated, thirsting for your touch because touching yourself is not enough. You need somebody's help; it's better.

I couldn't even leave any comments. Someone is coming in as you harshly push him into the bathroom stall, with you inside too. With the rush decision, now you're stuck with him, with his distracted cock, jiggling non-stop.

People come in to do their business in the bathroom. It's normal for people to pee and poop, isn't it? On the other hand, the heat started to drive Heeseung nuts since his cocks often rub on your clothes because of how close you are to him, fearing someone might see you two inside.

The idiot heeseung he is, and the pleasure he's holding in can't be left inactive. Heeseung is then making an unacceptable dare for you in a situation like this.

If you don't jerk him off, he will moan loudly in this tight stall. You were furious at his dare as you glared at him with your piercing eye that was about to fall out.

Though it's the only choice right now, to prevent him from doing the nasty shit that could lead to misunderstood.

Biting the lower lip, you hurry take out Heeseung's cock out of his underwear, fully free to get more access.

Without further ado, you began your ritual. Taking a hold of his testicles before you spit your Silva on them, you started giving him the hand job without any warning.

The most sensitive part of man was the tip. As an experienced person, you focus on around the tip of his so he would cum faster.

The speed of your hand makes Heeseung thrust out his hip while his hands are holding on to the walls. The pleasuring almost left gasps out of his throat. His toes are curling together at the sensation of your touch.

"Right there, m/n, give it... *huff* your all, Ngh." Fap fap, the wet sounds are also making you slightly horny. Sliding up and down nonstop, holding his cock just like your own, You then increase the speed and continue to jerk him until the end.

To the point where he bit his sleeve because of the overwhelming sensation he is experiencing right now.

"Too good, I'm cumming!! Holy fuck" as you masturbate till he feels the orgasm in his cock is building, at the same time with the magic hand of yours, making him squeak. Shooting out the sticky, wet cum, stained all over your palm.

"Er—sss, I feel numb. You're too good. M/N, I'm ascending." He said it with his shallow breath, still catching on to it as he laid his head against the wall behind, closing his eyes, drained out already.

"This is unbelievable, damn it." You stared at the orgasms, that dripping on your hand as you disgusted at them. But at least he doesn't have any crazy ideas this time. This was enough to traumatize you once again.

And that's your friend, Heeseung.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻

🗣️ Please mind my English! ><

🗣️Crd to all pics&dividers

[imagine-shenanigans]

i havent written anything in a hot minute but creepy neighbor johnny? anyone? shakes him like a bag of chips at you all

He lives in the same shitty building you're stuck in, with no in unit washer/dryer, and the only machines are available in the basement. They're ancient but they work, and they're just so much cheaper than a laundromat and you can barely drag yourself down into the basement when youre off of your night shift to wash your work uniform, let alone drag your carcass down to a laundromat outside of the safety of your locked building.

And usually despite being tired it works great! You can chuck down an instant meal while you sit in the laundry room after work, scrolling through your phone. You get all of the four washers/dryers free for yourself (though you never use all four, youre not crazy).

And whenever Johnny's home he's always jetlagged to fuck, and if he's alone he'll just do his laundry whenever he feels like it - which usually tends to be in the middle of the night, because if Mrs Johnson from down the hall grabs his bicep one more time he'll scream.

His obsession with you immediately snaps into place when he sees you sitting on top of the dryer, half asleep as you play on your phone. (Because like hell are you leaving your clothes unattended.) He tries to make small talk, making jokes or asking questions just to keep hearing your tired, slightly incoherent voice.

"Cold water," you yawn, rubbing at your face.

"What's tha' hen?"

"Blood," you clarify tiredly, leaning forward a bit to point at one of his shirts. "You wanna use cold water for blood. Not hot. The proteins in blood clump or something? I think? Anyway it'll set the stain."

Johnny blinks, and flicks the knob to cold instead of hot, a chuckle rumbling in his throat. He finishes loading the washer, and then moves to bracket his arms on either side of you, leaning in just a liiiitle too close and thanking you.

Plucks at your sleep shorts and runs the flimsy fabric between his thumb and forefinger.

Makes an off color joke about what a good little housewife/spouse/husband you'd be thats just a LITTLE too enthusiastic. Doesn't move back nearly far enough when the buzzer of the dryer finishing "saves" you. It makes it so you brush up against him when you clamber down and bend to get your clothes.

Watches you leave and memorizes what floor you set the elevator to. Ecstatic when he realizes you're on the same floor - nearly goes rabid when he hears your voice coming from the adjacent wall the next morning when your shower kicks on.

From them on he seems to ALWAYS be doing laundry when you are, like he's got a sixth fucking sense for it. He never does it where you can see, either but you SWEAR he's taking your underwear from the laundry basket on purpose. You just can't prove it because no matter how hard you stare or keep watch, or wait... he always, without fail, produces a pair of your skimpiest/most revealing/tightest pair of underwear from SOMEWHERE and chuckles that he found something of yours.

Then he asks for a finders fee, and, without fail, every single time, his request escalates from the last one.

He starts with asking for a hug, then a few weeks later he's escalated to a kiss on the cheek, but he always turns his head at the last second. By the third week he's giving you a sloppy, open mouthed kiss that leaves you breathless before he'll even think about giving your underwear back.

(And, god forbid you refuse, because he'll just fucking pocket them.)

He steals your mail, comes over for a cup of sugar, anything he can think of to be in your space he will. And, of course, should you choose to ignore him, and pretend youre still sleeping? He takes advantage of the fact that you're the only neighbor on his side of the hall, and absolutely makes a menace of himself. Presses to the adjacent wall so hard even he worries he might break through it, and moans so loud you're convinced he might go mute.

And at first youre like. okay! no worries! ill just put on noise cancelling headphones! (and if you do anything without those headphones on, thats between you and god.) But then he starts moaning YOUR name and panting like youre in the fucking room with him, until you inevitably get complaints and nobody believes you when you say youre not fucking the hot military veteran because everyone heard it. (or thought they did)

and, if you ever find something of HIS and return it?

He's going to ignore your request for him to stop as your finders fee. He has some more creative ideas for it after all

[thegnomelord]

If Makarov managed to capture Hound again, how do you think he'd punish Hound for letting himself be taken away?

OOOOH anon you're gonna give me more ideas for the angst lol

The punishment wouldn't be as much for getting captured as it would be that Hound let someone else touch what belongs to Makarov — Hound. And what a bad dog you've been, evidently he's been too lax with the leash if his hound got this spoiled and disobedient.

Here's 2 scenes that just came to mind that may or may not become cannon idk yet:

CW: NSFW, blood and gore, torture, angst, toxic relationship, cock-warming, dub-con at best non-con at worst

1: Blood. There's so much blood. You feel it creep from the wounds on your head down to the space between your eyes and the blindfold, your carved open back throbbing like one giant wound, shallow cuts weeping blood down your skin. Every harsh breath forces the scent of death and blood deeper into your nose, copper and iron staining your tastebuds. Scraps of flesh dig into your gums between your teeth — the throat of whichever man had stabbed you last.

Adrenaline keeps you standing, muscles trembling in preparation of another stab of pain, gums itching to bite and kill. "Good," You just barely hear before a sharp yank of the leash pulls you down. Light floods in as the blindfold is suddenly ripped off, your eyes stinging from the bright light but you force yourself to look.

Makarov smirks as he watches your eyes fly to look around, wild and feral only to focus on him. There's his hound, blood dying your world red, violence blurring the edges of your vision until the only clear thing you see is him — the one who owns you. Keeping the leash tight so you nearly choke he reaches out to grip your jaw, shoving his thumb into your mouth. There's a second of resistance he'll need to beat out later, but you open your mouth wide, blood glinting on your metal capped canines. "That's better." He presses his thumb on your tongue to keep you silent when he senses you about to try and speak, forcing your mouth to open even wider until a low whine escapes you.

