#crave writing

[scribblesandink]

Just when I think I have all the character info I need for my book, I have to make more shit up to make it make sense! I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT THEY'RE FAKE NAMES ARE, CHERYL, I HAVEN'T GOTTEN THAT FAR!

[mischievous-thunder]

Bonus:

Ugh! Fools!

[rustchild]

desperately craving weird surrealist arthurania. Knights with no faces wandering through the mists. Seams between Christian and pre-Christian Britain gaping like open wounds. Beafts and visions. Maybe a monk. Maybe the monk is gay

[luna-andra]

Nanami naturally puts on a little more weight in the winter months. For a man with his build, he has a bit of pudge when he's relaxed in front of you. But when he puts on that winter bulk, his abdominals are less defined unless he's flexing or sucking in. And you are constantly begging him to not hide any bit of it because God it's so fucking delicious. "Nooo, don't take your belly from me, Kento~" you whined as your arms snake around his waist to cop a feel. And when you have him naked and you get that rare chance of having him beneath you? You're damn right you're taking that golden opportunity to suck and leave love bites on all the places you can get away with. What a fucking blessing to have more of him, even if he feels internally insecure about it. But when you lavish him with that much affection, giving him physical and verbal reassurance, he can't help but fall harder in love with you.

JJK Masterlist Discord

[aurorawritestoescape]

CRAVING YOU

Joel Miller x f!reader || 3,9k

Summary: after a breakup you throw a big Halloween party and look for someone hot to spend the night with, but no one attracts your attention. That is until you see Joel.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, fluff, age gap (how big is up to you bb), soft!Joel, soft!dom vibes, sex with a stranger, praise kink, fingering, squirting, unprotected piv (wrap it up), creampie, reader getting emotional, aftercare, talk of past heartbreak, smoking. Pics are only for the mood but reader wears a described slutty costume. Joel can lift reader.

A/n: this is written for @mermaidgirl30 ‘s Halloween writing challenge. Thank you for the fun event, Jamie!🩷 Smooches to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing😘 Dividers by @saradika-graphics 💕 Happy Halloween everyone!🎃🖤

MASTERLIST

“As if!”

You push away another drunk frat boy off yourself and head to the kitchen to get yourself a drink. Yes, you look hot as hell practically naked in your red bra, tiny red skirt and a red latex coat over your naked shoulders but it doesn’t give them the right to get handsy with you. Walking through your parents’ house, dark except for the strobing lights, drowning in loud music, you wonder why you invited all of these assholes but it’s totally on you. You wanted to throw a big Halloween party after breaking up with your long-term boyfriend. Not so ‘long’ anymore. He was the one you planned to marry. To spend all your life with. You were high school sweethearts, went to the same college and suddenly all your plans turned to ashes. You found yourself lost, heartbroken and in need of comfort. Tonight you wanted to be hugged or fucked or both.

But unfortunately nobody has attracted your attention. You’re walking through the buzzing crowd but suddenly you stop in your tracks as soon as you spot him.

He’s standing outside in the empty backyard, illuminated by the string lights and the moon. His back is to the house and the first thing you notice is a tool belt, hanging around his hips. A builder costume? Interesting.

The belt attracts your attention to his gorgeous ass and even from afar you see that it looks delicious in jeans. You bite your lip, imagining your hands on those cheeks.

His back is broad. Strong. A plaid shirt is strained over his muscular shoulders. His dark curls shine with the silver of the moon.

Like a shark finally smelling its prey, you start moving towards him, pushing away everyone in your way. You slide a glass door, releasing the music and the chatter of the party into the yard, and the loud sounds make the man turn. Internally you squeal with excitement when you see his handsome features, partially hidden behind the cigarette smoke. When it dissipates, your breath hitches. His prominent nose is asking to be sat on, his dark eyes are scorching every inch of your exposed skin yet his plush lips curve into a warm smile at the sight of you sauntering towards him.

”Hey,” you purr, waving at the stranger with your fingers. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

You offer him your hand and he blows the smoke to the side, before gently shaking it.

“Sorry, miss. I’m Joel. Joel Miller.”

You tell him your name and notice his eyes linger on your body, barely covered and sparkling with glitter. In your mind you smirk— you’re so fucking him tonight.

“Jus’ havin’ a smoke. I’ll leave soon.”

“No, why, it’s allowed,” you giggle and look him up and down before adding. “I really love your costume, Joel.”

You step up closer to him and slide your index finger along the tool belt, stopping over his big bulge. You both glance down and he smiles,

“ ‘s not a costume, sweetheart. I’m a contractor. The man who owns this house wants to redo some stuff in the backyard. He told me I could come and take the measurements tonight. My crew is starting work tomorrow. Didn’t know there’d be a party.”

He glances at the house and chuckles, seeing someone do a keg stand in the living room.

“Oh.”

You realize why your father had told you to keep the guests out of the backyard. Strangely the fact that he’s a contractor makes the situation even hotter. You give Joel a little smile, batting your eyelashes at him, and whisper, “My mistake.”

“It’s ok. ‘s Halloween after all. What are you?" Joel asks, taking in your 'costume' that barely covers anything. To lure him in further, you push your chest out and your red coat opens up more, showing the man all of your assets. Joel shifts on his feet and you wonder if his jeans are getting too tight.

"I'm a girl who wants to have fun tonight."

You give him a loaded smile and in a second giggle as his eyebrows shoot up.

"I'm the devil, Joel."

You tilt your head down and point at your little red horns.

Joel nods slowly, taking another drag of his cigarette. His gaze sticks to your breasts, your belly, your barely covered thighs.

"Lookin' great, sweetheart. I'm ready to sell my soul."

Melting from the pet name, you tilt your head to the side and ask in a sultry voice, "Oh, really? And what do you want for your soul, Joel?"

The man narrows his eyes at you and his tongue slides over the lower lip as he contemplates his answer for a second.

"Jus' what every man wants, I reckon."

"What's that?"

"A sexy devil ready to grant his every wish."

It seems that you stop breathing and immediately feel yourself getting wet. Your heart is fluttering as he’s flirting with you. Your gazes are dancing over each other’s bodies, hungry and enticing, and he puts out the cigarette and inches closer to you. Your eyes lock, challenging each other to act on your desires.

“Guess you got lucky tonight, Joel” you whisper.

His smile is downright devilish.

“Not yet, sweetheart.”

Your voices are barely audible with the music, blasting inside the house, but you hear each other perfectly well. It feels intimate even with a bunch of people, partying behind the glass doors. There’s no one else in the world, just Joel and you, and the moon, bathing you two in its pearly light. Heat radiating from his big body contrasts with the chilly air, and you shiver.

“Let’s go inside, you’re cold,” he offers, motioning to the house, but you’d hate to be interrupted by anyone.

“There’s a guest house over there — I’ve heard. I doubt you’ve already measured stuff there.”

