#crying crying screaming sobbing BABY BABY!!!!!!!!

[sluttyminghao]

♡ pairing: seungcheol x afab!reader ♡ genre: smut (like. straight up pwp) ♡ w.c: 2.9k ♡ warnings: choking, cum play, overstimulation, degradation/praise, cock warming, breeding kink, multiple orgasms, brief mentions of anal play, mirror sex, face fucking, bdsm elements, possession, raw and rough sex, no aftercare, extremely explicit ♡ a/n: the filthiest thing I've written probably ever. Please carefully read the warnings before reading! thank you to @facethesunflower and @supi-wupi for beta-ing for me ily both!

You knew exactly what you were doing when you wore that red dress out to dinner—short, tight, and no panties as the cherry on top. You wanted to rile him up.

But you didn’t expect this. Not this kind of punishment.

You’re on your knees in front of the mirror, your arms bound behind your back with one of Seungcheol’s belts, your dress bunched up haphazardly around your waist, while your makeup, that you had worked so hard on to make sure it was perfect, is smeared all over your heated face. His cock is buried deep in your throat as he fists your hair and fucks your mouth with zero mercy, all the while he’s got a smirk etched into his face as he observes you.

“You wanted to tease me with that fucking dress?” he growls, eyes locked on yours through the reflection. “Parading around the restaurant and the bar with no fucking panties on? All the while you’re biting your lip like a little whore all night?”

Your reply is nothing but a gagged moan around his cock, leaving him breathless for a moment.

He yanks you off his erection with a wet pop. You gasp for air, drool sliding down your chin. He smears it back across your lips with his thumb messily, chuckling as he does so.

“Look at you,” he mutters, his voice dark and low. “Such a cock-hungry slut that you can’t even breathe without it, huh?”

You nod, desperate. “Please…I want it—I want you…”

He slaps your cheek—not overly hard, but just enough to make your breath catch in your throat. “You don’t get to want things, baby. You gave that up when you decided to act like a fucking brat.”

He drags you by the hair to the bed and throws you face-first into the mattress. You whimper quietly as he spreads your legs roughly, the belt still pinning your wrists together behind your back. Your ass is already sore from the earlier spanking he’d given you.

He doesn’t give you a warning. No glint in his eye, no twitch of his arm; just spits onto your pussy and drives himself into you with one brutal thrust. Your scream is muffled by the sheets as he starts a merciless pace, groaning as he does so.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Seungcheol groans, leaning over your back, one hand becoming tangled in your hair, the other gripping at your hip like a vice. “That’s what a dumb little breeding toy like you gets. Used. Fucked. Filled.”

You whimper at the stretch; he’s thick, deep, and bordering on brutal, and you’re absolutely soaking and clenching, your body is addicted to him even as you shake from the force of it.

“You’re gonna cum on this cock,” he snarls. “Again, and again, and you’re gonna fucking thank me for it.”

He pulls out halfway and slams back in so hard your knees slip forward on the sheets. His belt bites beautifully into the skin of your wrists. You’re a complete mess for him; you’re crying and drooling, even moaning his name like it’s the only thing you’ve ever known.

And he loves it.

“Look at yourself,” he pants, gripping mindlessly at your throat and yanking you up, forcing your eyes to the mirror. “Fucking look. This is what you wanted, right? Getting ruined? Getting bred like a filthy little cumdump?”

You can see it so clearly now. Your own eyes, glazed and teary. Your makeup is utterly and completely ruined beyond salvaging. The way his cock disappears into your soaked pussy, over and over, your body twitching from overstimulation.

You’re beautiful. Broken. His.

“Tell me whose pussy this is.”

“Yours,” you sob. “It’s yours…please, please-”

He slaps your ass and cuts off your sentence, the crack echoing through the room. “Damn right it is. And I’m not stopping until you’re dripping my cum for days.”

The first orgasm slams into you like a freight train. You scream, shaking under him, your walls pulsing so hard that you nearly black out from the pleasure alone.

He doesn’t stop. Oh no, he just fucks you harder.

“That’s it. Keep squeezing my cock. You want to be a little fucktoy? Then take it.”

You cum again before you’ve even come down from your first high. You’re sobbing now from the intensity, head falling forward, thighs trembling.

But he’s not done.

He pulls out of you only long enough to flip you onto your back, arms still tied, your body wrecked and soaked. Then, he grabs onto your ankles, pushes your knees up to your chest, and pounds into you like he wants to rearrange your guts.

“You think I’m done with you?” he pants, sweat dripping from his gloriously chiselled jaw. “You don’t get to tap out, baby. Not until this pussy’s leaking and wrecked.”

Your body arches, not just from his actions, but also his words. It’s too much, everything is too much; it’s perfect.

When you start sobbing from pleasure again, he slows his pace, not out of mercy, but out of sheer cruelty. He grinds his hips into you slowly now, deep, torturously slow, rolling his hips stupidly slow to make you feel every thick inch of him.

“Yeah, cry for me,” he whispers, cupping your cheek. “My perfect little slut. My hole to breed.”

And then, with a snarl and a quick thrust, he buries himself to the hilt and cums hard—hot and endless, pulsing inside you. You feel it flood your cunt. You feel it stay.

He keeps you there, his cock still inside you, not letting it spill out.

“Keep it in,” he growls. “You don’t get to waste a drop.”

You're shaking, twitching, and barely breathing at this point. You are completely spent. He finally unties your wrists, relief flooding through your arms as you begin to regain feeling in them, and pulls you close.

“Shhh, you did so good,” he whispers, brushing sweaty hair from your forehead, lips kissing your temple. “Took everything like my perfect little cumslut.”

You whimper, weakly nuzzling into him. “I want more,” you whisper, wrecked.

He chuckles darkly.

“Oh, sweetheart. We’re just getting started.”

_______________________________

You’re still twitching.

You’re still flat on your back, legs splayed open, his cum slowly leaking from your overstretched pussy onto the filthy white sheets.

The room smells like sex—filthy sex. Your mascara is streaked down your cheeks, your lips swollen from biting them, your thighs red and slightly stinging from his hands. You’re wrecked.  And he’s watching you with that same dark, unrelenting hunger. That same look that has that familiar warmth pooling in your abdomen and your thighs twitching with want.

“Look at this mess,” Seungcheol murmurs, dragging a thumb through the slick trail of cum between your legs. “All of that, and you’re still not satisfied?”

You whimper, body flinching from the contact; you’re still far too sensitive, too raw, and yet your hips tilt up toward his hand unconsciously.

He smiles, slow and mean.

“Greedy little slut.”

You blink up at him, dazed, fucked-out, voice barely there and unrecognisable to you when you did speak. “Need more.”

“You need more?” he echoes, sharp and condescendingly, his cock already hard again in his fist, still glistening from the last round. “You’re dripping, baby. You’re full of me.”

You moan softly, back arching, thighs trembling.

He climbs onto the bed, settles between your legs again, and lines himself up again. “No begging this time,” he says, cockiness filling his raspy voice. “You already gave me permission.”

Then he pushes himself into you. You scream into the pillow he shoves over your mouth, muffling the sound as he sinks into your ruined hole, stretching you out all over again.

“Fuck, you’re still so fucking tight,” he groans. “Even after all that. Like this pussy was made to be used and fucked relentlessly.”

You squirm under him, your weak hands gripping the sheets, nails tearing at them, your mind shattering from the stretch. It’s too much, but you don’t want him to stop. Not ever.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he whispers, grabbing your throat and making you look at him. “Take it. Take it all. You wanted this, didn’t you? Wanted to be my little cumdump.”

You nod, tears streaming freely down your cheeks. “Y-yes, sir.”

He spits in your mouth.

“Swallow it.”

You do so, without hesitation.

He rewards you with a brutal thrust, then another—deep, sharp, unrelenting.

“You’re fucking addicted,” he growls, fucking you like he’s possessed. “To my cock. To being used. I could ruin you, and you thank me for it.”

You’re crying again, the cries are loud and desperate, and you’re even more soaked than you thought possible, practically begging him and babbling complete nonsense between moans.

“Please…please don’t stop, oh god, I can’t…I’m gonna-!”

“Then fucking cum,” he snarls. “Cum while I fuck another load into you. Show me how much this pussy needs to be bred.”

Your body obeys before your mind can catch up. You explode around him, convulsing so hard your legs go numb. Your scream is lost in the pillow. He fucks you through it, chasing his own release, slapping your ass hard when you whimper too much.

“You’re crying like you don’t love it,” he pants, his cock pulsing inside you. “But you do, don’t you? My perfect little slut.”

“Yes,” you sob. “I’m yours, and so is this pussy, forever and always”

Then he cums, burying himself deep and spilling another thick load inside you. Your body spasms, feeling it flood your cunt yet again, mixing with the last one. It's obscene. It's perfect.

And still… he doesn’t pull out. He stays there, inside you, his toned chest heaving with each breath, his hand stroking your cheek.

“You feel that?” he murmurs, slowly rolling his hips. “All that cum inside you?”

You nod, barely conscious. Just raw nerves and need.

“You’re gonna hold it,” he says. “Gonna sleep with it still inside.”

You tremble, fucked into obedience. Seungcheol finally lies down beside you, pulling you onto his chest, still fully sheathed in your throbbing, overstimulated hole.

You don’t even have words. Just breathless, broken whimpers.

He kisses your hair.

“Still want to act like a brat, baby?”

You shake your head slowly.

He chuckles. “Good girl.”

There's a slight pause. Then…

“��But if you do, just know—I love punishing you.”

And from the way your ruined hips roll forward just the slightest bit, still greedy for his touch and his cum, he knows you’re already planning your next mistake.

___________________________

The morning light is barely creeping through the blinds when you feel it. A familiar warmth pressed against your back, a familiar scent, the soft hum of Seungcheol’s breathing in your ear.

And then, his hand moves.

Your body is still trembling from last night’s punishment, but he’s already got you right where he wants you, his cock buried deep inside your pussy, soft and hard at the same time, like he never wants to let you go. He doesn’t.

You’re still too sensitive from everything he’s already done to you, your body still aching from the lightly forming bruises, your mind half-drowned in what he’s made you feel. And yet, your hips instinctively roll back toward him again, seeking the warmth of his body, the pressure of his cock buried deep inside you. You need him to fill you up again, and again.

You can feel the weight of him against your back, can feel the way his chest presses against your skin. His hand curls around your neck, holding you just right; not too tight, but enough that you begin feeling lightheaded.

“Still want more, baby?” Seungcheol asks, his voice a rasp in your ear.

You nod desperately. “Yes. Please. Please, Cheol…”

He hums low in his throat, the grip on your throat tightening slightly. His fingers dig into your skin, just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Such a needy little slut. Always so greedy for me,” he murmurs, grinding his hips against your ass. “I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk. I’m going to fill you up again. And you’re going to take it, like the little slut you are.”

You whimper, your legs so, so weak, but you lift them anyway, spreading your knees apart, offering yourself to him. It’s nothing new at this point, he owns you. He’s already claimed you, and there’s no going back.

With one smooth motion, he pulls back and then thrusts deep into you, filling you up completely. You gasp, the sensation of being so full overwhelming, even if he had just rearranged your guts not even 12 hours earlier. Your body shudders, feeling every inch of him inside you.

“You still take me so well,” Seungcheol groans, one hand moving to your waist, holding you down as he starts to fuck you slowly and steadily. “Fuck, I can’t get enough of you. You’re my perfect little hole, aren’t you?”

You moan, the words coming out of your swollen lips before you even think. “Yes… I’m yours. Always yours.”

He groans, fingers digging into the flesh of your waist. “That’s right. Don’t you forget it.”

The grip on your neck tightens again, just enough to make your head spin. You start to tremble again, overwhelmed by the sensations, by the ache between your legs, the way his cock fills you, the way he fucks you like he owns you.

And then, without warning, he pulls out. You’re left gasping and whining, on the edge of something, desperate for more. But he isn’t finished with you yet.

He slides his fingers down to your ass, teasing you, rubbing gently at your hole, before pushing one finger inside, stretching you open. You gasp, your body already on edge, and you can hear him chuckle darkly behind you.

“Can’t even take one finger? You’re so fucking weak,” he mutters, adding another finger. He works you open slowly, teasing, as you squirm beneath him.

“Cheol, please,” you beg, wanting to feel more. You want it, need it. Him.