A big mistake; you were ordered to stay quiet. Your muscles tense, but you don't dare anger him further and keep your eyes on him. "A disobedient dog, but at least you're smart." He tuts. You don't know why your eyes want to close when he spits into your mouth, something acrid burning beneath your skin as you feel his saliva rapidly cool on your tongue. (dumb dog, be grateful he's giving you this much)

"Good." Makarov sounds pleased, letting go of your jaw and pushing the blindfold back over your eyes. "Next." His voice rings, and you feel your stupid heart ache as violence rushes through your system as another man approaches you, ready to make you bleed even more until you can get your teeth around his throat.

Or

2: You've experienced it all: cuts, bruises, internal bleeding, broken bones, starvation and so much more — a thousand little deaths. But the sting of tattoo needles hurts more than all of that, like they're piercing deep through your flesh to ink Makarov's initials on your heart. Your head is tilted back so far your skin stretches taught across your Adam's apple, the buzz of the machine rattling your ears.

The tattooing stops long enough for you to hear Makarov scoff before a harsh slap nearly knocks your head off your neck. You realize only then that you'd closed your eyes, quickly snapping them open to look at Makarov as he looms over you. "That's better." Makarov hums, pulling on your throat skin to make it even tighter. "Evidently I spoiled you too much."

You feel Makarov shift, his gummy hot walls clenching around your hard cock as the needles return to your throat. The pain and pleasure blur in your skull, but something about the way his cologne — much harsher and crisper than the scent's of the 141 you'd grown used to — curls in your nose that makes you feel weird. You don't know what it is, but it feels like your heart wants to vomit, the sweet sensation of Makarov taking pleasure from your body buzzing on your tongue like battery acid.

A low sound escapes your chest as he finishes, a pleased look in his eyes as he traces the black lines across your throat. Just from how your skin throbs you know they're big and bold, his claim on you clear. (as it should/n't be -- dumb brute, what is wrong with you?)

"There, now you're a proper hound." Makarov hums, tracing the crisp lines — he's a good owner, he wouldn't make a sloppy job of ensuring everyone knows who his hound belongs to. "That feels better, yes?"

"Yes sir." You say.

You don't know why those words sound like a lie to your ears.

[ddejavvu]

pairing: james potter x fem!reader ft. remus and sirius

summary: james is surprisingly willing to help you despite only having known you for a few weeks.

contents: reader is on her period, james barges into the bathroom because he's That Close to his friends

Sharing both a room and a bathroom with three men after having shared with four women is jarring, to say the least. Your old roommates could be slobs, of course, but there's something about James's habit barging into the bathroom whenever he pleases that doesn't sit right with you at first. You understand why he'd done it before you'd gotten there; you're sure they all had. You had no problem brushing your teeth beside Lily or Marlene while they were showering or peeing, but now that you're equipped with different tools than the rest of your roommates, it just feels wrong for them to see.

You first encounter it on a Monday morning, an appropriately terrible day for a terrible experience. You've just gotten up, and you're using the bathroom before you get dressed for the day, when James decides he needs to shower right then and there. He shouts a quick, 'Comin' in, mate!' Before turning the knob with the broken lock and storming right in, not giving you enough time to announce your presence.

"Ah- James!" You think you'll die right then and there, hands hovering over your crotch as James realizes what he's done. He's butt naked, probably tired after practice and in need of a steamy shower, but he's not any more enthusiastic about you seeing his parts than you are of him seeing yours, and he scrambles to cover himself up.

"Uh- sorry. I didn't realize it was you, I thought- I thought you had classes this morning. I apologize," He smiles kindly, though his eyes bulge where they're glued to your own, "Uh- you can... get back to business."

Neither of you had looked each other in the eyes for nearly 36 hours, but eventually the awkwardness died down, and you moved on.

Until the second time.

"Y/N," He calls, while you're in the shower, behind the flimsy curtain, "Listen, I know you're in the shower and all, but I'm running late, and I really need to brush my teeth. I don't want to rush you, can I just- just pop in there for a second? I swear I won't look."

You're at a loss for words, mouth opening and closing like a fish while the water streams around you. You appreciate his consideration, you know he doesn't want to scare you off or cross your boundaries, but it's a bold request. You're covered, sure, but the bathroom light is on, and you're sure you've got a silhouette behind the curtain. But you're going to be a while longer, and it's not fair of you to hold James up.

"Uh- sure," You stammer, covering up your chest like he'll be able to see through the curtain with laser eyes, "Come on in."

He doesn't hesitate to rush inside, but he's considerate enough to close the door after himself so that no one else stumbles upon you. You appreciate it, but you're frozen as he brushes his teeth quickly, bidding you a cheery goodbye like he hadn't just skimmed over giving you a heart attack. He shuts the door on his way back out, and there's not an ounce of awkwardness in his tone when he chats with you about his day later.

The third time, the third time is the kicker. You've started your period, the first time since you've been staying with James, Remus, and Sirius. You're sure they wouldn't give you a hard time for it, they seem decent enough so far, but there's just something mortifying about putting a used pad in a man's bathroom trash can.

You've changed your sheets before anyone can see the red stain, but your panties haven't been as fortunate yet. They're laying stained and wet on the ground beside your equally mangled shorts, hopefully not transferring the blood to the fabric below.

You don't get any warning, not enough time to hide them when you hear James's heavy footfalls by the door. He barges in without warning, face shifting to apologetic for only a split second before he registers the bloody clothes on the floor.

"Aah," He yelps, "Fuckin'- Are you wounded? You- oh." His sex education catches up to him, realizing why you've got blood only in the pad of your underwear, "Uh- right. Sorry."

"Get-" You start with a hiss, but you rein yourself in, trying to be kind, "James, can you- can you please get out?"

"Yeah! Yeah, right, I'll-" He motions over his shoulder with his thumb, "Uh- the guys are coming, so I'll head out. And-"

"The- what? Remus and Sirius are on their way back?" You panic, regretting your late wake-up. You could have really used the time they spent at breakfast to clean up."

"Yeah, they're- at the door."

"Close the door!" You urge him, as you hear the two other men enter the room. James does as he's told, but instead of stepping out, he steps in, panicked by your harsh tone of voice.

"Not- no!" You gush, but when he tries correcting himself, you lunge for his hand.

"Don't leave!" You beg, but rush to explain yourself when he frowns worriedly at you.

"I don't-" You whisper, "I don't want them to know I'm in here. Like- like this. If you leave they'll know. Just-" You fall silent with a sigh, "I don't know."

"Right." He nods, keeping his voice down so that it's muffled to Remus and Sirius, "Uh, I'll-"

"James? Mate, m'coming in," Sirius's voice comes from just outside the door, and you and James stare at each other, terrified. He rushes to slam his back against the door, and Sirius is unable to turn the knob.

"No! Uh, you can't-" James stammers, clearing his throat and steeling himself, "Use the bathroom in the hallway. I've got the squirts, mate, you don't wanna be in here with me."

You're lucky that Remus and Sirius groan in disgust, because it muffles your quick snort into your fist.

"You fuckin' animal. I told you not to cram those sausages down your throat," Remus snaps, "Now we can't use it for the rest of the day."

"Yeah, yeah, I've learned my lesson," James promises, shooting you a knowing wink, "Now get out!"

You're fairly certain you hear Sirius groan 'gladly', but you can't be certain. Their footsteps recede, then the outer door shuts, and once again you're alone with James. You wait for him to leave, but he lingers for a moment, politely avoiding staring at your soiled clothes.

"Right, well, they won't be back for a while. Do you want me to leave, too?"

"Uh- no, it's- it's okay," You decide, "You know."

"Yeah. Do you need any," James cringes before he even offers, "Help? I mean, I'm sure you've got wiping down, just- do you want, like, chocolate or something? Doesn't that help?"

"No! No, James, it's alright," You assure him, touched by his offer even if you're also embarrassed by it, "I don't want you to go to any trouble."

"No trouble," He shrugs, letting himself out of the bathroom and hovering in the doorway, "I know where Remus's stash is! He probably won't even notice it's missing, he's got so much. I can snatch some for you?"

"Really, it's okay," You smile kindly at him, still doubled over on the toilet with your elbows covering what you don't want him seeing, "Just- a moment alone, please?"

"Right," He nods with a grin, shutting the door, "Sorry!"