You bite your lower lip as a fear grips your stomach. What if he says ‘no’? Rejection would cut you like a knife right now. But Joel surprises you.

He lifts his hand to your face and pinches your chin, holding you in place. His tone is serious all of a sudden.

“Are you drunk?”

His piercing eyes are assessing your face for a few seconds and you slowly but surely drown in them.

“No. Only had one drink. I’m fine.”

You look at his lips, your breath frozen, until he replies,

“Actually... You are right. Let’s go take a look at that house.”

Flashing him a mischievous grin, you take his big warm hand and start walking. On your way there your core is tingling with anticipation. You've never done anything like this before. Never been so turned on by someone you’ve just met. But your body burns with the need and you take a leap.

As soon as you step through the door, finally away from the annoying party in the main house, you take your coat off, hop on a desk and playfully beckon Joel with your finger. You feel sexy and ready to have fun.

He looks around the place and then his obsidian eyes focus on you. He prowls closer, taking his tool belt off.

“You can leave it on,” you purr, planting your hands on the surface behind you and arching your back.

He shakes his head. “Don’t wanna hurt you…sharp tools.”

He throws the belt on the floor and steps up between your spread thighs. You throw your legs wider apart and your short skirt rides up, exposing your pussy covered by red panties.

Joel’s eyes land there immediately and he mumbles, “Fuckin’ hell.”

Happy with the effect you have on the man, you lean forward and press a kiss to his scruffy cheek. He drags his nose down to your neck and then whispers into your ear,

“Why are you doin’ this?”

You smile at the question. “Because I’m horny. And you’re hot.”

“Hmm, let me ask again. Why— are you doin’ this? Don’t lie now.”

You pull away and glare at him, your brows furrowed. His eyes are set on your face, his expression serious, waiting, and you snap, not hiding your rising frustration.

“Can’t a girl just wanna get fucked?”

His hands run over your naked thighs, and then he brings them to your shoulders. Joel glides his thumbs over your skin there, while his warm eyes are darting between yours.

“Yes, baby, but usually there’s a deeper reason.”

A few seconds pass and his soft gaze breaks your walls, emotions stir in your chest, and you feel your throat tighten and drop your head, averting your eyes from the man.

“My boyfriend… he cheated on me.”

A few moments pass before Joel gruffs,

“The fuck’s his problem? Is he insane?”

You smile and Joel sighs before leaning down to kiss your cheek.

“Soft then,” he mumbles against your sensitive skin, sending vibrations through your trembling body.

“What?” you ask as your soft lips are grazing his beard. Joel presses kisses to your face, slowly moving to your mouth.

“I needed to ask— to know how to fuck you, baby.”

Your lips finally meet and he kisses you as his hands wrap around your body.

The kiss makes your head spin. He smells like a cheap deodorant and something so manly, your core floods with sticky lust. His scent intoxicates you. It’s completely different from your ex’s and it makes you throb. Your core, burning with desire, demands him inside you and the ache between your legs sends your hands to his belt. Your body is pleading, ‘Give me— please—need you’.

Joel gently bites your lower lip, slightly pulling away, and you murmur,

“Fuck me.”

He searches for your eyes and takes your impatient hands in his.

“No.”

You open your mouth to protest but he continues,

“I wanna make you feel good first. Can I?”

You nod and then softly gasp as Joel cups your pussy over your panties and his thumb slides up and down caressing your clit under the thin fabric.

”Have you let anyone touch you after… him?”

You shake your head, your lips parted, your nails digging into his shoulders, as you’re watching him take you apart even with a barrier of the material. It’s unbelievable that a fire is already smoldering deep inside you. You struggle to remember the last time your ex turned you on so hard and so fast.

“Am I your rebound then?” Joel asks and your eyes snap up to his. Your stomach drops in fear of him getting offended. But you see his plush lips curve into a smile as he reassures you,

“It’s fine, sweetheart. I don’t mind. I’d be a fool. Look at you.”

His hungry gaze slides down your face, your neck, your chest until it lands on his own hand still pressed to your pussy. Then his thumb snakes under the gusset of your panties and a lightning bolt shoots through your body when his finger finds and starts swirling your slippery clit.

A pathetic whine leaves your parted lips and he pulls you closer to him with his free hand on your lower back.

”Oh my god,” you moan and he takes a deep breath, his cheek pressed to yours. His lips tickle your skin, your whole body burning up under his caress, as he whispers into your ear,

“Do you feel it— how wet you’re?”

His finger is gliding easily over your puffy clit with all the slick lubing his and your skin, and you mewl a soft ‘yeah’.

“Such a good girl for me. But anyone can make a girl come like this—,”

“My ex rarely could,” you blurt out with a hazy smile.

Joel chuckles and his beard lightly rubs your cheek.

“Damn. What an ass.”

You’re so lost in pleasure that you just hum, breathing in his scent.

“Baby, can I put my fingers inside you? Wanna make you feel real good.”

You think, if you’re even capable of thinking right now, that you’d let him do anything to you. Of course you agree, surrendering your body to the man you see for the first time in your life, spreading your thighs a little wider as a silent invitation.

“Thank you, my sexy devil,” Joel growls and his mouth crushes against yours before his middle finger pushes into your sopping hole.

The noise you make doesn’t sound devilish. It’s a soft whimper that he swallows, not parting from your lips even for a second, even to watch his ring finger quickly join the first one. He’s kissing you feverishly, licking into your mouth, while his thick digits plunge in and out your squelching pussy with a steady rhythm. You tilt your hips up to grant him better access and he dives in deeper, claiming the furthest parts of your core.

Joel breaks the kiss and presses his sweaty forehead to yours.

“Listen to yourself— moaning on my fingers like this— imagine what I can do with my cock.”

“Joel, please,” you beg not sure why- to make him stop talking or asking him to continue. He knows the answer even better than you.

“You’ll be screaming my name soon, little devil. Give me a chance and you’ll be screaming it every day.”

He drops his gaze and you follow.

A lustful moan falls from your lips when you see his manly fingers move in and out your glistening entrance, your panties and his digits are coated in your shiny slick. The sight adds pleasure to your already ecstatic sensations.

“It’s like my fingers belong in your pussy, sweetheart.”

He almost pulls them out but then hooks them inside you and his pads start rubbing a spot that makes your core vibrate and eyes roll back.

“Yeah—oh, yeahhhh—“, you moan, digging your nails into his shoulders mercilessly as you feel your climax approaching fast.

“Fuck! you’ll make me bust into my jeans soundin’ like this —lookin’ like this.”

Joel is massaging your soft spot for a few moments and suddenly you feel tickling pressure rise under his touch and a panic grips your heart.

“Oh no, Joel—wait—,” you mumble but in a second you feel warm wetness rush out of you as Joel keeps fingering you, lewd noises filling the room, and your thighs, the desk, Joel’s jeans get splayed with your clear juices.