He grins against your skin. “Want me to fuck you here, baby?” His voice is low, teasing. “Want me to stretch you out? Use your ass like the dirty little slut you are?”

“Yes, yes!” you cry, desperate. “Please, Cheol, I need you. All of you.”

He laughs darkly, his fingers still working you open, preparing you. “So fucking greedy. You don’t even care, do you?”

“No,” you pant. “Just want you… want you to fill me.”

“I don’t think you’re quite ready for that, maybe another time” his voice is low as he pulls his fingers out and wipes them on the messy sheets, his hands then coming back to your flesh and letting his fingertips glide over it, sending goosebumps along your skin.

He shifts you onto your stomach, spreading your legs apart. You feel the coolness of the sheets against your skin, your body still weak, but you can’t stop shaking with need. You don’t want him to stop. You want everything he’s willing to give you.

Seungcheol positions himself behind you, one hand wrapping around your throat again, the other guiding his cock to your wet, stretched hole. He grinds against you, feeling the slickness of your body, the warmth of your skin. He leans forward, his lips brushing against your ear.

“I’m not stopping this time. You’re going to take all of me,” he whispers. “And you’re going to keep taking it. Got it?”

You nod numbly, your body trembling in anticipation.

“Answer me,” he demands, voice rough. “Got it?”

“Yes, yes! I’ll take it, Cheol. I’ll take everything.”

With a groan, he thrusts into you again, hard and deep. Your body jerks forward at the impact, your breath caught in your throat. The force of his thrusts makes your body rock against the bed, and you feel the sting of the slap he lands on your ass, the hot burn of it making your skin tingle.

“You’re so fucking perfect for me,” he growls, fucking you relentlessly. “Look at you. Taking it all, like the whore you are.”

You can’t hold back anymore. You’re crying, your tears soaking into the sheets, your body shaking with every thrust. The pleasure is too much, overwhelming you.

He slaps your ass again, harder this time. “You’re such a good slut. Taking everything I give you. You’re going to be dripping for days. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Cheol. I understand.”

He leans forward, thrusting harder, his fingers digging into your hips as he holds you in place. “Good. Now, let me fill you up. Let me make you mine.”

He thrusts into you one final time, his cock buried deep inside you as he cums again. The feeling of him filling you up makes your body shake, a sob escaping your lips as you come undone once again, the sensations overwhelming.

And when he’s done, he stays there, deep inside you, for a long moment. You’re trembling, exhausted, but still so needy. Still greedy for more of him.

He pulls out slowly, then shifts to pull you close to him, wrapping you in his arms.

“You’re still mine,” he whispers against your skin. “You’ll always be mine.”

[casuallyanidiot]

Exclusive Content

Yandere Vlogger x AFAB Reader

Follow up to this

TW. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT ! MDNI ! Noncon, captivity, spanking, anal, bondage, voyeurism, edging (you don't get to finish)

You're captor loves giving the fans what they want!

“You don’t have to cry when you’re not on camera, you know.”

Tears dribbled down your cheeks as you curled up into a little ball. Your hands were wrapped in soft mittens, making them basically unusable. You sniffled and wiped your face. It was humiliating. You were practically nude save for the collar around your neck and the stockings clinging to your upper thighs.

“Seriously,” He sighed and wrapped his large hand around your ankle, yanking you across the mattress until you were seated at the edge where all the cameras were pointed to. “You’ve got to save your energy,” He chided and smoothed out your hair a bit. He wiped at your ruddy face, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“Although… yeah keep pouting like that,” he groaned and pulled out the handheld. He zoomed the lens in on your fearful expressions. His breathing became ragged. As he held your face in his palm, squishing your cheeks and turning your head in various directions. A bit of drool slipped past your lips, and you let out a tiny sob. “Fuckkkk you’re perfect. You’re my perfect little thing aren’t you?” His thumb worked his way past your teeth, chuckling softly as he smeared spit over your puffy lips.

The world spun as you were forced over, your hips propped up on a pillow. You let out a strangled cry as he grabbed a handful of your ass. He quickly worked to strap your arms to be folded together behind your back, making it arch almost painfully. He spread the globes of your ass open, and you whimpered at the feeling. Normally he’d keep you stuffed with toys, making a show of how gaped you could become afterwards, but today was different. You shuffled a bit to see what he was preparing, and you yelped at the feeling of cool lube being poured onto your skin. You tried to shut your thighs, but he kept them open as he began to work his fingers into you. You moaned soon after, your eyes fluttering as the sounds of your cunt being pumped into sounded out.

“We got- fuck- we got a request to have you be spanked and then do a bit of anal. They said- said not to touch your clit or anything. So unfair haha. Our viewers have gotten so mean lately. I think they like seeing you all scared. But you don’t have to be scared with me, baby. No no no, You’ve just got to relax so I can keep taking care of us.”

It shouldn’t feel this bad, or any more bad than being kidnapped and fucked mercilessly on a daily basis would. But no, no he made you read all the things people said about you. About him. They didn’t think this was real, and if they did, then they probably were getting off on the idea that you were being held captive. You had tried to call out for help once in a video, but when people said your screams were too realistic, he started to gag you for a while after that. It was a project, this wasn’t actually your life, he was a good partner, you were a good actor: All things people said instead of actually helping you. And now you were stuck having your ass spread for whoever would pay the most, just because he couldn’t deal with the reality that this was anything but your worst nightmare.

In the last few weeks, your captor had been filming nearly every moment of your life. You’d be convinced that he got some sick pleasure from documenting every scream and tearful breakdown, but you knew better. Sure, he liked it, but he mainly did it because of his damn viewers. You were sure that we wouldn’t even have your thighs open and down if it wasn’t for a good chunk of those sick fucks practically begging to see him fuck you on a near daily basis, but then again he was literally your kidnapper so you couldn’t say anything for certain anymore.

You squealed as he brought his hand down. The resounding crack was followed by a burning sting. You didn’t have a moment to breathe before he smacked you again, and again until your backside was on fire and bruised. Your tears stained the pillow as you whimpered, and he reached forward, petting your lower back like one would a frightened animal.

“There we go. You did so good.” 

He had to gag you before starting to actual fuck you. He was running his fingers over your scalp as if it would make anything better. His cock was stretching out your asshole in a way that felt all too wrong and full. You gurgled pathetically as he shallowly thrust into you. It didn’t even feel all that good, but he was moaning like you had handed him heaven on a silver platter.

“Mngh! H-hah d-don’t worry baby- I’ll touch your pussy as much as you want after this,” he whispered mischievously as he pressed a kiss behind your ear. You sobbed at the thought of letting him anywhere near your other hole, but you were leaking all over the sheets at the moment. And your cunt was positively aching to have attention paid to it. You winced as he grew more frantic in pacing, finally spilling deep within your clenching ass. You made a pathetic whine as he stilled within you, spanking your ass a few more times as he rolled his hips almost teasingly before pulling out. He panted as he hooked his finger in the rim of your asshole and pulled it to the side so the camera could capture the way his cum leaked out.

“Okay! And that should be good for now,” he sighed, throwing his head back and running his hand through his hair. “Man, baby, you’re so fucking tight down here. I thought you were gonna rip my dick off haha,” he laughed breathlessly and unbuckled the gag. He massaged your jaw as you slumped forward.

“I know, I know. You don’t like being shut up like that… but I really kind of have to. I mean, It’s not exactly hot when you’re screaming for help all the time,” He said and started to review the footage while his other hand reached down and started to tease your clit again. You jumped at his touch, but as humiliated as you were, you were so embarrassingly horny that you simply bit into the sheets beneath you to stop the humiliating noises from spilling out.

One maddeningly slow circle at a time. You grunted softly, and he let out a whistle. “ You know, I’m so glad I get to do this with you. I’m really lucky. Most people can’t make a living from loving their partner all the time like we do.”

He slipped a finger in, and you rolled your hips desperately to meet the friction.

“It just sucks that so many people want me to be mean to you. Hah… I guess we should be grateful, huh? You’re so cute… it’s no wonder people want to bully you…” He trailed off before kneeling down between your legs. He hummed appreciatively as his hand worked on your entrance, your walls pulsing around his fingers. He smiled, and you felt his breath on your sensitive folds before you could help yourself. You yelped a bit as he groaned into your pussy, his tongue stroking and slurping eagerly. You keened softly as you bucked your hips, trying to grind on his nose. You could feel the heat coiling in your belly as you panted and trembled. Finally, after all that fucking bullshit, you were gonna cum. 

And then, all of a sudden, his touch was gone. 

You blinked for a moment, before tears of frustration gathered in your eyes. You let out a wail as you writhed, trying desperately to find the sweet friction you needed to finish, but he merely placed a hand on your lower back.

“Oh? Hold up…”

You craned your neck to the side as tears slipped down your face, and you paled as you saw his expression. He was smiling, almost cruelly as he rubbed your back in a sympathetic way.

“Sorry baby. We just got another request. A bunch of nipple play this time. My viewers are so weird haha. Anyways, I promise I’ll let you cum for real afterwards as a reward,” he assured you, and you whimpered as he loomed over you, fixing the camera to start the whole ordeal all over again with a wicked glint in his eye. You let out a terrified squeak. As much as you and him blamed the people who paid for these stupid videos, you didn’t think that anyone who didn’t enjoy their job would look so gleeful about it at the same time.

[strangerexee]

ᴍɪᴄ ᴄʜᴇᴄᴋ, ᴍᴏᴜᴛʜ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴏᴜᴛʜ | ꜰᴀᴍᴏᴜꜱ ꜱɪɴɢᴇʀ!ꜱᴀᴍᴍɪᴇ ᴍᴏᴏʀᴇ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

𝙰𝚄: 𝙼𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚗 | 𝙵𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚁&𝙱 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚊𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚎 𝙼𝚘𝚘𝚛𝚎

Pairings: Sammie Moore x black!reader

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 : (𝚈𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 | 𝙺𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 | 𝙵𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕𝚜)

You were embarrassing.

You knew it.

Sweating under the stage lights, your phone gripped in both hands like your life depended on it, scream-singing along to every word like your soul might exit your body from pure, unfiltered thirst.

Because Sammie Moore was right there.

Fine as all hell.

Dripping sweat.

Voice deeper than sin itself.

His chain glittered under the stage lights, swinging every time he leaned forward and dragged those thick, ringed fingers down the mic stand. His shirt was half open. His skin glistened.

And God help you, you had no dignity.

You were screaming so hard you couldn’t even record.

Voice cracked. Makeup surprisingly not melting. Hair sticking to your neck.

But it didn’t matter.

Because you were at the front.

At a Sammie Moore concert.

And you’d never wanted a man more in your whole damn life.

The crowd swayed like ocean waves behind you, arms raised, girls crying, some throwing bras. Sammie walked slow across the stage, drinking from a bottle of water, that voice of his curling around lyrics like smoke. Like velvet dragged over your spine.

He looked good.

Too good.

Painfully good.

And then — Lord, then — he stopped singing.

Paused, lifted his mic.

“I got one question,” he said, deep voice rich like heat.

The whole crowd screamed.

“Who want a kiss?”

Bitch.

The way every hand shot up — like a coordinated attack.

You raised yours too — screaming like your life depended on it, half laughing, tears in your lashes from sheer embarrassment. Your phone was long forgotten. You were just pointing up, jumping like a damn idiot, yelling:

“ME! ME! OH MY GOD, ME PLEASE!”

He looked around. Took his sweet time. Eyes dark. Smiling low like he knew he had y’all wrapped around his finger.

And then — oh my god.

His eyes landed on you.

Not just glanced. Locked.

And that smile —

The cocky, tilted smirk with the dimples and everything —

That was for you.

“You.”

He pointed.

“Come here, baby.”

The security guard was at you before your brain even registered what was happening. You gasped. Sputtered. Let yourself be helped up and over the barricade while the entire front row screamed.

You were shaking.

You were sweating.

You were convinced your soul had just left your damn body.

Sammie watched you walk up — real slow — and you swear you almost tripped on air when he leaned down with the mic and whispered into it —

“Don’t be shy now, baby. C’mon.”

When you made it to the stage, he stepped forward and took your hand.

His palm was warm.

His fingers curled around yours like it was normal. Like this wasn’t the craziest thing to ever happen to you in your whole damn life.

He leaned in close — way too close — and brushed his lips near your ear.

“What’s your name, pretty?”

You told him.

“Mmm. Pretty name for a pretty girl.”