You breathe deep when you finally have a moment alone, cheeks burning with mortification. You're not sure you'll recover from this for a month, conveniently just enough time for it to happen again. You clean yourself up swiftly, not eager to spend more time in the bathroom that's revealed you to your roommate thrice in a month now.

James is kicked back on his bed when you reenter the main room, and he shoots you a kind smile that you bashfully return. You get to work putting new sheets on your bed, but when you move your pillow, you find a chocolate bar tucked under it.

If the sly grin on his face as he turns the page of his book is any indication, he's heard your light chuckle, and knows you appreciate him.

[d1s1ntegrated]

First of all, your writing is immaculate, chefs kiss 😘. I love how you write shigaraki. Anywaysss, is it possible you could make some HC about what he does with your bras/panties.

Weird ik but there’s something about an obsessed shigaraki masturbating into a pair of panties that just does it for me. If you don’t wanna do it that’s okay tho

👁️👅👁️

ouuuuuuu yes. my fuckkkk he's such a freak! need that man so bad.

nsfw!! freak!shigaraki x reader (stealing "clothes" edition)

tomura is a fucking kinky freak, we already know this

but his obsession with stealing your clothes has gotten a little out of hand.

at first it was a few shirts here and there but then he got bolder.

underwear and bras started going missing

even socks sometimes.

he likes to hoard them like a dragon with gems, shoving the dirty laundry into his pillowcase to hide them.

but at night he takes them all out and obsesses over them.

he lays them all out in neat little piles before picking which one is getting shoved in his mouth and which one is getting came on.

his favorite pair, the little purple thong, is just so fucking soft.

he likes to rub his throbbing dick along the fabric, feeling his precum mixing onto and re-wetting the crotch of your underwear.

the other pair, he sniffs and moans against the scent- this pair, you definitely were ovulating, because it smells so much stronger.

he doesn't mind if some pairs are blood-stained- in fact, he likes that shit. no, scratch that, he loves that shit.

god, it's like christmas when you start your period. he likes the smell of blood on its own, but for some sickening reason, the taste of yours drives him to cum so fucking fast it's pitiful.

don't get me started on the bras. he likes to shove his face into those as well, smelling the faint scent of your perfume, and imagining how soft your tits felt against the fabric.

sometimes he puts the bra over one of his pillows and just gropes them, pretending it's you.

his soft moans can be heard through the thin walls of the base but honestly, you don't mind.

you know fully what he's doing in there, teasing his rock-hard dick with various fabrics: silk, lace, cotton, nylon...

he pants and whimpers just loud enough for you to hear him until he takes a pair and shoves it in his mouth to stifle the noises he makes as his dick leaks onto all of the other pretty little pairs of underwear.

once he's spent, sweating and drooling, overall just a shattered mess of a man, he puts all of the abused clothing back into his pillowcase, smelling you mixed with his cum all night as he cuddles the pillow.

when they're all doubly soiled, he throws them into the washer with his clothes and suddenly, the 14 missing pairs are folded nice and neatly in your drawer, ready to be worn again.

you'd never tell him, but you leave your door unlocked and your dirty laundry easily accessible, because nothing beats the sound of him rubbing his dick raw every night to you.

[ghostlysoaps]

Emergency First Aid

He finds Ghost in the bathroom, needle and thread in crimson-stained hands. 

White porcelain muddled with grime and blood, smeared across the cubicle glass. A bottle of something see-through sitting on the lip of the tub – the label near illegible by the fingerprints wrapped around it. Every detail pointing towards it being a scene from some B-list horror flick. Except it can't be. Because Johnny’s nails dig into the palms of his hands and pain has no presence in dreams.

Ghost's skin is almost as pale as the cradle he sits in. Johnny can see the stark blue of his veins through the fragile skin of his wrists. A far more flattering colour on him than red, it's why he pretends he doesn’t know where his favourite henley ended up.

"Get out of my fucking room, Soap."

Johnny nods and then proceeds further into the room, careful to avoid the droplets of blood staining the tiles in a fucked-up breadcrumb trail.

Ghost levels him with an unamused glare, a non-verbal "go away," ringing louder than if he'd said it outright. 

He ignores that too.

The stitching is neither crude nor neat when he leans in for a closer look. Serviceable. Bound to scar. It might have regardless, medical ain't miracle workers, but it might, might have left a thinner mark.

"Soap?"

Ghost's eyes are brown as jasper, doe-wide, extruding exhaustion and warmth – in spite of how much effort he puts into burying that bleeding heart of his. They track Johnny’s progress warily. Glides over him when he wraps his own fingers around the bottle, fingers a good half-inch shorter than the red stains already there. Johnny knows all this despite not looking. Because they've been here before. Too often for his liking. 

He sets about cleaning the tacky trails of blood from Ghost’s skin. 

"Johnny?"

Why are his hands shaking? They're not supposed to do that he doesn't think.

"It's just a scratch, I've had worse."

His tongue unsticks from where it lies dead and heavy in his mouth. "I fuckin' know. 'M not blind."

Warm, calloused hands envelop his own. They stop him from digging deeper welts into his own skin. Massages gently until Johnny, against his will, unclenches and unfolds like a flowering bloom at the first hint of sunlight.

"This won't be what kills me–"

"Haud yer wheesht! Whit this shoddy excuse fer sutures anything's–"

"–because I've no intention of leaving you yet," Ghost– Simon continues, as if Johnny hadn't interrupted him at all. "I've clawed myself back from the edge of hell more times than I care to count." He knocks their heads together, one hand moving to thread fingers though Johnny’s hair. "It's much easier now that I have something to come back to."

Johnny takes a moment to process and sift through the wreckage those words leave behind.

"Take yer damn mask off an' say tha' to my face," he growls.

And Simon doesn't hesitate for a second. He peels the mask off, his second skin, as if it's easier than breathing. As if Johnny’s words were the decree of a higher power he's helpless to obey. Scarred skin and chapped lips and dark circles blending into greasepaint greets him – a sight no longer unfamiliar, but a privilege to behold nonetheless. 

"I-" is as far as Simon comes before Johnny is surging forward to take his bottom lip between his teeth. He kisses him like something feral and starved. As if he could crawl into Simon's mouth if he tried hard enough. Push through muscle, bone and sinew to make space for himself in the hollow of his ribcage.

He doesn't like the anger with which he devours him – the ever-present companion snarling in his chest – but he needs him to understand. Thinks that if he tries hard enough Simon might taste the words lodged firmly behind his molars. I can't stand to lose you. It scares me to the point of losing my breath. I love you. I love you. I love you. 

For all his rage, for all the fiery passion with which he lashes out, in the end it all stems from fear.

"Could've at least gone to medical, ye absolute weapon," he bites out, one hand stressing over the skin right beneath Simon's wound.

"Couldn't stand the thought of anyone touching me," Simon murmurs, catching Johnny’s wrist the moment he goes to pull away as if burnt. "'S better now. I'd have told you to fuck off proper if I didn't–" he cuts himself off, the tips of his ears going pink.

Johnny fills in the blanks, eyes falling shut for the fraction of a second.

"Dinnae deep down wan' me to be here."

Simon shrugs.

Johnny exhales, leans forward and rests his forehead to Simon's shoulder, kisses him sweetly right after.

"Let me help you."

"Please." 

He's glad to be looking at Simon now because Simon, whenever Ghost has fled his visage, is an open book. And the way he's looking at Johnny? It's as if he'd taken every soft, sweet thing Johnny feels for him and is reflecting it right back.

With another steadying breath, Johnny gets to work. Gauze and adhesive tape, as quick as he dares so as to not prolong the pain. And when he's done he brushes his lips over the white bandaging, looking up through his lashes when the simple gesture of affection causes Simon's breath to hitch. Keeps to his knees despite the ache in them.

"You come to me next time," Johnny says, a plea more so than the demand he'd hoped for.

Simon reaches for him, cups his stubbled cheek in hand, thumb rubbing in broad strokes across a near imperceptible scar there – his next words ringing with the gravity of church bells and promises spoken within. 

"Alright, Johnny."

---

Prompts via @whumperless-whump-event and @seth-whumps

[ughgoaway]

casual

It's hard being casual                                                                                                                               When my favourite bra lives in your dresser

a fic inspired by Chappell Roan's casual; snippet below the cut. 18+, 1.5k.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・.・.