“Yes! fuck, yes! Give it to me, baby!”

With the added wetness you come hard, shaking on the slippery desk, and Joel holds you with a free hand, pressing his body closer to yours, while your whole world squeezes into the size of this room, where the man you’ve just met is making you see the brightest stars behind your eyelids.

As soon as your body stops trembling, you fall into his embrace and Joel holds you against his chest, letting you catch your breath. His arms, secure and strong around you, send waves of comfort to your heart and suddenly you feel wetness not only between your naked thighs but also in your eyes.

You sit up on the desk, your eyes glistening, your hands gripping his shirt, and give him a warm smile, full of affection and gratitude.

Joel chuckles and kisses your cheek,

“Have you never squirted before? You looked so terrified, little thing.”

You shake your head and drop it, hiding your eyes but also assessing the damage. The desk is a mess.

Joel notices your unease and takes your chin between his fingers.

“I’ll deal with it. Don’t worry.” Then he lifts your face to his and winks, “I’m honored to be the first.”

You’re trying to keep yourself from melting under his dark brown eyes but it’s hard. Your whole body is longing for him, his touch, his lips. Joel’s gorgeous and he’s just given you the best orgasm of your life. What chances have you got?

So you give in to your heart‘s and pussy’s desire.

“I want you, Joel. Want you to fuck me.”

Joel runs his hands over your whole body with a smile before saying,

“I’d love to fuck you, baby. But tonight I think you need me to make love to you. Let me do that.”

You feel warmth stir deep in your belly before replying with a quiet but confident ‘yes’ and in the next second Joel wraps your legs around his waist and lifts you off the desk.

“There must be a bed here,” he mumbles, carrying you to another room and you hum into the crease of his neck. You know there’s one.

The bed is soft and warm under you in comparison with the desk but you don’t think about it. Your whole being is focused on the man discarding his clothes in front of you. You can’t help but moan when he takes his boxers off and climbs on the bed completely naked. His body is strong, the broad chest and shoulders make your hands itch to touch and squeeze them, your lips desire to trace his happy trail down and to kiss his big hard cock, standing proudly. He’s perfect.

“Your turn baby,” he motions to your ‘costume’, and when you sit up he stops you.

“Let me. Please.”

You gladly give him full control and your body vibrates under his fingers when he slowly and gently undresses you.

Both naked except for the horns on your head, you immediately gravitate to each other and the sensation of his hot skin against yours sends shivers through your body.

“Cold, sweetheart? I’ll warm you up.“

Joel kisses you again and pushes you to lie down before getting between your thighs and covering your body with his. His leaking cock smears precum over your belly and you impatiently start rubbing your folds against his shaft, chasing any pressure you can get.

“My devil’s needy, huh? Pretty girl wants my cock?”

“Yes, please,” you whine and Joel locks eyes with you.

“Wait a second—“ he mumbles, about to leave you, but you wrap your arms around him.

“No, I need to feel you. Fully. No condoms.”

Joel presses his forehead to yours.

“You sure? I promise I’m clean but —.”

“Me too. I’ve had sex only with my ex. Ever.”

He looks into your eyes and you don’t see pity there, only care, respect.

“If you’re sure, baby—.”

He kisses you again and you feel his hand slither between your bodies as he grabs his cock and pushes the tip past your folds. The fat head nudges your soft hole and you gasp when he begins pushing his length in, inch by inch, careful not to hurt you.

“Fuckin’—sorry, hnggg—that’s it, little devil. Taking me so good.”

And you are taking him easily, despite his size. You’ve been opened up by his thick fingers, your recent orgasm, and you happily welcome him into your warmth and wetness.

When Joel bottoms out, he growls and you wrap your arms and legs around him tightly. With your lips caressing each other, he begins rocking his hips against you, sending his cock deeper and deeper, until it hits your cervix and you bite his lip.

Joel smirks, “Naughty devil. You feel too fuckin’ good to be real.”

You smile, your eyes hazy as they roll behind your head, when Joel changes an angle and begins rutting into you, stroking the right spot over and over.

You moan loudly and he swallows your noises with another kiss. You’re clawing at his arms and back, making him groan, spreading your thighs wider for him to take everything from you, to give him yourself completely. Your puffy clit grinds against his pelvic bone and another orgasm crests in your core.

With every thrust the head of his cock deliciously massages you from the inside and he picks up the pace sending you higher until another climax blooms behind your clit and explodes in the deepest part of your core and you come apart from both stimulations.

You scream his name just like Joel predicted and he doesn’t shut you with a kiss this time. His eyes are on you, drinking your pleasure.

“Yeah, good girl. Take it, baby— fuck! your pussy —choking me —ahhhh…”

He moans and you feel warmth spread inside you when he starts squirting his seed against your pulsating walls. You wrap your legs around him tighter to keep him in, take all of it gratefully. Your pussy is fluttering around his throbbing cock and you keep whimpering while his hips thrust in, sending his load deeper.

After Joel fills you up, he stills inside you and searches for your eyes. Through heavy breaths he asks you, brows knitted together, voice worried,

“What is it? Did I hurt you? Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

When he cups your cheek, you realize that you’re crying, tears streaming down your face to your temples, your chest shaking with quiet sobs.

“No, I’m not hurt— I don’t know— I don’t know—,” you shake your head, mumbling, confused by your own reaction but he doesn’t push further.

Joel gently pulls out, lies down next to you and takes you in his arms. His body presses to yours as he covers you both with the bedspread. He leans closer and kisses your forehead, your cheeks and you slowly calm down, comforted by your lover.

“I don’t usually cry after sex. I’m sorry,” you whisper after a few minutes, still sniffing from time to time, and he glides his warm hands over your back.

“‘s ok, baby. Is it me?”

“No! Well, kinda—yes. Because it was amazing. I’ve never felt so good before.”

You feel Joel’s smile against your forehead, and you lift your face to his and whisper,

“Thank you.“

“My pleasure.”

With a twinkle in his eye, he presses his lips to yours and softly kisses you, hesitant to push too soon, too hard. But you know what you want so you deepen the kiss, sliding your tongue between his lips and soon you’re making out as your pussy clenches around nothing. Your inner thighs are wet and sticky but you don’t care.

When Joel breaks the kiss, he locks eyes with you.

“I doubt you’re the devil, baby.”

“Oh?” You sound a little offended.

“Yeah. I think you’re the most beautiful angel. Too perfect for any asshole on this planet.”

Your lips curve into a smile as you purr,

“You don’t seem like an asshole.”

“Thank you,” he smiles back.

He pulls you in closer again and you two rest together, relishing the new-found intimacy. Joel is the first to break the silence.

”Did he ever apologize?”

The question rings loudly in the quiet room. An hour ago it would make you upset, as a reminder of the biggest heartbreak of your life. Now it barely grazes your soul.

”No.”