The crowd was SCREAMING.

You were DEAD.

And then — then.

He cupped your cheek with one hand, tilted your chin up, and kissed you.

On the mouth.

Not a peck.

Not a polite little brush.

No — Sammie kissed you like he meant it.

Like he’d been thinking about it.

Like it wasn’t just a stage bit.

His lips were warm. Slow. The kind of kiss that melted your knees. His hand slid down to your jaw, holding you in place, and his mouth lingered—just long enough to steal your breath — he had you squealing against his lips.

When he pulled back, your eyes were wide and glassy, and his thumb brushed under your lip like he wanted to memorize the way you tasted.

He still had the mic in one hand.

“Y’all saw that?” he asked, turning to the crowd. “She sweet as hell.”

You covered your face, sobbing. Literally sobbing.

He laughed.

Real, deep, low in his chest.

Then leaned back in.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered against your ear, so low it didn’t even hit the mic, “I’b be crying too.”

When you were led back down to the crowd, every girl around you looked shook.

You couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t think.

Your lips still tingled.

Your hand — he held your hand.

Sammie winked at you once more before turning back to the mic.

And you?

You were a goner.

Js wanna say thank y’all for 1k followers — just got like 900 more strange-babies — preciate all the loveeee — all yall comments and reblogs bring me so much motivation…I love you guys especially the anons and my moots🫶🏽💕 and my wife (she don’t know we married on the low — @pinkpantheris )

[snottyped]

I looovvedd your ghost x reader fic. Will you do a part two..?🥹🥺🙏

haunted part two

ghost x female reader nsfw

You thought it was over.

The candles stayed cold. No whispers in the walls. No pressure in your bed. You even let someone else take you out—kiss you, touch you. You wanted to believe he was finally gone.

But tonight… the lights flicker.

And your breath stills.

Your bedroom grows cold—not from the breeze, but from him. That heavy silence. That airless pressure. That feeling of being watched from every corner. You sit up, heart hammering, and whisper, “…Daddy?”

A low voice purrs in your ear, right beside you.

“You let someone else touch what’s mine?”

You gasp—he’s already in your bed, invisible, but his hands are on you. Rough. Familiar. Perfect. Gripping your thighs like he never left. Like your body still remembers everything.

“P-Please,” you breathe, “I thought you—”

“You thought wrong, baby.”

A hand wraps around your throat. Not choking—yet—but firm. Possessive. Another hand slips between your thighs, and you feel it—ghost-cold at first, but warming as he presses his fingers into your soaked heat.

“So wet already,” he growls. “Was that for him or me?”

Your hips jerk.

“Thought so. You don’t drip like this for boys. You do it for Daddy.”

You bite your lip as your back arches—his fingers inside you now, working you open like he never stopped learning you. Like even in death, he remembers your body better than you do.

“Did he even fuck you right?” he snarls. “Or did he just rut on top of you like a little boy who didn’t know what to do with a pretty pussy?”

You whimper.

“He didn’t make you come, did he?”

You shake your head. “No. Only y—you—”

Suddenly, he’s inside you. Not fingers—his cock. Thick, overwhelming, stretching you open as you gasp. You can’t see him, but he’s there—his weight heavy over you, voice dark and hungry.

“That’s right,” he whispers, thrusting slow and deep. “Only Daddy. Say it.”

“Only you,” you sob. “Only Daddy—fuck—”

He slams into you harder.

“That’s my girl.”

Your legs are spread, bent, helpless. He fucks you like he’s trying to reclaim what you dared offer to someone else—hard, deep strokes that leave you gasping, body slick and clenching around him.

You feel his breath against your neck, even if he has no lungs.

“You tried to move on,” he growls. “You wore that little dress I liked, didn’t you? Let him stare at your tits, your ass, thinking he had a chance?”

His hands are everywhere. On your throat. Your chest. One slips under your shirt, groping your breasts with greedy, ghost-touch fingers that pinch your nipples until you cry out.

“Did he touch these? Fuck no, he didn’t. These are mine.”

Your head spins. The rhythm is merciless—perfect. Like he’s fucking the memory of every other man out of you. Like he won’t stop until there’s nothing left of you that hasn’t come from him.

“You gonna cry, baby?”

You’re close. Too close. Your body jerks under him, heels digging into the bed, fingernails scraping at the sheets as he slams into you faster.

“Daddy’s gonna fill you up. You want that, slut? Want me to ruin you again?”

“Yes—yes, please—fuck me, fill me—”

“Beg for it.”

“Please, Daddy—please, I’m sorry—I missed you, I need it—”

“Then take it.”

He slams in deep—and holds. You feel it—hot, sudden, flooding. You swear you feel his cock pulsing, stretching you, creaming your insides with phantom seed.

You scream, body locking up as your orgasm wrecks you.

It’s too much. He doesn’t stop. His cock stays hard inside you, already thrusting again.

“One more,” he pants. “You don’t get to run, baby. Not ‘til Daddy’s done.”

You sob his name, overstimulated, split open, body trembling as he fucks a second orgasm out of you, chasing his own again. His voice never stops—filthy, loving, cruel.

“Good fucking girl. Take it. Open for me. Let me haunt this pussy ‘til you can’t forget.”

You break. Again. And a thousand more if Daddy says so.

[debtofdeception-if]

Awwwn I need some fluffy author! Pretty little please!

What would A do with a baby kiddo who would always clingy to mcs neck, and be super insufferable and teary eyed when mc was not around?

This is kind of long, but I thought it was cute 😂. I used a F!MC named Anora, a M!A, and a M!Kiddo named Shiloh.

No!” Shiloh screams, clinging to Anora’s neck with both arms. He buries his face in her shoulder as she tries to gently peel him off.

“Come on, baby,” she coaxes softly. “Mommy has to go. I need you to let go now.”

Alaric steps in front of them, wrapping his arms around Shiloh’s waist to help. “Yeah, bud, come on. We’re gonna have so much fun, right?”

Shiloh shakes his head hard. “No!”

Alaric winces. “Really starting to regret teaching him that word,” he mutters under his breath.

With some effort, Anora manages to slip free. Alaric seizes the chance and lifts Shiloh away, but just as he does, Shiloh reaches out and grabs a fistful of Anora’s hair.

“Ah! Shiloh, please let go of Mommy’s hair!” she gasps, her face twisting in pain.

Alaric tries to pry Shiloh’s fingers loose, but his grip is stubborn. “Jeez, could probably get you in the Guinness World Records with this grip strength,” he jokes, but his smile fades when Anora shoots him a glare.

“Alaric. Not the time.”

“Right, sorry,” he says quickly, focusing on her tangled strands. “Shiloh, you’re hurting Mommy. You don’t want to do that, right? Let’s just…”

Finally, the grip loosens. Anora pulls away fast, rubbing her scalp where the strands had been yanked. Alaric secures Shiloh in his arms, but he immediately starts squirming and kicking. His little legs flail, and his onesie becomes ruffled from the scuffle.

The front door swings open as Anora steps out, rushing now that the delay has cost her time. “I’ll be back, munchkin. I love you,” she calls, blowing a kiss and waving before heading out.

Almost instantly, the crying starts. Shiloh lets out a long, warbling whine, his body going limp in Alaric’s arms as his wide eyes fill with tears.

“Mommy no leave… come back, Mommy,” he sobs, voice cracking.

Alaric stands frozen, unsure of what to do. The sobbing won’t stop, even as he tries rocking him gently, patting his back, whispering soft reassurances. Still, nothing helps. Then, an idea hits him.

“Hold on, bud. One second.”

He sets Shiloh down carefully and hurries to his workshop. His eyes scan cluttered shelves until he sees what he’s looking for: a small, dusty toy robot. The little blue robot had once been his pride and joy. It had taken weeks of trial and error to get it to work, but he remembers that feeling of satisfaction when he finally did. He hasn’t touched it in years, so he’s unsure if it will still work, but he’s hopeful.

Grabbing the controller, he hurries back to the living room. Shiloh is lying near the door, curled up and crying into his arms. His small back trembles with each hiccuping sob.

Alaric kneels nearby and powers on the toy. The robot buzzes to life. Its rubber treads begin zigzagging across the floor until it halts in front of Shiloh. Alaric presses a button, and the robot starts playing a soft lullaby. Its stubby arms lift in rhythm as colored lights blink across its chest. It spins in place, waving its arms in a motion that is supposed to resemble dancing.

At first, Shiloh doesn’t move. His face stays hidden. But then, a single teary eye peeks out. The robot twirls again. Lights flash as it lifts its arms once more.

A shaky giggle breaks through Shiloh’s tears.

Alaric exhales, surprised to realize he had been holding his breath. With a soft smile, he crosses over and pulls Shiloh into his lap.

“You like him?” he asks, handing the robot over. Shiloh’s small hands wrap around it in curiosity.

“He’s cool, huh?” Alaric says, voice low and gentle. “Even though I haven’t played with him in a long time, I still remembered him. I still came back for him. I always will.” He kisses the top of Shiloh’s head. “Just like Mommy. She loves you way too much to ever leave for good. You’re too special.”

Alaric knows Shiloh probably can’t comprehend everything he just said. But that doesn’t stop him from saying it. Some things are worth hearing, even if they aren’t fully understood.

Shiloh rests against him, finally calmed down. Together, they watch the robot spin and dance across the floor. The lights reflect off Shiloh’s cheeks, still shiny from tears, as his little fingers press the buttons with newfound focus.

And just like that, everything feels okay again.

[074calicocat]

✮⋆˙ LIKE YOU'RE HIS...

cw: fauxcest but not really (you'll see), aftermath of piv sex, cockwarming, creampie, reader is me (gulp), reader has daddy issues 🥀, suggestive ending

notes: hello. I put my tears and cum into this so here is your formal warning. I just really want di Leon to be my dad 💔 also if I lock in I want this to have a second part. IF I lock in. Also not proofed in the slightest yikes

"If I was your dad, you know I would never have screamed at you. Right?"

Note to self. Block your dad's number.

You're so sweaty you're surprised Leon hasn't outright called you disgusting. Your hair plastered to your forehead and you're more than sure you reek of that non-so-romantic post sex funk.

"I would love you forever and ever. You'd be my little girl for life and I would never say anything mean about you."

But Leon holds you anyway. Keeps his softened cock nestled in your spent cunt as you lay on his chest, scratching your head like you're his pet. Your hips ache, your head aches, your chest hurts like a bitch. Your eyes sting and your throat is raw from how much you've cried and honestly, you've outdone yourself because you can't think of any other person who can sob themself dry and ride dick like no tomorrow.

Just one of the many womanly charms you possess.

"...yeah, I know," you mumbled, sniffling and wiping the tip of your nose against Leon's chest. Turns out chest hair makes good tissues and you've been wiping your tear-stricken face against him for the past half hour.

You can hear him sigh and his hands slide from your hair down your spine, pulling you all the most tighter against him. He actually smells goods during sex, like musk and aftershave and whiskey. It's not fair he ended up with you: some mopey girl who can't even remember to take her meds on most days to avoid episodes like this.

"You know I love you, right? More than anything?" he whispers to you, so softly it's like he's breathing life into his words.

God dammit it.

"Don't make me cry again, oh my god-" your voice cracks as the tears well up in your eyes again, your face promptly ending back up buried in Leon's chest. His chest rises as he softly chuckles, cooing "dont' cry, baby" at you like you're his...

his...

"I just wish you were my dad sometimes, Leon."

Bingo. How does that one song go? Parades me 'round like his fucking daughter...something, something, it doesn't matter. The point is that's exactly what you want from Leon, even if he fucked you stupid just before and was swearing up again down he was going to give you a baby. And as you raise your damp face away from his body and stare him down, the silver in his beard only makes you more sure of your wishes.

Leon had all the right to push you off, send you to take a shower, and order you to take your meds. Because who actually says things like that? But there's a reason why Leon is dating you even if you're a total square because his eyes light up like you've just flashed him a fancy new bottle of whiskey. "Oh yeah?"

He has that shit-eating look on his face when you say something he really likes and it's like the gates of heaven open up to you. You're like an overeager puppy as you start to nod, the two of you laughing together.

"I'm your man, baby," Leon hums, his hands drifting down to cup your ass. "If you wanna play house, we can play house." His lips drift to your forehead and he lays the most gentle kiss onto your skin, easily distracting you from his cock getting hard while still buried inside you.