Hot bodies press against you as you weave through the house, spilt beer making your skin sticky as more and more people carelessly dance with drinks sloshing in their hands. A playlist you don't recognise fills the air, and whilst Matty might be hosting, you can tell the playlist is completely out of his control. The vaguely rhythmic pumping drum and bass overwhelming your senses isn't something you can see him listening to, but maybe you just don't know him as well as you hoped.

Your eyes dart around the hoard of people looking for him and then back to your phone, desperate to see those three dots pop up and for him to finally respond. He never does, though, and when you scroll back, you see message after message go unanswered, unless they're about hooking up, of course. Those always get a response within minutes, which should be flattering, but seeing it laid out in front of you instead leaves a hollowed ache in your chest.

You know what you were signing up for the very first time his crisp white sheets got wrapped up between your thighs, sleeping with Matty Healy was a path well worn by girls before you, and not one of them had got a meaningful relationship out of it. More people have seen every inch of his skin than have ever seen his true personality, or maybe the faux rockstar cool guy act is who he really is, but you're not so convinced.

But that facade was all you needed. It's exactly why you started this in the first place. Misplaced anger towards your ex suddenly became you ripping a condom open with your teeth and sinking down on the dick of a man you'd spoken to maybe 5 times.

But that next morning, after he raised his eyebrows and asked if he wanted to go again, you ignored that screaming head in your voice to stay away and instead slid into his lap and put your lips on his.

Here you are now 4 months later, and your relationship is… something.  Matty would say it's completely casual. it's fun, low-commitment sex and nothing more. And when he says that, you nod and agree, immediately going for his belt to try and get those words out of your mind. And usually, within 30 seconds, with his hand in your hair and his dick in your mouth, it's pretty easy to forget. But it's times like this you're rudely reminded. When he invites you to a party knowing you don't know anyone and leaves you stranded, the truth comes crashing back into your head, impossible to ignore.

Some faces that glide past you feel familiar, but when a body crashes into yours and you look up at their face, it's the first one you really recognise. 

“George! Thank god, where’s Matty? he won’t answer my text” You try to sound blasé when you ask, acting how you think you should, running the gone girl “cool girl” monologue in your head. When George scrunches his face in confusion, you think he's seen right through your act, but what comes out of his mouth is worse than any transparent ploy he could've seen through.

“Sorry, do I know you?” George asked, nervously running his hand over his neck and looking down at you with squinted eyes. Suddenly, it feels like you've been shot in the chest, blood covering your clothes and hands. If you looked down right now, you swear they'd be stained red. But that's not very chill girl of you, so you giggle nervously and try and hide the crimson that covers you.

“Oh, sorry. I’m y/n. Has Matty ever mentioned me?” You giggle awkwardly as you speak, silently crushing the plastic cup of cheap beer that was forced into your hands as soon as you passed the threshold. 

Finally, after time dragged on for about 10 seconds longer than you'd like, a flicker of realisation fills George's eyes, and you expect an explanation. Maybe he's pissed, or high, or just not that good with faces. You convince yourself that there are a thousand reasons why Matty’s closest friend wouldn't know your face, but none of them match what falls from his lips.

“Oh yeahhhh. You're the girl Matty’s messing around with, right? The girl he fucked on the sofa at a party one time?” he drunkenly giggles, hiccupping halfway through his sentence.

Bang. The sound of a second gunshot fills your ears, and you swear you can feel the blood pouring again. He doesn't know it, he doesn't even know your name, but George's words felt like the eulogy at your funeral, as if he had just killed you and now he was sending you away. “The girl Matty is messing around with” not “Matty’s girlfriend”, or “Matty’s partner”, not even “Matty’s friend”, just the latest girl in his never-ending rotation.

Still, you smile even if you do feel yourself dying as you stand on the liquor-sodden carpet. “Yup. That's me… I guess. any idea where he is?” Even if you do speak through gritted teeth, George seems oblivious, quite easily directing you to Matty without a second thought.

“Uh last time I saw him was on the sofa in the front room, check there, maybe?” he shrugs, casting his eyes over your shoulder and smiling at someone. Well, it's nice to know he is capable of smiling, maybe he only does it with people who he actually knows, not people who he only kind of recognises for fucking his best friend.

“Yeah thanks, bye Geor-” Before you can even say a proper goodbye, he weaves through the crowd and shouts someone's name before tackling them in a hug. You wonder how he’d treat you if you were really Matty’s girlfriend. Would he cast you a smile and wrap you in a hug? Maybe you could have double dates with him as his girlfriend, then you'd know all Matty’s friends, the funny stories about him from childhood. 

You know the most intimate parts of Matty's body, the places that only your fingers brush, that you press kisses to. You know the tattoos that hide from everyone else. You've traced them with your tongue. But you don't know him. His favourite colour or movie, you don't know how his brain ticks, what his first kiss was, his first love, or if he's ever been in love.

He doesn't know anything about you either, but you think that's a blessing in disguise. If he asked if you'd ever been in love, you don't think you could lie. he'd see the lie in your eyes, swirling and fighting to leave your mouth in a way that sounded anyway believable. hed know that you are in love, right now. with him. No matter how thick you lay on the denial, there's only so much you can do to hide from your own thoughts.

So when you slip into the living room and see another girl on his lap with his hand around her waist, the third bullet of the night hits you, and this time you can't bring yourself to smile awkwardly and brush it off.

The blood won't stop. Each time his fingers stroke over her skin like they do on yours, you feel like you're dying. That any breath could be your last. The thump of the bass in your ears is replaced by your thumping heart, each beat permeating your skull. 

Thump. His hand pushes up her shirt, and his fingertips dance on her bare stomach. Thump. He throws his head back, laughing at something she says. Thump. He grips her hip and winks at her, pulling her deeper into his lap. Thump. She turns to face him. Thump. Her hand grips his cheek. Thump. He's kissing her. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Your heart won't stop racing, growing faster with each second. You watch his hand move from her waist to her neck, pressing his fingers into her skin the same way he does to you. Subconsciously, your hand goes up to your neck, brushing over the very places where you're sure those same fingertips left bruises two nights before. Slowly, her hand slides up to his hair, gripping his curls the way you know he loves. You watch his hips jump at the feeling. It makes you sick to your stomach, that once empty space fulling with dread and jealousy over a man who barely spared a thought for you.

Someone bumps your shoulder and suddenly the world comes back into colour, and you can hear the familiar beat of the shitty music, the shouting of some teenage boys as a random girl takes her top off, and the chatter of the people around you. You can breathe again. But he's still there, her tongue in his mouth and his hand cupping her cheek.

Fuck. you need a cigarette.

[chaichaiiskai]

Hi okay so if you're still doing a request can I get a (baki) Pickle x bottom male reader. So I want public sex where Pickle FuCks Reader Hard infront of everyone kinda like the reporter scene but you know with consent but if your not comfortable with that just normal rough sex in a bed room or forest since that's where Pickle is from.

If your not comfortable with this then that's okay i understand.

notes: OKAY, so, I did not see this until I wrote the last pickle request so I'm gonna connect this ask with that one— it's right here if ya wanna read it, deffo recommend it bc of lore :D hope ya enjoy this too !!! can't even lie, I'm thoroughly invested in the story of Pickle and Cucumber and I'm honestly thinking about keeping these two as reoccurring on my blog ngl.

warnings: mdni, homophobes do not interact, amab reader, he/him pronouns, violence against others that aren't reader, murder, blood and blood depictions, brief description of violence against woman and their wombs, mxm, pickle is very protective and basically yandere but who wouldn't be during the jurassic time period, rim jobs, lack of prep before anal, noncon mentioned but not against reader, reader is called cucumber by the facility and is basically a nickname, cumflation, belly bulge, size difference, very massive, very long, giant cock that is more weapon than genital, rough and unprotected sex bc duh they're both primitive men, hunting of animals, drugging // food tampering— I think that's it, lemme know if I missed anything.