Joel hugs you tighter and murmurs,

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

You take a deep breath, filling your lungs with the scent of Joel’s skin. Breathing out the pain of the previous relationship.

You’re lying in each other’s arms for a few more minutes until Joel searches for your eyes.

“We can’t let this night be the only one. What do you say, baby? Can I see you again?”

Your heart sings but then drops into your stomach. You have to tell him. After clearing your throat, you admit,

”This client of yours. It’s my dad. I live here—,” You see Joel’s eyebrows rise up and quickly add, “I can stop by the backyard tomorrow? If you’d like.”

Regret is clawing at your chest. Why haven’t you said anything sooner? He probably hates you now. But Joel smirks, lifting weight off your soul.

“You’re full of surprises, sweetheart. I’ll see you tomorrow then. Naughty devil.”

With that he pushes you down and kisses your smiling lips.

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!<3

MASTERLIST

Tag list:@milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk @pascaltesfaye @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40

[toshidou]

can't stop thinking of domestic ghost learning how to crochet after he sees you practicing, large scarred, battle worn hands working away with a crochet hook and wool; not missing the way your eyes go fond as he joins you on the couch to crochet by your side. trying to suppress your giggle at the soft sounds of his frustrated grunts when he tries (and fails) to tie the slip knot for the 5th time in a row before he turns to you with a blank expression, arms extended in your direction.

what starts as slowly mastering little granny squares quickly evolves into working on whole projects; clothes, hats, face masks, stuffed animals. your house slowly fills up with both yours and his creations. although it's something you mostly do together, it wouldn't be uncommon for you to come downstairs as the sun rises only to find Simon hunched over a ball of wool, clearly awoken from a night of terrors and craving comfort from the repetition that crocheting provides.

he'd inevitably have to leave for deployment, but not without laying out a new cardigan he'd made just for you (a way he can keep you warm despite the thousands of miles that might separate you) or a little crocheted plush of himself, fitted with its very own little mask; even giving you the option of dressing it in either combat gear or his go to black hoodie and jeans. it leaves you teary every time, clutching his new creation to your chest and nuzzling the soft wool into your cheek, always knowing that his hands were made for more than just war and death.

and if the day comes you finally bring a child into the world, you better believe he's making them an entire wardrobe that matches the clothes he's already made for the two of you; holding the completed tiny garments up whilst you try your absolute hardest to not burst into tears at how small they look, knowing they're so lucky to have a dad who's going to love them so, so much.

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ NEW JOBS AND DEATH THREATS — cod x reader

CRAVE YOU — call of duty x reader CHAPTER ONE

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + alejandro vargas + rodolfo 'rudy' parra + könig + keegan p. russ

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, prison au, serial killer au, reverse harem, therapist/patient, medical inaccuracies, graphic violence, depictions of murder, everyone's unhinged, poly tf141, minor ships, threesomes, foursomes, gangbangs, this is not medical advice!!

series masterlist. read on ao3.

Life was hard. That was a fact.

Bills and groceries didn’t pay for themselves. That was also a fact.

Adding these two factors together, the final product will be a high-risk job in one of the highest-risk places on Earth. That’s… not a fact.

And yet, here you are, standing at the visitor entrance of Las Almas Prison, sporting a disgruntled grimace and a new pair of black slacks that you’d splurged on. They, at least, made your ass look good, although that was truly the least of your worries.

No. Your current list of worries looked something like this;

Getting Murdered

Getting Attacked

Vomiting Within The First Five Minutes Of Your New Job?

…Yeah. Something like that.

The early morning sun is blinding where it sits, just off to the side of the giant concrete building that was the main offices and Visitor Centre. The fact that you were standing in front of what was only a small part of the overall prison grounds was… alarming.

You were well aware that this was the largest prison in your country, housing the most lethal and awful of criminals. Some you’d seen either on the news, or heard of in passing conversations.

This was the real deal. And, somehow, you’d managed to find yourself being hired to work here. You. Work with serial killers. The worst of the worst.

With the stress on your bank account, and the endless struggle that was trying to find a stable career in the current job market, you simply had no other choice but to accept the offer. It paid extremely well, had great benefits, and your safety was… fairly considered.

The amount of NDAs, liability clauses and agreements, however?

Not the best at calming your nerves, to say the least.

The biting chill of the winter wind has you wrapping your arms around yourself, leather bag slung over your shoulder as you finally step through the automatic sliding door.

You’re not surprised to find that the chill only deepens inside the concrete walls of the building, with no heaters or air conditioning from what you can see. There is, however, bright white overhead lights that do nothing except aid the throbbing in the side of your head – probably due to the restless sleep you’d had the night before, anticipation and anxiety warring inside of your thoughts.

There’s an office in front of you as you step in, with only a few decades-old couches to your right, in front of a dingy TV that’s turned off. Saving their budget for more important things, you suppose.

The walls are a pale, grimy yellow, with sparse photos hung about, framing newspaper articles that are surely from the last century, and black and white pictures of the prison’s opening.

It’s an unsettling place, that much you’ve already gathered.

You haven’t even actually been inside the prison, you remind yourself, your stomach churning where it now lays at your feet.

Without a second thought, you continue with hurried steps to the front desk, where scratched plastic encases the sole woman inside, sitting behind a monitor. There’s a circle of holes that allow for sound to pass through, but other than that, there’s no way of entering from this room. With a quick study of your surroundings, you see a steel door to the left of where the desk sits, with a small square window covered in iron bars.

…Jesus christ.

“Can I help you?” The woman drawls, sliding her glasses further up her nose. Her voice is nasally, and the words come out in a slow drawl as she looks you up and down, unimpressed.

You give her your best smile, although even you can tell that it’s an uneasy one. “Yes! This is my first day, I think I’m supposed to be meeting Kate Laswell?” You ask, nerves betraying your voice with unsteady breaths.

The woman snaps her gum.

You stand there.

She blows it again.

You continue to stand there.

Her gaze is bored and completely void of any thought, before she nods slowly. “Laswell… I’ll call her.”

Really, you couldn’t be more shocked if you tried. What the fuck was happening? How could one lack so much… professionalism?

“Hi, Kate. Yes, it’s Jenny. I have a new hire who apparently wants to see you…” Her voice remains that unbearably slow, sloth-like delivery, before her eyes unhurriedly meet yours again. “What’s your name…?”

You give it to her, tone only the slightest bit impatient as you roll back on the heels of your feet. You can only hope that your black boots are appropriate; you’d figured that they were safe, closed-toe and still somewhat professional.

Time would tell. Jenny was giving you the impression that they were more than acceptable, because at least they got you to do your job in a timely manner.

Jenny says a few more words to who can only pray is Laswell on the other end of the phone, before she places it back in its holder. 

“Laswell will be here any…” She pops her gum once more, and maybe, just maybe, you can understand the urge to murder. “Moment.”