Insane work.

"Besides, I always wanted a daughter to spoil like this."

[kitkatscabinet]

POSITIVE PREGNANCY TEST

pairing: wally west x fem! reader

requested: by anon as part of dc drabbles

The Zeta tube flared to life with a sharp hum, and you stepped through like a woman possessed. Eyes wild and fist clenching the ziploc bag containing the damn stick you'd only peed on to reassure yourself that you weren't pregnant.

Poor Captain Marvel flinched as you barreled past him. "Uh... ma’am? You need clearance?"

"I have clearance," you snapped, stalking down the gleaming hallway and making a mental note to apologise later. "I’m dating one of the fastest men alive, and I’m hormonal as hell. Do not get in my way."

He very smartly lets you be.

You passed stunned League members and confused junior heroes, all of them parting like the Red Sea at the look on your face. Laser-focused. Fuming. White-knuckling something in your fist that looked suspiciously like—

"Is that… a pregnancy test?" someone whispered.

You didn’t stop.

Wally was in the monitor room. You only knew this because he’d complained to you just yesterday about how he'd be stuck on monitor duty for a stupidly long time, and that he probably wouldn't be able to answer any texts.

Which had been fine, before you'd taken the pregnancy test.

Alone. Crying in the bathroom, pacing for fifteen minutes, then screaming into a pillow for five. And now you were here, because if you didn’t see him, if you didn’t tell him, you were going to combust.

"West!" you barked, practically bursting through the door.

Wally turned in his chair, granola bar in hand, eyes going wide the second he saw you. "Hey, babe! You... uh, you came to visit—"

You throw the test at him, which he barely manages to catch in shock at seeing you a) on the watchtower, and b) looking absolutely manic.

"Two lines," you snapped. "Congratulations. You knocked me up."

He blinked. Face concerningly blank as he stared down at the test in his hands as if it were a live bomb.

"…Oh." His voice cracked a little.

"You’re damn right oh. You’ve got thirty seconds to respond before I start sobbing or throwing something, I haven’t decided yet."

Wally stood slowly, gently placing the test on the console like it was sacred. "Wait—wait, hold on... pregnant? Like a real pregnancy? Now? A baby? Like ours?"

"Yes, Wally!" you shouted. "I’m pregnant! I’m tired! I’m hungry! And I just spent nearly an hour having a mental breakdown by myself, so say something useful before I explode!"

There was a brief pause before Wally pulled you into his arms. "I love you," he blurted. "And I’m so excited to be a parent with you. And I’m never leaving you alone again. Ever. I'll get you whatever you want, anything. You want ice cream? A new house? A car? We'll need it, for the baby. What do you want?"

You stared at him, overwhelmed with love and affection, before you abruptly burst into tears.

"Oh no, No, no, no—please don’t cry—I love you—I’m an idiot—This is all my fault!"

"It is your fault!" You wailed as you clutched onto him like a lifeline, your sobs devolving into little sniffles, "But I love you."

"I love you too, you and our baby." There's so much sincerity in his voice that you start sobbing anew.

Fucking hormones.

[zweigish]

slipping through their fingers

art.. at your child’s first day of kindergarten. he couldn’t help but smile as he watched his baby walk in, holding onto his and your pinky fingers, taking steps with pride but as soon as your baby got inside, they clung to art. He crouched down to their level and sighed before he kissed your child’s forehead. “baby, listen to me. You’ll come back home to me and mommy and you’ll have an amazing day. You’ll make new friends and play. Me and mommy will come back, go have fun.” eventually convincing your baby to take their teachers pinky and walk deeper into the class, art gently wiping soft tears he wasn’t afraid to show.

Patrick.. at your child’s first day of kindergarten, he was trying so hard not to cry as he watched your child walk big steps towards those big doors, not holding onto your fingers due to wanting to be like their dad, strong and tough but little did your child know, Patrick was breaking down right next to you. You rubbed his back and he shook his head. “I’m being dramatic.” He softly laughed. “Who’s crying?” He scoffed as you both entered, your child pridefully waving goodbye and leaving with their teacher, Patrick was now sobbing in the car.

Art.. now, it was your kids first day of middle school! Art was worried, he wouldn’t deny it. He knew kids could be a bit cruel in middle school, he didn’t want your child to come back sobbing from school. He rubbed your childs back as he walked in with them. He smiled. “You’ll do great, alright? and if kids wanna say anything. You ignore them, ya hear baby?” He spoke with confidence, your child nodded and walked in. Great! now..when he got back into the car. He looked at you and cried a bit. “God, I’m so worried but I’m happy.”

Patrick.. again, a total wreck when it was your child’s first day of middle school. He was hiding the fact that he wanted to sob, not willing to cry infront of his child on their first day. He walked inside with them, when they received their schedule. He wanted to cry, the math wasn’t gonna be easy adding or subtracting anymore, it was gonna be harder and he knew that meant his baby was growing. He quickly waved bye to your child as they walked away to their first class. He walked back to the car and shook his head before breaking down in the passenger seat. “Middle school? Are you serious?”

Art.. highschool graduation. This is what art didn’t want to come because it meant his baby was an adult now. As he heard their name called and he watched them walk the stage, he clapped and cheered loudly. His baby was grown and he couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t turn back time to where they played with toys and went on walks. When your baby let him hug them tightly and closely without groaning. He stared at you, small tears running down. When your child approached you both with their cap and gown, art cried at the sight before hugging them. “My baby, you’re all grown up. When will you stop?” His words shook laughter out of you all, it was weird. You and art were crying and laughing at the same time!

Patrick.. highschool graduation, he sobbed on the way and of course, made you drive. when you both watched your child walk the stage. He clapped and screamed, “that’s my baby! Hey! That’s my kid!” He laughed as you shook your head. This was crazy to him, his baby was working, his baby that he used too feed, change, burp..was now grown. They were gonna date, get married, have babies even though he remembers them just being a baby themselves. When your child approached with their cap and grown, he immediately hugged them. You watched as Patrick and your kid broke into sobs together. You couldn’t help but join in.

[pineconepie]

how would the yanparents react to a little whos being severely bullied or abused by someone but they never tell them until they came home bloody and brush and when asked why they say it's because they have become so used to it and because of how common it is they essentially stopped caring

This is probably one of my favorite tropes to put in writings XD anyway, here's some randomized yanparents for this ask!

.

Kezareth would be quick to find out something is wrong right away, but just in the extremely rare scenario where he isn't watching over you, he'd be filled with rage upon seeing you bruised and bloody. For once, he'd lose his composure, screaming who did this to you, and if you don't tell him, he'll just find them himself.

Seradiel would also be angry and emotional, but he'd have slightly more composure, holding you while scolding Kezareth to, "calm yourself, you're clearly making this worse".

Both of them would feel guilty they allowed this to somehow happen, and would blame themselves. You wouldn't see them bickering for a while after that, too caught up in guilt to really focus on anyone but you.

While Seradiel is against murder, that changes as soon as you're hurt. He's your guardian angel, right? That means he's supposed to be guarding you. So while he stays home to comfort you, he wouldn't stop Kezareth from finding them and making them pay.

.

If Solaris somehow agreed to let you go to some magic school, or something else along those lines, this would push their fears high enough to take you out of there immediately. They'd be crying as they tend to your injuries, even if their magic basically makes it all better much more quicker.

Despite being angry, they wouldn't be enough to raise their voice or do anything to make it worse. They wouldn't pry answers out of you, not straight away.

Only after you're both calmed down, they'd be almost deceptively sweet when asking who did it, how long was this happening, and why you didn't say anything to them sooner.

They'd be extra protective after that, despite the bully mysteriously disappearing <3

.

Also with Anevra this is unlikely to happen, but in some kind of scenario where she allows you to go to some school in the forest (perhaps mainly just for creatures like driders, elves, etc), she would be devastated.

Very quick to start crying and holding you close, shushing you while she tends to all your injuries. Her hands would be shaking the entire time, sobbing louder when she needs to take care of a new bruise or cut :(

Only after recovering, would the anger set in. "Who is hurting my baby?? Tell me!!" It'd be one of the extremely rare moments you actually see anger from her.

Whether she gets an answer or not, she's going to find them. Out of everyone here, she'll definitely be the most violent when dealing with them.

[mattspillowprincess]

The Dinner From Hell

NOTE: THIS IS NOT CONNECTED TO THE SURPRISE FIC I POSTED. They are still very much pregnant. This is a different one-shot. They are not connected. 

Warnings: angst, pregnancy, blood, miscarriage, includes all 3 triplets, but reader is married to Matt

WC: 688

It’s been 7 weeks since you found out you’re pregnant. Life seemed blissful, everything tinged with gold and glitter. You and Matt were already planning names and buying tiny shoes for your new baby. You told your closest friends and family. Everyone was so happy for you. 

You, Matt, Nick, and Chris were eating dinner in your apartment. 

“I’ll be right back,” I said, excusing myself to go to the bathroom. As you sat down at the toilet, you saw a splatter of blood on your underwear. Your face paled, and when you got up from the toilet, there was more blood in the bowl. You let out a loud cry, a scream in pain. The boys' heads all shot up in the direction of the bathroom. Matt ran to the bathroom, opening the door. He found you on the floor, sobbing, and saw the blood in the toilet. 

“Matt,” You sobbed. “There’s so much blood.” Tears ran down your face, choking out sobs. 

“No, no, no, no…” Matt whispered. “We need to go to the doctor. Cmon, baby.” He lifted you up, bridal style, and carried you into the kitchen. 

“I’ll drive you,” Chris said immediately, grabbing his keys. “You can stay in the back with her.” Matt nodded and carried you to the car. 

All four of you raced to the ER, speeding through yellow lights and barely stopping at stop signs. You lay your head in Matt's lap and cried while he ran his fingers through your hair, trying to keep you calm. Nick and Chris said nothing, all of them silently praying that what you thought wasn't true. But you knew, you felt a dull ache in your belly, a heaviness that wasn't there before. 

Soon, you arrived at the hospital. Matt walked with you, and Nick and Chris were close behind. Everything felt like it was on 2x speed, moving too fast. You were in a dissociated state, not sure what was happening. Somehow, you got to the exam room, the paper crinkling underneath you, Matt's hand never leaving yours. His thumb rubbed over your knuckles, keeping you from breaking. 

The doctor sounds like he’s speaking from underwater. Random words poke out at you: no heartbeat, blood test, low chance, and finally, miscarriage. That's what finally breaks you. You wail, your cry probably heard by patients down the hall. Matt wraps you in a hug, tears slipping down his cheeks. 

“She’s dead,” You choke out, “I killed her.” Matt shakes his head. “Baby, this isn’t your fault. You did nothing wrong.”

The rest of the night passes by you, and at some point, you end up back in bed. You and Matt lay there, both crying. After a while, you drift off to sleep, too tired to keep crying. 

Matt slips out of bed, into the living room where Nick and Chris sit, not wanting to leave you guys alone. Matt collapses next to Chris, letting out a shaky breath. Nick scoots over and wraps himself around Matt, Chris mirroring him. They sit that way for a long time, just letting Matt cry. After a while, Matt speaks. “It was a girl,” His words hang in the air, heavy. “We weren’t going to tell anyone. Make it a surprise… I was gonna have a daughter,” His voice breaks on that last word. Daughter. A little girl, to dance around with, to have tea parties, to bake with. Someone to protect, another girl, he would fall in love with. A carbon copy of her mom. He sobs into Nick's shoulder, Chris rubbing his back, no one saying anything. 

Back in the bedroom, you wake up and feel Matt’s side of the bed cold. You slip out of bed, finding the boys on the couch. Silently, you slid in between Matt and Chris, curling into Matt’s side. He wraps his arms around you, and Nick and Chris sandwich you two together. You all cry for the little girl you’ll never meet. Nobody talks, just comforts each other, and for now, it's enough. You’ll all still hurt tomorrow, but you know, with time, you will heal.

[transboyswitchytales]

A Proposal

Professor Wanda Maximoff x Reader Student

Part 1, 2, 3, this is 4!

Hurt/Comfort/ FLUFFFFFF

Wanda has a nightmare, and you two have an early morning together. A sunrise and a new day is sure to take the pain away.

( Mommy kink, 18+ Will block you if under 18) It's really just fluff. Tooth rotting fluff, not just from the sweets they eat.