The ultimate goal of the experiment was to further test the pure, raw strength of the primitive man when fueled by emotion and longing, going without food for a week. And their experiment proved to be true, far too true as a matter of fact. Multiple casualties would be forever staining the pages that reported the experiment and any sane person would have ended the experiment then and there to reunite the two lovers again.

However, a man at the top, who thought of nothing but himself, wanted to see just how far Pickle would go, even if that meant more casualties would have to be made. And so, the bloodbath ensued.

As Pickle roamed the facility halls, wave after wave came at him, rubber bullets aimed his way and raining on him that proved to have no impact on him whatsoever. He easily swiped aside the nuisances that are in his way, swiping away the small people until they go flying, hitting nearby walls— the sound of cracking bones, splattering, and coughing is sickening. So sickening that some of the scientists, though they love their jobs, find themselves going against the higher-ups.

One bravely moves in front of Pickle and holds his hands up, attempting to seem as if he was defenseless and then began to point behind him, pointing at a large door that was down the hall the primitive man was currently stalking down.

"He's there! There!"

He quickly announced, and then used his other hand to wave in the direction of the security camera he knew was currently watching the entire sight.

And on cue, the giant doors opened. To your surprise, the wall opening woke you out of your forced slumber that was brought onto you by a primitive form of depression sparked by your loss of companionship.

With heightened abilities, Pickle smelled you before he saw you, and as soon as he laid eyes on you, he was unable to make a sound, simply getting into all fours again and bounding towards you at full-speed. Despite being weakened by the lack of nutrients, you slowly sat up onto your hands and knees before feeling yourself being tackled back to the ground, bodies rolling until the two of your slammed against a tree, Pickle's back took the blow and nearly uprooted the thing. He rolled again onto a patch of grass, still holding you comfortably in his arms until you were in a patch of grass, dropping you onto your back while he buried his face into your neck, starting to nibble onto any part of it that he can reach, sharp fang-like teeth scratching over your skin and leaving indents.

The door to this new enclosure is shut and on the outside, the cleaning procedure begins, but not without some scolding to the researchers who went against the higher-ups. Cucumber and Pickle did not seem to care about whatever was going on outside of them, far more focused on each other and keeping each other close.

From then on, Pickle cannot be more than a foot away from you, and he can only sleep when he's on top of you, shielding you from whatever threatens the outside.

The only scientists he allows inside the enclosure are small, fragile-looking women. He'd already killed a few of the male scientists who dared to enter, a warning and a threat. And recently, in hopes to appease the two primitive men and get back on their neutral sides, wild animals have been introduced into the enclosure, giving the illusion of a hunt for the both of you, and unfortunately, your enjoyment in fruit had been ruined thanks to the scientists and their cruel, cruel experiment.

You were only able to eat what Pickle hunted, and in another week, you looked more alive again, even helping with the hunt and relishing in Pickle's presence yet again. So far, it seemed that Pickle seemed to enjoy crocodile meat quite a lot, whilst you had your own preferences. And once you were back at a healthy level of energy, Pickle immediately recognized it and let his instincts win, one could not blame him for feeding into such carnal desires.

After an especially filling meal, you find yourself being hunted just like your previous meal, but it's the kind of hunt that gets the hair on the back of your neck standing. Your primitive partner growls at you in a suggestive manner and suddenly, he's chasing you around the enclosure, getting the adrenaline pumping in your veins and his. And when he's had enough, he's got you pinned down onto the ground, pulling at the loin cloth that keeps you from him until it comes off, making him toss it aside. He's hurried and hungry, yanking his own loin cloth off as you roll onto your stomach, eager for him to mount you, hardened cock swinging between your legs while a bead of pre dribbles out the top. You're on your knees, propping your body up in the ideal position for— breeding essentially.

Pickle is eager himself, lining his massively thick, veiny dick up with your rim, nearly growling at the anticipation as he presses the head against it and starts to push. Every part of the tanned man is large, including his third leg that was just a few inches over a foot in length and thick like a world record-breaking, sizable anaconda. He tried to force himself into you, but you push him out, obviously because it's been a while and it seems to frustrate the beast, eliciting a growl from him as he eyes your little hole with his brows furrowed. Everytime you breathe, it winks at him, almost like it's taunting him and you can't help but to grow frustrated, huffing at him from over your shoulder, but he can't stop staring at your hole, curious eyes drilling themselves into your ass.

Then, yet another instinct comes over him as he leans down, shoving his tongue past the first ring of muscle, the fat thing nearly longer than his cock. The sensation is strange but it only makes more pearls of pre dribble from your tip, your own cock seemingly throbbing as his wild tongue throbs around inside of you from behind, forcibly stretching you with its width. The muscle thrashes around inside of you, wildly moving about, darting in and out of you like an excitable puppy drinking water from a lake. His tongue movements are uncoordinated and hungry, so much to the point that it's darting about with no clear destination, even causing a few stray licks to the underside of your balls that makes you flinch every time.

Pickle isn't particularly sure what he's doing or why he's doing it, but he couldn't stop himself from feeding into the curiosity. It surprised you as well, considering he's never done to you before and you had never felt so good down there like this.

Shamelessly, a group of researchers and scientists were watching this ensemble unfold in real-time, gathered around with food in their hands like shameless perverts watching an adult film.

For science! They would most likely say, ignoring their own instincts to shove a hand in their pants at the scene in front of them.

The licking, although pleasant, was becoming too much and there was a buildup you were feeling in your shaft that had you panting like a dog, clawing at the ground and smashing your skull against the dirt. For some unknown reason, Pickle took your sounds as a signal of sorts and he remembered his own issue, heavy uncircumcised cock seeming to throb and lift with eagerness. Yet again, he pulls himself back to position himself properly, lining himself up with your hole and then pushes the tip in, a chirp of excitement escaping him as he plunges in deeper, going in about halfway before you feel as though the insides of your stomach are literally being rearranged. Fertile balls are pressed up against yours as he manages to jam every inch into your awaiting hole, somehow you're able to take every inch, an impressive feat within itself. Perhaps, this is why he took you as a lover. A flash of memories comes to mind to both you and Pickle.

. . .

Pickle had his share of sexual partners— instinctually he went after women, who he ultimately killed by accident after ripping through their wombs with the deadly length between his thighs. He had found a woman once, able to take him fully, but she did not recuperate his feelings and escaped him after a session of breeding. Eventually, Pickle stumbled upon Cucumber, a man of smaller stature than him, but strong in his own way. Their first meeting was anything but friendly, both of them going after the same prey of a Jurassic animal, looking for their next meal, fighting each other while simultaneously fighting the creature in hopes of getting meat. Ultimately, they ended up killing the beast together and bregrundingly shared, taking from the hunted beast without acknowledging each other much after.

But through unfortunate events, you continued to run into each other at different points in both of your traveling journeys, but continued to ignore each other regardless. And on one of those fateful meet-ups, however, Pickle had made a mistake— a mistake that brought on a sense of fear that he'd never once had to deal with before.

Consuming a wasp.

The pain he'd felt from it made him more vocal than ever, scaring away beasts and other people alike. However, Cucumber was not fearful, instead, he went a pang of sympathy for the man who he'd considered somewhat of a companion.

Immediately jumping into action, tapping into a nurturing side that he sometimes would ignore, he wandered hurriedly to the nearest lake of water, cupped his hands and gathered a healthy amount of it into his hands and wandered towards the other man. He growled at that primitive man who was still in excruciating pain, opening his mouth in an attempt to get the message across to him and with tears in his eyes, Pickle obliged, reminding Cucumber of a whimpering babe who was hungry for milk.

Dumping the handfuls of water into Pickle's mouth, you watched as he held the water in his mouth for a moment and then spit it out, along with the wasp, coughing up quite a storm. You frowned as he coughed, hesitantly patting his back afterwards, and after a while, you left to gather something to soothe the residual burning— fruits, which you forced Pickle to eat, despite his disdain for eating things that he did not hunt himself. But when he did as you wanted, the burn disappeared and you were ready to take your leave after helping him— only to have the man hot on your tail, everywhere you went, following you closely from behind.