You give her a tight, painful smile. “Thank you, Jenny.”

She doesn’t respond, and you decide to just stand back and wait. You certainly weren’t complaining – any more conversation with her would’ve ended with a severe lack of hair on your head.

A minute passes, before a buzz in the pocket of your slacks has your throat tightening. 

Pulling out your phone, your next exhale comes out shaky as you read the text.

Charlie: get milk otw home used it all

No ‘good luck’. No… ounce of care for you, or the absolute stress that comes with a new job, let alone one like this.

When you’d told him about the offer, all he’d said was, “It might make you worth something for a change.” Didn’t even question, not for a minute, the risks that came with a job like this. He simply couldn’t give less of a fuck.

“Doctor?” The sound of a door opening, and the kind, almost motherly tone of the voice has you shoving your phone into your pocket once more as you turn to the source of the sound.

It’s a woman, her hair pulled back into a slick bun, one hand holding what seems to be a clipboard. Her other hand rests in the pocket of a white coat, not unlike one a scientist would be fashioning in a lab. Her smile is warm, the corner of her eyes crinkling as you direct a smile of your own her way.

“Kate Laswell?” You ask, extending your hand for her to shake. Taking her hand out of her pocket, she accepts it gracefully, nodding her head.

“The one and only,” she says, before gesturing to the steel door she’d entered through. “Now, today we’ll get you set up with a keycard, general rules, and I’ll have you meet two of your patients.”

You nod, following her as she swipes a card in a black reader, before the red light buzzes green, and she pulls the door open. Right behind her, you take an unstable deep breath as you take in the greyed, jagged walls, a complete contrast to the painted ones of the entrance room.

“We really are so glad to welcome you to our team,” she continues, her black work shoes clicking against the smooth concrete flooring. She doesn’t turn to you as she speaks, but her voice carries around the echoey hallway. “You’ll make a great addition. A necessary one, also. We’ve needed an innovative, young therapist for a while. Most of our… previous hires have held out-dated beliefs, and a lack of humanity for their clientele.”

That makes your brows furrow in confusion. “That’s… odd,” you murmur, before pausing your steps as Laswell stops, swiping her keycard, before entering another room.

As you step into the newly revealed space, your eyes go wide as you take it in. 

It’s a wide, large space, with several floors. Metal staircases sit at either end of the vast space, allowing access to every floor. Guards sit at every level, some walking around the space where you and Laswell stand.

It’s a lot, all at once. You’d never even stepped foot into a prison – not before now.

“Most inmates are at the mess for breakfast,” Laswell supplies, turning to you with a neutral expression. She gestures for you to follow her back out of the space, and you do with hurried steps. “The ones you’ll be dealing with, however… they usually eat by themselves.”

You don’t decide to push that statement, not now, as you continue to follow her down the hallway.

“You won’t be seeing much of the prison,” she admits. “There’s heavily guarded spaces on the top floor for your sessions, both for your protection and for the safety of our staff and other low-risk inmates.”

You nod, humming a sound of affirmation as the two of you start heading up the cleaner steps at the end of the hallway. The staff staircase, you suppose.

“Today, you’ll be meeting two of our more… understanding ambers.”

You raise a brow. “Ambers? What does that mean?”

She turns her head over her shoulder, just enough to shoot you a knowing look. “Ambers are our highest-risk inmates. We house ten of them, and you’ll be dealing with eight as per your contract.”

Your stomach falls. You’d known, of course, that the risks were high when applying for this role. But… this was more than you’d imagined, in a way. Ambers. Huh.

Silence falls over the two of you as you make your way up the never-ending steps, no windows in sight. It’s unnerving, in a creepy, strange way. When you finally reach the top, you try and hide how out of breath you are from that small exertion.

Fucking christ.

Laswell, for her part, looks completely fine in an effortless way. You can’t eve find it in yourself to be envious. The feeling’s closer to admiration.

“Here’s the files on them both. You’ll be seeing Kyle Garrick first,” she hands you the clipboard she’d been carrying, and you accept it with only a slight tremble. She doesn’t comment on it, and you find yourself warming up to her already. “They’ll be restrained, and there is heavy security, so you needn’t worry about that side of things.”

“Thank you, ma��am,” you say earnestly, flipping through the files without reading much of anything, not yet. 

She waves you off with a soft chuckle. “None of that. Kate’s more than fine,” she insists, and you give her a bright smile in return. Maybe this job wouldn’t be so bad – a boss like this was much better than a creepy middle-aged man any day of the week.

You don’t realise you’ve made it to a small room until she stops walking, scanning her keycard and pushing the door open, gesturing you in. “While you have your first two sessions, I’ll sort your keycard and the rest of the processes out. I wish you luck.”

With that, the door shuts behind you, and you’re alone in a small room.

It matches the rest of the hallways you’ve seen – grey concrete walls, grey concrete floors. The only furniture, however, is one metal table drilled into the floor in the centre, one chair on either side. 

…It’s depressing. Not at all like you’d prefer, not for a fucking therapy session, but then again, you hadn’t met your clients yet.

Ambers. High-risk.

With a deep breath, you take a seat at the chair closest to you, finally reading through the top file on the clipboard.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick. 

You skim over the height, weight, sex – immediately reading the comments made and his sentence.

Mass murderer. Motivated attacks.

Your eyes go wide, almost comically so, as you bite at your lip, folding one leg over the other as you continue to read. 

Of course, you’d prepared, been made aware that you’d be dealing with murderers. But having it in black and white, right in front of you, is a whole other thing entirely. 

Apparently, they were motivated attacks. Targets being large CEOs, specifically those with reported claims of misuse of power, and those against green laws. Anti-environment types.

The motive is… you’re aware killing is bad. You hadn’t spent years studying for a degree in Psychology to think otherwise. But it wasn’t as simple as some made it out to be. You’d done papers suggesting that certain motives implied healthier patterns, healthier outlets.

If you had to choose between him killing pregnant women, and CEOs with broken moral compasses?

It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out your answer.

You’re about to flip the page when there’s a knock on the door on the other side of the room, before it opens.

There’s two guards that walk in, before a man in an olive green jumpsuit follows, hands cuffed tightly together in front of him, head down. Another guard from behind shoves him in, too rough for your liking. You sit up straighter, eyes assessing as you take in the man in the jumpsuit.

He’s forced into the chair opposite you, before one of the guards grabs his cuffed wrists and chains them to a rig in the middle of the table. You’re grateful for the precautions, but there’s a part of you that feels guilty watching the manhandling of the seemingly calm man.

“Half an hour,” the most brutish guard of them all grits out, beer belly spilling out over his belted jeans. He jostles the chain attaching his wrists to the table unnecessarily, and your eyes narrow.

He goes to leave, along with another guard, but one stands to stay in position inside, beside the door.