PS: This is really for the sweet and always supportive @franfineashell Without this lovely human, there would never have even been a part 2. It's her support that has me writing Wanda fics. So thank you a million times over for reading my silly shit and commenting. It's why I'm writing this at 3 am. You are the best.

My Masterlist

You heard her scream and jerked awake. Blinking rapidly, you couldn’t see in the dark at first, but your eyes adjusted quickly as Wanda thrashed in bed. 

You knew where you were ,and your eyes fell to your girlfriend. 

You grabbed her arm and she screamed and cried. Oh god, your heart broke at the sound. You started to shake her. 

“Wanda, baby, wake up. It’s a bad dream.” You say, and she’s quaking, but her eyes snap open. 

“What, oh god. Please, no, no .”

“Wanda, sweetie, it’s me. You are safe, it’s just a nightmare. You are at home, you are in bed. I’m right here. It’s all ok.” You tell her the facts, hoping it’ll ground her. Wanda was prone to nightmares, you were getting better at bringing her down from them. 

Wanda’s hands came up to your face, and she cupped your jaw and stared at you. Leaning down, you work the warm pads of your thumbs to wipe her tears. She closed her eyes, savoring the feeling of you. 

Of your touch, the feeling of your hands, the solid mass that was your body in bed with her. 

Wanda opened her eyes and studied you again. 

“I think this calls for a snack.” You whisper, and Wanda’s breath shakes a little, and she nods once. You know, after a particularly awful nightmare, Wanda doesn’t go back to sleep right away. You’d made the mistake once, rolling her onto her side and making her be little spoon. You cradled her from behind, arms wrapped securely. You were just about to fall back asleep when you felt her shake slightly. Your alarm bells went off, you’d been an expert in past relationships with the silent sob. That special type of cry where no sound comes out, and in the very act of silently sobbing next to someone, a part of you feels like it’s dying. Because the person next to you, feels a million miles away. And you are putting yourself in a box so they don’t have to deal with your tears. 

You turned so fast in that bed and flipped the light on. Shifting Wanda onto her back, you saw the tears. She’d apologized, and you’d kissed her and rocked her against your chest. Wanda had obviously never experienced a love like yours. Because as big as she loved you, you loved her back. 

There was something so insanely intimate about being loved and cherished in return. You’d never experienced it, and neither had she. 

Wanda was older than you, though not by a large number. There were times when the age was clearly not the same. There were times where language barriers made communication take a little longer. There were moments where being a student and a college professor made you have different opinions. 

But your love made everything that made you both different, so much sweeter. 

You might both be bambi at times in this love. But there was a language you both spoke for each other. Just like that finals week. 

I want to understand you,

I study your obscure language.

Alexander Pushkin that fucking Russian poet nailed it. You learned each other, you’d never watched Dick Van Dyke before. Wanda had never listened to Brandi Carlile. Both of these things were trivial, past partners wouldn’t take the time. But you understood that the little things that made Wanda, your Wanda, were important. 

So you watched the sitcoms, and you understood Wanda better. She didn’t have a childhood or stability. These stories where nothing terrible happens, this was her comfort, her safety. 

You watched every episode, and one day, you caught Wanda watching you instead of the grey TV screen. 

“You actually like this.” She’d said, and your heart broke. Why had no one ever taken the time to learn Wanda? 

But you were a hypocrite. Because one day, Wanda was on your phone and you were confused. So you looked over her shoulder, expecting, like previous relationships, that she was going through your texts. People before had been jealous and controlling, endlessly manipulative. So you’d assumed the worst. 

Only to see Wanda holding her phone next to yours. She was adding your playlists to her Spotify. While you were busy studying Wanda, she’d been busy learning you, too. 

You both were becoming fluent in how to love each other. Not just the way that made you feel good, but that broke through to the deepest parts of Wanda. So that you could support each other in hard times, and cherish each other in the moments that make relationships. When you came into the apartment one day you’d been so floored to hear Brandi playing on the speaker. Not because you’d put it on. But because Wanda missed you and put it on. Your heart exploded a million times over. 

So it made sense in moments like this. 

With a teary Wanda, that you’d learned her language. You got off the bed slowly, keeping the lights off. Wanda had never heard of the word ‘overstimulation’ but when you’d taught it to her, she’d understood. Turns out the feeling was universal and not just a word said in English. 

So you kept the lights off. You threaded your fingers in hers. Wanda loved holding your hand. You think it was because she’d been too late to hold Pietro’s when he died. And that her parents died young, and she didn’t get the comfort and reassurance that comes from two hands meeting. 

So you held Wanda’s hand at every opportunity. And you saw in those moments, Wanda relax, find strength, courage, and the reminder of your love for her. You held Wanda through every feeling. 

So she got out of bed, wiping the last of her tears with the back of her free hand, you guided her behind you out of the bedroom. Going into the kitchen, you walked over to the oven light and turned it on. It was low and not too much for the early morning. 

You pushed her to the counter gently, and you tapped it twice, instructing her to sit on it. It wasn’t Wanda’s style to sit on the kitchen counter. It was way more your style in fact as she talked about her day, you’d put your ass up on there. The first time you saw Wanda stop and think if she wanted to kick you off of it. 

You saw the cogs turn in her mind and waited. Wondering if this was something that made Wanda uncomfortable or something that was a learned behavior. Was this Wanda, or was this her experiences?

Her ex-husband, Vision, had been almost robotic; his OCD and life trauma invaded every aspect of his tortured linear mind. You’d never fault his mental illness. 

You did fault his need to control Wanda. To put her in a box and make her small. He wanted a pretty suburban wife, but quiet, so quiet that all she could do was serve dinner and play house. No opinions, he wanted a grey cut out of a woman. 

He’d never seen Wanda Maximoff. 

Wanda was so big, bright, and beautiful. She scrunched her nose in a signature adorable fashion when she teased you or you said some dirty joke that she couldn’t suppress her enjoyment of. Wanda sang in the shower, loudly, and could make anyone who tried to debate her on politics weep. Wanda was quick witted and determined. She wasn’t some two dimensional character, not a secondary character in a mans story, fuck no. 

 Wanda might seem small when she’s curled up on the sofa to read. But she had an army-sized bundle of trauma. Wanda had seen more than most people ever see in life, death, and war, yes, heartbreak of course. But she’d read mountains of books, traveled all over, and experienced life in such vivid, monumental ways. That when Wanda had decided to teach, it wasn’t because she couldn’t ‘do.’ Because she had done so much. And she’d wanted to inspire others to experience life. To fall in love with words the way she had, the way books and stories had saved her. 

Wanda had decided that day that she liked you on her countertops. Wanda had decided she liked your mess and the way you took up space. 

So, at four am on a Thursday, you waited for her. 

You eyed your strong and independent girlfriend again softly, not over intensely. You’d learned enough to know Wanda’s tells. 

You patted the counter, and Wanda lifted herself up and sat on it. Yeah, that was growth, because Wanda had never sat on a kitchen counter in her life. But she was. 

Wanda was in full color, and you bent down and kissed both of her knees. You didn’t linger in the moment as you turned to get to work in her kitchen. 

You didn’t want to put Wanda on the sofa, that was too far from you. And you knew the nightmare images hadn’t left her yet. Sticking like fly paper against her eyelids, that wouldn’t do. 

So you went to the pantry for a secret stash of sweets. 

You’d learned that your elderly girlfriend liked butterscotch pudding. It was by far the most geriatric of desserts. You’d teased her affectionately for it, saying ‘at least when we’re in the old folks home, you’ll be stocked.’ 

But Wanda liked it, so you bought it. You couldn’t believe how shocked she looked when you pulled it out of the grocery bag. 

‘I study your obscure language.’

You pulled out the milk. Because, for some reason, Wanda wasn’t lactose intolerant like you. Which still didn’t make sense, maybe it was because she wasn’t from the US. Anyway, you took the saucepan and you started to hum. It was soft and low, but you knew what it did to Wanda. 

You don’t need to turn to see Wanda smiling at you. You move over to her expensive coffee machine and start to brew. 

Wanda didn’t need to be taken care of, she didn’t require it. She’d dried plenty of her own tears. In fact, if Wanda was in the talking mood, you knew she’d be more inclined to be the caretaker. She was a domme, a top in and out of the bedroom. Wanda opened doors and demanded to pay, she liked your submission and enjoyed doting on you in all forms. But that was what made these moments so intense and special. 

Because Wanda didn’t let anyone do this, she let you see her like this. Wanda gave you this, allowed the intimacy of these nights, mornings, weekends. Where she let you give. And it was beautiful. 

You sing as you pour the milk in. Before grabbing butter and the chocolate chips, flour, brown sugar, cane sugar, the list went on. 

You sing through the cold air. 

‘You've got to grind, grind, grind at that grindstone

Though child'ood slips like sand through a sieve

And all too soon they've up and grown

And then they've flown

And it's too late for you to give

Just that spoonful of sugar to 'elp the medicine go down

The medicine go down, medicine go down’

You sing and then move to grab two coffee cups above the cupboard. You knew which one was Wanda’s favorite. You didn’t ever use it, you pushed it under her machine, and then found the one you’d stolen. It had a picture of Ilya Repin, the famous Russian painter. You liked him now because of Wanda. So you were happy to see his mustache in the mornings. 

You hummed the rest of the lyrics before you pressed buttons on the oven. Wanda cleared her throat. You understood she found her voice, and she’s collected herself enough to talk to you. But you don’t look at her, no spotlight needed; she knew you were listening. 

“You do like Dick Van Dyke.” She whispers in the cool night, in the dim light of the kitchen, with the person who loves her more than words can say. More than Alexander Pushkin, Julie Andrews, Mary Tyler Moore, or even Mr. Dick Van Dyke could understand. 

“He’s an icon and has never made anything bad, even if he gave us a terrible British accent.” You say as you pour the right amount of milk for her coffee. You take out a teaspoon, stirring it before you turn on your heel and walk slowly in between Wanda’s thighs. 

She takes the coffee and smiles into the cup, consuming a long sip. She’d made you give up energy drinks since the great library fiasco. So now you both drank coffee, every now and then tea at night to sleep, but coffee was your thing. Wanda made a happy noise at the taste. Coffee fixed everything. 

You put two hands on her knees and run your fingers up the outside of her thighs, soothing her. Wanda takes another sip before putting the cup down to the side. You wait patiently for your payment. Wanda knows it too, she looks pleased at your demand. Taking her fingers, she goes under your chin, teasing your skin before hooking behind your neck and bringing you to her waiting, wanting, lips. 

You kiss and it’s delicious like brown sugar. It’s soothing and sweet, it’s coming home after a long day. It’s kissing your best friend after decades of waiting. Kissing Wanda is better than anything and everything you’ll ever experience in this lifetime and the next. 

Wanda seems to feel the same as she overlaps her ankles around you and pulls you closer, deeper into her loving embrace. You could think of no better cave to grow old in. Wanda’s kisses are full of devotion and longing. Your head feels fuzzy as you don’t remember to breathe through your nose, you just be with her. 

Your mind is gone on vacation, toes curling, body erupting in goosebumps. Even after all of this time of kissing. 

It doesn’t matter. 

You can only hear one note.

Wanda. 

You are alarmed when the oven beeps and the kiss ends. Wanda is breathing heavily, and you realize she’s just as gone as you. Her lips are flushed and her face is red. She looks positively pornographic. 

“Malysh, I thought you were making pudding and coffee? Why is the oven on? And why is it interrupting our kiss?” Wanda looks like she’s pouting, which is funny because she’d never admit to pouting. You laugh and pull away from her, and she tries to grab your ar,m but you are faster. 

Going to the clean dishwasher, you open it and pull out a mixing bowl. 

“My girlfriend needs pudding, yes, of course. But also, she secretly loves these brown butter chocolate chip cookies I make. Annnd I know for a fact your period is starting soon and you love them.” You tell her, and Wanda licks her lips at the memor,y and you take it as a huge compliment. 

“The ones with the-” Wanda remembers, and you answer for her. 

“Sea salt, yup those ones.” You say, and you put the pudding mix into the warmed milk. Before getting out another pot for the butter. 

At one point, you go over to the living room and pick up a book Wanda had been reading while you were working on your essay. You hand her the book and she eyes it curiously. 

“Read to me?”

It was a thing for you two. It was intimacy of the prettiest melody. The sound of each other's voice and a good book, nothing tops it. Sorry Brandi and Dick, but it was something that made your heart sing. Wanda didn’t need to be asked twice, she understood your language. 