Surprisingly, you didn't shoo him away, and that was what began the true extent of your strange relationship. It didn't take much longer before he would develop something new, love, and you returned the feeling. And in a moment of intimacy one late night, under the stars, he'd mounted you for the first time like a woman and breeded you under the moonlight. It was somewhat romantic, even with the guttural sounds of pleasure and delight that came from you both. And when you took him in his entirety without complaint, he was even more infatuated with you than he'd already been.

. . .

The primal man is grinning at this point as he's able to properly mount you, beginning to thrust at a pace that has your body rocking back and forth, his mouth and the area around it shiny with his own saliva as he plunges further. You're lucky you're stronger than the average and modern man, claws digging further into the dirt to keep yourself from toppling forward. Pickle is pounding into you, thrusting his hips with a tenacity that's enough to shake the trees around you, you're lucky your body is built for the brutality.

Watchful eyes are carefully observing, even going as far as to have a discussion onto why the two of you had chosen each other as mates since there was no chance of either of you reproducing. Then again, did reproducing matter much to the primitive people of your time? Apparently not, though Pickle seemed to be /breeding/ you as if it were indeed, possible.

Poor Cucumber was experiencing the true strength of Pickle's excitement, quite literally being fucked into the ground by a beast of mass destruction. The researchers collectively feel a sense of great respect for you as you handle the creature on top of you with gritted teeth, groaning and growling as you take every inch. It's a rough experience that leaves you teary eyed, wobbly lipped, and whining, just like all the other times he has his way with you. Pickle doesn't seem to let up, not even when your teeth chatter as a familiar and growing pleasure comes over you, blossoming in your hips and cock, strings of white spewing from your tip and onto the ground beneath you in spurts that seem to last far too long. Your cock seems to soften after cumming a second time, though it continues to twitch and swing with the pistoning of barbaric hips that continuously drive you forward. Squelching and the sound of skin repeatedly colliding is nearly as loud as the proud growls Pickle does, his chest vibrating with an animalistic equivalent of pride when you cum, squeezing his erection enough to milk him just right.

And fortunately, your poor hole doesn't need to take much more abuse before Pickle reaches his edge as well, unleashing copious amounts of his load into you, cum spilling out the edges where your bodies connected, dribbling out in the dirt like lines of salt. You'd felt full like this before, never able to get used to the feeling but still enjoying it regardless, a strange after result is the slight pouch in your lower belly that is made due to an immense amount of cum. Pickle holds himself there for a bit before pulling out and he's /still/ coming, ropes of the sticky white landing on your back and your rear, the insane amount he's dumped into you beginning to spill out and trickle from your gaping, spasming hole. Your lover lets out an affirmative, satisfied groan and then lays down onto the ground on his side right next to you. He wraps one of his lengthy arms around you and pulls you towards him, your chest neerly flush against his, and you rest your forehead against his shoulder, panting as you attempt to catch your breath, almost as if you'd been running after an especially fast prey. Pickle shuts his eyes and rests his chin on top of your head as he slowly shuts his eyes, having been drained of energy. It's not long before he's asleep and his body naturally locks in place around you, almost like a protective barrier. One of his legs is draped over yours, hooked behind your knees, his monstrous cock nestled between your thighs while yours is squeezed between your stomach and his abdomen, lower bodies entangled where it's almost difficult to distinguish between limbs. His arm is still wrapped around your back, the other had joined, slipping beneath you as his hands interlocked behind your back. This position is new, he's usually laying right on top of you when he sleeps, completely covering you up like a shell on the back of a turtle, making it nearly impossible to see you beneath him unless one looked from very specific angles.

You're tired as well, hole still leaking with Pickle's cum as your eyelids grow heavy. Your body is hot and sticky with sweat, making your skin stick to his, but you always find comfort in his presence, snaking your own arms around the massive man's body the best way you can before you drift off to sleep as well.

To the researchers and facility crew who are still watching on the security cams, they see the cuddling session as wholesome— despite the previous actions of you both— and nearly coo at the cuddling session.

Perhaps they would need to adjust their research and find different questions to think about...

[peppermintquartz]

Explicit.

Yes, with the Daddy kink.

*

"God, I hope so."

Tommy can't believe those words left his mouth, but what is a guy to do when Evan Buckley is sitting so close looking delectable?

Evan only gazes at him, smiling in a way that seems to be hinting at something naughty. Tommy refuses to squirm in his seat. He's thirty-nine years old, he's not going to be a shy little prude about what he likes. Been there, done that, bought the t-shirts and the leather cuffs.

"I don't know, Tommy," says Evan slowly, spearing some salad on his fork, "I may need some persuading to, uh, open up to you more about my daddy issues."

He chews and raises an eyebrow in challenge.

Okay, that's it.

"Challenge accepted." Tommy feels a slow heat building at the base of his spine, but tucks that away for now. The dinner is really good and he's not about to deprive Evan of the energy he'll need. And Tommy is going to make sure Evan expends a lot of energy.

They chat about other matters: about flying for the army versus flying for the fire department, about bartending, about how Evan sued the fire department for wrongful termination ("yes, I was on blood thinners, and yes, I'm still very careful"), about the first car Tommy restored.

By the end of the meal, Tommy is less concerned with what they're talking about and more concerned about Evan's wine-stained lips and dark eyes. And from the way Evan's foot is rubbing up and down Tommy's calf, he thinks the younger man isn't interested in conversation any longer either.

"Let's clean up," Tommy suggests. He doesn't mean to drop his voice further, but the words come out in a low rumble. Evan's eyes darken even more.

They load up the dishwasher together, Tommy knowing enough about Evan not to usurp the task. When Evan closes the door to the machine and starts it up, Tommy reels his boyfriend in and says, "Good boy."

Evan swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I just put some plates in the dishwasher. That's hardly difficult."

"True," Tommy allows, then swivels Evan around to face the sink, where the salad bowl is sat. "Wash that now, hmm?" He keeps his hands on Evan's hips as Evan washes up quickly, and firmly pins him against the counter when he takes the bowl, his arms going around his boyfriend to dry the wooden bowl and set it aside.

"Tommy?" Evan sounds a little breathless. "What are you..."

"Shh. Good boys don't interrupt." Tommy turns him around again, noses along Evan's jawline and breathes him in. He flicks his tongue out and plays with Evan's earlobe before biting softly on it. Evan shudders and moans, wrapping his arms around Tommy's waist and shoulder.

Tommy feels his pulse kick up another notch. He pushes a thigh between Evan's knees, and gratifyingly Evan allows it. Tommy needs to get closer, and reaches down to hook one leg up. Evan goes along with it, gasping when Tommy starts licking and sucking on that soft spot under his ear. He's hard against Tommy where their groins are pressed together, and his fingers are digging into the older man's back.

"Alright, baby, do you want it here or on the bed?" Tommy growls. He wants it to be good for Evan, he needs it to be good for Evan. He needs to see Evan undone completely.

"Bed," Evan says.

Tommy begins to move, then pauses. A wicked little smile crosses his face and he leans back to make sure Evan can see it. "That's not how you answer nicely, Evan."

Evan is flushed and his pupils already wide with lust. His mouth - and what a pretty, pretty mouth, Tommy wants to do all kinds of filthy things to it - is open, his breathing labored. "Tommy, bed, please."

Tommy is very pleased that he's strong enough to keep Buck pinned against the counter. He rocks his hips forward, hissing at the pleasurable pressure. "Ask nicely."

"I did, I said please!" Evan protests. He tries to push away from the counter but with one leg firmly hooked around Tommy's waist, he has little leverage.

Tommy leans forward to lick his way into Evan's mouth, unable to bear another second not tasting his boyfriend. "Ask Daddy nicely now."

Evan freezes for a second. His hands tighten where he's clutching Tommy, and for a heartbeat Tommy wonders if he's spooked the younger man.

Then Evan grabs Tommy by his neck and practically inhales him with hungry kisses. With a tiny jump, he wraps both legs around Tommy and, oh, that feels very encouraging, where Evan's hard cock is pressed against his abdomen.

"Take me to bed right fucking now, Daddy." It's Evan's turn to growl, and Tommy is very glad his knees are strong enough to hold him and Evan up.