Your brows furrow, and you speak up before you can stop yourself. “Sorry, sir, but my sessions will need confidentiality, as for the best results. I’m sure that I’ll be safe with his restraints.”

The guard stares you down, seemingly mulling your words over, before shrugging and leaving the room, door shutting behind him.

…Huh. Alright.

You find your posture relaxing, just slightly, which is odd, considering you’re now only a metre or two away from a convicted murderer.

His gaze is trained to the table, left foot tapping incessantly against the concrete floor.

“It’s nice to meet you, Gaz,” you say with a soft tone and a gentle smile. You figure that his nickname is the best bet, not wanting to stir up any possible traumas with his given name during your first session with the man. “I’ll be your new psychiatric evaluator.”

His eyes flick up, meeting yours, and he nods slowly, as if awaiting a punchline. 

“Is it okay for me to call you Gaz?” You ask, tilting your head to the side and flipping to an empty page to take notes on. You’d need to grab a notebook from home, you decide.

He relaxes, only the smallest of movements, and he nods. “Gaz, yeah.”

Your smile widens at the small victory. Any step towards progress was a huge one, in your eyes. You’d be facing a lot of them in the coming days.

“Do you have any advice for this place?” You push, trying to form a bond of trust with the dark-haired man. “I’m gonna be honest, you’re my first patient, and I’ve only met Laswell and… Jenny?”

His mouth quirks at that, a dimple showing to the left of his mouth as he looks back up at you. “Jenny’s a character, ain’t she?”

You laugh, a genuine one, and nod. “She certainly is. You’ve met her?”

He shrugs, shoulders relaxing slightly. “Few times, yeah. She drives me up the fuckin’ wall.” His accent is only minimally apparent, but his voice is of a somewhat humorous tone.

Small victories.

“Well,” he exhales, settling into his chair a bit as he seems to ponder. “Do ya know who else you’re assigned to?”

You’d been sure to thoroughly go over your contract, and you were allowed to disclose your other patients between your others. They’d find out within the day, anyways, so there was no point in being discreet.

“It’s only you and a… John Price? Today. I’m sure I’ll find out the other six over the next few days,” you say, appreciating that he’s starting conversations. It’s more than you’d allowed yourself to hope for.

Gaz’s eyes light up, and even if you hadn’t been incessant in watching him, it’d be an obvious shift in emotions. “Price?”

You nod, quickly making a note on your clipboard, before folding your hands in your lap as you gesture for him to continue with a quick inclination of your head.

“He’s the best. Man’s a legend,” he enthuses. “Love ‘im.”

There’s… a hidden truth to that statement, that you make a mental note to unpack during a later session. Your smile is a natural one as you say, “He’s an amber, correct? Laswell told me I’d been assigned eight out of ten ambers… you’re one of them, right?”

Gaz seems to fold into himself, and you kick yourself for going back to square one. He answers, however.

“...Yeah. Only Ghost ‘nd Valeria are aggressive, though. We’re just… misunderstood,” he murmurs, and in the back of your brain, you find yourself believing his words.

“Thank you,” you smile, and he responds with a sharp one of his own. Maybe you’d covered more ground than you’d expected. “I think it’d been mentioned that I was only assigned men, due to the nature of the job, or something like that.”

Seeming to mull over your words, he starts to slowly nod. “Sounds ‘bout right. As long as you don’t get Graves, you’ll be alright. The others are… fuckin’ weird, but they’re good men. Mostly.”

That’s a lot of information at once, and quite frankly, it takes a moment for you to process. 

“‘Good men’. What do you think it takes to be a good man?” You ask, curiosity laced into your tone. Getting to ask such questions of a convicted murderer, it’s a thrilling, exhilarating task.

His eyes don’t shift as he replies. “Good men do the acts others are too scared to do. They see the evil in the world, and rid of it with their own bare hands. You can be an ethical murderer, Doc.”

Those words, they’re – they’re authentic, and conviction aches in their structure. 

You swallow around a dry mouth.

“You think you’re a good man?” You ask.

His smile would be seen as warm to any who weren’t aware of his acts, but to you – it’s chilling. Haunting in a way you’ve never experienced.

It remains as he answers.

“I think that I’m a man who people wish they had the bravery to be.”

a/n. okay so im really nervous about posting this, cause ITS EIGHT FUKCING LOVE INTERESTS and also im a humanities girl not a science one!! sociology all the way not psych!! so forgive me for all the inaccuracies and legality issues please. im just a girl. hopefully u guys will like this one? i mean, obsessed serial killers cod is smth i need so here we are. all comments and feedback mean so muchhh ty ily mwah mwah mwah

taglist comment/msg to be added. [nothing to see here.]

[choccy-milky]

seb's 2 modes around clora 🥰👿

[lorelune]

(minors & ageless blogs dni. a piece for @ainescribe for helping me with my theme 💓 cw: predator/prey, hints of dubcon)

"i'll give you a head start."

jing yuan tells you this with a pleasant, easy smile and his hands behind his back. and no context. you cock your head at him from across the little table you share, and take a sip of your cold tea.

"come again, dear?" you knock your ankle against his under the table.

"i'm giving you a five minute head start." jing yuan leans closer and rests his chin his palm. his eyes take on a cat-like glint. "i've already started counting. i'd get going if i were you, sweetling."

you only want more of it.

your chest feels tight all of a sudden.

"jing yuan—"

"i won't be going easy on you." his smile verges on smug as he leans forward. "and i would advise to take full advantage of this time. i think you'll need it."

he leans away from you and tilts his head. it would be cute if you couldn't see the rapidly darkening mischief in his gaze. you jolt up from your little table, clattering your chair on the cobbled walkway. he eyes you up and down like a big cat sizing up its next meal as you step backwards, nearly stumbling.

something in your gut twists, like a hot iron.

you turn on a heel and walk as fast as you can without drawing too much attention to yourself. weaving around the late-night crowds and ducking around street vendors and their burning latterns, your heart pounds. faster and faster.

this had been your idea originally. you just hadn't expected jing yuan to entertain it (though on some level, he entertains all of your ideas.) this desire of yours seemed too risky, too innately... unlike him. at least to you.

this game had been a fantasy. one you'd confessed your interest in a few weeks prior, while luxuriating in a pleasantly steaming bath together. you shared a glass of wine, passed between sips after a slow, tender evening. you'd playfully started a conversation about things to try in the bedroom, and somehow, the Divine Foresight and honey wine managed to wring a few previously unspoken desires out of you.

this is the result, you suppose, as you stumble around a corner, toward jing yuan's estate.

you should've known that jing yuan would spring this fantasy on your unexpectedly. that was part of the allure. the hunt, the chase— you're just prey now, with no time to prepare or plan. the innate helplessness has already stirred something in you, even though jing yuan hasn't done anymore than send you hungry looks and promises.