So she read aloud and you tried not to look surprised when she sat criss cross on the countertop, her sock feet now up on the kitchen surface. You were making history tonight, it seemed. 

When you put the pudding in the fridge and the cookies in the oven. You worked on the dishes and sipped your own coffee. Bending your neck to the side to pop it. 

Wanda eyed you and stopped reading, and you turned to her with a sour face. 

“Hey, Mrs. Audible, I’m not done with my audiobook. What are you doing?” You tell your girlfriend. But when her face grows sad, you are further confused. 

“You should go to bed, baby, it’s like five am. You’ve been up too long wit-”

“Hey, I’m spending very precious time with the woman I love. And the wee hours of the morning are not to be taken for granted. When the light comes up-” You use a wet fork to point to the window to the right. “It’ll come through there and it hits your auburn hair just right. And it turns this warm golden color, and your eyes…Well there’s nothing like it. So I’m gonna stay right here until I get my morning show. Then I’m going to make you, make us that omelet you saw online. But first, I want my audiobook back, and if my domme behaves, I’ll feed you cookies and teach you something truly sinful. But only if you read to me, the way only you can.” You flirt with Wanda, and her face morphs into pure love.

 She nibbles her bottom lip, you know that’s her sign, she wants to kiss you. But she gulps, licks her top lip, before opening the book back up and finding her place. 

Wanda reads to you, and you, in turn, finish the dishes. The cookies don’t take long, they have to be soft just the way Wanda likes them. You pull them out and you refill Wanda’s coffee. 

You take out the pudding and put it in a small ramekin. Then plate the big cookies, and you don’t have to invite Wanda. She’s been practically drooling, and you weren’t sure if it was because of your lack of bottoms or your baking. But you were going to try not to fight for her attention with a pastry. 

You both walked to the sofa. Wanda didn’t need you to tell her to grab your favorite throw blanket. Just like you didn’t have to ask her for the salt anymore, or ask if she had an extra pair of wool socks. Wanda just handed things to you wordlessly now, her extra pair of sunglasses while she drives, the aux cord, the ketchup packet. Wanda was just that good. 

She smoothed it out, and you broke your usual cuddle puddle. You sat facing her, and she arched an eyebrow but mirrored your body. Both of you sitting facing each other, leaning your side against the back of the sofa, with crisscrossed legs. 

She puts the blanket in the middle of you both so it covers your chronically cold feet. And she covers her lap too, which you know is because she can touch you under the blanket more easily. She did it so subtly, a hand on your inner thigh, her knee against yours, a foot against your calf. Wanda’s touch was a constant source of comfort for your winter-cold bones. An ache she alone soothed. 

“Professor, are you ready to be schooled?” You tell her seriously, and Wanda tries not to snort in laughter. 

“Please, teach me your ways, sugar junkie.” 

You didn’t take offense at the nickname. You simply took a big cookie off the plate. Showing it to her like you were teaching brain surgery. She eyed the cookie and looked at you like you were being ridiculous. 

But you turned the cookie down into the bowl and dipped it and she scoffed. 

“You did not just dip a cookie in pudding,” Wanda worded like you’d committed a felony.  You chewed and used your pinkie on the hand holding the cookie to brush the crumb off your lip. 

“You cannot knock it until you try it.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You think I’d steer you wrong?”

“I remember the taste of cherry slushie.”

“It’s not my fault Sokovia failed to have a 7-Eleven! That country failed you, your loving girlfriend is just trying to help. Now don’t be a whimp! You really are going to shy away from your two favorite desserts?” You pressure her, and she squints at you. You give her a look that is simply put as ‘I dare you.’ Wanda grabs a cookie, not breaking her stare.

She slowly dunks it and then bites it. 

Wanda’s eyes fall shut, and she moans. 

“Oh wow, right about Lana Del Rey, right about the talented Margaret Atwood. And I’m right about pudding and cookies. You know, I think you should adopt the cis man mentality.” You bait her, and Wanda coughs on her cookie and looks taken aback. 

“Which is what? Wearing Crocs to grocery stores? You want me to start drinking light beer?” Wanda jokes, and you break and giggle at the idea of her doing either of those things. Before you collect yourself once more. 

“No, the whole ‘my wife is always right.’ That really condescending ‘happy wife, happy life.’ You gotta start that shit, because I haven’t been wrong.”

Wanda glares at you, and you remember. 

“Ok, yes, the slushie and I really thought Disney Channel movies were going to age well, and some didn’t. Hocus Pocus did, though, and you liked that. But yes, some things were hit and miss. I’d like to remind you of the feeldoe.” You reminded her of the sex toy, and Wanda’s face broke into a dirty grin at the memory of the recently purchased toy. 

“That was a good rebuttal,” Wanda said and then stopped looking at her cookie. “Are we double dippers?” You tried not to laugh at Wanda’s question. You’d told her the biggest rude thing to do at a party was double-dip. And she’d remembered it as one of your pet peeves. You hadn’t brought it up in months, and she still remembered. Fucking Wanda Maximoff, man. 

“You’ve spit in my mouth and pussy, I think you can double dip your cookie.” You say crudely, and in the first month, Wanda would have choked on her own spit at your words. But now she just looked at you with this mischievous grin, at the memory, before double-dipping her cookie. 

Three cookies in, and you were full as you leaned behind you to the side table to sip at your coffee. The dawn was just starting to turn the sky a lighter shade of blue.

 It wasn’t full to glow yet. And Wanda turned to see you eyeing the slow morning transforming. 

Time was funny. Past, you never could have imagined a world where you felt safe. Where your college professor was your supposed one-night stand. Where you’d see Wanda again? 

You couldn’t imagine the melancholy of the future, where you’d remember this time. Where you’d want these small moments with Wanda back. Because the future would be different.

 You saw Wanda in it, of course you did. But you also saw kids, maybe a son? You saw a house with a yard, a garden, and a dog. Life would grow, and you’d remember this moment then. When you woke your lover from a nightmare. Where you made her a snack and you stole time like a thief. You stole a morning of kisses and whispers. You’d never be in this moment, ever again. And you were missing it already. 

Wanda’s hand found yours, but you didn’t say anything. Staring out the window, the steam from Wanda's and your coffee wafts up. 

The present version of you couldn’t imagine a better way to spend a morning. 

Wanda squeezed your hand, and you broke your thoughts to stare at her. 

“Play something?” She requested.

You felt like you were in a movie now. How did Wanda know?

“Now?” You asked knowing the answer and she gave you a gaze that said ‘don’t play coy.’ So you moved off the sofa, placing your coffee down. You ran to the bedroom, grabbing your phone. You walked back inside and you turned on her sound system. Connecting to the familiar Bluetooth that you named ‘Mama’s jukebox.’ 

You hesitated over a song before you went for something else. Wanda stood and grabbed just under your elbow. 

“No, pick the one you wanted first,” Wanda told you, and your soul flared deep inside. So you went back to it. You pressed ‘Runaway’ by Aurora. Throwing the phone onto the sofa and you closed your eyes. Like the lyrics and looking into Wanda’s eyes were too much. 

The song was loud, and you momentarily hoped the neighbors weren’t gonna be mad. But the lyrics hit you with such intensity, you felt naked now. 

I was listenin' to the ocean

I saw a face in the sand

But when I picked it up

Then it vanished away from my hands, 

I had a dream I was seven

Climbin' my way in a tree

I saw a piece of heaven

Waitin' impatient for me, 

Wanda grabbed your hips and she pulled you closer. You swayed and her forehead rested on yours. And you let out a shaky breath. 

Wanda was slow dancing with you at five am. And you’d never felt more seen by another person. 

And I was runnin' far away

Would I run off the world someday?

Nobody knows, nobody knows

And I was dancing in the rain

I felt alive and I can't complain

But no, take me home

Take me home where I belong

I can't take it anymore

You heard Wanda intake of a sharp breath. And you realized she wasn’t just slow dancing, just romancing you with her hips. She was listening to the lyrics. She heard you. 

Wanda was your home now. 

I was painting a picture

The picture was a painting of you

And for a moment I thought you were here

But then again, it wasn't true, dah

And all this time I have been lyin'

Oh, lyin' in secret to myself

I've been putting sorrow on the farthest place on my shelf

La-di-da

“My love, open your eyes. I’m not going to hurt you.” Wanda whispered and you did and you saw only love shining back. And you kissed her hard as she pulled your hips to hers. You dive into her, and she catches your every movement. Kissing you and swaying you gently. Rocking your body like she was the keeper of your battered and beaten heart. Your love, your best friend, your protector. Wanda kissed you, and you felt it in every square inch of your body. 

And I was runnin' far away

Would I run off the world someday?

Nobody knows, nobody knows

And I was dancing in the rain

I felt alive and I can't complain

But no, take me home

Take me home where I belong

I got no other place to go

No, take me home

Take me home where I belong

I got no other place to go

No, take me home

Take me home where I belong

I can't take it anymore

Your phone interrupts your main character rom-com dance. Wanda doesn’t release your hips but you both stop kissing and dancing. You sigh, frustrated and leave her grasp and you feel Wanda’s fingers hold you until the last possible second. Like the limbs of a haunted tree in a storm claw against a windowpane. 

You feel her against your lips and her hands even after you walk away from her embrace. She’s burned into you. 

You pause your extremely revealing song to see Darcy texted you. You sit on the sofa and read her extremely long message. Wanda seems to be nervous, her weight shifting from foot to foot. 

Wanda’s playing with her fingers, and you’ve seen this a handful of times. But you don’t question her. 

You text Darcy back first, knowing she's probably a tad stoned. It started off with a sex question and somehow turned into a question about her essay for Lit. And you easily answered both questions and did a quick Google search so you could send her a good source. For the link on F. Scott Fitzgerald. Not the sex question, that was just about multiple orgasms, and you answered that one easily without using a search engine. 

You saw Wanda look out the window and then heard her make a noise that was something between frustration and wonder. You send the message and set your iPhone on the coffee table. 

Looking up, you see the first bright rays of morning. They’re teasing the sky, not yet awake. But their hue is somewhere between a VW bug’s yellow and an orange that could only be described as a creamsicle ice pop. You look at the window with a sense of peace you’d only just discovered from loving Wanda. 

She turned, and you saw how serious she looked. Not the same face you had from the sunrise. But she crosses the distance, putting the pudding and cookie plate onto the coffee table quickly and sitting close to you. 

“Baby?” You say concerned. 

“I have a proposal for you.” She says serious and you try to lighten the mood. 

“Uh oh.” You make a fake worried look, and Wanda laughs outright. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She is playing along, but you see the tension in her eyes. 

“I’m sorry, the last proposal you ‘proposed’ was for us to start juicing and you got that juicer and we did like mountains of celery and it made a thimble of juice. So, forgive me if a five am proposal has me a little hesitant. I’m sorry, baby, you tell me, I’m all ears. What’s your proposal?” You tell her, and you see she’s a bit more at ease now. Remembering who you are and how you talk to her. It makes her shoulders relax, and she looks more sure.

“Move in with me.” 

You blink. Not seeing that coming. 

“What?” You feel like you might be dreaming now. And Wanda, the sweetheart, she is. She doesn’t take your initial shock as a negative. She pushes through and grabs both your hands in hers. Wanda has this look in her eyes, and you’d seen it before now. But now you could place it, you saw it in her office that day. You saw it when she bought you a drink. God, what a woman.

Wanda’s eyes were shining now, and she declared her love like it was the only chance she’d ever get. 

Because this morning was quickly becoming day.

And another moment that would be a memory. 

And Wanda wasn’t going to let this morning pass without saying it.  

“Move in with me, you don’t need the dorm. You don’t even like going to the dorm. And the majority of your stuff is here-but that’s not why it’s not a convenience thing, god. No, it’s so much more than that.  What I mean is that I can’t spend another moment in this apartment without you. What I’m saying is I want you in every corner of my life. I am so in love with you. I love you more than I thought someone could love another person. It’s not the sex, which is mind-blowing. It’s not that you let me pick the shows at night, or that you actually enjoy them. Which is- wow. No, it’s that when I come into the bathroom and I don’t find your hair in the sink, I’m upset now. It’s a proposal for you to move in, yes, but it’s more than that. I need you. I need you everywhere, all over me, all the time. It’s not just the last few boxes of your stuff that is at your dorm, that belong here. I want to grow old with you, and I want to trip over your shoes that you refuse to put away in the closet. I want you forever. I thought I’d been scared before. I’d seen war and bloodshed. I’ve lost so many people. I can’t lose you. I won’t be scared and hold back what I know to be true. Is that you are it for me, the end of it all. No searching or wondering what life is going to look like, it’s you. For as long as I live, you will be it.”