It takes some tricky maneuvering before they do end up on the mattress, Tommy having had to relinquish his prize so they can both take the stairs without falling and hurting themselves, and they're stripping with the efficiency of men who know exactly what they want right now. Evan grabs the lube from the nightstand and Tommy tears open a condom.

It never fails to awe Tommy that his partners trust him so much with their bodies, and even more so with Evan. The younger man sighs into the pillows and allows Tommy into him with minimal prep, only the faintest of grimaces on his face where it may sting. Despite every nerve telling him to claim, Tommy holds still, chest heaving and arms trembling with the effort not to just thrust into that slick, hot tightness.

Evan's eyes flutter open. His pupils are blown and his lips redder than before. "Take me," he whispers. "Take me hard. I wanna feel it for days."

Tommy smacks Evan's thigh lightly. "Ask properly."

Evan licks his lips, a look of mischief fluttering over his face. His cheeks are pink and his hair fluffed up. "I don't want to."

The downfall of saints, this one, Tommy thinks, and thrusts, once, to remind Evan exactly who's in charge, and begins to pull out. "Really? Then I guess I'll just take a nap instead-"

"Wait, no, Daddy," Evan gasps, and his cheeks flame even darker with want.

Tommy is shaking inside with desire but he holds still. "Ask. Properly."

Evan blinks up at him. A coy smile curves his lips. "Please, Daddy, may I have more?"

Tommy kisses him. "Much better." He flexes his hips and thrusts into Evan's hot body. It is so much better. He loses himself to the rhythm and the feel of sweat-slick skin. Evan spreads his long legs even more and wraps his limbs around Tommy, breathing encouragement and pleas for moremoremore.

Reaching between them, Tommy wraps his big hand around Evan's hard cock. "Daddy's gonna take care of you," he rasps, stroking fast and firmly, his callused hand wet with Evan's precome. Evan whimpers, fingers raking over Tommy's back. Even in the haze of lovemaking, Tommy hopes Evan will leave scratch marks. It'll be satisfying to have visible reminders of pleasure.

"Please," Evan sobs when Tommy's thumb rubs over the head of his cock over and over, the pad of his thumb pressing into the wet slit. "Please, please, please Daddy please-"

Another soft cry and Evan's spilling hot and slick all over Tommy's hand, clenching down on Tommy's cock. Tommy valiantly strokes Evan through his climax until he's limp and breathless, telling him you're a good boy Evan, such a good boy for me, and suddenly Evan has a hand buried in Tommy's hair and he's squeezing down on Tommy's cock again - whatever Evan has been reading up on to build those muscles, Tommy is going to get a subscription, it feels incredible - and then Evan is whispering in his ear, "Come for me, Daddy, show me how I've been a good boy." And Tommy's vision whites out for a second, all sensation rushing inwards and exploding through his nerves.

When his brain comes back online, he realizes he's lying on his boyfriend like a huge immovable rock and carefully pulls out to roll to the side. Evan makes an unhappy sound as Tommy releases him from his weight, but snuggles closer once Tommy's got rid of the condom.

"I know I liked that," Tommy mumbles, his eyelids growing heavy from the post-coital hormones. "But was it good for you?"

"Yeah, yes it was," Evan replies, sounding just as sleepy. He drapes a long leg over Tommy's. "We'll be stuck together if we don't shower though."

Part of Tommy wants to say he doesn't fucking care, but another part knows that Evan won't appreciate the discomfort. He grunts and levers himself up onto his elbows.

In the dim light, Evan's an adorable, debauched angel with mussed hair and flushed skin. Tommy wishes he were twenty again, just so he can go one more round with Evan immediately.

"We can shower together," he says instead, and gets a sweet kiss. Then he adds with a hopeful bat of his eyelashes. "Shower sex?"

Evan raises his eyebrows. "We'll see if you're... up to it." With another twinkle and smirk, he tacks on, "Old man."

Delighted, Tommy smiles and grabs Evan's wrist. "Challenge accepted."

[lovesickeros]

☆ de fontaine

{☆} characters furina {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings angst, suicidal thoughts, hurt / no comfort {☆} word count 1.4k

This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair!

She thought, for one moment, she could put the mask down and breathe – for one moment of daydreaming, she thought she could just be Furina. She thought she would finally get to live the live she should've had in the first place, the life she threw away to play God to an audience who saw her as nothing but a circus animal, dancing to their whims. Furina just wanted to be selfish for one brief and fleeting moment..and it was gone before she could even grasp it in her hand. A comet soaring past far out of her reach.

She can barely keep her hands from violently shaking as she looks down at them – broken and bloody and more a corpse then a person – and she feels so numb she can't even feel the rain pelting against her back. None of this is fair, she wants to scream, why is it always me? But her voice is silent beneath the torrent of rain. She wonders if the ocean would take her if she sank into it's depths – just for a moment, she wonders how it would feel to finally be able to sleep at ease.

Furina is tired.

But Furina is nothing if not useful, isn't she?

So she forces her feet to move, dragging against the stone beneath her heels, and drags their bloodied body into the nearest empty building, letting the rain do the work of washing away the smeared blood following her path. The smell makes her feel sick, the feeling of it sticking to her hands and gloves makes her lightheaded, but she persists. Because Furina is useful, because Furina won't let them die out in the rain, because Furina won't stand by and just let them rot on the streets like some..pest.

Furina wants to go home. She wants to sleep and she isn't she if she wants to wake up, this time. But she keeps going anyway.

Because it's all she's ever done, and the habit sticks.

An Archon she may not be, not anymore, but the expectations of five hundred years still linger like eyes on the inside of her skull. They watch her, pry and prod at her thoughts, mocking laughter and judging eyes following her as she forces herself to dance to the song they weave with glee. Furina never stepped off that stage – she's still there, she thinks, watching the crowd stare at her in disdain as the curtain call looms above her like a guillotine. She still hears Neuvillette deliver her damnation and salvation with a trembling voice, still feels her hair stand on end when electro crackled like the crack of the whip, Clorinde's blade aimed at her like a loaded gun.

She's trapped on that stage and she never left, not really.

She hates it. She thinks she hates them, but it's not their fault. They didn't ask for this, didn't ask for everyone to turn against them, didn't ask for her to save them. Neither did she..yet here they are, she thinks.

She tries to tell herself she's in control this time, though. She can stop performing her part in this horrible, bloody play any time she wants. It makes her feel better, just for a little while, if she convinces herself she's still Furina, painfully human.

And Furina has always been good at lying.

It's the believing that's the hard part.

There isn't time for her to wallow in her own self pity, though. They're still bleeding out onto the dusty, creaky floorboards of some random, broken down house and she's just standing there as the blood stains the wood. She can fix it – she's good at fixing things. She's done nothing but fix things – try to, anyway – for five hundred years. She can fix a little wound, how hard could it be? Her hands are clenched so tight they ache as she kneels down, wincing at the creak of the floorboards beneath her heels– she hesitates just long enough to wonder if she's making a mistake before she peels away just enough of the outer layer of their clothes to see the deep, bloody gash across their chest. She tries not to think about it – it's deep, too deep, and she feels dizzy just looking at it, but she's handled worse, right?

Furina can fix it. That's what she's good at.

She doesn't feel so confident when she tries to wrack her brain for..something. Five hundred years, and a little wound stumps her? No, she had to have learned something, right? She's decidedly not trying to buy time because she's panicking, parsing through hundreds of years of memories like flipping through a book. Furina isn't made for this, not really – she's running on nothing but adrenaline and she's really not sure what she's doing, but she's trying. And just like before, it won't be enough, will it?

She'll fall short again – she'll be too late to fix it before she's alone again.

Furina was an Archon..used to be. What use would she have for that sort of knowledge? Which makes her predicament all the more harrowing and bleak. What was she supposed to do?

Furina had heard it first hand, that vitriol in Neuvillette's voice. She isn't sure she's ever heard him that..angry before. She's not sure he would listen to her if she tried, either. And that scares her more then anything. All of Fontaine was up in arms about this..imposter, yet here she was, staring down at them bleeding out in front of her, and she was trying to save them.

Why? Why is she throwing away her only chance at normalcy for a fraud? Why didn't she just turn them in?

They were dying – that should've been a good thing, shouldn't it? So why didn't it feel like it?