you're sure five minutes have passed. you're positive that the man is trailing you, even if you can't hear or see him. you don't have the military prowess that he does, you're just a civilian. your footfalls are loud as you break into a run near his estate and its towering walls.

your hands shake as you hold your jade abacus to its lock. the slow 'clunk' of gears opening the gates feels like it goes on forever. your heart is pounding in your ears, like a drum that won't stop. you're out of breath, but force yourself to sprint the moment the door swings open.

you hide in one of his gardens.

jing yuan has many green spaces on his estate. it's situated on a large enough space to allow for a small stream running through the largest garden into the front yard. ponds gurgle nearby, filled with fat, sleepy fish. you wake them as you dash around the greenery and shrubs, uncaring of the dirt that is staining your shoes. the bottom of your outer most garment must be getting torn as it snags on the brush below.

the gate of the estate opens and closes once more, somewhere not far behind you. your heart lurches, your stomach feels cold and hollow and you run.

jing yuan knows his estate better than you, clearly. you don't know where is safe, but in his largest garden, there are large gingko trees and stones that seem okay to hide behind. maybe. you are too anxious, too out of your fucking mind, to use sound logic at this point. you scramble behind a smooth quartz boulder and lay a hand on your chest. panting. tears sting your the corners eyes as you desperately try to catch your breath.

you listen the best you can to see if you can hear him follow you. it's hard to pick up every little sound, breeze shakes the tree branchers into a late-evening song. cicadas chirp to disguise any potential footfalls. it would probably be best to hide somewhere on the edge of the garden. you're in the center of it, not far from the stream. you don't dare peak out from your hiding spot, but you should move— you feel so exposed—

a floorboard creaks nearby. you freeze.

the wind almost stills with the sound. you can't breathe as you strain to hear more. it came from the west, where you know there's an entrance to this garden. you think. probably. your heart pounds so loudly, you can barely hear anything over the roar.

you do another sound, though. the sound of a boot fall, onto stone. there's a path laid with them not far from where you are.

something white-hot, old and feral burst in your chest.

you need to fucking run.

with a burst of energy that makes you feel light-headed, you push off the ground and throw yourself over the rock you were hiding behind, away from the sounds that are surely jing yuan stalking you.

your feet hit the ground and you run. run, run, run—

you swear you can feel more footfalls than just your own, but you can't look behind you. all of your focus is on weaving through the gardens trees and shrubbery, to gain and sort of ground.

you stumble, eventually. it's inevitable that you lose. the game is set up that way.

you trip over your own feet as you near the little stream that cuts the garden and gurgles. your momentum ruins you; you can't right yourself fast enough.

a hand catches the back of your collar and pulls. your breath catches, caught in your throat by the pressure. an arm, his arm, bundle you up at the waist and slams your body into his. your back to his front. the force of it knocks the air out of you.

you still scramble, you can't help it. squirming and kicking, you fight against the unyielding grip he has on you. he's hot against your back, scalding even. the metal bits of his armor and belts dig into your as your struggle fruitlessly.

"what's this?" jing yuan says into your ear, soft and curling. "i thought you would do a little better than this."

you whine. your stomach feels cold.

jing yuan laughs then, rich and low like he always does. but there's a darker edge to it now. you can feel it spread down the back of your neck, your spine, drenching you down to your toes. he squeezes you, and you feel yourself get wet.

(you're fucked.)

"you'll have to try harder next time." jing yuan says. "maybe i did go a little easy on you."

"s-sure you did—"

jing yuan nips your ear. "what was that? i didn't realize prey animals were capable of speech."

you crane your neck, ready to snap at him, but you don't get the chance too.

in a single motion, jing yuan has you thrown over his shoulder. blood rushes too quickly to all of the places it shouldn't be. you feel dizzy with it and whine and sputter with it.

jing yuan doesn't yield, only laughs again, and gives your bottom a few firm (very firm) pats. you gulp.

(lucidly remembering the other details you revealed to jing yuan in the bath that night. all of the filthiest bits of your fantasies. jing yuan hardly had to ply you for them.)

and jing yuan is a strategist. you should have known he would use this new information advantageously against you in such a way.

as you enter his manor, heart still pounding, palms clammy, and feeling like a rabbit in the jaws of a lion, you feel foolish and turned on all once. jing yuan so easily catches you off guard when he chooses. he so easily undoes you, puts you in a place of his choosing and let's you fester there just enough that he can remedy it— either with sweetness or, as he now so adeptly showing you, with something an edge darker.

you gulp, light-headed.

[entwnii]

it’s already late at night when 𝐌𝐈𝐘𝐀 𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐔 walks out of the gym, his sport bag in his hand.

the droplets of water falling from his platinum blonde hair run down his face and the back of his neck. paired with the chill breeze of the night, it makes a trail of shivers run down his spine and goosebumps appear on his light skin.

god, why did he forget to bring a towel ?

he grabs his keys from the back pocket of his shorts before opening the car’s door, throwing his sport bag somewhere on the backseat while he slides down on the driver seat.

he turns his car on, a white porsche 718 spyder, hoping that his hair will dry during the ride home before driving off to your shared apartment.

the wind that blows through his blonde locks makes the pro athlete sigh in contentment, a small smile appearing on his slightly chapped lips as he drives through the busy streets of osaka, the neon lights of the stores lighting his face in various colors.

it doesn’t take him longer than twenty minutes to get to his residence, parking his convertible car in it’s usual spot.

atsumu grabs his bag’s handle and gets out of the car before locking it. he walks over to the apartment building’s entrance, opening the door and making his way to the staircase.

once he reaches the third floor, he walks over to the door of your shared apartment, the only one on the third floor.

the blonde-haired man unlocks the front door with his keys before stepping inside.

your fiancé carefully closes the door behind him, not wanting to wake you up. he kicks his shoes off his feet before placing his sport bag on the floor next to the door.

atsumu’s dark brown eyes are attracted by a small light coming from the living room.

his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, the pro volleyball player walks over to the living room, scratching the back of his neck.

the frown on his face immediately disappears at the sight in front of him, a fond smile replacing it.

the television is on, mamma mia is currently playing on the screen, one of your favorite movies. there’s a plate of muffins on the coffee table, blueberry and lemon ones with powdered sugar icing on top along with a glass bottle of lemonade.

all the while you are laying on the skandi couch, facing the television, visibly asleep. one of your cheeks is pressed against the back of your hand, your eyes closed and your plump lips slightly parted. soft breaths escape you as one of atsumu’s large shirts is draped over your body.

despite all of his efforts not to wake you up, atsumu’s foot bumps into one of the couch’s footers, making him yelp at the sudden pain, which wakes you up.

atsumu watches as you turn around, facing the couch’s back, a frown on your face while a small whine escapes you. your eyelashes flutter open, trying to adjust your eyesight to the light coming from the television.

as you sit up, you start rubbing your eyes, letting a groan of complain before finally glancing to the side, glaring at your fiancé.