You took a breath at the end of her words. Not realizing you’d held it the whole time she spoke. God, you never thought you’d get your When Harry Met Sally speech. And here she was. 

Looking better than Billy Crystal in his knit sweater. 

It was Wanda. 

But you couldn’t not tease her. So you hid your emotions and asked her very seriously’

“Wanda, if this is just because you like my brown butter chocolate chip cookies-” Wanda laughs and then leans over and kisses you hard. You are crying, and she is crying, and it’s a mess. Because you taste like cookies and coffee, and you can only hear the ringing of ‘forever’ with Wanda in your ears. 

Wanda pulls away and she wipes your tears now. 

“I’m not crying.” You lie, and it’s stupid because she doesn’t love you superficially. You don’t cry like an Instagram model, and she doesn’t want that. Wanda loves you, and your snot bubbles, too. 

“You cry for me Malysh,” Wanda says, and you sniffle. 

“I love you.” You whimper through more tears. Wanda nods and grins, and you brush away her tears again. You two would need to buy tissues after you moved all your shit. 

“So is that a yes to my proposal?” Wanda teases you, already knowing from your response. 

“Oh my god, yes. Stop, what are you like into me or something?” You tease, and Wanda pinches your side, and you giggle and hug her around her neck. Wanda places a million kisses against your cheek.

You end up back in your bed with the window wide open and sunlight casting its gorgeous rays over the bed and blanketing over your cuddling bodies. 

Wanda was tracing invisible patterns on your arm. Your legs were tangled, and you were facing one another, noses touching as you stared at her. You couldn’t believe people actually cuddled like this until Wanda. 

Because you wanted to breathe her air, and stare at her. Wanda and you whispered in the bed, secrets for only the other to hear in the early morning light. 

“Wanda?” You asked her, and she looked at you patiently. 

“Yes, my love?” She softly whispers back in your cocoon of light and cuddles. 

“Will you tell me what your nightmare was?” 

You don’t usually ask because when Wanda told you, it was so gruesome. So much blood and violence. Her parents' corpses and her brother lying in a morgue. But it had hurt her so bad this morning, and you were asking so maybe you could help in the future. It was a long shot, but maybe you could?

Wanda smiled a sad smile, before she answered. 

“You left.”

It sat there cold. Wanda’s hand stopped, and it came up to cup your cheek. 

You couldn’t believe it. 

War and death, so much horror, and what brought your lover to her knees this morning was you leaving. That was what had frightened her to thrashing, screaming, and crying.

 Wanda’s gaze didn’t shift, she wasn’t afraid. She’d told you the truth. It was her fear, her worst fear. And you bit your lip and shook your head. 

“Wanda, no.” You say and you don’t have to say more as Wanda gives you the most sorrow-filled mile you’d ever seen someone muster. 

“That’s my waking nightmare.” She admits, and you kiss her slowly before pulling back so she can see your face. 

“You brought me home. I’m not going anywhere.” You say so gently something snaps in Wanda, and she kisses you hard, and her hands fall into your hair, pulling you impossibly closer to her. 

The song echoed in both of your minds. 

No, take me home

Take me home where I belong

I got no other place to go

No, take me home, home where I belong, 

[evnseokz]

{ ☆ plaything - s.es }

pairing: femboy! eunseok x f. reader

contents: pegging, reader dresses eunseok up, sub eunseok, dom reader, eunseok is a slut ngl, dirty talk, pet names, overstimulation

a.n: ok these concept photos inspired me to write this cause he looks so good in a skirt im dying fr i need that so bad w.c: 926

MINORS DNI

he blushes so easily when you touch him, even more when you dress him. soft little gasps escaping his lips as you tug the lacy thigh-highs up his smooth legs, adjust the tight pastel skirt over his hips, and fix the delicate bow around his throat like you’re tying him up in pretty little promises.

eunseok looks gorgeous like this — flushed, delicate, trembling in your hands. the skirt barely covers his ass, riding up with every shift of his hips. he keeps squirming, shyly tugging the hem down, but you just smile and push his hands away.

“don’t hide,” you say, voice low and firm. “you wanted to be my pretty little plaything tonight, didn’t you?”

he nods, biting his lip, lashes fluttering. “y-yeah. i… i wanna be good for you.”

you hum in approval, dragging your fingers under his chin until he looks up at you with those wide, glassy eyes. “then bend over for me.”

he whimpers. a soft, needy sound that has his knees going weak. but he obeys, turning around and leaning forward over the bed, hands gripping the sheets, ass pushing back in that flimsy little skirt like he wants to be seen. the fabric hikes up just enough to give you a perfect view — no panties. of course.

“so eager,” you murmur, reaching between his thighs to tease him. he gasps, thighs trembling, body already sensitive just from the idea of what’s coming. “all dressed up for me, and already dripping.”

you let him wait like that for a while. bent over, exposed, needy. teasing him with soft touches and praise while you strap up, watching him squirm under your gaze.

when you finally press the head of the toy against him, he lets out a breathless moan, pushing back just a little, desperate to be filled.

“please,” he whines. “please, i want it. i want you.”

you give him exactly what he needs — slow, steady, making sure he feels every inch of it as you sink in. his fingers clutch at the sheets, knuckles white, legs shaking already.

“oh fuck—” he gasps, voice high and trembling. “feels so—so full…”

you set a rhythm, hips snapping forward as you drive into him, hard enough to make the bed creak and his moans spill freely. every thrust pushes little, broken whimpers from his throat — his skirt bouncing, thighs shaking, eyes rolling back as you ruin him.

“look at you,” you growl, gripping his hips, watching the way his body takes it. “my pretty little slut. all dressed up and fucked dumb.”

“yes—yesyesyes,” he babbles, drooling into the sheets, lost in it. “feels so good, i love it, i love your cock—please don’t stop—”

you reach around and stroke him, matching the rhythm of your thrusts, and he screams into the bedding, body jerking, overwhelmed.

“come for me, baby,” you whisper, voice like sin. “be a good boy and make a mess.”

he shatters with a cry, back arching, his whole body convulsing as he spills all over your hand, your name falling from his lips like a prayer.

and still, you don’t stop.

he’s shaking. still bent over, arms limp beneath him, ass slick and red from the force of your thrusts. his thighs are trembling, twitching every time you move — and you’re still inside him, your strap buried deep, keeping him full while he sobs into the sheets.

“too much,” he whispers, voice cracked and hoarse. “i—i already came, i can’t—”

you hush him gently, leaning down to kiss between his shoulder blades, hands soothing along his waist. “you can, sweetheart. and you will. you said you wanted to be good for me, remember?”

he lets out a helpless whimper, hips jerking when you rock into him again — slow, deep, grinding more than thrusting now, but it’s enough to make him cry out. his cock’s soft but twitching again already, drooling against his stomach like he’s too weak to even get hard properly.

“you’re doing so well, baby,” you murmur, dragging your nails gently up his spine. “just one more. give me one more, and i’ll let you rest. promise.”

he nods, though his whole body trembles with it — tears clinging to his lashes, lip bitten red, still so, so pretty in his little skirt. you reach down to stroke him again, slow and deliberate, while you start to fuck him in earnest — not rough, not punishing, but deep, unrelenting, like you’re shaping him to take it perfectly.

“oh my god—” he moans, body arching. “oh my god, it’s too much, i’m gonna—i can’t—”

“yes you can,” you breathe into his ear, your voice sugar-sweet but firm. “you’re my good boy, right? you love being filled up, don’t you? love how deep i get inside you.”

he sobs something that sounds like yes, muffled by the bedding, and then he’s unraveling again — back arching, his whole body going taut as a second orgasm crashes over him. it hits him harder than the first, his moan punched out of his lungs as he spills again, shaking so hard you have to hold him to keep him steady.

you don’t move for a moment, just stay pressed against his back, your strap still nestled inside his twitching, overstimulated hole. your hand strokes his side slowly, grounding him, letting him come down.

he’s crying a little, soft and pretty, his voice barely a whisper now.

“thank you… thank you, thank you…”

you kiss the side of his neck and smile.

“that’s my perfect boy.”

…

..

.

[fruitiesss]

Just got the idea for Frank x Super soldier! Fem reader, possibly related to Bucky somehow. Maybe what they both see in the void

Little angsty and fluffy ending please?

yesyes sorry this took a few days ^^ and it's kinda short woops, I tried my best! The angst is slightly short lived, I made their shame rooms conjoined bc that's kinda cute. enjoy <3 w/c: 800

Black.

That was what Frank had seen before he was plunged into his own personal hell. He always saw stuff like this when he closed his eyes, when he slept, but those were lucid and fuzzy. This was real.

He could hear the carousel behind them, standing completely still as he watched that day play over and over and over, again and again and again. His fists clenched at his sides, his eyes trained on the barrel of the gun that took everything from him.

Frank had tried to intervene a few times, to rewrite the agonising memory enacting before him to no avail. After the first dozen gun shots he couldn't take it. He started to run, fleeing from his family once again, the very thing that got them killed, until he reached a wall. Some kind of set, a hard surface depicting the background of the park, trees and concession stands painted on. He cocked an eyebrow at this, raising his hand and banging on the wall a few times. His head spun around, the gunshots ringing again in the distance. And then he body slammed the wall, once, twice, three times, until he was sent barrelling through it and onto a hard floor. "Shit," He grumbled, kneeling and brushing himself off.

You never saw the void coming. One moment you'd sat down to have lunch with your boyfriend and the next, you were pulled back into the depths of your memory. Something you had buried deep down.

The stench of damp and rot clouded your senses, freezing metal pressed against your face and restraining your limbs to a chair. Only able to look around, you noticed professional-looking equipment surrounding you, harsh lights somehow barely illuminating the abundance of medical trays and tools. You couldn't scream, the harsh sound dying in your throat.

After a few agonisingly slow moments, the wall to your left splintered, Frank rolling through it and landing on his side. With a hiss, he stood and brushed the dust and wood from his clothes. The sound finally ripped from your throat, a loud and broken sob catching Frank's attention as his head snapped to yours. His eyes nearly bulged out of his head, his feet moving before his mind could even process the situation to pry the metal from your limbs.

"Shit, shit, what the fuck," He growled as he tried to warp the thick metal. Giving up, he surveyed the chair you were restrained to, desperately searching for some kind of button or release valve. "C'mon, baby, I got ya. I'll get you outta here, jus' hold on." Your gaze met his briefly while the muscles in your arms strained against your restraints, the material creaking under the pressure. Frank sees this, fitting his calloused fingers beneath the gap you'd made and pulling with all his might — finally freeing the cuff from it's latch.

You gasped, pulling your wrist from the groove and ripping the cuff from your other one, crying with effort. Frank helped free your ankles, pulling you onto your feet and holding your hand gently in his, pulling you close to him. "Now where the fuck are we." He huffed, looking around. Your eyes darkened, gaze dropping to the floor as Frank furiously looked around, squeezing your hand.

"Don't worry," You sighed, running a hand through your sweat-slicked hair.

Frank gave you a stern look, his grip tightening. "You can talk to me, doll."

You shook your head, and Frank took it as a sign to stop pushing. He pulled you towards the other edge of the room, away from the hole he'd made in the wall. "C'mon."

You blinked, and suddenly you were freed from the confines of the black, of the dark. No longer in that damned room but in the exact spot across from Frank in the diner you'd sat down to have lunch in. Frank blinked a few times, eyes adjusting to the sudden light of day through the window. He looked around, hands braced against the table. "What the fuck." He cursed, lifting himself up to look around at the other customers, how they seemed to be coming out of a similar nightmare.

His hand then found yours, dropping himself into the plush leather seat of the booth. "Whatever that was, doll, I don't trust it. Fuckin' supernatural shit happens too much in this god damn city."

You laughed, shaking your head and glancing to the counter. "Could you get me a milkshake to make me feel better, Frankie?"

His smile returned at your laugh, gaze trained on your face. "Of course, of course, gotta make sure my girl stays happy, huh."

[callme-holly]

i need some benny cross with reader who wakes up from a nightmare?

just soft and sweet benny!!!!

𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬 - 𝐁.𝐂

word count. 646 summary. in which benny comforts you after a nightmare

The night was quiet, the gentle hum of cicadas and the din of distant traffic the only things breaking through the silence. The window was open, letting in what little breeze there was in hopes of soothing the oppressive heat still lingering from the day, the summer hitting Illinois like a tidal wave, thick, heavy and unescapable, making your little home feel more like a sauna. 

But it isn’t the heat that has your skin slick with perspiration, the covers feeling too tight around your middle. It isn’t the temperature that has you writhing, tossing and turning restlessly like you’re caught in a net you can’t break free from.

The nightmares had become more frequent, more vivid and terrifying, shaking you to your very core and keeping you up for hours, your body not resting until dawn finally broke across the horizon and you knew you were safe. 

Benny didn’t know, or at least if he did, he didn't say anything. 

A blur of faces, shouting, screaming, crying… 

You jolt awake with a sharp intake of air, your lungs burning, tears streaming down your cheeks in little rivulets. Every single muscle ached, your body heavy as lead, holding you down into the mattress and trapping you in your own terror.

Glancing around the room, you tried to make out where you were, seemingly still caught in the haze of dream and reality, the lines between both worlds blurred and unclear. You were just beginning to focus on the familiar patterned wallpaper when a hand landed on your back, steady and sure, but making you flinch nonetheless.

“Hey”, Benny’s voice was calm, level in a way that grounded you almost immediately, dragging you back down and into the present moment. He sounded groggy, half-asleep, and you realise with a half-guilty mind that you probably kicked him at some point during your panic. 

“Benny…”  You don’t say more, choking on the word as you turn and bury yourself against his chest, letting him envelop you in his warmth, his arms encircling you and tugging you close. A sob wracks your frame, your shoulders shaking as the tears come out unfiltered, breaking free from the dam and flooding his shirt. 

“Shh… You’re okay. I got you.” His words were a reassurance you didn’t know you needed as his hand continued to smooth down your spine, tracing gentle patterns against your skin, perhaps words you were too wired to decipher.

“It felt real…” You whisper, the words broken up with each sniffle and hitch of your breath, and Benny hums in response.

“Yeah… I know.” His lips brush your forehead in a featherlight kiss, barely there, but enough to ground you further. “But it wasn’t. You’re here.” 

You nod, burrowing closer. He was safe; he would protect you, whether it be from a true threat or one that was merely a figment of your imagination, an image conjured up by your fatigue and the searing summer heat. 

“Don’t go anywhere.” You mumble, muffled against the fabric of his shirt. Your fingers thread into the collar, clinging tightly to him like a child who had lost their closest form of comfort. “Please. Stay.” 

“I’m staying, baby.” He pulled back just enough to look down at you, his eyes meeting your bloodshot, tear-stained ones. His hand cupped your cheek, brushing away a stray drop with the pad of his thumb, offering you a weak, sympathetic smile. 

“You okay?” 

You manage a small nod, the movement slightly jerky and unsure. Your heart is still racing, and your body still trembling just enough for your fear to shine through. 

“C’mere…” He tugs you even closer than before, until you’re practically lying on top of him, legs tangled with his. “I got you. Ain’t nothin’ gonna hurt you while I’m here.”

And that… That you could believe. BEcause Benny was real. And he was here.

masterlist here <3

[urprettylildoe]

Disclaimer: usually don't write yandere cheaters, since it doesn't rlly make sense for yanderes to, but i wae discussing yandere cheaters w someone in the comment section of one of my posts, and they mentioned an exception, so thanks to them!!!

your yandere boyfriend can't take it anymore.

he's trying so, so hard to be rational and sane about his feelings for you, about the pounding of his heart whenever he's near you. he has never felt so strongly for anyone before, so why you?

everything you do is so intoxicating. the way you laugh, the way you speak with your hands so animatedly, the way you're so cute when flustered — it's making his head spin and his pants tight.

this isn't normal. it just can't be. he's always messed around before, and felt nothing. now that he's in a relationship, you're living rent free in his head 24/7.

so to prove a point, he does the one thing that could ruin his life: cheat on you. it wasn't out of desire, it never was.

at the bar, he found any random person and just kissed them on the lips, waiting for the spark to hit and for his arousal to grow.

no...why is nothing happening? why isn't he excited? he should be, he's done this all his life.

but then he sees you.

all wide-eyed and teary, wobbly lips already quivering. It breaks his heart. oh, no, no, no. what has he done?

what. has. he. done?

he pushes the damn leech off of his body and runs to you. he doesn't process anything you say, just that your screams are loud and that you're crying.

" — I don't wanna ever see you again!"

...

he chuckles dryly, wet eyes snapping open and lips forming an O shape, "what," he smiles. "did you just say?"

you hiccup between your words. the world is spinning around you. he's gone insane. surely. but when was anything about this situation normal? when was your boyfriend, who your friends claimed to love you a little too much, the one who held you every night, and the one who held you every night oh so tenderly, cheating on you normal?

"I said," rubbing your eyes, you try to keep your voice from cracking, "i don't wanna ever see you again. we're done."

this time, he's laughing.

and the next thing you know, you wake up an hour later, but not in your bed.

you're laid down in the backseat of your car, hands an legs tied with spare rope in the trunk of his car, and mouth gagged to muffle your sobs.

he glances in the rearview mirror, a fond smile on his lips as if this is a normal road trip, "morning, babe. sleep well? yeah, it was a looong night, i know, i know."

squirming, you scream profanities into the cloth, elliciting a chuckle out of him. you're akin to a kitten, trying to use her cute lil claws on big ol' him.

"you know, i was stupid, thinking i could stop lovin' you." he speaks suddenly, eyes contemplating. "but i can't, baby. i need you to know that.

but don't worry," he turns around to fully look at you, cooing at how adorable of a mess you are. "I'll make it all better, hm? so sit tight...or you're already doin' that fer me, good girl."

[akbrain]

IN THE NAME OF VEGENANCE! AVENGING PALM COOKIE!: The Three Sisters X Saiyan! Reader feat. Burning Spice Cookie

WHAT IF... Pudding á la Mode Cookie got seriously injured in front of her sisters & Saiyan! Y/N during The Grand Cookie Games, causing Saiyan! Y/N to go berserk and transform into Ultra Instinct?

WARNING: Contains extreme angst!!

In the arena, you & Pudding á la Mode Cookie were unleashing an onslaught of plasma blasts & ki through the arena, with few Cookies able to survive your synchronized sweetness!

PALM: Kya ha ha! Too sweet for ya?

You: You all can't handle the wrath of our SWEETNESS!

PALM's sisters, Choco Drizzle Cookie & Green Tea Mousse Cookie are surrounding you from the left and right, attacking any Cookies who dared to get too close!

Green Tea Mousse Cookie: Don't worry Y/N & baby sis, we're gonna protect you!

Choco Drizzle Cookie: No one's hurting you. Not on our watch.

Blades clashed, and shields clanged, You and The Three Sisters were unstoppable!

But something tragic was about to happen that was about to change all of that...

Burning Spice Cookie, The Beast of Destruction, was also competing in this tournament, and he had MALICIOUS intentions. He planned to sneak-attack PALM Cookie in your one vulnerable spot! This was not going to end well...

Without hesitation, Burning Spice dashes forward towards you, too fast for Choco Drizzle and Green Tea Mousse to notice!

Choco Drizzle Cookie: What was that...?

Green Tea Mousse Cookie: Well, that's a first...

Burning Spice Cookie approaches the two of you from behind with a sickly smile...

And he slices Pudding á la Mode Cookie with his axe.

You and her older sisters watch in absolute horror as PALM Cookie fall to the ground, strawberry jam oozing out of the slice wound, which was around her right side.

Green Tea Mousse Cookie: BABY SIS, NOOO!

Choco Drizzle Cookie: LITTLE SISTER!

You, Green Tea, & Choco Drizzle and rush over to PALM's side to see if she's okay.

PALM: Ugh... wah...

PALM: This...

PALM: Isn't sweet AT ALL!

PALM: *sniffle*

PALM: WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

PALM begins to cry. Her older sisters try to comfort her, sobbing. The crowd also watches in sorrow. No one could bear to see poor PALM Cookie like this!

Green Tea Mousse Cookie: Baby sis! Please tell me! *sob* Are you okay? What hurts? Please be okay! *sob sob*

Choco Drizzle Cookie: Don't worry, little sister. *sob* Everything will be alright... Just please stay with us! *sob*

Meanwhile, Burning Spice has absolutely NO remorse.

Burning Spice Cookie: Hahahahahahaha!

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

As for you, you look in absolute shock. You feel tears running down your face. You fall to your knees, with the tears just continuing to flow. You could not handle seeing a young child suffer, especially your best friend. Then...

A power awakens.

A new power awakens within you.

A power that was unlike anything you ever experienced before.

You: Rrrrrgh... *sniff*

You open your tear-tainted eyes. Your irises and pupils were no longer visible.

You then were cloaked in a blue and white aura. You could feel a huge power surge unlike anything you ever experienced before in your Saiyan life. The Three Sisters looked at you at shock, preparing to watch the performance.

Burning Spice Cookie: What the hell is happening...?

Choco Drizzle Cookie: Y/N, what's happening? Are you alright? And why is the ground skaking?

Green Tea Mousse Cookie: Y/N! Are you okay? The ground is shaking violently!

You then get up on your feet, and let out a piercing scream.

You: HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

The entire arena is covered in a explosion of bright white and blue light, causing bystanding competitors to tremble in fear. Even Burning Spice Cookie is shocked.

You: BURNING SPICE COOKIE!

You turn to face him as your hair glows a radiant white, and your eyes, now visible again, shine a darkest gray.

Burning Spice Cookie: Okay, look, I'm sorr-

You: IT'S WAY TOO LATE TO APOLOGIZE NOW! YOU'RE GONNA PAY FOR EVERYTHING YOU'VE DONE!

You: ENOUGH WAITING AROUND!

You immediately, without hesitation, strike Burning Spice Cookie with a powerful punch, knocking him back.

Burning Spice Cookie: Oh, so you wanna play that game, huh? ENTERTAIN ME!

You then envelop Burning Spice in a whirlwind of punches. You're too fast for him, he can't block a single one! You then grab him and send him flying into the air! You then fly high up into the air, charging up a huge ball of ki in your hands and saying the magic words!

You: KA... ME... HA... ME...

HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

Burning Spice Cookie, despite his destructive powers, knows he cannot escape the wrath of your Supreme Kamehameha. He gets hit directly and gets knocked into the ground! The crowd goes wild!

Audience: WOOOOOO HOOOOOO!

You aren't finished though. You still have one more trick up your sleeve. As Burning Spice tries to get up, you silently look down at him, clutching your fists hard.

You: I know I'm not some savior of the world or anything like that. But ANYONE who tries to hurt The Three Sisters...

IS GONNA PAAAAAAAAAAY!!!

A huge explosion of blue energy surrounds you, and you dash for Burning Spice Cookie at lightspeed, piercing through multiple rocks that flew up in the air from the energy explosion, causing clouds of smoke and rubble to appear in the sky! You punch Burning Spice Cookie directly in the chest, where his Soul Jam is. You and Burning Spice stay suspended in the air for a few seconds, with you still punching his chest, an EXTREMELY angry expression on your face.

A few seconds later, Burning Spice is sent flying back into the ground, creating a huge explosion that enveloped the arena.

Burning Spice Cookie was never heard of again.

After the destruction of Burning Spice, you overflow with grief and begin sobbing buckets. You lose Ultra Instinct and land onto the ground, falling to your knees and putting your hands in your face. Green Tea Mousse & Choco Drizzle, still in tears, come and silently caress your back, as they comfort you from your sobs.

Pudding á la Mode was sent to the hospital. It would take 1 week for her to fully heal. You spent 7 days and nights weeping. Green Tea & Choco Drizzle tried to comfort you as much as possible, holding you in your arms and telling you that it's gonna be okay, but you just couldn't handle these emotions. After PALM was discharged from the hospital, she immediately flew to you and gave you a big hug. She gently caressed you and held you close as you held your arms around her, softly sniffling.

Please don't cry! Pudding á la Mode Cookie loves you! You're her sweetest friend! It's over! It's all over! Please smile! When you feel sad, it makes her sad! So please be happy! Everything's gonna be alright!