"Why you?" Her voice breaks as she speaks in harsh tones, grabbing the front of their shirt in trembling, bloodied hands. "Why now?" She wants to scream, to demand answers they can't give, to claw back the reprieve she was promised after five hundred years of agony..and all she can do is sob into their chest, pleading for an answer that will not come. "Why me?"

Silence is their answer, and it hangs heavy on her trembling shoulders as she cries.

Of course they don't, she thinks bitterly, no one has ever answered her pleas spoken in hushed sobs. Not her other self and certainly not them.

Furina has always been alone. Furina will always be alone.

Because Furina never left that stage, never left that moment when she looked at herself in the mirror and took up a mantle too heavy for her to bear. She always finds her way back eventually. There's no one on the other side anymore – she stands alone on a stage, waiting for an inevitable end she isn't sure will come.

"Please," She pleads through tears and choked sobs, clinging to them like they are all that keeps her from sinking. "Please don't leave me, too." The words burn on her tongue – how pathetic is she that she craves companionship from the bloodied body of the imposter? Perhaps she's truly lost her mind after all these years..perhaps she's finally gone mad. She must have.

But their presence is like the first feeling of gentle warmth upon her skin as the sun crests the horizon, like the gentle lap of tides along her heels, the sway of branches and leaves as the wind blows through them like an instrument all it's own. They are the soothing sound of rain against the window as she watches the dreary skies in fond longing, the first bloom of spring as color blooms upon the landscape like paint had been spilled across the hills and valleys.

They are like the faint spark she carefully nurtures and stokes, so fragile even the smallest wind could blow it out like a candle. She cradles it within her palms, pleads with whoever will listen – prays that someone finally listens, because if not for her, then for them.

She's failed to protect too much already, let too many people with so much trust in her fall between the cracks of her fingers like grains of sand. She won't let them go – she can't.

If nothing else, if she couldn't be saved when she begged for salvation from that five hundred year long agony, even if she never got that chance..

Furina will make sure they do.

[silly-l1ttle-guy]

How the bucci gang sleep hcs

This has been in my drafts since January wtf

BRUNO BUCCIARATI + LEONE ABBACCHIO

all over the place

there is not a single time where these two have woken up in the same position they fell asleep in

like they'll fall asleep spooning, then they'll wake up with half of Bruno's limbs zipped off and Abbacchio sprawled across the bed in a position that looks uncomfortable with her foot in Bruno's face

one of Bruno's legs is probably on the floor and Abbacchio is most likely cuddling one of his arms

they're just used to it at this point

"Leone can you pass me my leg?" "m'kay"

Narancia came in to wake them up one time and screamed because Bruno zipped his head off in his sleep

Mista and Trish teased him about it for weeks

anyway i bet on my life that Bruno and Abba bring out their stands in their sleep

just randomly while they're sleeping Sticky Fingers and Moody Blues pop out

they just look at each other, then down at their users, then back to each other

they end up cuddling too (SENTIENT STANDS SUPREMACY)

it's so cute when Bruno and Abba wake up and see that their stand are cuddling

also Bruno's hair may look perfect 24/7 but in the morning it's SO. FUCKING. MESSY.

he has to immediately brush his hair so no one sees it like that

except Abbacchio

SPEAKING OF ABBACCHIO

when she wakes up her hair is also a mess

just slightly less messy

she has breakfast before she does anything else, then she immediately does her make-up

also don't be surprised if Bruno has Abbacchio's lipstick stains all over his body in the morning

it just means he sucked some girl dick last night

usually on those days Abbacchio wakes up with smudged make-up that she forgot to take off

also Abbacchio has frequent nightmares and often times wakes up in the middle of the night

she doesn't like telling anyone and calms herself down before going back to sleep

Bruno knows about it though

GIORNO GIOVANNA + PANNACOTTA FUGO

these guys are like the opposite of Bruno and Abba

they'll fall asleep cuddling and wake up in the exact same position

usually Fugo's the big spoon because he doesn't like being the little spoon

brings back bad memories y'know?

but anyway they sometimes also bring out their stands in their sleep

GER most of the time

it just likes to pop out to see what's happening

sometimes in the morning when Fugo wakes up, he'll roll over and see GER staring him dead in the eyes

he screams loud enough to wake everyone up

nara, mista and trish all tease him about it

"Did someone get scared~?" "SHUT UP NARANCIA! IT WAS JUST STARING ME DEAD IN THE EYES!" "Pussy lmao" "MISTA" "Nah the boys are right, you are kind of a pussy" "TRISH!"

sometimes purple haze comes out while Fugo's asleep

GER just pops out and hangs out with ph for a bit

anyway Fugo's hair is always a pain in the ass when he wakes up

as for Giorno... uh...

picture Dio's hair but longer

he looks like a younger version of shadow Dio too in the morning lmao

also Giorno bites shit in his sleep

and he's got some sharp canine teeth

the pros of being half-vampire

don't be surprised if when they wake up there's bite marks on Fugo's arms

or if Giorno's biting a pillow

if Giorno's had a stressful day he might move around in his sleep too

not much usually, but one time he ended up sleepwalking

Fugo woke up in the middle of the night and noticed that Giorno wasn't there

panic

he eventually found Giorno wandering around the garden and muttering to himself

it was really funny when Fugo snapped him out of it

then they went back to bed and Giorno bit Fugo's hand so hard it drew blood

true love at it's finest

sometimes Fugo has nightmares and Giorno has to wake him up

on more rare occasions Giorno has a nightmare and wakes up Fugo because he's trembling and shaking so much

GUIDO MISTA

snores

that's about it

he'll sleep in any position there is possible and he'll be comfy in all of them

he's also the deepest sleeper in the team

this guy moves around a lot too

he'll fall asleep in fetal position against the wall, then he'll wake up halfway across the room with his blanket tangled in his legs

sleepovers with him are a nightmare because not only does he snore, but this man also sleeptalks

one time Narancia and Trish were sleeping in his room and they woke up to him mumbling about how far his ass is

they recorded it in case they ever needed to blackmail him

but yeah this guy is a mess

He sleeps naked too

Balls out and everything

Unless Trish and Narancia are sleeping over

In thy case he leaves his pants on

Also on hot nights he SWEATS

This guy naturally runs warm, he gets hot during the night

NARANCIA GHIRGA

Eeperton

Bro sleeps like a baby

Nara just kinda sleeps wherever

He hardly even uses his own room unless someone carries him there

Honk mmimimimi honk mimimimimi

Also they sleep with their blanket wrapped around them like a cocoon

My guy is snug as a bug in a rug fr

This mf does not make ANY noise in their sleep

Completely silent

The amount of times people have thought they were dead because of this is quite a hefty amount

Sleeby

The missile is very sleepy

If they sleep next to someone they cling on for dear life

Also they're a blanket hog

They do not move at all either

TRISH UNA

She sleeps in a princess bed

Also a quiet sleeper

But she does move, unlike Narancia

Goes to sleep like she's in a casket at her funeral and wakes up face down on the opposite side of the bed

If she forgets to take her makeup off before bed she screams and tells Giorno to buy her self-care products

Live laugh love Trish

Sometimes she sleeps with Sheila E (I wish lesbians were real💔💔)

[guppybibi]

(i've never tried a pomegranate before & it looks noms)

Simon Riley who is oddly similar to a pomegranate.

It's not the most common comparison you'll see, but who can blame anyone when his hands are stained with red, much like the tart fruit. It takes quite a while to peel a pomegranate without the right methods, no? Same goes for Simon, it'll take a decent amount of time for him to unravel and unveil his true self to you, to anyone in general. You'll have to go through a hard pericarp before you can even get to the spongy mesocarp, rock hard walls formed through years of..issues let's say.

But good things do take time, the best crops of pomegranates don't take 5-6 years for nothing after all. The name possibly stemmed from the French word for fruit, pomme-grenade, fitting isn't it? And Ghost in particular considered himself a dead man, lacking a soul as he roams around the world as a shell of a man. Good thing (not really..), the pomegranate was considered the 'fruit of the dead', believed to have sprung from the blood of Adonis.

uhh and they're yummy pls pls someone buy me one