“sorry, baby.” atsumu flashes you a small smile, a hint of regret visible in his eyes, despite his urge to laugh at your sleepy appearance.

“how’s my future mama ?” he asks as he places his hands on the back of the skandi couch, leaning towards you.

“fine, but she was quite calm until you arrived.” you accusingly tell him, a subtle frown on your features as you place a hand on your baby bump.

“‘t’s not my fault she likes my voice.” atsumu lets out a chuckle, placing a hand on the side of your face, turning your head to place a small peck on your plump lips. “only two months left…”

you let out a small hum at his words, looking up at him with sleepy eyes.

atsumu parts away from your plump lips, licking his own. “imma eat somethin’, what do ya wanna eat ?”

you scratch the bridge of your nose with your nails, thinking about his offer. “i want vanilla ice cream… with olive oil and salt.”

atsumu nods his head at your request, a small ‘kay’ leaving his lips before he walks over to the kitchen.

he knows better than to criticize your cravings, especially since it isn’t the weirdest one out of your seven months of pregnancy.

your fiancé turns on the kitchen’s lights, scratching the back of his neck as he walks around the kitchen to gather the ingredients.

he grabs two bowls from one of the drawers before turning over to the fridge and opening it. he grabs the vanilla ice cream container along with his oatmeal and the milk.

atsumu places a good amount of oatmeal into his bowl before pouring some milk on top and putting the bowl on the side.

he then begins to scoop out some vanilla ice cream, placing it in the second bowl before grabbing the olive oil. he pours a trail of the oil on top of the ice cream and sprinkles some sea salt on top.

the blonde-haired boy wipes the kitchen counter, cleaning the small mess he made, and puts the ingredients back in the fridge.

he grabs both the bowls, along with two tablespoons and walks back to the living room.

“here ya go, pretty girl.” atsumu announces with a grin on his face as he hands you your bowl and a spoon.

he slides on the skandi couch right next to you and digs into his oatmeal. he glances over at you, his grin widening as he watches the pleased expression on your face as you savor the ice cream.

“do you want to try it, ‘tsumu ?” you ask as you look over at atsumu, pointing to the mixture in your bowl with your spoon.

“nah, i’m not trustin’ you with that.” he shakes his head, a loud laugh escaping him.

safe to say that you were pissed at him after that, which only made him laugh more.

[coffeebanana]

there will never ever ever ever ever ever ever EVER be enough hurt/comfort fics. just so you know

[mischievous-thunder]

What if Patch and Old Man Logan had Wades of their own? What if that was the reason why none of them bothered even with small talks and immediately got rid of our Wade Prime as soon as they saw him because they knew that that one wasn't theirs?

The comic accurate Short King, however, was somewhat eager to go with Wade. He didn't seem to be weirded out. He even took a couple of steps towards Wade and didn't attack the man.

As for this Diva, he looked so done with Wade the moment he saw the man approaching. The way he pushed himself off the wall and stood in front of Wade, gave off the vibe of him facing a typically annoying regular customer of his who got on his nerves all the time.

The most flirtatious one had to be the Worst Wolverine. His body language, the way he smiled at Wade and tapped his forehead, the way he continuously had a gorgeous smirk plastered on his face, the way he ever so mildly threatened and then didn't attack and let Wade do whatever he wanted with him were what made Wade's knees go weak.

Their very first encounter had the soulmate spark. Both of them definitely felt it even if nobody mentioned anything explicitly. Nevertheless, their first meeting paved the way for the intense psychological and emotional growth they'd go through together and become each other's world in the end.

[stuckinapril]

I genuinely love not having a crush like I’m not over here feeling physically sick over some mid guy being dry to me I’m literally chilling

[ceilidho]

the way you wrote PBF soap’s pregnancy kink rotted my brain in the best way possible I would give you all the money in my bank account if you wrote more of the breeding/pregnancy kink/“““accidentally””” knocking up the reader wjth soap (or ghost! or price!!) 🥺🫶🏽💞💞💞💞

asdfsdgs I know, I can't help it.

Price is staring down at you while fucking missionary when he thinks that you'd make a good mom. You've always been so attentive to him ever since you started working for him, anticipating his every need and always quick to lend a hand. Price can't help but picture how attentive you'd be to your own child, to his child; how he'd feel if you knocked on his office door and came in with his baby bouncing on your hip. He has both your hands pressed down against the bed and fingers interlocked when he decides he's not pulling out. He draws you into a deep, wet kiss to muffle your little gasps and whines before pounding you harder, chasing his own release.

Ghost has never been particularly interested in having kids. With his own childhood and upbringing, he's always quietly suspected that he wouldn't make the best father. That any kid he sired would inevitably end up being just as messed up as him. It's only when he's railing you from behind in a grimy gas station bathroom after hours on the road, both of you sweaty and in need of a shower and coffee, his hand fisted in your hair that he realizes that for all his reservations, he doesn't have any about you. He wants to keep you bound to him, inextricably linked to him for as long as you live. It's what makes him shift his stance and drive into you with renewed vigour, muffling your sounds with two fingers shoved into your mouth.

Soap gets so lost in his pleasure that he sometimes doesn't even remember that you're on the other end of it. Everything is hot and wet and tight, and it makes his mind go numb, his only thought to chase that pleasure, to get closer to you, to pound so hard that he almost bruises your cervix. He goes so crazy that sometimes he'll bite your cheek or gnaw at the space between your neck and shoulder, sucking dark, mean hickies into your skin. When he comes, it's almost absentminded, never even thinking to warn you. His come just dripping down your inner thighs, and his brain goes blank when he pulls out and plays with it, not paying any attention to how you squawk about not being on the pill. Whatever. Get pregnant.

[mabaki]

Mabaki picked up the spear

The biggest pain was probably recreating the symbol from Solar Spear (Spear4) and deciphering what was written so I could get the correct font/type lmao.

I'm trying not to think too hard on the perspective. I've been staring at this too long that I'm just going to let it go... It is what it is now LMAO auuhhh Because I'm never satisfied 😂

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ CRAVE YOU — task force 141 x reader

part one, part two, part three // read on ao3.

description. With no other options left, you resort to becoming a hired therapist for Las Almas Prison -- notorious for housing the country's most lethal killers. Between an abusive relationship that you're trying to scrape up the funds to escape from, and starting a new job, your life feels as if it's falling apart at the seams.

You could've never anticipated the events that follow after your first step onto the concrete flooring of Las Almas -- for better, or for worse.

characters. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + alejandro vargas + rodolfo 'rudy' parra + könig + keegan p. russ

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, prison au, serial killer au, reverse harem, therapist/patient, medical inaccuracies, graphic violence, depictions of murder, everyone's unhinged, poly tf141, minor ships, threesomes, foursomes, gangbangs, this is not medical advice!!

taglist comment/msg to be added. [nothing to see here.]